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saudad3 · 28 days ago

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Daddy was a rolling stone Part. II

Smoke x Reader Word count: 2,345 Summary: Baby Daddy! Smoke returns to the Mississippi Delta with two things hot on his mind -- his woman and his baby. Let's just say, all he was met with was a purse to the face. Genre: two parts angst, one part fluff!! enjoy

Part One: here

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Against your better judgment, you allowed Smoke to attempt to redeem himself. You fully expected him to disappear from your grasp within the first two days of his return to Clarkedale, but here he was, in the flesh, bouncing your one-year-old baby on his lap while your sister, Mabel, attempted to spoon-feed her mushed peas and fruit.

Elisabeth fussed, grabbing at her father, mushed peas dribbling from her chin and onto the lapel of his expensive tweed suit jacket.

“Oh my..” you breathed out, stifling a giggle from the unfortunate circumstances. You looked down at the pant hem you were repairing on your lap before moving carefully, manueverin to not to have sewing needles strewn about the living room. You quickly entered the kitchen and emerged with a wet cloth, kneeling in front of Smoke to clean the baby’s food from his jacket.

Having the mushed green slop stain his suit didn't bother Smoke none. He had several of the caliber in his closet waiting for him. It bothered you plenty.

You couldn’t imagine ruining such a fine suit with baby food.

You shifted on your knees in front of Smoke and brought the wet rag to the soft material, working cautiously to not make the blemish worse.

Smoke’s eyes softened when they met you, your brows scrunching in concentration. He dared not to protest, seeing how you bit your soft, supple lip between your teeth, cloth running over the stain with meticulousness. Once you were satisfied, your face transformed into a soft smile and the crescent moon eyes that made Smoke’s heart boom.

Satisfied with your work, you looked up at Smoke through heavy eyelashes, bunching the rag in your hands. “All done,” you glowed brightly. Smoke opened his mouth to respond, but his voice failed him, his mind preoccupied by the beauty in front of him.

You wore a baby pink, floral house dress that complemented your skin tone gorgeously. Pinning back your pressed curls was a matching baby pink bandana, which managed to catch all but one rogue curl that swept over your forehead. Smoke wondered if you’d made the dress yourself, so skilled in your work that it looked like it came from one of the famous tailors in Chicago, that the ladies would wear whilst shopping, and accompanying their husbands on walks about Millennium Park.

He imagined how you’d look as a future housewife, stepping into the role of an indestructible matriarch in charge of two or three beautiful black children, two girls and and a boy if Smoke had any say. He’d dress you in the fancy dresses of the Chicago ladies, and gift you the nicest mink furs and evening gowns that stores had to offer.

Maybe you’d continue to be bull-headed, and dress yourself and your beautiful children in matching handmade outfits, becoming the talk of the city with murmurs about how marvelous your sewing was. How the women would line up at your door, offering money and gifts to get their hands on one of your designs.

“Um, Smoke…” Your uncertain voice drew Smoke from the safe house of his thoughts. “Why you starin’ at me like that?”

Smoke straightened his spine, eyes jetting towards the breast of his tweed jacket, noticing how the spot had reduced greatly in size and hue. “It uh.. looks great, darlin’.” Smoke nodded, tightening his jaw.

You smiled softly once more before bringing yourself to your feet and dusting off the white apron that tied around your waist. You collected all of Elisabeth’s food bowls before bouncing over to the kitchen, seemingly going to discard the uneaten mashed foods into their rightful containers.

Stack cleared his throat, attempting to move forward from this interaction before turning his attention back to his baby girl.

The rate at which Elisabeth warmed up to Smoke and accepted him in her life left your head whirling. It was as if Elisabeth knew of Smoke's relation to her without even having to be introduced. It was natural.

Smoke visited her (and you) every day for two weeks straight. You bit back the urge to scream and knock his head clean off his shoulders every time he popped up at your door, always holding a new toy or sweets for the girl( and sometimes a bouquet of wild flowers for you). However, when you saw the gummy smile and choked laughs Elisabeth would beam Smoke’s way, you couldnt help but accept this arrangement, for now.

“Who’s ready for nappy?” You moved back into the living room, this time discarding the white apron and bandana, curls now neatly gracing your shoulders in uniformity.

Elisabeth squealed, moving her body closer to her father’s, swinging her tiny, chubby ars around his neck. Smoke chuckled as Elisabeth attempted to hide in his neck, prompting you to place your hands sternly on your hips, failing to hide the smile creeping on your face.

Moments like this made you feel like you three were a real family.

“Good girls don’t hide from their mamas.” You sauntered over to Smoke and Elisabeth, who continued to cling to her father. “Don’t they, Elijah?”

Smoke licked his lips, suppressing a genuine laugh, and attempting to hide Elisabeth with his hulking body.

“I don’t see any good girls around here, miss.” Smoke joked.

You rolled your eyes, deciding to take matters into your own hands. “Fine, anyone who doesn’t come take a nap right now won’t get sweets after dinner.”

With haste, Elisabeth ditched Elijah’s side and wobbled over to you, motioning to you to pick her up.

“Works every time,” you mouthed towards Smoke, before grabbing your little girl and traveling up to your bedroom to take a nap.

–

A moment passed while you attempted to put the girl to sleep. In the living room, Smoke and your sister sat in silence, her nose buried in the ungodly romance novel Smoke managed to sneak into the house at her request. There was no possible way he could get your other siblings to accept his presence without her approval first.

A rapid knock at the door broke the comfortable silence of the living room, earning a confused look from your younger sister.

“I’ll get it,” your sister shot a look towards Smoke before quickly hiding the novel in a random drawer of a side table. “Comin'!” she yelled.

Behind the door stood a tall, lanky man donning a smooth, tanned suit and matching fedora. He was more on the skinny side, with hollow cheekbones and a clean goatee gracing a mahogany-skinned face and strong jawline. “G’day, Mabel,” the man said, taking off his hat to greet your sister, eyes traveling behind her and meeting the stone-cold ones of Smoke. “Is your sister here?”

Mabel opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it, shooting a nervous glance towards Smoke, who watched the man with the intense eyes of a predator.

“He’s sizin’ him up already…” Your sister taught, looking between the two men.

“She’s just puttin' the baby down.” Mabel gave the man a tight-lipped smile.

“Ah…” The man nodded, looking down at the sister with a soft smile, not noticing the awkward air about this interaction. “May I come in?”

‘Yes! Let me go get’er.” Not wasting another moment on the discomfort of this exchange, Mabel disappeared upstairs and into your presence, stressing that you would have lots of explaining to do later.

Smoke grit his teeth when the man stepped into your home, fixing his tan suit jacket and sending a soft smile his way. ‘G’day, sir.”

Smoke raised his eyebrow at the man’s accent, not having local origins nor having the strong bass of an older man, placing him at a few years younger than Smoke, himself.

“You not from here, is you, boy?” Smoke’s southern drawl became thicker and more gruff addressing the man.

The man opened his mouth to answer before you rushed downstairs, seemingly to his rescue.

“Clyde!” You greeted the man, stepping in front of his body to stop Smoke's view from setting the younger man on fire with his gaze.

Clyde turned his full attention to you, taking your smaller hand in his and planting a soft kiss onto your knuckles. “G’day, doll.” Your face burned bright red as Clyde held eye contact with you as he rose, not letting go of your hand. “Been alright?”

You nodded quickly, breathing out as you heard a heavy ahem from behind you. “Clyde, this is…”

“The father of her child.” Smook stood up from his seat, confidently strolling over before standing closely behind you, solid chest ghosting your back. Smoke held a rough hand out for the man to take, trapping you in between towering bodies, hate and annoyance being exchanged between the two.

Smoke flashed a wild smile towards the new man, gold-covered fangs flashing in the light.

“I heard about you,” Clyde said slowly, daring to take Smoke’s hand and shake it. A bead of sweat formed on the apex of your forehead as you looked around for ways to kill this interaction, before it killed you. Clyde sent a twisted smile towards Smoke before uttering, “Nice of ya to finally show.”

Before Smoke could reel his hand back and into his waistcoat, you placed a small hand on his arm and beamed a large smile towards Clyde, who turned his full attention to you.

“What brings you here this evenin’?” You shifted from one foot to the other, eyes darting from Clyde to your former lover.

“I was in the neighborhood, though I’d check in on the Reverend and his family.”

Smoke took half a step back, face hard and ready to pounce at any moment.

“Oh, how kind of you.” You laughed awkwardly.

“Will I be seeing you this Sunday?” Clyde addressed you, placing his tanned fedora onto his head, finally reading the room.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding before nodding softly. “Of course, Clyde.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” Clyde’s eyes turned softly into crescent moons before he turned around and onto the porch of your family home. “Tell the Rev I said hello,”

You nodded in obedience, sending a small wave his way. He lingered a bit on your front porch before turning around and strutting off your property and onto the dirt road that led into town.

You stood there for a bit, watching Clyde's long legs walk away, before jumping at the sound of a door being slammed drew you out of your thoughts. You whipped around, eyes searching for the man who had just been breathing down your neck.

Face palming, you closed your front door and went to deal with a new, pressing issue; an obviously jealous Smoke.

–

“Elijah?” you question softly, entering the cramped kitchen of your family home.

Smoke stood over the wooden table, leaning on two balled fists, his back heaving rapidly in anger.

You approached him as if he were a downcast stray cat, steps barely making a sound as to not frighten him.

“Smoke, I…”

“I shoulda smoked him on that damn porch” Smoke seethed, jaw tight with vexation.

You rolled your eyes, moving closer to him. “You and I both know that won’t do you no good.”

Smoke shook his head, eyes concentrated on the wood paneling of the kitchen table.

“He’s awfully nice once to get to know ‘im” You stated, placing a small hand on Smoke’s back muscles that tensed under your touch.

“I don’t give a shit,” Smoke chuckled dryly. “I don’t like him. Don’t want him around my child.”

You scoffed, disbelief rising at the audacity of your former lover to tel you who you could and could not be around.

“He’s a part of daddy’s church, a member of this here community,” You protested. “You can’t tell me who I can put around my child.”

“Our child,” Smoke corrected, two chocolate eyes boring into yours.

“And while I’m here. I don’t want to see him around Elisabeth or around my woman.”

“While you here?” you questioned, face scrunching in annoyance. “So you plan on leaving again huh ?”

“This ain’t about me.”

“It is.”

The two of you looked at each other in anguish. Several emotions make the air thick and hard to breathe. You shook your head in disbelief, all of your darkest fear coming true.

Smoke wasn’t here because he wanted his family. He damn sure wasn’t here because he loved you.

Smoke said your name slowly, grabbing both of your arms in his large calloused hands but you dared not react.

“I’m not leaving anytime here soon, baby...” He tried to reassure you, eyes pleading. “Look at me.”

You did not move.

Memories of raising Elisabeth with only the help of your sisters and mother flooded your head causing you to closed your eyes from the torment. If only he knew what his absence put you through.

You refused the move when he bowed his head down to your level, cupping your chin in his hand, big, chocolate eyes scanning your face in earnest.

“Please believe me,” he almost begged.

And you almost believed him.

“You know what,” You started, ripping your face from his grasp. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Smoke shook his head, face tracking yours. “No, I-”

“Just leave.”

You raised your voice for the first time, letting the smallest tremble shake your resolve.

“Please, just make it easy for me.”

Sad, brown eyes watched your figure as you turned away from him and out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with only the shadows of the setting sun to keep him company. Balling a fist by his side, he hauled through the door and out of your family home without a word or protest.

Unknown to him, you watched him leave through your bedroom window and dissapear into the blue sunset. Your hand touched your cheeks, wipping away warm tears that dripped from your cheeks and onto your dress.

This would be the last time you’d cry for Elijah Moore, you promised yourself.

The very last time.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

In celebration of Mother's Day, here's part two! Ain't no way Smoke thought you'd just sit here twiddling your thumbs while he was gone,,, right? Hope you all enjoyed!

Tag list; @ayeeeitsmiracle @childishgambinaax @chessteena @pr3ttyfac3jaelyn

#sinners au #elias moore #elijah moore #sinners fanfiction #stack x reader #stack sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners #smoke #smoke sinners

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rafecameronssl4t · 5 months ago

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dad!rafe request where in mabel has a phase where she's clingy to her mama instead of being usually clingy to rafe

Mama’s Girl || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Miss Mabes is what I call my puppy sometimes so I had to include Rafe saying it 🥲

Warnings: noneeee

Word count: 860

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

The soft light of early morning filtered through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a golden glow over the space. You were barely awake, caught in that blissful haze between sleep and consciousness, when you felt a tiny hand patting your face. “Mama?”

You opened your eyes slowly, finding Mabel’s wide, curious blue eyes staring back at you. Her unruly bedhead made her look even more adorable. “Mama,” she repeated insistently, her voice a little louder this time. Rafe stirred beside you, groaning softly as he rolled over and draped an arm over your waist, pulling you and Mabel closer.

“Miss Mabes, it’s too early for this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. But Mabel wasn’t having it. “Mama!” she declared, wriggling her way into your arms and snuggling against your chest. You chuckled softly, running your fingers through her soft hair. “What’s up, baby?”

“Stay with Mama,” she murmured, her little arms wrapping around you tightly. It had been like this for the past week—Mabel clinging to you like a koala, refusing to let you out of her sight. Normally, she was Rafe’s shadow, following him around the house, insisting on helping him with everything from mowing the lawn to fixing her toys.

But now, she wanted nothing but her mama. Rafe, still half-asleep, cracked one eye open and gave Mabel a mock-offended look. “What happened to Daddy’s girl, huh? You ditching me?” Mabel buried her face in your chest, mumbling something unintelligible. “Oh, I see how it is,” Rafe teased, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re leaving me for Mama. After everything we’ve been through?”

You laughed, gently stroking Mabel’s back. “Don’t take it personally, Rafe. She’s just going through a phase.” “A phase where I’m chopped liver,” he muttered, though the amused glint in his eyes betrayed his faux-pout. Mabel peeked up at him then, her expression softening. “No, Daddy,” she said, reaching out a hand to pat his cheek. “I still love you.”

Rafe melted instantly, his signature grin spreading across his face. “That’s more like it,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But don’t forget, you were my girl first.” The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Mabel insisted on staying glued to your side, whether you were cooking breakfast, folding laundry, or simply sitting on the couch.

She held your hand tightly, looked up at you with those big blue eyes, and said, “Don’t go, Mama,” every time you tried to step away. By the time evening rolled around, you were feeling the weight of her newfound clinginess. Rafe, ever the doting husband and father, noticed your exhaustion and decided to step in.

“Alright, Mabel,” he announced, scooping her up as you cleaned up the remnants of dinner. “Daddy’s turn. Let Mama have a break.” “No!” Mabel protested, wriggling in his arms. “Mama stays!” Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Mama needs to rest, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go read your favourite book. I’ll even do the funny voices.”

Mabel hesitated, her little brow furrowed in thought. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Thank you,” you mouthed to Rafe as he carried her off to the living room. An hour later, you found them snuggled together on the couch, Mabel fast asleep against Rafe’s chest. He looked up as you approached, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“See? She can’t resist Daddy forever,” he whispered, his hand gently stroking her back. You sat down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re both pretty irresistible,” you admitted, your voice tinged with affection. Rafe kissed the top of your head, his voice low and warm. “You know, I don’t mind her being clingy with you. She gets it from me, after all.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with love for the two of them. As you sat there, the quiet hum of the evening surrounding you, you realised that no matter whose phase it was—Mama’s or Daddy’s girl—your little family was your greatest joy. And in that moment, with Mabel nestled against Rafe and his arm wrapped around you, everything felt perfect.

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yan-randomfandom · 10 months ago

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Yandere!Stanford Pines x Doctor!GN!Reader

warnings: obsessive thoughts, implied self harm

If I made one for his brother, then I should also make one for this silly guy. Bro is needy just like his twin

Ford is an intellectual who can invent new machines, find new discoveries, and defend himself from danger.

But you know what he can't do?

Rest. He never seemed to take a break from his obsessions.

Which is why, in the middle of the supermarket, as he was waiting in line to pay for his products, Ford dropped dead. Not literally dead (but it might as well be called that), he suddenly fainted after years of exhaustion caught up to him.

Ford slowly woke up to the gentlest touch he had ever felt in years.

"You're awake," you murmured, settling your palm on his forehead. He's still warm.

He tried to sit up, but you quickly pushed him down again. "Hey, you can't do that! Your body is completely debilitated!"

"Debilitated?" he mumbled, continuing to wince when he heard you tell a nurse to call the Pines family. He briefly glanced around, realizing he's in a hospital.

You turned back to him, your stern eyes fixed. "You're lucky I, a doctor, was back there. I did a check up on you, and good god, your body is filled with wounds, some open, and there's a concerning underwhelming amount of essential chemicals!"

Ford paused before huffing, his eyebrows furrowed. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can handle myself—"

"And the way your wounds are treated is nothing short of clumsy! It's like a middle schooler did it!"

Welp, you made him speechless. Did he seriously get compared to a middle schooler?

And yet, whatever you just said or did that day, Ford couldn't get you off his mind. He blankly stared at his scars when he got home on the same day.

It got worse when his twin brother, Stanley, decided to personally hire you to take care of him after another episode of fainting. Initially, Ford was very annoyed, but as time went on, he learned to appreciate you.

Maybe more than appreciate, really. He found himself wanting more of your care.

Your company was surprisingly pleasing. You and Ford talked more about the human body, which is admittedly a little neglected since he was too focused on science and magic on the outside. He never really had anatomy in mind.

When you perform your treatment on him, Ford can't help but feel... needy. A strange feeling of want.

You took a curious look at his extra finger, rubbing your thumb over it. He melted under your touch. "Interesting."

Again, he's never felt careful and gentle hands on his skin for over 30 years. (Dipper has sweaty hands. Mabel is quite jittery. Stan has the roughest skin anyone can have.)

It's a nice change of pace. The way you handle him.

Heck, he usually doesn't like it when someone 'demeans' him (this is about you comparing him to a middle schooler), but you're different. You can't keep your mouth shut, can't you?

Well, he certainly relates to that.

Besides, you make it up to him with praises during the painful parts of treatment. Such subtle words, yet he folds so easily.

Dipper noticed he's becoming more... sloppy during their missions. His grunkle has more injuries than usual.

Then again, Ford is really the only one forcing himself to work. No matter what the rest of the Pines say.

Dipper's mainly just making sure he won't die. Maybe the fact that he's old is catching up to him?

"I might have to keep this up for the rest of my life if you keep this up," you sighed, shaking your head as you dabbled some ointment on his wound.

Ford chuckled, staring at your concentrated face. "Maybe I wouldn't mind."

#yanyan hcs #yandere #gravity falls x reader #yandere gravity falls x reader #yandere ford pines x reader #yandere stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #ford pines #yandere gravity falls

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ckret2 · 4 months ago

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Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them."

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk.

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly."

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #pacifica northwest #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(god i hate the chapters from the POV of characters who don't know they're interacting with Bill)#(calling him the wrong name the whole chapter is torture. I kept having to correct his name. ... un-correct his name?)

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yamysunmoon · 2 months ago

Text

Llenarte de pasión

(fill you with passion)

Pairing: Mabel (Finestkind) x g!p reader

Summary: Mabel finds you in a compromised situation

Words count: 5488

Warnings: smut +18, creampie, oral (both receiving), throat fucking, face-sitting, p in v, use of fleshlight, teabagging, fingering, handjob, a bit of exhibitionism/voyeurism, reader has a dick, no pronouns used, basically immediate smut.

a/n: this fic was inspired by/co-created with this CHAI bot. it's around 90% utterly written by me.

Please do not request g!p/g!n reader, this is an exception

(title from a lyric of "Anhelo" by Adolescent's Orquesta, in case someone wonders)

MASTERLIST

You were laying on your college bed, back resting against the headboard and legs spread, picturing Mabel in your mind. You two had been hooking up for a while, but finals got in the way and you hadn't seen her in a month now.

You couldn't get her off your mind. Your hand was hid under your pajama pants, stroking yourself urgently, feeling the pressure building in your lower stomach as you recalled your previous encounters. Your shaft was sloppy because of the precum dripping down your tip, and you were about to cum when someone opens your door.

