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ckret2 · 3 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 · 20 days 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 · 2 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 · 7 months ago

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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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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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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 · 8 months ago

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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 · 3 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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tinfoil-jones · 3 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...?

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rafecameronssl4t · 8 months ago

Text

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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decentwritings · 5 months ago

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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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ckret2 · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 87 of human Bill Cipher in drag as his cishetsona, Sexygirl McGovernment-Seducer: in which he attempts to get intel out of Agent Powers during a dinner date using the feminine wiles he's totally pretending to have but definitely doesn't.

Spoilers: he's not going to help Powers solve the mystery.

(warning this chapter for some mild sexual content, although it's all non-explicit and nothing happens on screen.)

####

Soos drove Bill to Greasy's Diner half an hour before his scheduled date. Before Bill got out of the truck, Soos put a hand on his shoulder. "Dude. Wait a sec."

"What."

Soos opened his mouth, and then didn't say anything.

"What?"

Soos nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Uh..."

Oh, come on. Teeth gritted, Bill snapped, "What."

Soos rummaged around in his cargo shorts, pulled out a slightly sweat-damp envelope, and offered it to Bill. "Here. Just... just in case."

"What is it?"

"Um."

Bill peeked in the envelope. Oh. Protection. Intimate protection. Not like he'd asked for it, but—yeah, sure, Soos was the only human in the house currently getting any action, of course he was the only one with supplies. Bill nodded solemnly. "Message received." If the possibility came up, it might make for a useful persuasion tool.

And besides that, Bill needed it. Not as ravenously as he'd needed it two or three weeks ago (something to do with this stupid body's stupid hormones, no doubt), but he needed it. His little tryst with his worshiper last weekend had only served to whet his appetite. Having been reminded said appetite existed—and that there was a slim chance he might finally get it satisfied—he could feel it low in his abdomen. It felt like someone had emptied a can of soup, heated the empty metal can on a stove until it was red hot, and then teleported it into Bill's flesh beneath his small intestine: searingly hot and empty—

Bill pushed aside his discomfort and tried to cover it by making someone else even more uncomfortable. He shook the envelope. "But you think I'll need six?"

Soos looked out the windshield, studiously avoiding Bill's gaze. "Um. I thought, 'hey, uh... better safe than sorry,' right?"

"Sure." Better than pleading with his captors for a pharmacy trip. He checked his dress for pockets, found nothing, and stuffed the envelope in the folds of his umbrella instead. "Better add more to my part of the grocery list. Ya know, for the future," he said. "Ribbed. With that tingly lube. If they don't have any with that lube, just throw in a poblano and I'll figure it out myself." If he was going to have a sex life in this body, he was going to enjoy it properly.

Looking out the windshield wasn't enough, Soos was staring at the truck's roof now. "Okay," he said weakly. "You got it, dude."

Bill knocked his umbrella on the passenger door. "Now let me out of this sardine tin."

####

"Bill Cipher is on a date," Ford said. "With a government agent who's privy to all kinds of classified intel. Totally unrestrained and unmonitored. No supervision. No magical handcuffs." He took a deep breath. "And I'm fine with it. I'm just fine."

Stan glanced over from the TV. Ford was laying on the sofa, perfectly straight, hands laced over his chest, staring at the ceiling, like he was expecting a heart attack any minute and had decided he might as well prepare his body for the casket. "I can tell," Stan said. He elected not to try to reassure Ford until the next commercial break. Cash Wheel was on, and it was nice to be able to get in some guesses without Ford blurting out the answers first.

Sitting on the floor with Mabel, Dipper said, "It's not the first time Bill's been outside without restraints. The handcuffs came off during the eclipse, and he didn't cause any trouble."

"Plus," Mabel said, "he just escaped the shack and came back voluntarily! Because he trusted us not to kill him! We can show him a tiiiny bit of trust in return, right?"

Ford groaned, pulled the baby blue doily off the back of the couch, and covered his face with it.