Mabel walks in thinking it's her room, and her eyes widen in shock and embarrassment as she quickly turns away. "Shit, sorry!"

You jolt and take your hand off your pants. "Fuck! Mabel?"

She was about to shut the door when she dares to glance at you. She says your name in awe. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't know this is your new room."

Her hands fidget nervously, sensing she just walked in on something very personal. "Did I... Interrupt something important?"

Her words make you blush, and you swallow hard and shake your head. "No. I was just, uh— I was just thinking about you" you blurt out stammering, and you regret your words as soon as they come out of your mouth.

"Damn" you rub your forehead, letting out a shaky, nervous laugh. "I mean uh, I haven't seen you in a while!" you look at her again, trying to act normal. The bulge under the sheets is pretty obvious, though.

Mabel eyes widen even further as she stands there, hand gripping the handle, her face now a deep shade of red. "You were... Thinking about me?" her voice is breathy and soft.

You stay silent, knowing that you said what you said and you can't take it back. Even if you tried to act casual, she knew what you meant by 'thinking about her'. You simply gulp, antsy.

Her gaze flickers down to the bulge in your pants before snapping back up to your face. She swallows hard, her heart slamming against her chest. Your gaze turns more determinate, given that she hasn't walked away yet. "Shut the door" you murmur.

Mabel hesitates for a moment, her breath chatching in her throat. Finally, she steps forward and shuts the door behind her with a soft click. She locks eyes with you again, her gaze a mix of nervousness and desire. "It's shut" she says in a thin voice, laced with anticipation.

You swallow again, your eyes drift along her body. She's wearing that mustard jacket, some denim short jeans and her characteristic boots.

Slowly, deliberately, you slide your hand under your pants again, wrapping your fingers around your hard, unspent cock.

Mabel watches, mesmerized. She steps closer, pressing her thighs together slightly as she stands by your side. You peek up at her, clenching your jaw and then relaxing it, lips parted slightly as you pant quietly.

"You were touching yourself thinking of me?" she asks softly. Your hand is moving under your pants, the bulge even more prominent now that you're stroking at a steady pace.

You nod softly, spreading your legs a little. "Yeah..." you whisper, scooting down more comfortably on the bed, sprawling out. Your gaze blazes in desire as you look at her, mind racing with dirty thoughts.

Mabel's breathing grows heavier as she watches you, her eyes now fixed on the bulge in your pants. "That's... So fucking hot..." she murmurs, her voice husky and breathy, her hands twisting together in front of her. The way you've sprawled out has her feeling some type of way.

Your breath becomes ragged, you stroke slightly faster at the sight of her and her shaky, tiny voice. "You make me fucking hard..." you murmur through laboured breaths. "Even if time has passed, and we haven't seen eachother in a while... You make me fucking hard, Mabel..."

She inhales sharply, her chest heaving. She's mere inches from the bed now, her eyes wide with lust, utterly focused in the way you're pleasing yourself.

"You wanna see?" you ask softly, breathless.

She nibbles on her lower lip, then whispers, "Show me."

You use your free hand to grab the waistband of the pajamas and pull them down just below your butt. You lift your hips in the process, revealing your firm, stiff and throbbing member, veins prominent under your deft touch.

She squirms slightly as your cock springs free. She lets out a soft gasp, her tongue wetting her lips. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, pressing her thighs together firmly. You stroke yourself slower, squeezing your shaft slightly as your hand slides up.

"Take those shoes off and get in here" you suggest invitingly with a low, hoarse voice.

Mabel kicks off her shoes without a second thought, then climbs onto the bed, kneeling between your spread thighs. She watches hungrily as you touch yourself, her breath inches from your erection.

You sigh deeply, muscles tightening then relaxing, as you roll your hips fucking your hand like you would fuck her. "Much better... Now take that jacket off."

She does as she's told, slipping off her jacket and tossing it aside, revealing a simple black tank top. Her eyes never leave your cock, she leans closer. "You want me to suck it?" she asks, her breath hot on your sensitive tip.

You chuckle darkly, making your dick vibrate as your stomach wiggles. "No, I'd come right away" you whisper, sincere. "I was already damn close when you walked in..." you murmur, wanking vigorously now. You squeeze your tip softly, precum leaking from it as you do.

Her eyes remain fixed on you, she watches with rapt attention, licking her lips, tempted to taste you. You are bucking against your hand, watching her hungrily. "Can I cum on your stomach?" you ask greedily.

She nods eagerly, pulling her tank top up, revealing her flat stomach. She kneels more comfortably between your thighs, sitting up and scooting closer, exposing her smooth skin to you. "Yeah. Yeah, do it" she urges, her voice breathy with excitement and lust.

"Oh fuck" you pant out, reaching to the back of her head and pulling her into a schorching kiss, as you keep jerking off desperately. Mid kiss, you let go— a thick stream of cum hits her abdomen, earning her gasp into your mouth.

She pulls back, breaking the kiss to watch as you continue jerking yourself off, now slower, and she reaches down and spreads the warm, sticky cum around her stomach.

"You're as filthy as I remembered" you whisper hoarse, your body still convulsing with pleasure. "I've missed you, a lot" you add grabbing her chin, tilting her head up, kissing her avidly.

Her lips vibrate against yours as she moans into the kiss, her tongue tangling with yours with enthusiasm. "Missed you too, perv" she murmurs against your mouth, pulling her hips forward.

Still catching your breath, you lift your hips and put your pants back on, covering your semi. "Come here" you grab her by her waist, never stopping the kiss, and pull her closer so that she straddles you.

She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls her hips down, grinding subtly against your crotch. Her actions make you grin– you decided to cover yourself just so that she would do exactly this. "You're so demanding" she says in a breathless giggle. You giggle too, reaching for some tissue to clean her stomach.

"Yeah, and I'm just getting started" you murmur, tossing it aside and flumbing to unbutton her jeans, making her squirm.

"You- you haven't even caught your breath yet" she stammers, her voice thick with unspent desire. Her words make you chuckle darkly.

"Well yeah, but that was me playing with myself" you argue in a playful stubbornness. You pull her jeans and thong down, she lifts her hips to help you, leaving her completely bare from the waist down. "And now I'm gonna play with you" you tease, glancing at her with a smirk.

She spreads her legs slightly, longing your touch. "You talk dirty..." she says in a low, husky voice.

Her shy comment makes you chuckle lightly, but the laugh becomes a groan when she pushes forward, and you feel her cunt against your cock through your pajamas. If it was already semi, now is a proper boner. You can feel the blood flooding making it pulse rhythmically against her. You buck your hips reflexively.

Mabel leans down to whisper in your ear, "someone's eager", grinding against you slightly. She captures your mouth again, whimpering as your tongue grazes her sensually.

"As if I was the only one..." you mutter, your hands roaming over her back and upper thighs. She jolts slightly under your touch, but relaxes immediately.

"Oh, you're not..." she admits, too horny to pretend. "I'm fucking soaking over here..." she adds in a soft whine, a hint of complain in her words.

"I'd be the judge of that" you swarl, then you bite her bottom lip tugging at it smoothly while sliding a hand between her legs, cupping her mound and pressing your hand against it.

Her eyes flutter closed at your touch, she spreads her legs wider around your waist and rocks her hips against your hand, coating your palm with her wetness. "I told you" she breathes, her cheeks flushed pink.

You start to touch her clit in a circling motion, feeling it swelling under your touch. She gasps loudly, her hips bucking against your hand. "How I've missed those fingers..." she whimpers, grinding down onto your digits.

"Have you missed..." you bring your free hand to her lower back and pull her further against your crotch "...this?"

You press your lenght against her, making her whimper again and blush harder. She nods frantically, wrapping her arms around your neck more firmly. "A lot... You can't even imagine..." she whispers sharply. "I've missed your—" she trails off, her cheeks flushing crimson now.

You offer her a wry smile. "Is that so?" massaging her clit and lower lips deliciously, "Well, for someone who's missed it that much, you're neglecting it so far."

She grinds down on you harder, feeling your cock throb against her. "Yeah?" she teases, feidging obliviousness. "Maybe I just like teasing you." Nevertheless, she reaches down and slides her hand into your pants, wrapping her fingers around your hard dick.

"God, I've missed this thing" she mutters to herself, then bites her lip as her hand tightens around your length and begins to slowly stroke you.

You can feel the warmth spreading between her own thighs, your fingers working on her clit and sloppy folds relentlessly. Your other hand roams over her back, ocasionally reaching down to squeeze her ass. Her free hand rests on your left shoulder, grip tightening each time you clasp.

Her hand moves deftly, twisting slightly at the tip before sliding back down. You squirm each time she does that, and your fingers tap her expertly. "Hey..." you peek up at her, your voice breathy and needy. "I'm..."

You can't find the words, so instead you reach to your nighstand, opening your drawer, flumbing something there, while your other hand keeps working on her, going haywire.

Mabel watches you curious, her hand pausing briefly. "What are you looking for?" She squirms slightly under your touch, your uncontrolled strokes sending shivers through her body, instead of exasperating her.

You glance at her, "condoms" you simply say, finally finding one. You sit up more comfortably, and your hand with the wrapper grazes her left upper thigh.

"Why do you need a condom?" she asks making eyes at you. Her lips curl up in a naughty little smirk.

Your hand keeps rubbing her clit at a slowed pace now that you freeze momentarily at her teasing. "Well, uh... To fuck you, maybe?" you say in a breathy, sarcastical tone.

Mabel throws her head back slightly, laughing softly. Then, she looks at you again with hooded eyes and a relaxed, trustful expression in them. "What if I don't want you to use one?" she asks in a tantalazing, soft voice.

You swallow hard, pausing. Your eyes are darting between hers, seeking any irony in them, finding none. "You don't? Are you seroius?" you ask warily. Your eyes drift down her body hungrily. She shakes her head, smiling warmly. "Why?" you ask.

"Because I want to feel you" she says lower, in a husky, yearning voice. "I'm taking the pill, you already know that... And I've fantasized about this for a while now" she adds, checking you out too. Her hands roam over your thighs, and she stares shamelessly at your cock twisting at her words.

"Fantasized about what, exactly?" you ask softly, your fingers now hovering over her clit, teasing. Your mouth feels dry as you stare at her intently, scanning her every expression.

"About your..." she trails off, smiling sheepishly as she looks away. But you give her a moment, and she sighs dreamly, her eyes snapping back at you. "Your cum. Inside me." she admits at last.

You shift beneath her, restless. "Okay, let me suggest something" you breath out, looking down as you break the wrapper. "What if I put it on... And take it off mid sex?" you look up at her, hopeful. This adds a new nevel of naughtiness in your opinion, and will make the both of you even more sensitive to the slight difference.

Her breath hitches and she watches you with eager anticipation. She gulps and nods fervently. You can't wait anymore, and so you withdraw your hand from her core to wrap your arm around her shoulders and pull her into a heated kiss, while your other hand accomodates the latex around you, down to your base.

You two break the kiss and duck your heads, observing as you grab your base, pointing at her entrance. Your other hand rests on her left thigh, and you squeeze the flesh softly. You feel the blood running through your veins as she pulls her hips down, taking you at a maddening pace. You look up at her, admiring her plump lips parted in quiet pants as you feel her warmth enveloping you.

Her eyes flutter closed momentarily before she locks eyes with you, bitting her bottom lip. As you slide inside her, you don't need to hold your member anymore, so instead your hands roam over her; all over her–thighs, sides, chest, stomach, arms–really taking in the sight of her straddling you, here with you, taking you. You start to buck.

Her back arches, pressing herself impossibly close to you. A soft moan escapes her lips as you begin to move, her hands fly to your shoulders and grip them, nails digging slightly into your skin, hips rolling against yours, mirroring your pace.

You look down gasping, ogling at the sight of your mounds pressing deliciously with each thrust. Her erotic dance on your lap adds a second layer of lust, and you can't help but to roll your eyes at the pleasure of it all.

Sometimes you shove in a more shallow way, only to graze her sweet spot with your tip, a couple inches inside her. Sometimes you even pull out and drag your head along her slit and clit, making her shudder and whimper in complain and bliss, only to plunge back in, earning one of her sultry noises.

When you nudge in deliberately, thoroughfully, she throws her head back and her mouth falls open in silent cries of pleasure. Then, a thick moan escapes her lips, her inner walls clenching tightly around you with each thrust. She's getting close, the sensation building rapidly.

You pull out and, now that she's rolling her eyes, you take off the condom and push back in, hooded eyes focused on her, gauging her reacion. Her eyes snap wide briefly, staring at you.

Her eyelids flutter and her lip quivers as her face contorts in pure delight, letting out a high-pitched whine. "Holy fuck..." she gasps, her legs wrapping tighter around your waist, pulling you deeper.

"You feel... It feels..." she trails off, stammering and writhing as you thrust mercilessly, pounding into her. Her eyes wrap around your neck tighter, hips pulling down as pumped as yours.

You're very close too, she can tell by the way you frown, how you look at her with lust-filled eyes, how you pant, how you pulse inside her with each growing, more erratic slam.

She whines weakily, gasping out your name, half-lidded eyes on you. "I want you to cum first" she hisses, breathless. Her eyes are smoldering with a primal, deep need.

You know what she wants.

You lean back against the headboard and place your hands on her hips, gripping tight as you pound harder now, the noise of flesh against flesh filling the room. Doesn't take you long to spill some pre-cum, she watches in awe the way in which your shaft gleams everytime you withdraw. "You're really close, aren't you?" she purrs, out of breath.

You nod frantically. "Yes... Fuck, can I go harder?" you pant out, staring at her with pleading eyes and moans escaping your lips.

She nods enthusiastically and meets your hips riding you harder, hips pulling down with fervor. "Yes... Oh god yes, go harder!" she cries out, her nails digging into your chest. The new angle has you gitting her G-spot with every plunge.

You buck your hips slammering into her, a loud thud filling the room each time your pelvis meet. Finally, with a loud moan and consecutive groans, you pull deep inside her and fill her completely. "Fuck, yeah..." you murmur lowly, voice hoarse and still filled with lewd.

You stay deep inside for some seconds, before resuming with the thrusts to drive her over the edge; your shaft now completely covered in jizz.

She feels you swell inside her as you release, your warm fluid coating her insides. She can feel it sloshing around with each movement, the sensation too much to bear. "Wait... You're still..."

"Hard? Yeah, of course" you gasp out with a sly smile, knowing you can keep stiff if your cock keeps receiving stimulation after releasing. "Now come all over my cock, beautiful. Show me how much you need it" you whisper in a breathy groan, brushing your lips against hers messily.

Her eyes roll back as she looses control, her inner walls spasming violently around your hard length. She screams out her release, the squelching sound of her juices gushing aroung your shaft fill the room as she rides the waves out convulsing with pleasure.

You both look down with sated expressions as both of your releases leak out around your shaft, dripping down onto your inner thighs. You hum huskily and lean forward resting your forehead on her shoulder, still grinding but slower, as you both catch your breath.

She pants heavily, you can feel her warm breath fanning your hair. "You're still..." she comments again, feeling you thick and throbbing still inside her.

You let out a breathy chuckle, pulling back your hips to pull out. "Yeah... You know I can take a lot" you joke in a soft murmur. It hits your stomach softly.

She looks down at your cock. She can see the mess you've made– your cum leaking out of her pussy, dripping down onto the sheets. She smiles softly. "You do realize most people would be spent by now, right?"

You chuckle darkly. "Yeah, I guess that's why you've come back to me and not to 'most people', right?" You rest your hands on her hips and squeeze twice, playfully. You lean in and kiss her softly, her soft giggle slipping directly into your lips. But she breaks the kiss, having other plans.

"I guess I gotta do something about it, right?" she coos, readjusting between your thighs. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around your length, bringing it to her lips.

You gasp loudly, "oh fuck—". You bend up your legs and spread them, giving her more access.

She looks up and smiles mischievously, her lips parting as she slowly takes the head of your cock into her mouth. She swirls her tongue around it, tasting the mix of both of your releases. She moans softly, the vibrations sending shivers through your spine.

You curse some more in a quiet whisper. "Tastes like you, huh?" you tease, wiggling your hips playfully so that you tip drags along her chin.

She nods and hums, and takes more of you into her mouth. She takes you deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she looks up, your length disappearing between her plump lips. This earns her a deep moan from you.

She starts to bob her head, feeling bolder. She can feel you hitting the back of her throat, making her gag slightly, but she swallows around you, relaxing her throat muscles. These do indeed relax, and she finds it gradually more comfortable. She pulls back, panting and catching her breath, softly puffing on you.

You whine in a weak complain, only looking to tease her. She looks up at you, with glassy eyes. She lowers her mouth back down, humming as she bobs her head, the sensation making you jerk your hips slightly.

She pulls back and turns her head, taking the tip into her mouth and sucking gently. Then, she licks the underside of your shaft. She notices how you shiver visibly when she grazes your sack with the tip of her tongue. She peeks up at you wickedly. "You want me to...?"

"It'd be incredible" you pant out, seriously struggling to speak. Your cheeks are flush crimson, forehead sheering with sweat. She laughs softly at your state, and she ducks her head, sticking out her tongue, licking your sack softly, directly now.

"Oh yes" you whine desperately, squeezing your eyes shut. She hums, wraping a hand around your base and starting to slowly jerk you off as she takes one of your balls into your mouth, sucking gently. She releases it with a pop, moving to the other one. "Like this?" she asks in a thin, muffled voice.

You rock your hips slowly. "Yeah..." you stammer, your cock pulsing rhythmically under her touch. "See how full they are? Ready to feed you even further..." you murmur, blushing harder, hoping you didn't step too far.

She moans softly again. She sucks them gently before pulling back slightly. "God, you're so fucking hot when you talk like that." She wanks you faster, her hand slick with saliva and precum.

You gasp loudly, bucking faster, fucking her hand. "Hey..." you look down with hooded eyes, your voice trembling with embarrassment. "Do you spit or swallow? Be honest" you whisper, her hand reaching a spot that makes you jolt a little and whimper.

"Both" she admits in a breathy murmur, touching you a little faster, her fingers wrapped firmly around you. "If it tastes good, I swallow. If it's too much, I spit. Why?" her voive is breathy and she looks up at you with a glint of anticipation in her eyes.

You inhale sharply at the subtle change in pace. "Because I really wanna fuck your face right now" you blurt out in a harsh whisper.

Her eyes widen with surprise and excitement at your dirty talk. Her tongue is darted out, teasing your balls still as her hand holds your cock firmly, sliding up and down. You lift your hips, seeking her hand. "Too much?" you breath out.

She shakes her head vigorously, grinning at you. "No. That's so fucking hot." She releases your balls and grips your shaft tightly with both hands, stroking you. "Bring it" she murmurs in a thick voice, staring at your cock shamelessly.

You let out a shuddering breath and you pull your hips forward. "Open that pretty mouth wide, then..." you purr, bringing a hand to her hair, sliding your fingers through it invitingly.

She does what she's told, and she takes the head of your cock again, sucking gently as she waits for you to take control. You put your hand on the side of her face, cupping her jawline and below her ear, gripping hair firmly, as you start bucking, fucking her mouth.

You roll your eyes and throw your head back, panting and groaning, finding the perfect pace in which both of you are comfortable. She slides you deeper, her hands dripping your thighs, ducking her head in the perfect angle for you to thrust dexterously.

You roll your hips faster, she moans against your cock, clearly letting you know she's more than okay, drool starting to drip down her chin. She hears your moans, quiet and breathy, gradually growing louder and more unbridled.

She knows you're close, and wants to push you over the edge. She relaxes her throat even more, taking you as deep as possible, her nose touching your pelvis, balls pressed against her chin. "Mmmmph... Mmmmph..."

"Oh my god" you gasp out, feeling an electric feeling all over your body, making your toes curl. "I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming" you warn in a hot, urgent whisper.

She feels your hot seed and keeps it in her mouth as she pulls back, releasing your still throbbing member from her mouth.

She spits the warm, sticky cum onto your lenght, then she immediately wraps her lips around your head again and sucks and licks fevently without hesitation, cleaning you up, her throat bobbing as she swallows, slurping exaggeratedly.

You lean back, feeling dizzy for a moment as she sucks you dry. "Jesus fuck..." you whisper, feeling her finally releasing your dick with a loud pop, climbing up, straddlng you carefully.

"Hm, someone is sensitive..." she whispers teasingly in your ear, planting soft kisses over there. You hiss and shudder.

"Shut up... I just need a second..." you mumble, feeling how you go soft. She looks down wincing playfully, then she pouts.

"No..." she whines, giving you the sweetest puppy eyes. You chuckle lowly.

"You're insatiable" you grin. "Anyways, just give me fifteen minutes..." you murmur, nuzzling against her and dragging your bottom lip along her jawline.

She flutters her eyes shut and parts her lips, moaning quietly in contentment. "And what are we gonna do for fifteen minutes?" she coos, smirking teasingly.

She shifts slightly on your lap, and you can feel her wetness against yout left thigh, her hips rolling subtly, rubbing herself against you. Her hands slide up your chest as she tilts her head and kisses you deeply, showing you just how much she enjoyed pleasing you.

After the kiss, you mirror her expression. "Hmm.." You trace her cheek with the tip of your nose, hips scooting down so you slowly slide down her body. "Quite some things..." you purr teasingly.

She takes the hint and spreads her legs wider, sinking her knees onto the matresss beside your sides, propping herself so that you can readjust and lie on your back beneath her.

She looks down at you, her fingers running through your hair. "Oh yeah? Would you mind to show me what kind of things?" she shoots back in that sultry, low tone.

You look up at her, a smug smile on your lips. She can play all she wants, but you know how worked up she is from giving you head for twenty minutes. "Sure..." you murmur, wrapping your arms around her thighs, pulling her down.

You dart out your tongue and swirl it over her puffy lips, tasting her. There are still remains of your previous release, which makes you quiver. Soon enough, your licks shape into firm laps, flattening your tongue against her.

Her fingers tug at your hair, pulling you even closer as she grinds against your mouth, relaxing her legs and pulling down, fully sitting on your face. "Oh my fucking god... Your tongue..." she pants heavily, her body trembling with need.

You lap more securely, applying more pressure, tongue swirling around her clit each time you lick upwards. Your hands slide lower, groping her ass.

She lets out a high-pitched moan at the movements of your tongue over her clit, her body writhing on you, thighs trembling against your cheeks. Her ass cheeks flex in your hands as she grinds down harder, chasing the increasing pleasure.

Your tongue pampers her delicate flesh, and after a while you can feel yourself getting harder again. You bring down one hand and play with your sensitive shaft, gently squeezing it as you feel it growing between your fingers.

You slip downwards, licking her entrance. You slurp greedily, making obsecene noises. Her moans turn into loud, continuous whines.

She can feel her orgasm building, grinding against you, throwing her head back in pure ecstasy. She looks at your cock over her shoulder, noticing you're touching yourself.

She looks to the front again, hands gripping the headboard as she rides your face with wanton abandon, profoundly, at a steady pace.

Her eyes flicker momentarily to your opened drawer, noticing you have a fleshlight there. She grabs it and turns her body slightly, still shoving against your mouth, but she softly swats your hand on your cock and replace it with the toy, then reaches to turn it on.

You let out a muffled moan against her cunt, bucking against the toy that's absorbing your now hard cock. You fuck it brazenly, feeling the smooth silicone enveloping your warm shaft, making it vibrate deliciously.

You scoop her thighs firmly, pulling her impossibly close as you lap furiously at her entrance. She thrusts harder in response, hands firmly grasping onto the headboard again, holding on for dear life as she rolls her hips avidly.

Her breath is very laboured, pants let out in sync to her hard shoves, headboard hitting the wall as she uses it for balance.

You lick upwards and wrap your lips around her clit, sucking, mirroring her rhythm as you tongue taps at the budle of nerves insistently. You moan against her and squeeze her thighs encouragingly, giving her permission to fuck your face senseless.

Then, you slide a digit inside her just some inches, enough to hook your finger onto her g-spot and rub it, anticipating what's gonna happen by stimulating her like that. You slide your other hand down, holding the fleshlight in place as you ram into it stoutly.

She takes the hint and moves faster, screaming loudly as she grinds with wild abandon. Finally, she comes hard, her entire body convulsing as she squirts all over your face; her juices dripping down your cheeks and into your open mouth.

You lean back, just enough for her juices to drip down your face, sticking out your tongue, swirling it playfully licking your lips and cheeks as far as you can. "Fuck yeah" you whisper harshly, resuming with your own strokes against the toy, thin precum making you slide better. "You're fucking amazing" you hiss, leaning in to lick her clean.

She pants heavily, body trembling as she relaxes onto your face, hissing softly at your thorough exploration, realizing you're still not done with her, you're still eager. "Oh... My god... That was fucking incredible..." she whispers, reaching down to help you with the toy.

She holds it firmly with you, moving it so that the vibrations and your thrusts feel even more powerful, You snap your head back onto the pillows, her thighs around your face bringing you warmth as you squeze your eyes shut and moan uncontrollably.

Your cock is too sensitive, the sensations are too intense. With a shuddering, final cry, you come undone, your hips stattering as you plunge deep into the toy, milking it poorly this time, your cock finally spent, your stamina finally sated.

Immediately after the orgasm, the vibrating of the toy feels like too much, almost painful, so you pull back and turn it off with a trembling finger.

"So good..." she mutters, she was watching as you let go. She moves, getting off your face to lie by your side, one leg carefully drapped over your waist, hands caressing your chin –wiping off her scent– and sides of your neck gently.

Your breath is ragged, chest raising and falling still, air living your throat in hot puffs.

"That was..." you trail off, shaking your head slowly. You turn your head towards her, a lazy smile on your lips.

"We can't be apart for this long again" she says in a thick, trembling voice; her body still digesting the aftermath.

You tilt your head playfully, offering her a wry smile. "Can't be apart, huh?"

Her cheeks flush a soft pink, a reaction she can't entirely blame on her recent orgasm. She bites her lip, hiding a smile.

"I agree" you add in a soft murmur, leaning in to kiss her. She giggles into your mouth, tasting herself as she kisses you readily.

"Hey" you lean back abruptly, she stares at you in playful outrage. "You wanna be my girlfriend?" you ask at last, still breathless, but your words come out firm and promising.

Her eyes gleam with amusement, and she nods. "Yes" she hisses your name, her lips vibrating against yours as she pronounces the word. "I'll be your girlfriend."

Taglist: @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd . Not a continuation of "we shouldn't" but a rougher version of it

I had to cut a few things out lol still long af for being almost all smut.

#mabel finestkind #mabel finestkind x reader #g!p reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader

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darlingdaisyfarm · 4 months ago

Text

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚

a/n: happy valentine’s day, my beloveds!!! i love all of you so, so much. like, so much. if i could, i’d send you all glitter-covered valentine’s cards and the biggest, warmest hugs. i hope today is kind to you, whether you’re spending it with someone, treating yourself or just chilling. you deserve all the love in the world. Bill’s and Fiddleford’s parts are coming bit later, but in the meantime, i hope you enjoy Stan and Ford. take care of yourselves, and remember: you are so, so loved 💖

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚

the first thing Stan does on valentine’s day is complain. “ugh,” he groans as he gets out of bed, rubbing his back. “it’s valentines and i wake up feeling like i got hit by a bus.”

you raise an eyebrow when you see him coming downstairs to the kitchen. “you say that every morning, Stan”

“yeah, but today it’s worse. i swear.”

you tilt your head, thinking. “i could give you a massage?”

just one simple innocent offer and Stanley Pines, full-grown conman, ex-criminal, self-proclaimed tough guy, goes absolutely red. “uh—what? no, i don’t need—” he coughs, turning away. “not like—i mean—“

you smirk. ”so that’s a yes?”

“that's a no!” he grumbles, turning away and heading out of the room, all red and embarrassed.

later, after hours of pacing, making frustrated noises and trying to convince himself that this is a stupid holiday and why does he even care, while also trying to figure out how to ask you on a date without looking like a complete idiot. . .

Mabel is busy hanging out with Candy and Grenda, so he turns to Dipper, which is a mistake.

Dipper, who was in the middle of reading Stanford's journal, looks up at him. “so, essentially, grunkle Stan, what you need is a multi-step plan.”

Stan is horrified. “a what?”

“a plan,” Dipper continues, flipping to a fresh page. “a strategic approach. first, we gather data. then, we make a list of optimal date locations. i’m thinking greasy’s diner, because statistically—“

Stanley just groans, dragging a hand down his face and that's when he realises something. he’s overthinking this. he’s sitting here, talking to his nerd nephew, listening to plans and lists, when he’s never needed a damn plan before in his life. what the hell is he doing??

“okay, nope, nevermind. kid, i’m just gonna take ‘em to a diner.”

“wait, what?” Dipper frowns. ”but you need a PLAN!”

”the plan is the diner.”

“wait, grunkle Stan! i was getting to the part about psychological profiling!“

so that’s how Stanley Pines ends up standing in front of you, very awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “uh. you, uh. wanna go to greasy’s with me. for a date. or whatever.” the moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to die.

and now he wants to die much more because you just smiled at his words and nodded. “yeah. . . yeah, i’d love to!”

the date is going great, which means Stan wants to run. you are too beautiful. it’s pissing him off. especially when light catches your face, when you laugh, when you keep tilting your head while listening to him ramble about whatever, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not making sense.

his heart is pounding. “soo, uh, you, uh. you ever been arrested?”

in response he gets a full-on, unattractive, choke-on-your-own-spit kind of snort from you, what makes him look so proud of himself.

“okay, ice broken,” he thinks. “we’re doin’ great. yeah.”

Stanley hates himself for it but you are too beautiful and funny. and it is ruining his life. he’s sweating. literally sweating. he tries to make small talk and immediately forgets how to speak like a human being.

he’s gonna run.

he's gonna find some dumb excuse, say he left the stove on, pretend to trip and fall out the window. but what he doesn't know is that he's not the only one who's nervous, you’re both so awkward it’s ridiculous. Stan keeps tugging at his collar. you keep fidgeting with your hands, stuttering and avoiding eye contact

suddenly, even to yourself, you stand up. “non specific excuse!!” after announcing that, you flip the entire damn table over and run out of the diner.

Stan watches this happen in slow motion and, without thinking, he jumps up, pointing at you.

“now that’s my kind of person!" he yells to people at the diner as he runs after you.

you’re both running through the empty gravity falls streets, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. when he finally catches up, you both collapse against a wall, panting.

“i can’t believe you just did that, wow!” Stan wheezes.

“well, i can’t believe you chased me,” you shoot back.

you’re both just grinning at each other like idiots. Stan looks at you and damn, he’s so in love it’s stupid.

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅

there’s glitter in your hair and Ford notices this first, because there’s glitter everywhere, on the floor, on the couch, on him.

“Mabel,” he says slowly, lifting a sleeve coated in shimmering specks. “what exactly have you done?”

Mabel, who is sitting across from you, shrugs, completely unbothered. “we're making valentine’s day masterpieces, obviously.”

you grin, lifting a small, glittery pink heart with messy writing scrawled across it. “see? Mabel’s making some for her friends. im just helping her!”

oh, damn, that adorable smile of yours. . . Ford clears his throat, though his ears turning noticeably pink. “oh. well. that’s very sweet of you.”

before you can say anything, he disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Mabel alone together.

some time pass and what started with nail polish, somehow escalated to homemade friendship bracelets with Mabel telling you about all boys she met in Gravity Falls, avoiding Gideon's name, you smile at her because that girl looks so cute cutting out ridiculous little shapes with her tongue sticking out.

“you think waddles would like a card?” Mabel asks, tapping her chin. “or do you think pigs don’t understand the concept of romance?”

“i think waddles would eat the card,” you reply, flicking a bit of glitter at her.

“you are so right!”

suddenly, you hear very familiar voice from the kitchen. “no— waddles!! no! bad pig! shoo! go away!”

Mabel screeches so loud your eardrums nearly rupture. “Ford and Waddles interaction?! i need to see this!”

you dont even have time to react as she launches herself across the room, screaming your name over and over in excitement.

“off the counter! off the counter now!”

you're a curious person, so when you finally peek in you see Ford half-bent over the kitchen table, trying desperately to shield something from Waddles, who is aggressively attempting to munch on a piece of paper.

“uncle Ford!” Mabel yells, “why are you yelling at my baby??”

Ford jerks up. “i—i. . .”

Mabel’s eyes catch sight of the now slobber-covered valentine’s day card and she gasps again, so loud you cover your ears.

“OH. MY. GOSH.” she whips back toward you, pointing dramatically. “go. go away. go to the living room and act like nothing happened!”

you want to stay here longer, trying to see what is going on there, but Mabel keeps pushing you. “do not question me, just go!”

Ford looks mortified. you, very confused, decide to listen to Mabel and back out. when you sit down on the glitter-covered floor, you still hear their voices, because Mabel just doesn't know what does “talking quiet” means.

“oh my gosh, uncle Ford!” from the kitchen comes the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the tile, a very panicked grunt, and what is possibly the sound of an envelope being hastily shoved under something. “i knew it! you were making a valentine’s day card!! oh my GOSH, i knew it!! i knew you had a crush on—“

“MABEL!!”

“i can’t believe this, holy llama socks, you’re actually doing something romantic!”

“shh!! keep your voice down!! what if—“

“what color was the glitter? tell me right now. was it pink? was it gold?! it was gold, wasn’t it?!”

there’s a very long pause. then, Ford mutters, “. . .it was gold.”

Mabel squeals. ”uncle Ford, you have to give it to them, please please please!”

“i can’t do that!”

“ughh, why not?!”

Ford sounds so exasperated you can picture him running both hands down his face. “because that is embarrassing! i. . . Mabel, i can't do that.”

”but you wrote them something sweet, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU??”

“Mabel, sweetie, please.”

“you are so lucky i have a strong sense of mystery, uncle Ford, i would never, ever reveal your deepest secrets. no matter how much they might want to know. even if they asked very nicely. even if they bribed me with candy. even if they looked so, so beautiful today!”

and god, Mabel acts so suspicious for hours. she side-eyes you at dinner, she hums conspicuously when Ford walks past, she does wiggly eyebrows. it’s a whole thing! but she doesn’t tell you why, and by the time the day winds down, you nearly forget. . .

until later that night, when the house is quiet, you find a folded pink valentine’s day card tucked neatly beside your pillow.

the front has a little hand-drawn equation that you don’t totally understand, but something about it makes you smile.

the inside reads, in Ford’s impeccable cursive handwriting:

“of all the possible realities, i’m grateful to exist in this one with you ♡ ”

and underneath, a little scrawled postscript “p.s. please ignore the bite mark on the corner. i had to fight for my life against a pig today.”

#this is so stupid im sorry i actually hate this #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan #stan pines #stan pines x you #stanley pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #valentines day

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1spooky2me · 8 months ago

Note

I wrote a thing based on the scrunchie comic, I typed this up on my phone I hope it fits in an ask omg:

“I need him…”

“…?” Bill turned slowly, and Ford realized with horror the words had slipped from his mind out of his mouth.

“Who said that,” the men chorus in unison. Ford blinks, fire and sweat on his face, as Bill sports a shit eating grin.

“Oh, well *hello,* Sixer,” the once(?) demon drawls, and Ford quickly tears his gaze from Bill’s neck. “You *like* this?” Raising a greyish hand to the nape of his own neck, Bill’s grin increases appraisingly as Ford flushed further, blush darkening his ears. Cute!

“I-“

“-Don’t bother lying, you’re terrible at it.” Cutting off Ford’s defiant tone, Bill slinks closer to the slightly slumping man, who stiffens at his approach.

Now in the same small block of space, Bill stares unafraid up into Ford’s narrowed eyes. They shine like constellations, teeming with mysteries Bill wished he still had the power to pluck from his mind. …However, knew he had a power over the man, yet. Time for testing; reaching for one of those large six fingered hands, Bill grasps and pulls it, allowing Ford access to the bared back of his neck. Much to Bill’s delight, Ford’s breath hitches.

“…Really?” Ford won’t meet Bill’s eyes at the question, but he’s not moving his hand away, either. “Sixer~ look at me.” This has the opposite to desired effect, as Ford’s gaze stays stubbornly fixed on the wall. “Ford.” Finally, the man’s surprised eyes widen and he leans down just close enough-

-For Bill to grab his face and kiss him. Ford freezes for but a moment before -yes!- kissing Bill back. Kissing as a human was *different,* and Ford was a better kisser than he knew. Not that Bill would tell him. He’d just enjoy their little secret, as alway- Bill’s blurring thoughts are interrupted by a quiet gasp. He opens his eye to see a blur of Mabel- as Ford breaks their kiss, grabs Bill by the collar, and yanks him into the next room, slamming the door.

“…Oops?” Bill offers, wincing at the pressure of his shirt near his Adam’s apple -human bodies were inconvenient, after all - and Ford drops him, expression pained.

“You can’t- don’t kiss me in front of- *other people,* he whisper-screeches, face red as his sweater, and Bill’s smile drops entirely.

“Right.”

“…Bill?”

It makes sense. It makes Ford would be ashamed of him- of them. Bill isn’t expecting the hand on his shoulder, turning him briskly back around as he tries to walk away. He wasn’t expecting the look on Sixer’s face. He wasn’t expecting another quick, but passionate, kiss.

“It’s not that,” Ford sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as Bill’s shoulder’s tense.

“*You* didn’t gain mind reading powers, did you?!” The shrill question is met with a low chuckle.

“Of course not. You’re more expressive, now.” Bill vehemently utters a word that would not have gone past Disney’s sensors, and Ford’s lips tilt up at the corners, before he frowns seriously.

“Bill…it hasn’t been shame. Not for…awhile, now.” Bill’s eye widens comically, and Ford smiles, running his fingers over the exposed nape of Bill’s neck, enjoying the shorter man’s shiver. Then he sighs. “Just…don’t kiss me in front of Mabel. Or Dipper.” Bill’s smile returns, as he extends a hand.

“…It’s a deal.”

GIGGLING, TWIRLING MY HAIR, KICKING MY FEET. AHHHHHHHH💖💖💖

#gravity falls bill #bill ci the triangle guy #billford #fanfic #oughhhhhhh #i’m completely normal about this #so normal #absolutely normal #gravity falls stanford #bill cipher gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls

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sideblogtointeract · 16 days ago

Text

Theseus' Guide to Ruining a Perfectly Good Ship in a Bottle

A list made on the loosest association of words, with an even looser tie to this fanfiction

Stan

Give him an Amati model kit and he is happy as a clam. He's moded several already and resold them as "ghost ships" in bottles and "wreckage of a ghost ship" in a bottle for the ones Soos or Mabel drop.

Mabel

Lego model of ship in a bottle. After its built she'll change out vingettes/scenery. Soos, Wendy, and Stan are deeply invested in the unfolding soap opera Mabel crafts with it.

Dipper

Is really excited to make his first ship in a bottle, and he'll make one! Just as soon as he finishes reading a book on how to do it, and reads the other three he asked for his birthday. Maybe he'll go to the library to checkout the books the books he got used in the citation. He's going to build the ship, believe you me, he really isn't going to move onto something else in t minus 4 months. This ship? Getting built.

Ford

"Oh you meant as in an actual ship? Hah!" Ford has been maintaining an excellent example of Darwin's "Beagle in a Bottle" experiment for years now NOT a replica of the HMS Beagle in a bottle you silly.

Bill

It's the 1940s, your run is just beginning but already you feel like your life is over because prom is in two weeks and you just know Arch is going to ask Beronica not you to go with him. Can you blame him? You're just good ol’ dependable Vetty, girl next door Arch's on again off again no-on again “let's not put labels on this” girlfriend. Beronica is everything you're not she wears short skirts which you also wear but it's different. She's cheer captain and you're… also cheer captain — sometimes your co-captain it depends on the issue. Anyways she's rich, and beautiful, and perfect, and wonderful, and if it wasn't for the fact she was a brunette you'd have nothing on her.

“Oh Pops! What am I going to do?” You whine to the man working the bar at the soda shop.

“Well it's as I always tell you crazy kids, answers aren't found at the bottom of an Egg Cream.”

“But they sure are delicious!” Your longtime friend Bottlehead — wearer of cool hats and, more recently, cooler shades — stops eating table napkins long enough to quip.