"Besides, he's not totally unsupervised!" Mabel held up her phone, beaming. "Let's just say, there's a good reason I made sure he'd go to Greasy's."

####

Every time the restaurant door opened, Pacifica's head whipped around to see who was coming in, and so far she'd only been disappointed. She'd picked up an extra shift this evening just because Mabel had texted to say her personal makeup project would be taking his date here, and so far all she'd gotten was lumberjacks and some of Spiderwebs' weird prison gang pals.

She was busy passing out plates to the elderly throuple that came in twice a week when the door opened and Pacifica finally caught a flash of golden hair from the corner of her eye. There they were. (Ooh, and the government agent was tall, too.)

Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw Lazy Susan approach them first. "Heeey, I haven't seen you two before! Welcome! Booth for two?" Susan turned slightly to glance over her shoulder at Pacifica.

That woman was a treasure. Pacifica nodded subtly—yes, this was the couple she'd been talking about all afternoon.

Susan nodded back, and led the couple to Pacifica's half of the diner. "This way! Your waitress will be with you in a minute. What can I get you two to drink in the meantime?"

While Pacifica was wrapping up with the throuple and passing their salad dishes to the kitchen, Susan had brought out their drink orders, and now was saying, "Say! Have you got a funny eye too?" She lifted her eyelid with a fingertip. "Wink!"

Goldie laughed. "Yeah, and they take turns being funny." He switched which eye he was squinting shut. "Wink."

"Really? Oh how silly! Mine stays on the same side." Susan left their table. "You two enjoy yourselves!"

Voice low, the agent said, "I meant to ask yesterday if you'd hurt your eye, when you were wearing an eyepatch."

"Nah, it's a condition! If I use 'em both for too long it gives me a migraine. Usually the eyepatch is for afternoons," he rested his chin on his laced fingers and batted his eyelashes, "buuut I wanted to look nice for you." (For which Pacifica was grateful—she hadn't spent several hours teaching Goldie and Mabel just for him to smear his eyeshadow under an eyepatch.)

Finally, she'd offloaded her plates and could rush over to their table. "Hee-eeyyy guys, my name's Pacifica, welcome to Greasy's I'll be your waitressss." She gave them both her best waitress smile.

Goldie's brows shot up in surprise—Mabel must not have told him she worked here—but the agent squinted at her in concentration. "Aren't you the Northwest girl? Pacifica Northwest?"

Pacifica froze. Her parents worked with some government people; she didn't know whether this agent was one of them. With no change to her singsong customer service tone, she said, "Please don't tell my parentssss." She gave them both her stiffest waitress smile.

The agent shook his head. "None of my business."

The agent ordered the meatloaf; Goldie ordered a club sandwich with fries, and Pacifica kicked herself for not advising him on proper dinner date etiquette. Girls should order salad on the first date, her mom had drilled that into her head, guys don't want to watch a girl actually eating. If you didn't think you could survive the night on a salad then you ate before the date so you could pick at your lettuce without looking ravenous—and of all other options, a sandwich was the worst, crumbs all over your hands and it was so inelegant to tear off chunks of bread with your mouth... She uneasily remembered Goldie's sneer as he told her she was one wrong jab away from an eating disorder, and decided he probably wouldn't have listened to her advice about proper date foods anyway.

Still, she had no idea what to make of the fact that Goldie had also requested maple syrup, grape jelly, and "the hottest hot sauce you have" on the side. She prayed this wouldn't be a disaster. She was invested now.

As she left, she heard Goldie gush to his date, "So tell me all about your investigation...!"

####

"This isn't public knowledge," Powers said, "but as a matter of fact, there is a little more to the investigation than a few power surges and a couple of gravitational anomalies."

Bill nodded, the perfect picture of fascination. "You don't say?"

"Perhaps I should... tell you a little more about my work," Powers said. "The Bureau of Covert Investigations isn't exactly a secret agency, but it isn't widely advertised to the public. We don't even have a website. We don't accept job applications, either; the only way agents join is by being recruited from other departments."

He decided not to point out that he already knew way more about the eagles than Powers was telling him—including the fact that they were under the Department of Cover-Ups, which was top secret. (Of course, Powers was covering that part up.) "Sounds pretty elite! Where'd you get recruited from? FBI? CIA?"

"The Criminal Investigations department of the IRS."

Bill choked back a laugh.

"We're dedicated to investigating reports of potential domestic threats within the United States that seem... too absurd for other departments. Including reports that might be considered... paranormal."

"So, when you say there's more to your investigation than a few power surges... I take it you're not talking about checking the local power plant for OSHA violations."

"Precisely," Powers said. "Most of the time, our work consists of uncovering hoaxes, or finding natural scientific explanations for supernatural-looking phenomena. But this one..." He lowered his voice, leaning further across the table. "I've been working the Gravity Falls case for years. It was my first assignment when I joined the bureau in the 80s—and I became convinced that something odd is happening in this town, just under the surface. Over the next few years, my investigation uncovered irregularities in the town's historical records, strange localized effects on magnetic fields, a disproportionate amount of reported sightings of things like Bigfoot or UFOs, occasional tourist disappearances far above the statistical average for this part of Oregon... The original case I was assigned to investigate went cold, but I remained certain that Gravity Falls is the key to something big."

(Uncovered irregularities in the historical records? So the bureau hadn't just told him about the irregularities. He really wasn't part of the Trembley cover-up. Bill nodded enthusiastically, go on.)

"But the anomalous power surges stopped, and I was forced to put the Gravity Falls case on the back burner for lack of any new evidence," Powers said. "Until last summer. When we picked up readings identical to the ones we detected in the 80s. We discovered that they coincided with localized fluctuations in gravity, as well. At last, I had the resources and manpower to pursue the case in earnest."

Bill considered cracking a joke about Manny Powers's manpower, then decided there was no point if Powers wouldn't even find it funny. "And what happened then?" With the core of their knowledge of the case having been ripped out by the memory gun, Bill was really curious how the agents remembered that whole incident.

Powers looked embarrassed. "Well... we... didn't find anything, I suppose." He cleared his throat. "But—in spite of last summer's... lack of success, I'm sure something is happening in this town. If anything, I'm more convinced now than ever before."

"Really? More convinced?" Talk about a backfire. Ford might've been better off erasing the eagles' memories of the entire case... but then, once they got home, whatever information they still had on file at their headquarters would've reactivated their memories. In this situation, there really was no winning with the memory gun, no matter how carefully tuned it was—with so many people involved and so many disparate sources of information, the Pines couldn't have kept everything secret. "How come? Didja find any evidence?"

"Nothing concrete, but..." Powers made a noise of irritation. "The locals seem normal enough, they'll tell you there's nothing strange about their town—but talk to the visitors who pass through, and they all seem to feel that something eerie is going on."

Bill considered that, trying to find an angle to nudge Powers away from Gravity Falls. For a man employed to investigate the paranormal, he seemed like a pretty rational, logic-driven guy; maybe a logical argument? "I did say the town feels spooky to me too, but... if even you couldn't find any evidence, I've gotta wonder if it's just a psychological trick making us think Gravity Falls is a bigger deal than it is."

"How so?"

"Think about it: how many reasons do people have to visit this place? The one road into town dead ends at The Club—which I'm convinced is only visited by locals and the Northwests' business guests—so they're not getting traffic through town. There's the lake, but there are plenty of other lakes around more popular tourist towns in the Mount Hood area. (Personally, I'm fond of Pyramid Lake—no particular reason.) If you want a mall, you'd get more bang for your buck driving a couple hours to Portland than going to Gravity Falls'. The Tent of Telepathy shut down in under two years. Nobody's gonna visit the history museum unless they're already in town. So the biggest draw in town is... the Mystery Shack. You hit the turnoff for the shack before you even reach the town. It's no wonder tourists feel like something weird's going on!" Bill scoffed, "Maybe that's the real reason your anonymous tipster said there's someone 'dangerous' in the shack. They coulda been talking about our pal Sascrotch."