“And how!” All three of you laugh before Bottlehead goes back to slurping down plastic straws like they're spaghetti.

“If you want Arch to take you to the dance, just ask him yourself.” Pops suggests, like an out of touch square.

“This is the prom, Pops, not Sadie Hawkins!” You complain, pushing your half finished Egg Cream away.

“Besides, I tried. I think he’s avoiding me.” You add, sinking into your seat.

“Say! Why don't you go ask that cursed fortune telling machine at the abandoned fairgrounds?” Bottlehead suggests, reaching for your abandoned drink.

“Golly that's a great idea! Bottlehead, if your mouth wasn't full of glass I could kiss you!!!” Bottlehead suffers a hug from you instead as he continues to consume your discarded order. cup and all.

You sock hop out of the establishment and cross the street to the abandoned fairgrounds.

Hopping over the rusted turnstile and side stepping some police tape you make your way to the culturally insensitive but period accurate fortune telling machine. Feeding it one of your hard earned and always valuable pennies the automata jolts to life.

The words are garbled over the loud clacking of the doll's mouth, out of sync with the tinny audio. Which is fine, the opening number is an offensive milieu of ethnic stereotyping. The real magic is when you press the button with your wish in mind and the machine prints out the most accurate supernatural reading it can.

You know it's accurate because, unlike biological fortune tellers, machines don't care about sparing your feelings from the celestial forces that rule over you. Just the facts.

“Please tell me how to get Arch to ask me to the dance.” You whisper your wish before slapping your hand onto the golden glowing button and watch as your destiny is printed onto gold backed ticketape.

For a brief second you hear a faint whimsical giggle as you rip off your printed fortune. Looking around you see no one in the abandoned fairgrounds. It’s just you, the chalk outline you're standing on, the automaton with its outstretched hand to shake, and the police tape surrounding you.

“That’s odd,” you muse. “When did you move?” You ask but the better question is how did it move? Because aside from the rudimentary motions reserved for nutcrackers the machine’s body was a plaster mold that had no joints to move.

Yet here it is, hand out in greeting. No. Not greeting, a deal and if you keep over-analysing I am going to take it back.

“What?” You ask as the internal narrative becomes as structurally unsound as the White House during this time period — look it up.

You turn to go to the Daleriver Library — now certified communist book free — to do just that, then are reminded by the text that you still need to read your fortune for our readers!

“If you want to be with your one true… loves?” You pause to puzzle at this but not for any longer than it takes to read this sentence. “... forever. Then shake my hand.” You Continue.

“Your friend, Bill?” You don’t know who that is but you bet he is really keen and neato to have a name like that. You feel really embarrassed that you don’t remember having a friend like that. It would be really rude to leave a pal hanging, especially when they went through all this trouble for you.

So you shake the cold hand of the automaton before you. You don’t register that the glass pane wasn’t there, that the hard resin arm moves like flesh— no, all your focus is on the bright gold cat eyes looking back at you and the return of a giggle that grows into an outright cackle.

Wind whips around you, police tape flying like ribbons caught in a tornado, and you stand still in the eye of it.

“Hiya Vetty,” The automaton greets, jaw held open like a snake— or like a smile, let’s not be rude. “long time fan first time crossover. You and I have got a lot in common.” The machine continues but the tin from its voice box layers with the voice in the wind that has stopped laughing and now talks in sync with it.

You don’t try to speak, you want to, but I don’t need to write around your wants anymore.

“Both of our fandoms question our interest in men and we share the same banana yellow pantone. Me for my body, you for your hair and… eyes?” The voice coming from all around, you guess correctly that this is Bill — smarty that you are, that earns you a free can of brown meat! — finishes. You don’t know what he looks like exactly but from the description he sounds like a real dream boat.

“My eyes aren't —” You hold that thought and pop a squat in front of the fortune telling machine. You jimmy open the front and reach inside it.

“Bet you weren’t expecting so much organ meat?” You ask yourself but you're not the one talking.

You pull your red stained arm out of the warm pulsing mass before you to free a pristine glass bottle. In its reflection you see your mouth split into a painfully wide grin scrunching your now golden eyes, a mirror image to the automaton leering over you; below that you see a tiny version of Arch banging his fist against his transparent prison.

“Ever Dream of Jeannie kid?” Asks your new best friend, still borrowing your body and voice.

“Of course you don't! That's not for another 20 years!” Your hands uncork the top of the bottle.

The soft “tink” of glass tapping concrete reverberates in the abandoned fairground. A moment passes in silence.

Then you see shoes.

“Two down,” Bottlehead says, bending down to grab you. If he hears you and Arch’s pleas he doesn’t care as he gently returns your bottle prison back into its warm nest of organs. Gold eyes look over slick sunglasses and give you a wink. “... one to go.”

#gf theseus' guide #gravity falls #bill cipher #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanley pines #fanfiction #cw: gore #vetty beronica bottlehead and arch are legally distinct oc and in no way shape or form resemble the characters from archie comics #why would u imply that?#i have the copyright right here #it says they are “mine to profit off of”

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gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

Note

Can you write about the reader being either Ford or stans controversially young spouse? Like they're close to their 20s instead of their 60s

Ooh to be their controversially younger spouse what a dream I wish I could live lmao 🤣

Before you became Ford’s spouse, the man would always use the age gap between you two as the sole reason as to why you shouldn’t be together romantically, he’s sweating bullets and loosing sleep over it because it’s just so glaringly obvious to him that you shouldn’t.

However this was all just a cover up for the fact that he did indeed feel things for you in a romantic sense. You were great with Dipper and Mabel, encouraging their passions and even getting involved in them should they need someone to be dazzle in gems or go out into the woods to look for the supernatural.

You even got along with Stan, which was only an added bonus for Ford but still he kept reminding himself that he was far, far too old for you that he might as well have been old enough to be your father/ grandfather! Wasn’t that enough to disturb you?

He knew some people held a liking towards older people but believed it was more for their wisdom and life experience, not the romantic kind.

Apparently it wasn’t because Ford accidentally over heard a conversation between you and Wendy regarding his age;

Wendy: isn’t he too old for you?

You: negative, I love older men. Especially older men who are smart, a little socially awkward and plays dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.

Wendy: …respect dude.

Needles to say after hearing that Ford’s face became as red as cherries and his worries regarding how you felt towards the age difference seemed to have dwindled slightly, but still he worried that others would view you as weird for being with a man more then twice your own age.

Sure there wasn’t many…worthy candidates to date in Gravity falls but surely he couldn’t be the only one worth your gaze? Mabel must’ve at least tried to set you up on more then one occasion, but according to her you just never seemed to jell with the people she set you up with, saying that you had a distant look in your eyes as though you could be anyone else then at the date.

When Mabel confronted you about it one day, you told her that you liked men a little older then you, Mabel then asked why but you only ruffled her hair and told her that she might see the vision one day. Ford was now being presented with more proof that you would be more then content with dating him, it was undeniable and he even indirectly heard it from your own mouth, so what else could he possibly be held back by?

Fear and rejection from society if they ever were to see you both in a romantic setting?

Then again you both lived in gravity Falls and there were things far weirder than an 20 year old dating a 60 -pushing 70- year old man. And thus began Ford’s new hypothesis; how to win over a 20 year old’s heart.

After you stated dating, you beating the other ladies and men off with a stick because that sexy silver fox was yours! FINALLY! It was your turn to have a sexy older man in your bed!

Other then that you loved being with Ford as no two days were the same, you could be going out with him to look for supernatural as a date, thankfully surviving when Ford got a little distracted by spouting facts on what was trying to kill you both and ending up sat on the porch of the mystery shack and laughing together afterwards.

Or be in his lab and watching him work while admiring how handsome he looked with greying hair and an aging face, but Ford would see it otherwise and become a little insecure and reserved.

‘Don’t you think it weird?’ He’d ask you one day.

‘About us?’ You didn’t have to hear him respond when you knew that Ford was still a little uncertain with your age difference still after seemingly accepting it. You sigh and walked over to him and sat on his lap, making him blush and his eyes widen as you hold his face between your hands.

‘Ford, sweetie I don’t care about what they think, I’m just glad that I got to be with you after pinning for so long. I understand this is new for you but all I ask is that you trust me,’ you kissed his nose softly, ‘and trust in our relationship, there’s nothing weird about it unless you make it weird.’ You add with a smile as Ford rested his head against you, his hands now resting comfortably on your waist.

‘You’re right my sweet,’ Ford said, ‘I’m just worried that you might find someone close to your age more appealing then some old man.’ You couldn’t help but chuckle as you leant further into him.

‘Who could I ever find more appealing than you mr sixer?’ You asked rhetorically, ‘you’re more than perfect the way you are and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine, so everyone else can stay jealous for all I care knowing I have the most perfect man ever.’ You add as you kissed his lips this time and smiling when Ford reciprocated it with his sweeter, soft kiss.

You probably have moments where you recall something Ford wouldn’t understand and Ford would reference something that was older than you, it’s funny regardless of how you looked at it.

Ford’s body still has aches and pains despite keeping himself healthier than Stanley and so you would help him during these times and coddle him lovingly, while reminding him that he needed to take it easy on himself once in a while.

Ford apologises for it but you only shut him up and remind him that he has nothing to apologise for.

You didn’t treat each other differently because of your ages, if anything you made Ford feel young again and Ford gifted you advice and made you feel just that little bit smarter, which boosted your confidence in yourself. It was a beautiful relationship that was pure and sweet it could give anyone cavities.

Stanley didn’t give a shit you were dating his brother, he knew you liked men above a certain age when you kept eye fucking Ford whenever he walked past you, or how Ford would look at you longingly when you weren’t looking . He saw this shit coming from a mile away as it wasn’t exactly subtle on either end and may have made a bet with Wendy about how soon you’d come to him to announce you were dating his brother.

Stanley won the bet much to Wendy’s dismay.

You saw Ford shirtless once and went apeshit much to his surprise because weren’t people your age into six packs and hairless upper bodies?

Nope, not you, you loved his tummy and body hair that you clung to his side and spent the afternoon kissing his scars and embarrassing tattoos he kept covered in turtlenecks while whispering reassurance that reminded him that you were attraction to him was more then surface level. Ford would return the favour when you had episodes of insecurity would remains you of such by comparing your every insecurity to something beautiful.

Acne? Constellations/ clusters of stars

Stretch marks? Lighting strikes

You’ve got a tummy and thick thighs? Didn’t you know that they(thick thighs) saved lives?!

Needless to say that you came out with a newfound love for yourself afterwards.

You constantly held his hand and kissed each finger to show that you didn’t care about anything but him and his wellbeing, it warmed Ford’s heart as he found to love himself a little more with your help, and in doing so he was able to show you love by kissing your cheek in greeting or making you breakfast in bed or draping his coat over your shoulders when he saw that you were cold.

It was sweet and innocent but still it was enough to have you smiling and feel loved, which is all Ford ever wanted you to feel while with him.

Ford’s love was chivalrous, stubborn and awkward, but you wouldn’t want it any other way as you wanted Ford just the way he was and thrived when you saw his eyes gleam with excitement as he makes a discovery, leading him to grasp your face and kiss you on the lips while holding you close to his chest as he explained what he had done; all the while you stared at him with awe and love because he was really attractive when he was talking about things he was passionate about.

Ford would then catch himself and apologise for rambling but you would kiss him on the cheek and ask him to continue, to which Ford happily obliged, now aware that you were staring at him as though he had hung the stars in the sky.

Ford would find himself looking at you in a similar fashion when you were going on about what you and Mabel did in town, and Ford couldn’t help but hone in on your smile, shining eyes and hand gestures that told him that you enjoyed the hijinks that had happened while wearing the sweater that Mabel made you the entire time.

You’d catch him staring intently at you and suddenly you’re flustered and playing with the sleeves of your bright and vibrant sweater. ‘It’s kinda corny isn’t it?’ You’d ask as Ford chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand reassuringly in his.

‘No, not at all my sweet, I in fact find your adventures with my niece and nephew endearing and sweet. So please continue to tell me how you drop kicked a gnome into Mabel’s leaf blower.’ Ford said and within seconds you were back to being bright and talkative about your adventures of fighting off gnomes, barf fairies and pulling Mabel away from fae traps.

You both were each others listeners and would remember anything and everything said because you actually liked to hear where the other got up to when apart from one another.

Bonus; you definitely have a spot in his journal where he goes in depth of your relationship before ending it with: ‘they’re someone I don’t think I could envision a future without, for they make me young again while loving me regardless of our differences in age and much more. Thank you for loving me y/n, even when I don’t think it’s deserved.’

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader

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mooooonnnzz · 10 months ago

Note

i would LOVEEE an older sibling reader x mable and dipper (platonic obv). maybe like 3 or 4 years older than them ? just reader trying to wrangle them and make sure they don’t get killed 😭 gender neutral reader if possible pls !! love your writing !! <3

By Your Side

Dipper Pines x Sibling!Reader/Mable Pines x Sibling!Reader

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ 3,2k words

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ my FIRST dipper and mable sibling fic/request GAHH i had sm fun writing this i love these two sm

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ reader is gender neutral + is constantly stressed 24/7

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ requests are open!

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ if you wanna be added to my taglist, comment or dm me!

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ ‧₊˚ i originally wasn't gonna post 2nite since i was working on another fic n i knew i wasnt gonna finish in time so i brewed this up quickly! eenjoooy :p

♫ Being Mable’s and Dipper’s older sibling comes with its perks, alongside some faults. Since you’re the oldest, you’re constantly looking out for danger they might accidentally fall in. Especially in Gravity Falls. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t partially relieved that you were leaving just because you didn’t need to fret over the thought of losing your siblings. But during your stay in Gravity Falls was a game of chase. You’re trailing after them like a hawk and they keep running away, adventure and mystery in their minds while you’re freaking out of the idea of a possible broken bone. Speeding through the woods in a golf cart, you’re following Mabel’s cries that echo throughout the woods. “This is insane.” You tell yourself, seeing a dip in the road you were following. “Dipper, hold onto something!” You warn, gripping onto the wheel as you dive down into the cave. The wheels bump and smash into rocks, rattling the golf cart as you drive through gravel and comically large stones. You see Mable trying to shake off the gnomes that were climbing up her body in an effort to push her down to the ground and tie her down. “My boyfriend turned out to be a bunch of gnomes!” She kicks on right in the stomach. He rolls up into the and lands to the ground, leaning on a tree he vomits rainbows on the floor. “Gnomes? Huh, I was way off…” Dipper mutters to himself, scanning through his journal.

♫ Your eyes read the page once he lands on the gnome page. “Weakness, UNKNOWN?” Your head bolts up to see Mable already tied to the floor, some gnomes standing on top of her while others are surrounding her. You approach the tiny gnome and confront him. He chortles awkwardly. “This is all just one big misunderstanding! She’s just marrying all one thousand of us and becoming our gnome queen for all of eternity.” He tells you cooly, as if this was something that normally happened here. “Isn’t that right, honey?” He looks over to Mable. “You guys are buttfaces!” A gnome next to her slapped her mouth shut. “Give us back our sister now, or else!” Dipper threatens with a shovel. The gnome goes on this whole rant on how he’s a powerful race and Dipper scoops him up with the shovel and throws him off to the side. Taking your chance, you kick all the gnomes away from Mable and rip the bindings off of her. Grabbing her hand, you pull her into the golf cart. “Seatbelt.” Dipper says as he buckles himself, looking at you and Mable’s seat belt to see if you were wearing them. You backed out of the cave and started speeding out of the woods.

♫ That soon sped to be a rapid chase of cat and mouse. The gnomes binded themselves together and formed a huge gnome that was now chasing you through the forest. A few gnomes flew out of their form and onto Dipper and Mable. Mable was fortunate enough to shake hers off, but Dipper was struggling with his. “Don’t worry, I got you Dipper!” She began throwing mean punches at the gnome and Dipper. The gnome flew off Dipper’s face, taking his hat with him. You glance over to see Dipper’s face all bruised up. “Dipper! Your face.” You screech, sharply turning. Mable teeters out of the car and you grab her quickly, pulling her in. “Dipper’s face is okay. Nothing like a little glitter won’t fix it!” Reaching into her pockets, she throws a puff of glitter. Some glitter gets into your eyes, obstructing your view. “Mable!” Dipper reaches for the wheel and begins steering the cart while you try ridding your eyes of the glitter. The gnomes rip a tree from the ground and launch it forward, it lands right in front of you, a few inches away. “Look out!” Mable warns. “Look out for what?” Your eyelids shakily open and Dipper turns the cart quickly, causing it to spin out of control and fall on its side. You crawl out of the cart and immediately cover Dipper and Mable. The gnome goes on a rant about how he's going to take Mable and force her to marry him. With convincing from Mable, you allow her to take the lead. Her smart thinking saved you and Dipper from the evil gnomes and you hugged it out which led to you scolding them, but in the end you made it out safe with the twins perfectly fine. Although, a tad bit of bruising from Dipper.

♫ “You shouldn’t worry so much about the twins, kid.” Stan offers a light pat to your shoulder, sipping his pitt cola. “I mean I have to, Grunkle Stan. Just yesterday Mable almost became queen to these gnomes! Like, unwillingly. And…!” You’re gesturing wildly as you speak, being extremely passionate about how they stupidly manage to find themselves in danger's palm every single time. Once you finish your wild rant, Grunkle Stan is staring at you with a troubled expression. “Are you sure you’re alright, kid?” His grip on your shoulder tightens and you realize how utterly ridiculous you sound explaining yesterday’s events to some senile old man who only believes what is shown to him on TV. You slide a hand down your face, a stressed out groan expelling from your throat. “Is this how Dipper feels when he tries to tell you his stupid scary experiences in the woods?” You watch as Grunkle Stan smiles, laughing heartily at what you said. “It runs in the family.” He said with a laugh, giving your shoulder a rough shake before walking off into the gift shop.

♫ Legend of the Gobblewonker seriously stressed you out. You were practically on your knees, begging to join Stan on his shabby boat rather than Soos “yacht” to catch a monster that doesn’t actually exist. Dipper was way too passionate about getting the photos he needed to win the prize money and shove it in everyone’s face that there are weird things going on here. And Mable just wanted her stupid human sized hamster ball. “We can go Gobblewanker hunting on Stan’s boat!” You try to reason as they both clicked their life vests on. “It’s actually Gobblewonker, [Name].” Dipper corrected you, stuffing a camera under his hat. “I like Gobblewanker better.” Mable laughs, throwing a bag of cameras over her shoulder. “What? So you guys are going to leave?” Dipper and Mable hop into Soos’s boat, and before they speed off, Soos yells; “Don’t worry, dude! I’ll keep them safe!” You gripped your hair in anger. “Guess it’s just you and me, kid.” Stan hunkered two fishing rods on his shoulder and stepped into his boat. He set everything up and looked at you with an expectant look. “Did they really abandon me like that?” You were still in shock. Your brain replaying the moment where Dipper and Mable were cheering in the back as Soos sailed off into the unknown. “You get used to it.” He shrugs.

♫ Spending half the day fishing with Grunkle Stan wasn’t too bad. He mostly distracted you for the most part, keeping you entertained with jokes and outrageous stories from the past. But when silence came and Grunkle Stan wasn’t talking your ear off, your mind wandered to all the scenarios that could be happening to Dipper and Mable while you’re sitting on a boat, surprisingly enjoying your time with your Grunkle Stan. “Grunkle Stan?” Your voice wavers with anxiety. “Yes?” He grunt frustratingly when a fish swims past his bait. “Could you be so nice to your poor old Grunkle and try reeling in a fish for me?” His head jerks to your discarded fishing rod that was propped up on the boat. “Yeah, sure?” You grab a fishing rod, attach the bait and cast your reel. “Back to what I was saying—“ “ —How’s school going for ya?” He shoots you a questioning look before looking back to where his bait was casted. “Uh,” Did he cut you off on purpose? “School is great.” You scramble for words to say. “It’s my senior year!” You tell him rather enthusiastically. “Senior year, really? I coulda sworn you were in fifth grade.” You gently nudge his arm with your shoulder. “Your grandpa's brain is failing you.” You chuckle, feeling something tug on your fishing rod. You gasp as it pulls you forward. “Grunkle Stan, what do I do?!” Stan forgets all about his fishing rod and tells you to reel it in and he shows you a quick reenacting montage of how you’re supposed to do it. Following exactly what he says, you pull out a really big fish. “What fish is that?” You pant out. You put all your strength and energy into getting that fish and it seems like it paid off. He tells you the type before complimenting you with a; “Good catch, kid!” Stan unhooks the fish from the rod and marvels at the large fish.