"You do make an excellent point," Powers said. "But reports about the town's strangeness extend beyond the tourists. Truckers who stop in at the Triple Digit Truck Stop claim that this stretch of Route 14 is haunted. And out-of-town loggers say that the loggers in Gravity Falls are... skittish."

"Oh, that's just Dan," Bill said. "Tough guy, but he's nervous about the things in the woods."

"You know Dan?"

Right, Bill was supposed to just be a tourist. "I've been in town long enough to notice him. Hard not to notice him, he's built like a bonfire!"

Powers nodded slightly, accepting that. "But don't you think it's odd for a lumberjack to be nervous around trees?"

Bill didn't have time to think of a response to that before Pacifica came by with their meals. "Here you go, one meatloaf and one club sandwich. Everything great so far?" She directed the question toward Bill.

He flashed her a bright grin. "Terrific. Thanks."

She looked relieved. "Great! You two just let me know if you need anything."

"Will do!" He could use a break for dinner, anyway. He'd hit a dead end; he needed to think up a new angle.

But he'd find something. He always did.

####

From the far end of the restaurant, Pacifica clapped her hands over her mouth in horror as Goldie drizzled maple syrup over his fries. The agent stared in silent fascination as he added grape jelly and hot sauce to his club sandwich. What was he doing. No wonder this guy was friends with Mabel, he was just as silly as her and twice as oblivious to it. He was ruining everything.

As Pacifica watched, he emphatically offered the maple syrup to the agent, who looked dubious, but tentatively drizzled a tiny bit on his mashed potatoes and tried a bite. He looked pleasantly surprised. Huh. Who'd have guessed.

They had their dinner; Pacifica took care of her other customers and checked in on them a few more times; and as Pacifica took their plates back to the kitchen, Susan, who was sweeping behind the counter, asked, "Sooo? How are the lovebirds doing?"

"I... guess not bad." She had to admit that Goldie looked like he had that agent wrapped around his finger. The agent's gaze hadn't strayed from Goldie's face once. Which was impressive, since Pacifica had learned from experience that when Goldie was looking at you, making eye contact felt like trying to stare down the sun. "I mean, I know my makeup tips were good, but I'm really surprised Goldie's doing this well."

"Oh? Why's that? I thought she seems nice!"

Pacifica winced. Frankly, because—in spite of his reassurances that the agent was into him—she still couldn't quite believe that the agent wasn't grossed out by the fact that he was fat and had weird eyes. But that also described Susan; so instead, Pacifica said, "Ummm... Because she's... kinda weird?"

"Oh, well that's fine!" Susan said. "Guys like girls that are a little bit out there, haha."

Pacifica had to fight to smile instead of grimace. "Yeah... sure." Guys really didn't, though. And Pacifica wasn't sure Susan was qualified to talk about what guys liked, considering she'd never been married or anything.

Lazy Susan was really a sweet woman. She'd immediately taken Pacifica under her wing when she was hired as a waitress—teaching her stuff like the regular customers' orders and how to balance tall drinks and heavy foods in the middle of the tray. She always intervened to take the creepy customers, keeping them away from Pacifica's tables; and she helped out behind the counter whenever the usual counter waitress's trucker fiancé made a rare trip into town for lunch, so she could slack off and talk to him. She'd never been weird about the fact that a few months ago Pacifica's weekly allowance had been more than the restaurant's weekly profits, unlike some of the other employees, and she was patient with Pacifica's clueless rich girl moments. She never had anything snide to say when Pacifica was a little naughty and ordered chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks for her mid-shift meal, and whenever Pacifica was going from the restaurant to her ranch instead of home, Susan insisted she take a slice of marionberry pie.