♫ Soos comes back with Dipper and Mable but their big boat is now just torn apart and very slowly sinking. You had to hold back a scream because there was no way that this is the condition Soos brings them back in. Dipper and Mable reconcile with Stan and before jumping in, they look at you. Mable bottom lip trembles and her eyes fill up with tears. Dipper has his head hung low, his cap covering his eyes and he’s sadly rubbing his hands together, almost akin to a fly…Their whole weird act made you forget the reason why you were upset in the first place. “What is this, what are you guys doing?” You look at Stan who’s as lost as you are. “We’re sorry, [Name]!” Mable lunges off the boat and into your arms, very dramatically and hugs your stomach tightly. “Sorry for what?” You laughed out, watching Dipper follow in suit. “For leaving you and Grunkle Stan behind.” He said, hugging your side and squishing his cheek into your shoulder. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you goblins to actually apologize.” You ruffle Mable’s hair, gaining a peeved “Hey!” from her but she makes no effort to swat your hand away. “Dipper told me not to tell you but,” She rose up and stood on the seat of the boat, whispering in your ear how Dipper was on the brink of tears earlier but he didn’t want you to know that because it’ll ruin his tough man bravado.

♫ A laugh escapes you and Dipper is staring at you knowingly, his cheeks flushed red. “A stick went in my eye! That’s why I was crying!” He defended, his voice all squeaky from embarrassment. “Not you using Grunkle Stan’s excuse.” Stan moved from his spot from the mention of him. “Hey, don’t tell them that now.” He crosses his hands over his chest. “It’s not an excuse! I don’t cry and when I do, I have something in my eye.” The rest of the day was you bonding with everyone, fishing and taking photos with the last camera that survived their adventure. And speaking of their adventure, you properly scolded them for leaving you to the dust without any supervision. Soos interjected and said that he was good at taking care of them himself, and you weren’t going to lie, he did keep them in one piece, but you don’t like how he encourages their wild behavior. You soon realized that Stan was making a huge effort to make sure you weren’t constantly thinking about the twins, you had an inkling in your gut and it was nice to be proved right. Stan doesn't really tell you and the twins how much he cares and loves you but he sure tells you by his actions. The little self made hats he made for the fishing trip spoke the truth in your words.

♫ “[Name]! We’re going to a haunted convenience store with Wendy and her friends, just wanted to tell you! Okay, byyeee!” Mable scampered off into the hallway, leaving you in your bed stunned for a few minutes. Shaking your head, you sprung up from your bed and chased after Mable. You caught her wrist before she got the chance to leap outside and leave. “You’re what?” You need her to repeat what she said moments prior just so you can think about your next course of actions. “We’re going to a haunted convenience store.” She said so casually you thought you were mishearing the word haunted in her sentence. “Haunted convenience store?” You repeat slowly. “Yeah! You wanna come with?” Mable grins so widely at the thought of you tagging along. “Why don’t you and Dipper stay home and let the teens do their own things?” You suggest with a strained smile. It’s always something with these two… Mable frowned. “You don’t want to spend time with us?” She’s doing her sad puppy eyes and unluckily for you, her big sad eyes tug at your heartstrings a little too much for your liking. “We can do something else together, Mable.” You tell her in hopes that’ll convince her and change her mind but her display of utter dramatics doesn’t falter. She’s still looking at you with those eyes and that little pout to her lip. Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a defeated sigh. “Is there room for one more?” You dryly said. Mable cheers from the top of her lungs and pulls you along to where one of Wendy’s friends' van is parked.

♫ “Guys! Guys!” Mable jumped up and down. “Can [Name] join us?” She’s already pulling you into the backseat with Dipper who had his arms crossed around his chest moodily. “Of course!” Wendy smiled. “We love having you tag with, [Name].” Tambry said it with little no emotion that you doubted the validity of her words. “[Name], what are you doing here?” Dipper whispered, his tone having a bit of agitation to it. “I’m here because Mable told me you guys were going to a haunted convenience store.” You say as you buckle your seatbelt. “Mable!” Dipper threw his arms out in exasperation. “What? They had to know.” Mable stated as if it was obvious. “And thank you for telling me, Mable. Because if it wasn’t for you, someone would be doing things he shouldn’t be doing.” You send a look over to Dipper who clicked his tongue at you in annoyance. “Dipper is acting like this because he’s embarrassed you’re here with his GIRLFRI–” Dipper’s arm reaches over you and pops Mable in the mouth. “Girlfriend?” You pinch your brows in confusion. “Dipper has a girlfriend?” You give Mable a curious look. “No, not yet at least.” She says slyly as Dipper retracts his hand from Mable’s mouth in disgust. She definitely licked his palm. “Who?” Mable slaps her hands on the side of your face and directs it to where Wendy was sitting. You gasp, looking over to Dipper whose cheeks are flushed with a pink color. “No!” You dramatically yelled. “Do you guys have to be so loud!” Dipper complained, grabbing the sides of his hat and tugging it down to cover his red face. “You do know she’s older than you, Dipper?” You mention. Dipper grumbled, choosing to ignore what you said.

♫ Arriving at the convenient store, Dipper decides to show off to Wendy how cool he can actually be and unlocked the door from the inside. Entering the store, you carefully smacked Dipper in the head. He is trying so hard to appeal to her and it’s really embarrassing to watch. That was really the whole vibe the entire time you were there, you were making sure Mable wasn’t doing anything stupid and you were just watching Dipper try super hard for Wendy’s friends to like them. “Oh my gosh, smile dip!” Mable picked up a pack and held it up in the air. “I thought this stuff was banned in america!” She sat down on the floor, smiling gleefully at the pack of candy. “Maybe it was for a good reason?” Dipper got thrown a balloon full of cheese to the face. He laughed, running over to where the fight was happening to join in. You were going to ask if Mable was actually going to eat candy that has been sitting in this convenience store for who knows how long, but this is mable you’re talking about, of course she’d eat it. Ripping open the packet, she grabbed the candy stick and dipped it in the candied powder. She eyed the powdery stick for a second. In a quick swoosh, she dumped all the dip into her mouth. “Don’t eat too much of these, Mable.” You tell her. “I won’t!” Clouds of glitter poofed out of her mouth when she spoke. You couldn’t quite pinpoint where everything went wrong, but always in this town, something went wrong which led to a ball of events unraveling. Mable was floating up in the air, being used as a vessel from one of the ghosts that possessed the store that locked you and everyone else inside. “Hey, ghost!” Dipper pointed at the ghost. “Yes?” The ghost eerily turned over to Dipper. “I’ve got something to tell you.” The ghost lifted Dipper from the floor. “I’m not a teenager!” You turn over to Wendy. “Did he tell you that he was a teenager?” Wendy let out a shy laugh. “Yeah, he told me that Mable and him were thirteen. Technically teenagers.” You slapped a hand on your forehead, laughing with Wendy. “He’s ridiculous.”

♫ After recovering from your laughter, you turned your attention back to Dipper who adorned a horrendously cute lamb costume. Recognition washes over you at seeing getting into the lamby lamby dance position. “When Dipper was younger, he used to do this cute dance all the time in his little lamb costume he was obsessed with.” Wendy awe’s. Dipper dances and sings the lamby lamby dance. The ghosts, satisfied with Dipper’s performance, lift his curse. After grouping up, Wendy told a quick rundown of what happened while everyone was out, excluding the part where he had to sing in a lamb costume. Dipper was praised for being brave while on the way out to the car. “How’s your stomach feeling?” You look over your shoulder to see Mable who was lying limp on your back. “It huuurtsss…” She burped sparks of glitter. “Woah!” You laughed. “This is the last time I’m ever going to eat sweet stuff ever again…” You knew she was going to lay off the candy for like two days before rummaging in the fridge for icy pops. Taking Mable off your back, you placed her on the chair and buckled her seatbelt. She flopped against the window, groaning as she held her stomach. Dipper came climbing in a moment after, a pleased smile on his face. “What’s got you looking so happy with yourself?” Dipper’s smile grew. “Wendy wants to hang out with me!” He vibrated with excitement. “You really think you have a chance with her?” Dipper’s smile never wavered, too caught up in the high knowing his crush invited him to more potential hangouts. “Shh, no more talking.” Mable lazily slapped your arm. “You guys talking makes my stomach hurt.”

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen@cedarmoonzz

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #dipper pines x reader #mable pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #dipper pines x sibling!reader #mable pines x sibling!reader

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nenoname · 5 months ago

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How Stan+Ford+Bill refer to each other

Stan

Ford:

Childhood: Stanley (9)

Teen: Stan (2)

Pre-Portal: Stanley (15), my brother (5), S (2)

Post-Portal: Stanley (33), Stan (13), my brother (7), my hotheaded brother, idiot (2), knucklehead, [Dipper's] uncle Stan, hero, stubborn mullet-haired frostbitten vagabond, wrinkly carnival barker, irresponsible shortcut-loving overgrown child, cheater, fraud, "looks like me if I gave up on life"

Post-Weirdmageddon: Stanley (16), Stan (5), my brother (2), Stanley Pines, hero (2), the man who saved the world, "selfish jerk", the most selfless man I’ve ever met in any dimension

Lost Pages: S (5), Stanley (4), my brother (3)

(S is a pre-portal incident Journal only thing + pre-portal incident Journals only has "Stanley" mentioned in code, tends to call him Stan when talking to the kids)

Bill:

Pre-Weirdmageddon: Stan Pines, Stan (6), old man, [D+M's] uncle, you idiot, Stanley

Post-Weirdmageddon: Stanley (7), Stan (10), Stanley Pines (2), fat grandpa, fumbling idiot con man, weaker copy of Sixer, Bootleg Sixer, mouth breathing carnival barker, gambler, lifelong loser, goofus, PTSD Barnum, side character, co-dependent, stupid, tacky, smug, unworthy, resume-inflating cheap trick loving past-denying overgrown child, pathetic excuse for a 5-sensed three-dimensional one-life spanned skin puppet, carbon-copy of a better genetic duplicate, conman clown, Lucky Stan

Non-canon shorts/Reddit AMA/That cut perpetual machine nightmare: Stan, Stanley, Stan Pines, slick

Lost Pages: inferior clone, brother (when pretending to be Ford)

(Most of the post-Weirdmageddon Stan mentions are for the "fun" facts in the Wheel of Shame, Bill spends the How not to Draw short never directly acknowledging Stan which I find hilarious)

Ford

Stan:

Childhood: Sixer (5), Stanford, Ford, Poindexter, bro, buddy

Teen: Sixer, Stanford (2), nerd robot

Pre-Portal: Stanford (5), pal, you jerk

Post-Portal: Stanford (3), Ford (8), Poindexter (2), my brother (11), brother, bro, the Author of the Journals, you ungrateful-, my nerdy twin brother, my dumb brother, know-it-all, dangerous-know-it-all, world's nerdiest old man, show-off, that jerk, stuck up son of a gun

Post-Weirdmageddon: Sixer (5), Ford (3), my brother (5), Stanford, Fordsy, bro, my nerdy bro, Brainiac, Mr Goody Nerd-Shoes

(Tends to use "Stanford" when shit's serious, yes i'm including the two getting traumatised by thrist comments clip come and stop me)

Bill:

Pre-betrayal: Sixer (2), Stanford, smart guy, Stanford Pines

Post-betrayal: Sixer (5), Stanford (2), Ford (4), Stanford Filbrick Pines, Stanford Pines, ol' Six-Fingers (2), Fordsy (2), my old pal, IQ, Mr Brainiac, Brainiac (2), [Mabel's] uncle, our friend, old man, kid, tough guy, pal, Mr Serious

Post-Weirdmageddon: Sixer (20), Ford (7), Fordsy (2), drama queen, fella, sad nerd, genius, idiot, partner, Mr Tabletop Gaming, backstabber, gallant, perfect pawn, pet human

Lost Pages: Sixer (7), Fordsy, Slick, pal, my old pal, my property

Bill

Stan:

Pre-Weirdmageddon: Bill (3), all-powerful space demon, you one-eyed demon, wise-guy

Post-Weirdmageddon: Bill (3), Bill Cipher, little wise guy, Pointy, jerk of the week, narc

Non-canon shorts/That cut perpetual machine nightmare: you creepy triangle, guy (3), nacho, cop

Ford:

Pre-betrayal: My Muse (19), a strange being from a higher plane, being (3), strange whimsical creature, true friend, Bill (2, however!! this is from Dreamscaperers long before J3 was properly written)

Post-betrayal: Bill (default way of referring to him), My "muse" (3) Bill Cipher (10), Cipher (10), the demon (2), my enemy (3), you insane three sided--, The Beast with Just One Eye, the devil, liar, monster, angular psychopath, nightmare in disguise, king of nightmares, the Triangle, a has-been, a needy theater kid

Lost Pages: Bill (17), my Muse (11), Cipher (18) , Bill Cipher (2), extradimensional deity of knowledge, Cill Bipher, this Bill guy

#uh don't tag this as any type of ship pls thanks #anyway know that im mx 'always sobbing over stan reclaiming the childhood nickname bill tried ruining for them'#yeah i definitely missed some and messed up the numbers but whatever #i will continue to half arse things!!!!#gravity falls #stan pines #stanley pines #ford pines #stanford pines #bill cipher #a bunch of these were said sarcastically but eh can't be bothered checking which ones #the lost pages are in the separate category cos i still find them sketchy as hell #lp!ford flip flopping between using s and stanley is real weird #especially when him calling him 's' and mcgucket 'f' is to keep them anonymous #since ford no longer keeps that up post portal #lp!ford calling bill by name before the betrayal too #wait does stan only call ford poindexter 3 times???#felt like he said that way more lmao #....there's a very real possibility that i'd have to update this for chibiverse stuff #......dunno what to feel about that tbh ashdksajdhak #was this post mostly an excuse to compile insults? yeah #(...and maybe cos i dont care for the lee hc kashdksjahd)

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rafecameronssl4t · 10 months ago

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Gold, Coffee, and Mabel || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: based on s3 ep 7 with that scene above except it includes reader and Mabel 🥰🥰

Warnings: swearing, other than that fluff!!!

Word count: 1,036

A/n: yeah I procrastinated and wrote this in like 5 mins

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

"And you're sure this guy’s good?" Barry asks, his voice tinged with doubt as he glances sideways at Rafe, who walks beside him, hands casually stuffed in his pockets. They round the corner, and Rafe hums in response, clearly unconcerned.

"I mean, we’ve got a lot of people to see today," Rafe adds, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t even look at Barry, his gaze sweeping over the street with anticipation. It’s clear to Barry that Rafe is in his element, the prospect of a profitable day of gold-selling putting a spring in his step.

Rafe was confident, and that confidence was infectious. Today was going to be a good day. Hell, it was going to be a great day. He could feel it in his bones. Barry opens his mouth to ask about the next move, but the words die on his lips as Rafe suddenly comes to a halt.

Barry nearly collides with him, caught off guard by the abrupt stop. "What the fuck?" Barry blurts out, confusion etched on his face. Rafe doesn’t answer, his focus now entirely on a woman sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby café.

Without a word, he strides over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down to kiss her, leaving Barry standing there like an idiot. It’s only when he sees the way Rafe's lips curve into a familiar smile that Barry realises who the woman is. It’s you.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asks, his voice softening, a warm smile spreading across his face as he takes in the sight of you and Mabel. The hard edge that usually defines Rafe’s tone melts away, replaced by something warmer, gentler. You glance up at him, a bright smile lighting up your features.

"Having brunch with Mom," you reply adjusting Mabel so that Rafe can scoop her up into his arms. He does so effortlessly, his movements tender as he cradles his daughter against his chest.

Barry, still trying to piece together what's happening, blurts out, “Shit, almost didn't recognise ya-” , but Rafe cuts him off with a sharp look. "Language, Barry," Rafe says, his voice low and warning, a stark contrast to the affectionate tone he just used with you.

Barry throws his hands up in mock surrender. "My bad, my bad," he mutters, glancing at you with an apologetic smile. You chuckle at his usual antics. "Maybe because of my hair," you say, running a hand through your freshly coloured locks, your eyes bright as you wait for Barry's reaction.

"Looks good," Barry says, genuine in his compliment. You thank him with a nod, your eyes crinkling in the corners. As Rafe settles into a chair, Mabel perched contentedly on his lap, Barry shifts his weight, reminding himself of the job they’re supposed to be doing.

“Country club, don’t we need to get goin'?” he prods, noticing how comfortable Rafe seems, his focus entirely on entertaining Mabel, who giggles at his playful antics. You smile at the sight, feeling a warmth in your chest before you turn to Barry. “Busy day ahead?” you ask, a knowing glint in your eye.

Barry shoots a glance at Rafe, who seems completely absorbed in his role as a father, oblivious to the conversation and Barry’s questioning gaze. “Uh, yeah. Apparently so,” Barry replies with a chuckle, still not entirely sure how this unexpected stop fits into their tight schedule.

“I’m just going to order some coffee for my mom, I'll be two seconds,” you say, standing up from the table. "I’ll come with you. Might as well grab a coffee while we’re here," Rafe says, rising to his feet. He looks down at Mabel, then back at Barry with a grin. “Mind holdin' her for a minute?”

Before Barry can protest, Rafe is already handing Mabel over to him. Barry’s eyes widen in panic as Mabel, with her big blue eyes, stares up at him with a curious expression. He stands there stiff as a board, awkwardly patting her back and trying to figure out how to hold a baby without looking like a complete idiot.

As Rafe and you disappear into the café, Barry glances nervously at the door, silently begging one of you to come back quickly. At first, Mabel seems fine, but then her bottom lip starts to tremble. Before Barry can react, she lets out a wail, her cries escalating quickly. “Fuck—shit! No, no, no, please don’t cry,” Barry mutters under his breath, his heart racing as he tries to bounce her gently, but her cries only grow louder.

Just as Mabel’s wails reach a peak, you emerge from the café with Rafe right behind you. Relief floods Barry’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by anxiety as you approach, your eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement.

“Did you make my daughter cry?” you ask, taking Mabel in your arms, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice that Barry is too flustered to pick up on. Barry looks like a deer caught in headlights, especially under Rafe’s intense gaze. “What? No! I swear, I didn’t do anything—” Barry stammers, his face flushed, but you laugh, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“I’m just messing with you. She’s probably just hungry,” you say, glancing at your watch before pulling out Mabel’s bottle. Barry lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as the tension slowly eases from his shoulders.

Rafe watches the interaction with a smirk, clearly amused by Barry’s discomfort. “Well, we should get going,” Rafe finally says, leaning in to give you a kiss before gently pressing his lips to Mabel’s forehead. She’s already drinking her bottle, her little hands reaching up to grab at Rafe’s chin, making you chuckle softly at the adorable sight.

"I’ll see you at home later," Rafe says warmly, his eyes locking with yours as he leans in for one last kiss. He gives Mabel a gentle smile before glancing back at you, a lingering look full of affection. With a final nod, he turns to Barry, the smile still playing on his lips, as they head off to make a shit ton of money.

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tinfoil-jones · 5 months ago

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Jerk Ford AU: The Worst Ford You Know II: Cosmic Switcharoo

~15 or so years ago

"Ya know you can just… not do this, right? You are a squishy human that's not even that special. All you have is a brain that is outclassed by countless amongst the multiverse, and a sense of misplaced righteousness that ya deserve somethin' grander as retribution for being bullied."

"The Oracle said that I would be the one to-"

"-beat Bill Cipher, same face, yada yada yada."

"You have talked to The O-"

"For Pete's sake Stanford, every Stanford that is thrown in the multiverse has talked to her! All of us! She gave the same goddamn bullshit spiel to thousands of us- maybe more!

If we all had a grand destiny to beat Bill Cipher- with this many 'Destined Heroes', why the Hell is he still out there, causing problems and bein' a major bitch?"

"So you're just going to not even try?!"

"Why bother putting myself in harms way? Bill is going to be another distant Stanford's problem with another hero complex. Me on the other hand? I'm tryin' to get back home to my family, because I know there's at least one person who will accept me no matter how many fingers I have, no matter how much social decorum I don't have, and especially not a 'lack of ambition' that's only ever noticed by supercilious versions of us, like you."

"Mark my words, Jerk Ford; ignoring your Bill Cipher problem is going to bite you in the end. Also, your Jersey is showing."

"Mark these nuts, Bitch Ford; ya fly's been down the whole time."

*supercilious = behaving or looking as though one thinks one is superior to others.

[Dialogue primarily by @tearosepedall]

There's a lot of difference between Canon Ford (Ford-46'\) and Jerk Ford (Ford-PJC311), one of the first things is how they return to their dimension.

Before Canon Ford returned to his dimension, he was doing his last-stand against Bill Cipher, and he went into his own portal when it popped up to stop Bill from doing it first.

Jerk Ford had heard about how most 'good' versions of Ford Pines were doing that, but he didn't see a point in doing the same because it wouldn't get him home faster, and most if not all of them would most likely die. So he got drunk the parking lot of a Space Waffle House, and his portal showed up.

Even though he injected himself with a Drunk-B-Gone concoction that he created to end alcohol intoxication, it needed a minute to take full effect.

Anyway, this is how Canon Ford returned to his dimension:

Dipper: What...? Who is that?

Stan: The author of the journals... my brother.

Mabel: Is this the part where one of us faints?

Soos: Ohoho, I am so on it, dude.

Meanwhile, this is how Jerk Ford returned to his dimension:

Mabel, Dipper, Soos: …

Stan: …

Jerk Ford: …I'm okay. *thumbs up from the ground*

Now let's say, something went wrong, that some cosmic wires within the hologram of reality were crossed, and somehow, someway, Canon Ford and Jerk Ford went through each others portals instead of their own. Perhaps their chance meeting almost two decades ago did something, and now they're in the wrong universe.

In Dimension PJC311 (w/ Canon Ford):

Stanley is elated to see his brother, after three whole decades, finally! His hard work has paid off! He's so excited, he doesn't notice that Dipper starts visibly vibrating in anger as soon as "Author of the Journals" leave his mouth.

He greets his brother with open arms - although, the way Stanford stalks towards him, it's almost like he's about to hit him. And does he seem a bit more... serious?

He barely has time to look confused as Ford rears a fist back - there's a THUNK sound, but a blow never lands on Stan. Because Ford is now keeled over on the ground, holding the back of his head because Dipper had just wacked him with a metal fold out chair that he found.

Ford, on his end, is in pain and confused (but mostly okay because of his protective metal plate) as Stan takes the chair away and scolds Dipper, telling him to apologize because no matter how unhelpful his journals were, he's still family.

His journals, unhelpful? That can't be true. As Stan is still trying to get 'Dipper' to apologize, Ford pulls back out the Journal he'd just picked up off of the floor, and quickly scans over it.

It's in his cursive handwriting, and drawn in his hyper-realistic sketching style. But... the entries are wrong. They're worded in a way that tells the reader to do the opposite of what they should do. Anyone who follows the advice of this would end up hurt, ridiculed, cursed, or some combination of those.

Even after thirty years, Ford knows for a fact that he would never write his research like this.

The kids and Soos start demanding answers. Stanley starts giving the backstory of himself and his brother, the portal incident, and the thirty years spent trying to fix the thing, it becomes abundantly clear to Ford that this isn't his world when the details don't line up the way they should.

Forgave him for the Perpetual Motion Machine? They went to Backupsmore together? He was banned from every establishment in Gravity Falls? People think Stanley murdered him???

In Dimension 46'\ (w/ Jerk Ford):

Although Stan is confused (although he does also find it a little bit funny) that his brother stumbled out of the portal and landed flat on his face, he's so excited to finally see him that he let's it slide for now. As long as he doesn't get drunk around the kids in the future, he'll excuse this incident.

Jerk Ford recovers pretty quickly as his Drunk-B-Gone finally takes full effect, and he walks over to Stan, accepting and returning the hug offered. Dipper finds it strange that "The Author" walks right past his Journal on the floor, even though he clearly noticed it.

Moreover, Soos notices something just as Jerk Ford withdraws from the embrace and steps back to properly take in his surroundings.

Soos: Are those... are those crocs?

Jerk Ford: aRe thOsE CrOCs? Do you even hear yourself right now? Of course they're crocs. I'm almost sixty, The Drip can take the backseat.

Stanley is certainly taken aback- sure, his brother could be insensitive sometimes, but he's never seen him rapid-fire mock someone outright. Also, even after thirty years, he never saw his brother as the type to pick up and use modern slang.

Also, did he really just call the kids "Twerps"? Ford had never been a kid person, but-

The kids and Soos start demanding answers. Stanley starts giving the backstory of himself and his brother, the portal incident, and the thirty years spent trying to fix the thing, it becomes abundantly clear to Jerk Ford that this isn't his world when the details don't line up the way they should.

Turned his back on him? Homeless conman? They didn't speak for ten whole years? Stanley faked his own death???

In Dimension PJC311 (w/ Canon Ford):

This time, Ford does not give his half of the story, and uses the excuse that he needs a minute to collect himself. He doesn't know what dimension he's in, he just knows it isn't his own.

The motley crew of an alternate version of his brother, his apparent grand-niblings (one of which hates his guts), and a large hairless gopher (his nephew?) tell him about being encroached on by the U.S Government, and he handles them just like he did in canon; he is surprised however when Stanley tells him to only erase the memories he needs to, and not to add something unnecessary 'just because it would be funny'.

Stanley also questions how Ford forgot how to use the memory gun, considering he invented it.

Wait, what? Uh, it's been thirty years, he forgot some things.

When they get the agents off of their backs, Ford looks at what had once been his home. It was certainly more lively and lived in than when he had last been here. Things not entirely organized, some things out of place here and there but expected when there were two children in the house.

It was a home. And it wasn't his home, in more ways than one.

He notices a particular photo on the mantle - because he had a near-identical one, once upon a time. It was the one taken shortly after he'd mathematically proven Fiddleford's hologram theory. There's a few differences however; for one, Ford in the photo looks more smug than excited, for another, Fiddleford is enraged and looks like he's trying to strangle him, but the biggest difference is that Stanley is there and he's struggling hold Fiddleford back.

When he snoops around a bit, and in what must be Stan's office or study, he finds amongst other things on the wall (pictures of the twins, Soos throughout the years, and a red-headed girl appear quite frequently) that Stanley has a masters degree in Education and PhD in Analytical Chemistry. He has teaching awards going back decades.

Words that Stanford heard a lifetime ago and hadn't thought of in a long time come back to mind with startling clarity:

"No, no. You don't understand what I've been through! I've been to prison in three different countries! I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car! You think you've got problems? I've got a mullet, Stanford!"

In Dimension 46'\ (w/ Jerk Ford):

Like his canon counterpart, Jerk Ford chooses to not give his half of the story, using the excuse that he’s still in shock and needs a minute for his fight/flight/freeze to die down so he can think clearly. He doesn’t know what dimension he’s in, he just knows there’s been some kind of mix up in the cosmos.

When the alternate version of his brother and their grand-niblings, and a giant hairless gopher who may or may not also be his nephew, tell him that some government agents are after them, the first thing Jerk Ford asks for is his memory gun.

The grand-niblings look baffled (because they knew it was Old Man McGucket who created the memory gun), but give up the memory gun, and Stan looks suspicious because he had no idea that ‘his brother’ had built a memory gun. Just like in canon, Jerk Ford memory blasts Agents Powers and Trigger, but once they’re gone he also casually drops the following tidbit to Stan;

Jerk Ford: I also erased the concept of how to take a left-hand turn while I was at it.

Stan: …Why?

Jerk Ford: To make their drive back to D.C more… entertaining. *snerk*

Stan wonders what being gone for thirty years really did to his brother, and Dipper is still fanboying over ‘The Author’ but Jerk Ford makes a rude remark about Dipper “hovering over him like a fly on s[beep]”. He does, at least, promptly clean up his language when Stan tells him to watch what he says to the kids. Jerk Ford notes that this version of Stan is more aggressive than his own, which is typical of the variants he’s seen over the years.

Stan tells him about the Mystery Shack - like most versions of himself, Jerk Ford isn’t a fan, but he isn’t going to be in Stan’s face about it. Who knows what the circumstances of this were?

Jerk Ford: Was teaching not paying you enough?

Stan: Teaching… what?

Jerk Ford:

Jerk Ford: Nevermind what I said *steals a novelty shirt in front of everybody*

The layout of the cabin is different, but it did remind him a lot of home. When he and Stan had moved to Gravity Falls, the way the interior was set up and decorated always seemed to be a clash of the brothers interests. Stan’s insistence on making the place seem more like home, and Ford’s projects and research always haphazardly breaking free of the confines of his lab, bedroom, and study. This version of Stan seemed to find a happy middle, because a lot of weird and cryptic objects were there, but integrated and functional to what a home was supposed to be.

But it still wasn’t his home. This wasn’t his family.

While Stan was distracted with trying to get the kids to go to bed in spite of the excitement earlier, and Soos was making a rambling phone call to someone who sounded tired on the other end, Jerk Ford snuck off to snoop. He didn’t used to be so covert when it came to messing with other peoples stuff, but after that incident with a non-portaled Ford who nearly killed him, he was more careful with that these days. You never know when you’ll find skeletons that should have been laid to rest, and inconsolable crypt keepers who’d sooner bury you instead.

It looks like someone had beaten him to the punch of looking through Stan’s more hidden things - a lot of stuff that confirmed what Stan had already covered when talking about his and his brothers backstory. Fake id’s and news articles. Nothing that really stood too much to help Jerk Ford figure out who’s dimension this was. This Stan’s backstory was almost beat-by-beat similar to the one he heard from most of his variants, and versions of Stan that ended up being the one on the other side of the portal instead. That lack of a gimmick in this dimension didn’t make things easier.

Although… every aspect of this dimension seemed to be found, in at least some small way, in all of the other dimensions. Could it be…?

The prime dimension? The alpha timeline that many versions of Stanford Pines had been speculating about but never could confirm? He needed more data before he could-.

Well, this Stanley isn’t his brother, but if he’s going to identify this dimension and hopefully return to his own, he’d need to explain his situation to him first.

To be continued...?

192 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 23 days ago

Text

Chapter 94 of human Bill Cipher having been the Mystery Shack's prisoner UNTIL NOW:

At long last—Bill's finally been paroled.

Bill sauntered into the living room. "You summoned me?" He looked at Ford and Stan, sitting together on the sofa, and asked, "Are you my parole board?"

Stan said, "Keep mouthing off like that and see if we reduce your sentence."

Bill cracked a grin. He sat in one of the armchairs, laced his hands behind his head and crossed an ankle over his knee, and said, "Finally lightening up a little?"

Ford grimaced. "Well. We had to trust you with the agent, and you didn't blow it, so I suppose we don't have a choice."

"Awww. Don't sound so grateful."

"Can we get this over with before you two start bantering?" Stan asked. "Okay. As of now, you're allowed to go out and do social things with people in town. Or invite 'em over, just—get permission first before you haul someone home."

That immediately threw Bill off his game. His smile dropped, he sat up straight, and he put his hands on the armrest, as if he was already on the verge of jumping out of his seat and bolting for freedom. "Wait. Really?"

"But only if one person from the household is with you at all times," Stan said. "Except for Dipper. Because we both think you'd be willing to kill Dipper to escape."

Bill laughed. "That's fair! That can't be everything, though. There's a catch, what's the catch?"

"Restrictions," Ford said. "No trying to manipulate the townspeople, no trying to turn them against the rest of us, no tricking them into restarting Weirdmageddon—and in case I missed any loopholes, no doing anything you know full well we wouldn't want you to do. If we even get a hint that you're trying any of the above, the game's over and we tell the town who you really are."

"Oh, really." Bill slowly sat back, eyeing the twins calculatingly. "People in this town love me! If you try to lock me up again, I have friends in town hall who will get worried and come looking. Try to tell them I'm Bill Cipher, and I'll tell them you're crazy and they'll believe me." He propped his cheek in a hand. "In fact, this whole week I've been behaving myself for your benefit. As far as I'm concerned, I can do just about anything I want now—so the real point of this little meeting is deciding whether you'll give me what I want the east way, or the hard way. So maybe cool it with the threats you can't back up! You can't prove I'm anything but what I look like."

He said, "Why are you two grinning like that. Stop grinning."

Ford stood to push a video tape into the VCR. Stan turned on the TV and hit play.

The screen opened on a shot of the living room sofa, where Bill sat cross-legged and grinning next to a large easel pad. The first page of the pad was covered in drawings of cute animal faces, birds, fish, and (closer to Bill’s side) skulls, lightning, and triangles.

From behind the camera, Mabel said, "Welcome to Mabel’s Guide to Local Animals—"

"I’m helping."

"—featuring Bill Cipher as my cohost!"

Stan paused the video. He and Ford grinned at Bill.

Bill gaped at the screen. "Well—I—that doesn't prove anything. It's just a wild accusation by a child! It's not like I confirmed—"

Stan hit play.

On screen, Bill said, "That’s me!”

“Yes it is. Lots o—"

Stan paused the video.

Bill buried his face in his hands. Why. "Mabel's not even on screen! I could have been responding to something else and you dubbed her lines in later! You don't have any footage that directly connects that human on screen to Bill Cipher!"

Stan fast-forwarded the tape.

"Oh boy."

Stan hit play. Mabel smiled at the screen. "Welcome back! My co-host has been banned from the rest of this episode so he can reflect on his behavior."

Behind her, Bill, one hand bandaged and face covered by a paper bag that read "PLAYED WITH FIRE," said, "It was worth it!" He’d persuaded Mabel to draw his triangle face over the text.

"WHAT!" Bill jumped to his feet, didn't know what to do next, and turned around to kick the cushion off his seat. His cheeks burned at the Stans' laughter. "Unbelievable! This is ridiculous! This is all—" He couldn't admit it was his fault. He wasn't about to blame it on Mabel. He whirled around to point at Ford. "Your fault."

"Wh—" Ford flung his hands into the air, "What did I have to do with it?!"

"I don't know yet! I'm still figuring that part out!" Bill dropped back into his seat, then had to half stand again to straighten out the cushion.

"Think the cops'll buy that?" Stan asked.

Bill slouched back in his seat, elbow on the armrests, hands laced in front of his mouth. He mumbled, "I'll behave."

"Good."

"And... we'll make a deal with you," Ford said.

Bill shot him a burning glare. "I'm listening."

"Kitchen access. We're still figuring out if there's anything we can do about the fridge and the microwave—for now, at least you have the freezer chest Soos provided—but we'll give you access to the cabinets and everything in them, the cans, the can openers, the glass jars, and the stove, if you can identify five parts of the house we can't remove that you could kill somebody with."

Bill narrowed his exposed eye. "Why."

Stan said, "Because we're only making this offer cuz we figure you've already thought of plenty of ways to kill us, so it doesn't make a difference if you can slit our throats with an aluminum can lid. You want the goods, we want a warning about what else you could be planning."

Bill's eye narrowed further. "Throw in the knives."

"We'll get you plastic knives," Ford said.

"Deal. Garroting you with my clothing. Breaking the banister and stabbing you with the splintered wood. Snapping off a metal chair leg and stabbing you with that. Punching through a windowpane and using the broken glass as a knife. Unplugging an appliance, chewing halfway through the wire, plugging it back in, pouring water on the floor around the exposed wiring, and waiting for someone to use it. Pulling threads out of the upholstery to make tripwires across the stairs. Doing something to encourage Dolores to try to poison me again, then switching my plate with someone else's when she's not looking. Not to mention all the objects I can use for blunt force trauma: chairs, Questiony's piano, the lid on the toilet tanks, the coat rack, the metal trash can in the kitchen, the..."

Unnerved, Stan said, "That's a lot more than five." Ford elbowed him.

"And you owe me for the rest. We'll work out the details later."

"Did you say punching through a windowpane?" Ford asked.

"Sure, it's glass, it's not that hard. I just need to wrap a shirt around my fist so I don't bleed out before you idiots do."

"Has it occurred to you that punching out the glass could... yield any other results...?"

Bill looked at him blankly. "Like what. Creating a walking hazard?"

"Never mind."

"Okay," Stan said, "I'm convinced that the only thing stopping you from murdering us is the fact that you can't murder allof us. You can have kitchen access. Anything else?"

"Daily sunlight," Bill said. "Not sunlight filtered through a window—actual sunlight. Open a window for me, let me sit in the yard, whatever, I don't care! I just want sunshine. I feel like a starving sunflower."

Stan snorted. "What's a starving sunflower feel like?"

"Like it's only photosynthesized for a combined ten hours over the last month and a half, is that a trick question?"

Ford asked, "You photosynthesize?" He slowly reached for his coat pocket pen. Stan pushed Ford's hand back down.

"Course I do, how did you think I eat?"

"I didn't think you eat. You've claimed to be a being of pure energy enough times."

"I am a being of pure energy. Did you think that means I violate the laws of thermodynamics? I've got to get more energy from somewhere, don't I?"

"I suppose that makes sense..." Ford slowly reached for his coat pocket pen. Stan decided to just hold his hand.

"I'd be happy to explain how it works sometime! Maaaybe over a game of chess?"

Ford scowled at him.

"That's what I thought." Bill rolled his eye. "Fine. Then you can ask Mabel. She knows all about it."

Sensing a brewing argument, Stan cut in, "Okay, daily sunlight, we'll figure that out. Is that everything?"

"Phone rights. The Rainbow Club gang wants to know how to reach me, I can't keep telling 'em I broke my phone and haven't replaced it."

"Is the phone you stole not enough?" Ford asked wryly.

Bill grinned. "Oh, Mabel mentioned that, huh?"

"Where is that phone, anyway?"

"Threw it away." At Ford's glare, he said, "What, don't believe me?! Fine! Search my cell, officer! You won't find squat!"

####

A squirrel, returning to its hole in a tree with an armful of nuts, stared in dismay at the brick of plastic and metal that had been hidden in its home.

####

"Fine, phone access," Stan said. "But under supervision only."

"Fine. And I want TV voting rights."

"What?"

"You—" Bill turned his gaze back to Ford "—told me that everyone else in the house gets priority over me when we choosing what we watch. I want an equal TV vote. You know—like a person who has opinions that matter!"

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. They wanted to say no, because Bill was Bill, and it didn't feel like he deserved that.

But. By this point—after multiple rescues thanks to Bill—that was almost starting to feel petty.

Sweetly, Bill said, "Come on, Stanford, don't you want someone else in the shack who's willing to vote for the parascience documentaries? You need every vote you can get! You and your little clone are already outnumbered!"

"Stop," Ford said. "Fine. Equal TV rights. Not because you tried to bribe me."

"You're making the right decision," said Bill, who was fully planning to throw his vote behind whatever Mabel wanted to watch at every opportunity possible.

"Is that it?" Stan asked tiredly. "We're debating TV rights now, you can't want anything else."

"Just one last tiny minor little detail," Bill said. "When are you setting me free?"

Stan opened his mouth, held up a finger, lowered his finger, and looked at Ford. "Uhh..."

"Because you are going to set me free," Bill said, "right? You're not planning on keeping me here forever. If you've agreed you aren't executing me, then there's no way you could think you have the right to keep me locked up!" He favored them with a threatening fake smile. "I could call my lawyer. Do you want me to call my lawyer?"

"What are you talking about," Stan said, "who the heck is your lawyer."

"Do you want to find out."

Stan paused. "No."

Carefully, Ford said, "We haven't... discussed... our long-term plans for you."

Bill's smile faded. "Well. Discuss them. And let me know." He stood up. "Are we done here?"

"I suppose so," Ford said tiredly.

"And uh," Stan said, almost inaudibly, "thanks. I guess. For getting those agents off our tail."

"Suuure, any time." Bill gave them a wry grin. "It figures I'd have to sleep with a federal agent to get my sentence reduced."

Stan cracked up. "Hey, you know what? You're almost all right, Cipher." Ford didn't want to think it was funny, but a snort and a crooked grin escaped him anyway.

And Bill's gaze immediately latched onto Ford's face. Look at that. Bill almost got a smile. He was getting better at that lately. Heck, they'd nearly had fun at the museum, hadn't they? They'd had some banter. And Ford had actually acknowledged Bill as a teacher! In a way. Bill might be making some progress with him. Maybe...

May his name be erased.

No. He reminded himself not to get his hopes up. Ford had made very clear that he didn't respect Bill, he never respected Bill, and the only reason he suffered Bill to live was because Mabel liked him.

And, because Bill had potential. Because part of him was already what Ford wanted him to be.

Bill mentally kicked over the seesawing scale in his mind on which he was weighing Ford's worth. Don't pour your water in a leaky bucket, Cipher; if Ford's gonna come to you, he'll come to you. Don't chase him.

"You know, Stanley, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me!" Bill swept out of the room. "Now, if you mortals will excuse me, I have some supervised calls to make. I'm going out."

"Oh yeah? Already?" Stan asked. "And doing what?"

"Don't worry about it, you're not coming. Neither of you would be able to keep up with the wild time I've got planned." He took a deep breath and shouted up the stairs, "Hey, star girl! Call up Candy and Grendo! We're hitting the town!"

####

"It's just as beautiful as I remember," Bill said, surveying the mall with a beaming smile. "And this time I'm allowed to talk to people." He poked Mabel, "Promise not to kung fu flip me this time?"

"Pshh. Only if you promise not to shoplift anything."

Bill considered that, considered what kind of budget three 12-to-13-year-olds had at their disposal, and said, "If you break my neck when you flip me, call Ford instead of 911. I'll take his interdimensional MacGyvered first aid over a trip to the doc any day." Mabel socked his arm.

Candy said, "No shopping or shoplifting! We have more important business!" She hefted her backpack up in one hand and jogged past the rest of the group. "To the food court! I brought a special present for your first day of freedom. Mabel said you might like it."

Bill glanced at Mabel. She just gave him a secretive smile.

####

With all four crowded around a table in the food court, Candy pulled a Magic Vision book out of her backpack.

"Here." She lay the book of autostereogram pictures open in front of Bill. "This is my favorite page ever. The best to start on."

Bill stared at the page, eyepatch flipped up, both eyes wide open and slightly crossed.

"Well?" Mabel asked. "What do you think?"

He didn't answer. He was staring at the book as though he was looking at a brand new color.

A single tear slid down his cheek.

Candy patted his back. "It's like that the first time."

####

"Hey there!" The makeup saleswoman smiled as Grenda approached, flanked by Candy and Mabel. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Hi! Are you the one who gives out the makeup samples?"

"Um..." She gestured at the mirror next to her station. "Yes, you can try out our products here, but if you're under sixteen, you can only try on the makeup samples with an adult's authorization."

All three girls turned to Bill.

He was ignoring them, focused intently on a display of eyeliners.

"A-HEM!" Grenda said.

"What? Oh! Yeah, yeah, sure." Bill made a gesture like a benediction toward the group. "I grant my authorization."

"Great," the saleswoman said. "Then if there's anything you want to try out, I can help you apply it."

"Awesome!" Grenda dropped a couple dozen different lipsticks (half of them loaded with glitter) onto the counter under the mirror. "I want to try all of these!"

The saleswoman's smile faltered. "Oh—sorry, but there's a three product limit for free samples. To try on any more, you'd have to schedule an hour-long makeover session."

"Aw, man! I can't pay for that."

Bill looked at Grenda and the saleswoman, looked at the display of eyeliners, and leaned toward the saleswoman. "Hey, everyone gets three freebies, right?"

"Um—yes! That's right." She nodded.

"Great! Then I'm donating my three to the kid."

Grenda's face lit up.

The saleswoman grimaced. "I'm... not sure I'm allowed to—"

"I'm donating mine too!" Mabel said.

"Me three!" Candy said.

The saleswoman looked at them helplessly.

"Hey." Bill grabbed a passing customer's arm. "Wanna make a donation to a good cause?"

While the saleswoman tried to carefully draw two dozen separate strips of color on Grenda's lips and Mabel and Candy shouted their opinions, Bill surreptitiously slipped several eye products in his hood.

####

"Hey!" Bill shouted, leaning over the balcony around the mall's mezzanine level. "Everybody! Spontaneous dance party! Right here, right now, let's go!" And then he started dancing to the mall's faint background music.

A security guard shouted up from the ground level, "Ma'am? Ma'am! This isn't the appropriate place to— I have to insist you don't—"

It was too late. Whooping and cheering, Mabel, Grenda, and Candy had joined him to start dancing.

When they saw the security guard coming up one escalator, they hustled down the other and escaped.

####

"Not many people take Psynosaur's backstory seriously," Candy said, flipping through a 200-page notebook with densely-packed handwriting. "But when you think about the implications, it's really tragic. His species went extinct 70 million years ago and Professor Kagakusha cloned him from a fossil—he was not meant to live with modern Monster-Mon! Everyone thinks he destroyed the lab because he's inherently bad, but if you think about it, the last thing he knew was the primitive jungle and then he wakes up without his family in a cold, metal room. It's like he was abducted by aliens! He was not mad, he was scared."

"Okay," Bill said uncertainly, watching over her shoulder. He looked around for Mabel and Grenda, but they were off in the another section of the book store, vandalizing books on unicorns with the real facts.

Candy flipped another chunk of pages to an illustration she'd sticky note bookmarked with two dragon-like and dinosaur-like monsters attacking each other, one roaring a stream of 0's and 1's and the other with wavy circles radiating from its forehead. They were both crying. The pencil lines had smeared from opening and closing the pages so many times. "And when you think about it that way, it completely reframes his rivalry with DigiZard! They are not just enemies because Psychic elementals and Digital elementals are mutually mega-effective against each other and they are both Hyper Ultra Rare Monster-Mon. They also represent different eras. DigiZard represents the future, and fears the world that came before his creation, which is why he tries to upload everyone's brains onto the MonsterNet. Psynosaur represents the past and wants to destroy the scary new world he has been forced into."

"Sure," Bill said, perfectly lost.

"And yet, he and DigiZard share a common enemy: they are both the product of human science. DigiZard is coded from the DNA of a dozen Monster-Mon and Psynosaur was mutated when he was cloned. They were never meant to exist. And I think, deep down inside, feeling like they should not be alive is what drives their cruelty. Like they need to do something big to earn the right to exist, because they are such—"

"Freaks," Bill said.

"Yes! Exactly! But even though they have so much in common, they cannot see it. They just fight instead. They need to be put in a situation that forces them to see their shared trauma. Only then can they heal." Candy flipped to the front of the notebook, where she had an illustration of the two monsters wearing aprons. "Which is why I'm writing an AU about them running a coffee shop/cupcake bakery."

"Right," Bill said, lost again.

####

Glaring at the children climbing all over the Kidz Zone rides, Bill said, "I'm never gonna get a turn on that coin-operated helicopter. It's been taken every time we've gone by!" He shot a dirty look at the giggling child currently occupying the helicopter.

"Fight him," Candy said solemnly. "He is the enemy. You must destroy him completely and take what you want."

"You're right, but I'm a foot taller than him and twice his weight. Everyone's gonna assume I'm the bad guy."

"What use is there in being the good guy when goodness doesn't bring you glory."

Bill gave Candy a surprised, impressed look.

"It doesn't get us kicked out," Grenda pointed out.

"Hmm..." Candy's eyes narrowed. "Then perhapssss... there's another way."

####

As they hid in an out-of-order restroom waiting for the mall to close, Grenda experimented in the mirror with her new lipsticks, Mabel edited the drawings in a coloring book she'd picked up at the book store, and Bill sighed in boredom.

He looked at Candy, engrossed in a new notebook and flipping through her deck of Monster-Mon cards looking for reference art.

"Hey. Sooo," he said. "This joint business venture DigiZard and Psynosaur start—how's that shake out? Do they telekinetically burn it down for the insurance money? Do their friends stage an intervention and insist they need real therapy? Tell me they don't, I hate stories that end like that."

"Oh! They win a prize from the local newspaper for best new small business in the neighborhood," Candy said. "And then, they kiss."

Bill's brows went up in surprise. "Oh. Huh," he said. "Good for them."

Candy slowly pulled the notebook out of her backpack again. "Do you... want to read it?"

He squinted at her like he knew he'd just walked into a trap; then accepted the notebook. "Okay, fine—but only because I want to know how they get around DigiZard being a hologram."

####

Half an hour after the mall closed, Mabel stuck her head out of the bathroom and looked around in the dim nighttime lights for any sign of other people. "Okay, coast is clear." Candy, Grenda, and Bill crept out after her, giggling quietly.

Mabel consulted a mall map. "Okay, to get back to the Kidz Zone we just need to make a left, and..."

Bill glanced down the main hall, and sucked in a gasp that made the girls look over.

Just in time to see a slender humanoid being—super smooth and so pure white it stood out even in the dim light—walk in stiff, jerky steps out of one of the dark stores.

The girls let out quiet gasps, grabbing onto Bill's hoodie for protection; and then Grenda loudly said, "Phew! It's not a security guard!"

With a sickening crack, the bare clothing mannequin snapped its featureless face toward them and went perfectly still, like a predator trying to fool its prey into thinking it was part of the scenery. A couple other mannequin heads curiously peeked out of another store.

Mabel hissed, "What are those—"

"Shhh! Let me do the talking." Bill pushed the girls behind himself, smiled disarmingly at the mannequins, and said, "Heeey! Sorry for the intrusion—Saturday, right? Arcade game night? Our bad, totally forgot!"

The first mannequin tilted its head quizzically. It signed a question at Bill.

"Yeah, no, not us, we're going the other direction from Hoo-Ha's," Bill said, gesturing behind them. Another few mannequins had emerged farther ahead; the tap of plastic feet on tile came from the stores behind them. He swallowed nervously. "We won't get in your way!"

Grenda whispered, "But the coin rides aren't—"

"Shhh." He signed another apology to the mannequin and said, "We'll just see ourselves out! Have fun, tell Slim I'm sorry I missed him, byyye!"

He turned around, scooping his arms around the girls to take them with him. "Walk toward the fire exit," he hissed, "don't run, and do not make eye contact."

Candy glanced back over her shoulder. "How can we? They don't have eyes."

Bill wrapped an arm around her shoulders to block her view, power-walked a little faster, and said through a gritted-teeth smile, "By the time you find out, it's too late."

Once they were past the mannequins, Mabel asked, "But where'll we go now? The mall's closed, what else is open this late?"

Grenda's eyes lit up. "Hey! I know where!"

####

"It's okay, Mabel," Candy said, "Just concentrate. You nearly got your second dart in the double point ring. Third time's the charm!"

"You got this, girl!" Grenda said.

Bill squinted at the dart board to check how Mabel would do in the future, and lied, "You'll do great."

"Thanks, gang. Here we go." Mabel squinted an eye shut, carefully aimed her third dart, and flung it at the board.

Just as she did, one of the bikers sitting at Skull Fracture's front bar smashed a glass bottle over another's head and the second biker tumbled off his stool.

The dart went wild. It hit dead in the middle of a section in the double point ring. Unfortunately, it was in the 2 point area of the ring. "Aw, nuts!"

From the table where the Discount Auto Mart Warriors were waiting for their turn, Ghost-Eyes said, "It's all right! You're already playing better than you were just a few darts ago!"

"Thanks, Ghost-Eyes." Mabel pulled her pins off the electronic dart board, plopped down at her table, and drowned her sorrows in cherry limeade.

Ghost-Eyes got up, took his darts, threw them at the board in rapid succession—bullseye, bullseye, double bullseye—and sat down. His teammates hooted and hollered in congratulations as they clapped him on the back: "Three in a row, again!" "Way to go, man!"

(Sitting at the bar, splitting his attention between the brawl breaking out nearby and the dart game, Mayor Tyler Cutebiker cheered, "Get it! Get it!" He turned beet red when Ghost-Eyes subtly flexed in his direction.)

"All right," Bill said, "everyone move aside for a bar game pro." He finished off his drink—the only one at their table that wasn't a soda—cracked his knuckles, grabbed three darts, and stepped in front of the board. He saw several very strong, very clear futures where his darts hit the lower point zones around the edge of the board or didn't hit it at all, and an extremely faint implausible future where his first dart gracefully sailed straight into the double bullseye. He focused his complete attention on that future, ignored all the possibilities around it, and...

Threw a dart into the 1 point area.

"No!" He chucked his second dart at the board, stepping over the faded duct tape throw line on the floor in the process. Nobody called him out for it because his second dart missed the board completely. "No!"

He chucked his third dart at the ground. "I want a do over! It wasn't supposed to go that direction! The air conditioning must be blowing them off course or something, this isn't fair—!" He flopped into his seat, hands covering his face. "Ugggh!" And then slid off his seat to lay on the floor. "Uuuuugh!"

Mabel turned to Candy and Grenda and whispered, "Maybe we should strike darts off the list of stuff to do with Goldie." They nodded.

"So what else can we do?" Candy asked. "The creepy pool guy is still staring at the pool table. I'm not sure he understands it's a different kind of pool."

Mabel gasped. "I've got an idea."

####

In the dark backroom of a closed store, a door clicked open. "Okay, I got the lock," Mabel whispered, pocketing Dipper's president's key. "Everybody inside." Candy and Grenda tiptoed in after her, eyes wide and nervous; Bill came in last, walking backwards so he could keep an eye outside as long as possible, checking for any future signs of pursuit.

"Are you sure about this?" Candy whispered.

"Yeah!" Grenda said. "We do illegal things sometimes, but I think this is more illegal than usual."

"It's fiiine, don't worry about it," Bill said. "Nobody's coming."

"Even staying at the mall after closing was a victimless crime," Candy added. "I'm not sure this is."

Mabel said, "Trust me, this'll be great." She tiptoed into the front store and flipped on a light, revealing row after row of snoozing pets in cages. A couple of animals blinked sleepily at her. Mabel set her backpack down in the middle of the pet shop and started rummaging through it. "Okay, round up all the puppies with light fur. And anything else you can find. Kittens, hamsters, bunnies..."

Within a few minutes, they were seated on the floor in a circle with a small collection of wiggly, mostly white-furred animals. A kitten tried to climb onto Candy's shoulder. Bill had two bunnies in his arms and was rubbing one's head in utter fascination.

Mabel was in the back room filling several spray bottles in a sink. "This is gonna look so cool." She carried the bottles into the store, set them down in the middle of the group, and pulled out a pack of food coloring bottles. She dripped several drops of purple dye into one bottle, fastened on the sprayer, and held out a hand. "Okay! Now hand me a puppy!"

####

"I'm just worried Bill will talk them into doing something criminal," Ford said as he paced. "His only supervision is a handful of kids. What if he's up to something?" He reversed direction and paced the other way. "But no, he's been remarkably well-behaved and helpful recently." He turned around again. "But what if that was all just a ruse to lower our guards?" Turn. "No, no—he's already had opportunities to stir up trouble when we weren't watching, and he hasn't taken them. " Turn. "But what if he's just been waiting for this specific opportunity—"

"Dude," Soos said. "I'm getting kinda dizzy watching you."

"Sorry." Ford stopped pacing and compensated by bouncing a foot. "I just wish they'd get back before anime night." They'd had to reschedule their last anime night due to dealing with a government investigation. Fiddleford had asked if Soos and Ford could come over a bit early, he wanted to talk to Ford before the show; and they'd put off leaving just about as long as they could.

"I'm not worried about them," Dipper said. He was watching TV sprawl out on the living room sofa—which was cushioned for the first time all summer, now that Bill was no longer sleeping on the floor. "I thought letting Bill outside would be stressful. But actually? It's a huge relief, knowing he's out of the house for a bit—"

The door banged open. "We're back!" Candy and Grenda were wielding sleeping bags and backpacks.

"Nevermind," Dipper sighed.

####

(I don't think any of this chapter was influenced by TBOB. Bill seeing an autostereogram picture the first time was written before TBOB came out; in TBOB Bill says he thinks people who claim to see magic eye pictures are lying, and I think that's sour grapes. I wanted to make a comic of Bill seeing a magic eye picture for the first time and weeping at the beauty, but it turns out that autostereogram images that don't look crappy are hard to make. Crappy ones are easy though.

Anyway!! hope y'all enjoyed Bill's 😎✨first taste of freedom✨🌻, I've basically spent the ENTIRE fic waiting to get to the point where Bill can go outside and do stuff.

As well as waiting to make chapter 18 come back to bite him in the butt lmao.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #ford pines #grunkle stan #stan pines #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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decentwritings · 7 months ago

Text

Prologue

Summary: At twenty-six, you never expected your life to look like this: a veteran, a college dropout, now running drugs to cover your late father’s debts. The military took you away for a brief moment, but now you're back in your hometown, keeping family at a distance to keep them safe. Your simple plan to clear the debt, one job at a time, unravels the moment Mabel steps into your life.

next part

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the dock. Waves lapped lazily against the wooden beams, the scent of salt and summer thick in the air. You lean against the railing, watching a group chatter and laugh in the distance. You often tell yourself to be more present, more focused, but your mind keeps drifting back to the stack of bills waiting at home, the weight of your father's memory heavy on your shoulders.

A ripple of laughter draws your attention back to the group, and your eyes settling on a short girl, bangs close to covering her eyes. From where you're standing, you can see the freckles on her cheeks, around her eyes. The sun is doing a great job of shining on them. The group comes to a stop at the edge of the deck, and she sets her bag down on the railing, carefully, flipping her hair back as she leans into the conversation. The way the light caught her face, the easy smile on her lips—something about her made your pulse quicken.

You just wanted to know her name. That's all you can ask for. She seems...magnetic, a bright spot in a world that has felt too dark for too long.

You lean against the deck's railing, clenching your jaw to have some self control. You have bigger things to think about than some girl. You can't go on and fall for the first cute girl who catches your eye, not with everything else hanging over you. The stack of bills at home, the weight of responsibility, and the promises you made to your family all tugged at the back of your mind, reminding you to stay focused.

But then you hear a clatter. The girl's bag—teetering on the edge of the railing—slips, toppling into the water below. The guy standing beside her grimaces, looking over the railing, watching the bag hit the surface of the water.

"Charlie!" she gasps, reaching out too late as her bag falls. She looks helpless, staring after it as if willing it to float back to her.

You watch for a moment as this Charlie apologizes profusely, staring as the bag sinks little by little. He doesn't move and you assume he doesn't have a plan on how to retrieve the bag.

You don't think, the plan in your head is quick and simple. You kick your shoes off and tug your shirt off, having prepared for a swim today anyway. The wetsuit hugs your body nicely, both comfortable and efficient. You're glad the military introduced you to it. You grip the railing and push yourself over it, sucking in a breath in time for you to hit the surface.

Just before you enter the water, you had heard someone shout; "Holy shit, she jumped!"

The water stings your eyes as you look around, but soon you find the bag sinking further and further down. You swim towards it, grateful for your years of training, every stroke powered by determination and urgency. The water surrounds you, a good mixture of cool and warmth, pushing you to move faster. You reach out, your fingers grazing the bag just as it begins to settle on the sandy bottom.

With a final push, you dive deeper, grasping the bag tightly. As you pull it back toward the surface, the weight of it pulls you down slightly, but you kick hard, breaking through the surface and gasping for air. The sunlight glimmers on the water around you as you make your way back to the dock, heart racing from both the swim and the thrill of doing something reckless.

You spit water out of your mouth as you surface, blinking back the drips of water from entering your eyes. On shore, you catch a glimpse of this Charlie guy kicking his shoes off and beginning to unbutton his shorts to enter the water.

You swim to shore, trying your best to avoid the bag from getting in the water anymore. When you reach land, you walk out and wipe the water from your face, shaking your head to get the water out of your ears.

"I was..." Charlie begins as you walk towards him, "gonna get it," he mumbles as you walk past him.

Mabel is down from the pier, friends behind right her; they all come to most likely watch the interaction. You exhale a breath, one you struggle to catch, at first because of the swim, but now, with Mabel up close, her presence makes it even harder to breathe.

You clear your throat and extend her soaked bag to her. She takes it with a laugh, squeezing the water out of it as best as she can.

"Thanks," she mumbles, eyeing her bag for a moment. "I'll see if I can save anything in here later. Mabel," she extends her hand towards you.

You take her hand, shaking it gently. "Y/N."

There's a moment of just you two holding hands, and you don't think much of it, given that she doesn't really react either. It isn't until Charlie clears his throat when you notice.

You blink out of your stupor, taking a tentative step back. "Anyway, um, steer clear of the deck. Those railings are definitely not sturdy," you point up at the pier, the deck's wooden railings chipping away little by little. "It was nice meeting you, Mabel...Charles–"

"Charlie," he corrects. Mabel's laugh can be heard underneath it.

"And others," you ignore him as you wave at the rest of the group. "Have a good night," you turn on your heels and make your way back up to grab your things.

"Hey, wait up," you hear as you bend down to grab your shoes. You glance over your shoulder and see Mabel jogging toward you. "We're heading to grab a bite to eat, you're welcome to come–as a proper thank you."

You weigh your options. On the one hand, you are very tempted to join them just to see more of her. There's something about Mabel that pulls you in, makes the heaviness of your day-to-day fade, even if only for a little while. But on the other hand, you know you have to keep your distance. You've got things to take care of, and getting too close to people, especially someone like her, could complicate everything.

You sigh, running a hand through your damp hair. "I appreciate the offer, really," you start, standing up and slinging your shirt over your shoulder. "But I've got some stuff to handle tonight." You lie.

Today was just a free day for you. You slept in, made yourself some brunch then came here to walk the beach twice. Now the sun is setting and you have to head home to cook yourself dinner. You may just order out though.

Mabel's expression falters for a second, but she quickly recovers, her smile never quite fading. "No worries, I get it. Maybe another time?"

You hesitate, glancing at the group waiting for her, then back to her expectant eyes. There's something hopeful in the way she looks at you, and for a moment, you almost change your mind.

"Yeah," you nod. "Maybe another time."

She grins, a small, genuine smile that lingers even as she turns to rejoin her friends. You watch her go, the sound of their laughter mixing with the crash of waves against the pier, and you can't help but feel like you've missed out on something. Something good.

Then, you think, you could save yourself some money by joining them. You turn and sigh, hurrying after them. You can't believe just the sound of this girl's laugh made you change your mind.

"Umm," you clear your throat, halting their movements. "I changed my mind. If you don't mind..." you wait for their response–her response.

Mabel nods. "Come on. It's not a far walk," she says with a smile. You smile back and follow, walking beside her and a conversation easily begins between the two of you.

Charlie raises an eyebrow but says nothing as Mabel leads the way. The group starts walking toward the nearby food spot, one you know of since you were a kid. The owner is a friend of the family since your dad made friends with everyone and their mother. You call him uncle.

Once you all enter, the familiar smell of grilled food and old wooden booths hits you, immediately bringing back memories of your father. You try to push them aside as you follow Mabel and the group to a large booth near the back of the restaurant. You hear the sizzling of the burgers and your stomach growls.

Focus on your hunger, not the memories, you think as you slide into the booth.

You settle in beside Mabel, and as the group chats around you, you can't help but feel a strange sense of belonging in this place. Even though you hadn't planned on it, this night is turning out to be more than just another routine evening. You hadn't been here since you came to visit that one time a few years back.

You were on leave and your dad insisted to come because it's practically tradition. It also helped that Rudy, the owner, gave you all free food when you came by. Veteran special, he said.

"So," Mabel turns to you, "you've been here before?"

You nod, glancing around. "Yeah, my dad used to bring me here when I was a kid. The owner, Rudy, is an old family friend." You tell her, taking the menu she offers you. You pretend to look, but you already know what you're going to order.

Hell, the waitress you see coming by knows what your order will be.

"Well, if it isn't our sergeant," Jodie, the waitress, who is also Rudy's wife, greets you. Your cheeks burn as you feel questioning glares on you. "With your own platoon this time–hi, how are you? I'm practically this little vet's Tia." She pinches your cheeks.

You chuckle nervously as Jodie pinches your cheeks, glancing around the table to see Mabel and the rest of the group watching the interaction with amused curiosity. "Hey, Tia Jodie," you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. "Just, uh, grabbing a bite with some new friends."

Jodie beams at you, her eyes twinkling as she shifts her attention to Mabel. "Well, isn't that sweet! It's nice to see you making friends. Been worried you'd become a hermit with how often you're here solo."

All you can do is hum in response.

"I know your order," Jodie says then looks at the rest of them. "How about you guys? Need more time or are you ready to order?"

They all tell her they need more time, so she excuses herself to take care of the other customers. She sends you a knowing look, one you understand well.

While your family wasn't all that prideful about your military background, Rudy and Jodie were.

Rudy and Jodie had always been like an extra set of parents, beaming with pride over your accomplishments when your own family barely mentioned them. They were the ones who celebrated your milestones, threw you small parties when you came back from deployments, and made you feel seen in ways that sometimes your own parents and sister didn't.

You catch Jodie's knowing look as she walks away, and you can't help but feel a small pang of guilt. She's always looking out for you, and though she means well, the attention sometimes feels heavy. Especially now.

You wish your parents, especially your dad, at least acknowledged your accomplishments. You'd tell them about only in the presence of Rudy and Jodie, simply because you didn't like the awkward silences after you said it.

"So," Charlie speaks up, setting his menu down and looking directly at you. "You're military? I noticed the tattoo—didn't think it was for your dog tag."

You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeve, the damp fabric resisting. "Yeah," you clear your throat, feeling the weight of his gaze. "But this tattoo is actually for my grandfather. He was the one who inspired me to enlist." You shrug, fingers tracing the ink, the colors still vibrant.

"What branch?" Nunes—one of Mabel's friends, as you recently learned—asks, leaning forward with interest.

"Army. Rangers," you reply, instinctively touching the necklace around your neck. The pendant was given to you after finishing training, a rare token of honor from your unit—a reminder of the brotherhood you forged during those years.

"Semper fi," Nunes says, raising a fist in solidarity.

You hum, a slight smile breaking through. "That's the Marines, but I appreciate the spirit."

The whole table bursts into laughter as Nunes frowns, realizing his mistake.

"Impressive," Costa, another friend of Mabel's, nods with newfound respect in his eyes. "Not many can say they've gone through that."

"I would've signed up for the military if I knew they handed out free jewelry," Charlie jokes, his tone oblivious to the weight in the air.

Anne-Marie, Costa's wife, from her husband's side, looks at him. "Have some sense, Char," she shakes her head. "She trained with the Rangers. She could kill you with one hand tied behind her back."

"That's for sure," your aunt returns, smiling at the chuckle that escapes your lips. You don't miss the grimace that crosses Charlie's face, amusing you more. Jodie looks between you all. "So, ready?"

You all place your orders before she disappears, but not before once again, sending you a knowing look. You offer her a smile in return, a little shy. She walks off to put in your orders, leaving you alone with the group.

The group returns to conversation, a different topic at hand now, which you're grateful for. You keep quiet, as always; by nature, and training, to just listen and observe.

You smile to yourself, finding comfort in their banter. There's something refreshing about being in a group where laughter flows so freely. It reminds you of the times you spent with your own friends, sharing dumb stories and letting the world slip away.

As you sit back, you catch Mabel glancing at you every so often, her expression lighting up whenever your eyes meet. There's a warmth in her smile that makes your chest tighten just a bit, a quiet flutter of anticipation stirring in you each time. It's subtle but unmistakable, like the start of something you're not sure you're ready for—but can't seem to ignore either.

The group dives into their meals with gusto, devouring their plates like they haven't eaten in days. You, on the other hand, take your time, savoring each bite like it might be your last. It's not just the food, though. There's something comforting about the familiar atmosphere of Rudy's place, the faint hum of conversation, the smell of the sea in the distance. It all feels like a moment you don't want to rush.

Jodie eventually returns, sliding the bill discreetly in front of you. You don't even need to open it to know what it says. When you do, the words "All covered" are scribbled at the bottom, the price conveniently blacked out. Typical.

You glance up just in time to catch Jodie winking at you before she heads off to tend to another table, and you can't help but roll your eyes with a smile. One of these days, you're going to get her to let you pay for a meal, but tonight is clearly not that night.

As you lean back in your chair, Mabel watches you, curiosity and something else dancing in her gaze. Maybe she senses there's more to you than you let on, or maybe she's just trying to figure you out, but either way, you can feel her drawing closer. And somehow, you don't mind.

You explain to them of the bill situation, and they argue that they should pay something. You tell them to leave a tip, and to hope she accepts it. Jodie can be stubborn.

You watch from a distance as they all sum up some cash to leave for Jodie. As the group pools together cash for the tip, you catch glimpses of their conversation, the light banter as they tease one another over how much to leave. Mabel's laughter rings out above the rest, and you can't help but smile to yourself. It's easy to see why people are drawn to her—there's a natural warmth and kindness that comes with her presence, something that makes you feel welcome, even when you don't expect it.

You stand in the corner, eyeing the frames on the wall; pictures of people with fishes or with wide smiles after a long day at sea. Rudy's place is filled with memories, the kind that tell stories of good days, hard work, and community. You've always admired that about this spot—how it feels like more than just a restaurant. It's a place where people come together, no matter the time or the situation.

Your eyes stop on a particular frame. It's one of your father with your mother, pregnant with you while your older sister is in his arms. It was clear it was after a week of being at sea, your sister's disgusted look on her face says it all. Your mother's eyes crinkle as she laughs while your father pouts.

You stare at the photo for a moment, lost in the nostalgia of a simpler time. It's a rare shot of your father looking carefree, something you don't see often in your memories. Back then, everything felt different. Simpler, maybe. Your sister's scrunched-up face, your mother's laugh—those are the small moments you didn't realize you'd cherish until they became memories.

Mabel's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Is that your family?" She's standing beside you now, her eyes following your gaze to the picture.

You nod. "Yeah. My dad used to take us all out after his fishing trips. That's my mom, and my sister when she was little."

Mabel tilts her head, taking in the scene. "You look a lot like your mom."

You glance at the picture again, and for the first time in a while, you can see the resemblance. "Yeah, I guess I do," you say quietly.

"Faro!"

You turn; the voice is instantly recognizable. Mabel follows your gaze to see an older man with a dirty apron around his neck, arms outstretched.

"Faro?" she asks quietly. You exhale, shaking your head a bit.

"Childhood nickname," you reply simply.

"Is it short for anything?" Mabel asks, curious. From the corner of your eye, you see Charlie, his curiosity even more apparent than hers.

"No, just Faro." You shrug, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly nervous. Charlie blinks, and with his lack of reaction, you feel the need to explain. "It means 'lighthouse' in Spanish. My dad used to call me that..." Your voice fades as you remember your father saying you always helped him find his way home.

"Were you leaving without saying goodbye?"

A part of you didn’t want to see Rudy, partly because of that nickname he insists on using. To you, it's a reminder of what you’ve lost. But he says it like he doesn’t know what you’ve been up to, like he’s unaware of how far you've fallen from the person your father once saw in you. It’s why you’ve avoided the diner these past few months. You know he knows. You just can’t handle a speech—a reprimand for your choices.

"Hey, Tio," you say, then give Mabel an apologetic look. You realize you haven't had the time to really talk to her. But you excuse yourself anyway, hoping to have this inevitable talk in private.

Mabel watches you go, her curiosity about you only increasing, but she doesn't follow. She wonders how you grew up here, yet she's never seen or heard of you before. In a town like this, everyone tends to know everyone. Secrets rarely stay hidden, and stories travel fast. Hell, everyone got word of Weeks death the second it happened. Her acceptance to college also spread like wildfire, her mother trying to feed off her before she went off to college.

But you? You're an enigma, someone who seems to have roots in the community but remains on the outskirts, just out of reach.

As she listens to the light banter from the rest of the group, Mabel's mind drifts back to the way Rudy greeted you—the familiarity, the warmth, and the concern. There's clearly a deeper connection there, something important that ties you to this place.

Instead, she nods and turns back to join the group, giving you space to handle the situation with Rudy.

You walk over to him, feeling the weight of his gaze as you approach. His arms are still outstretched, but there's a seriousness in his eyes, one that tells you this conversation won't be easy. Rudy wraps you in a tight hug, his apron still smelling faintly of seafood and the sea breeze, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into the comfort of it.

He hugs you tightly, patting your back twice before gently pulling back to look at you. You hope he doesn't see it. The faint outline of a bruise that is healing on your left cheek. A trained eye can see it; and Rudy had a very well trained eye.

If he does see it, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he smiles and pats your shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here," he says, then glances over your shoulder. "With friends. I always said you needed friends who weren't military," he chuckles.

You glance back, eyes finding Mabel the instant you do. She meets your eyes for a second before you turn back, feeling caught. "I just ran into them. They invited me to join them," you shrug, not making a big deal of it.

Rudy nods, though his smile falters for a brief second, sensing there's more you're not saying. He's always been good at reading between the lines. His hand stays on your shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "Well, I'm still glad you're here," he repeats, his tone softening. "This place... it misses you, you know?"

You look away, avoiding his gaze. "I've been busy, trying to make ends meet," you tell him.

"Right. Busy getting yourself into trouble, huh?" Rudy's voice remains light, but the weight of his words settles between you. He may not say it outright, but he knows more than you want to admit.

You've been back in town for a year and a half now, and he knows of your back and forth of wanting to be with family while helping them pay bills. Your father's death took a toll on you in a way you hadn't expected–his added debt didn't help matters, either. You didn't take time to grieve, you went straight to getting jobs to pay off your father's stupid debts.

You try to laugh it off, but it sounds hollow even to your ears. "Just trying to stay afloat."

Rudy raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your attempt to downplay it. "Staying afloat shouldn't mean drowning yourself in other people's problems," he says, his voice still kind but firm. "You've got your own life to live, Faro. Don't forget that."

You look down, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle back on your shoulders. "I can't just ignore it, though. I have to help," you instinctively reach for your necklace, a habit you picked up. "It gets back to my mom–I won't be able to live with myself."

A look of understanding crosses his face. "Okay," he places his hand on your shoulder again, pointing a stern finger at you now. "You come to me if things get bad, entendiste?"

You nod, grateful as always for his support. It feels heavy, but it's nice to know you have it. "Understood," you say, smiling as best as you can.

"Go on," Rudy tells you, nodding. "That girl you've been eyeing sucks at hiding her staring."

You can't help but let out a soft chuckle at Rudy's remark, glancing back toward where Mabel is still with the others. She quickly looks away, pretending to be focused on the conversation, but you catch the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"She's not staring," you say, trying to sound casual, but Rudy just gives you a knowing look.

"Right," he chuckles himself, then crosses his arms. "You always liked competition, so I think you should know the short haired one hasn't stopped staring at her either."

You sigh, the weight of Rudy's words settling in. Charlie's interest in Mabel was obvious, and while Rudy might joke about it being a competition, you didn't see it that way. You weren't interested in chasing after someone like she was a trophy to be won.

Your father's lesson echoed in your mind—a woman is never a prize. He always made sure you and your sister understood that respect came first, especially when it came to relationships. To him, love wasn't about winning; it was about mutual respect, honesty, and a real connection.

"I'm not here to compete, Tio," you say, shaking your head. "If she's interested in him, that's her choice."

Rudy nods, but there's a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "You're right, of course. But sometimes, it's not about competing. Sometimes it's just about letting her see who you really are."

You take in his words as you glance back at Mabel, her laughter ringing out as Charlie says something to the group. She catches your eye once more, and this time, there's no pretending not to notice. Maybe Rudy's right—maybe it's just about being yourself and seeing what happens next.

You shake your head. You are not looking for a relationship. It's the last thing you need right now. You decide not to comment on his words and simply tell him thanks again. He pulls you in for a longer hug than before than orders you to make friends.

You're unable to find words to say back to that so you walk off with a head shake, smiling despite yourself. The group, surprisingly, was waiting on you to leave. You thank them, smiling as you follow behind them.

The question of what's next hovers on the tip of your tongue, but Nunes seems to have the same thought.

"Where we going?" he asks, his eyebrows drawn together as he walks a step ahead while you linger behind.

You’re grateful Nunes voiced it before you had to. The last thing you want is to be pulled into a conversation with Mabel while your mind is still racing with Rudy's words. You already see Charlie making his move, staying close to her, clearly angling to steer the conversation in his favor. The idea of stepping into that dynamic feels uneasy.

"So, what’s the Army Rangers’ motto again?" Nunes asks, catching you off guard as he suddenly appears by your side. He shrugs sheepishly. "Just so I don’t put my foot in my mouth next time."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Rangers lead the way,” you say, feeling a sense of pride in the words that goes deeper than you expected.

Nunes nods, repeating it under his breath like he’s committing it to memory. “Got it. Rangers lead the way.” He picks up his speed and shouts at the others. "Hey, guys! I figured it out!"

You let out another chuckle, staying a few steps behind, keeping your distance, hoping to avoid any potential awkwardness. Mabel glances over her shoulder at you, as if she can sense the space you're putting between yourself and the rest of the group. There's a flicker of something in her eyes but she doesn't press you, turning her attention back to Charlie.

Costa turns around, noticing your lingering pace. "You coming, or you planning to walk the whole way back like a ghost?" he jokes, smirking.

You let out a short laugh, shaking off the tension. "Just taking in the scenery, man," you reply, speeding up just enough to not seem distant but still giving yourself enough space.

Truth is, you're not entirely sure what's next. You weren't even supposed to be part of this group in the first place, but here you are, tagging along, wondering where this road will lead you—literally and figuratively.

The scenery is nothing new, one you see everyday on your morning walk to the beach and back. You can't help it, old habits die hard. Your dad got a house walking distance from the piers mostly to avoid driving to work but also because he didn't want to be far if anything were to happen.

It also made it easy for him to just walk home, shower then sleep in his own bed.

What is new, is Mabel. The sound of her laugh, her smile and the way her presence draws you in without even trying. She's unlike anyone you've come across in a long time—bright, carefree, but with a depth you can sense just beneath the surface. She has this...you can't really explain it, but you want to find it what "this" is. You've caught glimpses of it in the way she listens to the people around her, in how her eyes soften when someone mentions something meaningful. She's got a story, just like everyone else and you want to know it.

In a town like this, everyone knows everyone's story. Everyone's background. Yet, the distance you created with this town the moment you discovered your father's dark truth, you stopped listening to the constant chatter and rumors this small town discusses.

You've learned to tune out the noise, the way people gossip and speculate about each other's lives. Especially with the rumors of your father's truths. The once kind and gentle girl-dad now a turned drug runner to pay off his gambling debt? Yeah, you stopped listening the moment you found out the rumors you may hear are more than often true. It's how you've survived, by keeping a low profile and focusing on your own problems. Your father did everything to keep your family's business low profile too. Until he made a deal with the wrong person.

But now, with Mabel, you find yourself wanting to listen again. To understand her story, not because of what others might say, but because you genuinely want to hear it from her.

The mystery surrounding her is different, not the kind that spreads through whispers but the kind that makes you curious—curious about what she's been through, what makes her laugh the way she does, and what's hiding behind those moments when her smile falters, even if only for a second. Her friendships. Her family.

But you remind yourself, as you walk along the familiar streets, that this isn't the time to get wrapped up in someone else. You've got enough on your plate—debts, responsibilities, and the pressure of trying to stay afloat. Still, there's something about her that makes it hard to shake the thought.

As the group continues walking, Charlie makes a joke that has everyone laughing, including Mabel. You think, she's an innocent, kind and beautiful soul. And this is just from a few hours with her.

What will trying to be just her friend do to that innocence, to that kindness and beauty of her soul?

You'll ruin it. Just like your father did with your family. So, you remember your training, and do what you do best.

When Mabel glances over her shoulder to look for you, you're gone. So is the smile she had all night just by simply being in your presence.

~~~~

Note: bear with me, I had a clear picture as to how I wanted this story to end but it changed like three times already. my brain is coming up with a new idea every time I proofread the chapters I have done so updates will be very slow.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #lighthouse #mabel (finestkind) x reader #mabel (finestkind)#finestkind

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