But, for all her virtues, Pacifica had to reluctantly admit that Susan had some blindspots, insensitive pun unintended—particularly when it came to her own appearance and understanding how your appearance affected how other people treated you. Sure, it was a nice break for Pacifica to get out from under the scrutiny she got around her mom, but Susan wasn't doing herself any favors with that obliviousness. Pacifica would love to help her overhaul her wardrobe someday, as thanks for everything Susan had done for her; she just needed to think of a way to offer it that wouldn't insult her. Not everyone was a former pageant kid who could take Pacifica's blunt critiques and be just as blunt in return.

Susan slid a slice of cherry pie across the counter. "You should give 'em a slice of pie! On the house! Dessert's romantic! And those government guys just love the pie here." She leaned on the counter and said in a loud conspiratorial aside, "There's one slice and two forks so they have to share!"

At least that was a sound idea. It was a flirting tactic her parents would look down on, but Pacifica knew sharing a dessert was something commoners found romantic. "Thanks, Susan." She put on her customer service smile and carried the plate over to their table.

####

In the past two hours, the only "fact" Powers had "learned" about Bill was that he was in town for the summer and had rented a cabin in the area, and Bill had only offered that lie to justify why he'd been able to immediately recognize another couple of names Powers had mentioned. Powers didn't notice he hadn't learned anything else about his date; it had only taken a little prompting from Bill and he'd been all too eager to just keep talking about the case he was enthralled with.

No, not enthralled. Obsessed.

"I feel as though there's a... a hole, right in the middle of everything I know about Gravity Falls." Powers was hunched forward with his elbows on the table, brows furrowed, rubbing his forehead as though he could reach into his brain and grope around for the missing piece. "If I can just fill in that hole, then everything will fit together. But..."

But. Unfortunately, there was a hole in the middle of his knowledge—a Mystery Shack-shaped hole—and Bill could not let him figure that out.

Most victims of Spectacles's memory gun never questioned the gaps in their recollection; usually only the ones with damage as extensive as Specs himself ever even noticed there was something missing. But Powers was different. As he told Bill about his case—as he bumped up again and again against the things he didn't know—it was clear just how aware he was of the information he should have but didn't. He knew he'd gone undercover several times last summer to conduct his investigation covertly, but he couldn't remember what exactly he'd been looking for that required such subterfuge. He remembered that he'd come to town with Trigger to conduct the initial investigation, and then had called in a whole team for backup... but he couldn't remember what he'd thought he needed so many people for. He remembered attending Northwest Fest—he even remembered that the party had been attacked by a ghost—but he was almost positive encountering the ghost had been a coincidence and he'd been at the manor to investigate something else... but what?

It was fascinating, watching this human groping around the edges of his damaged memory, like a blind man feeling along the cliff above a canyon, looking for a bridge to the other side that had been burned down.

The mind of a typical memory gun victim simply frayed around the ragged edges where the missing memory had been snipped out, slowly unraveling further over time. Bill had seen that damage in its most extreme form, a fully unraveled mind whose loose threads cut at Bill like razor wire.

But from what Powers had told Bill about the case, it seemed that over the past year he'd mentally run around and around and around the place where his missing memory had been, so much that he'd inadvertently hemmed the loose edges of his mind. He'd defined the edges clearly enough to recognize the negative space. He was so close to realizing that the hole in his recollection wasn't something he just hadn't yet learned about the case, but something he'd forgotten.

What Bill wouldn't give to be able to hop into Powers's head and prod around the damage himself, see what was happening inside his brain. His mindscape had to be fascinating.

Bill took advantage of Powers's distraction to shake a little pepper and hot sauce onto the cherry pie slice and steal another bite. "Maybe you can't fill that 'hole' because whatever you're looking for isn't in Gravity Falls? Whatever's happening here might just be a small part of something bigger happening in other places. If you look for patterns—maybe other places with power surges..." Humans loved patterns.

But Powers was already shaking his head firmly. "No, I'm sure it's here," he said. "With everything else you know, I suppose there's no point in hiding what we're looking for in the Mystery Shack. Last summer, we... misplaced the flash drive with all our ongoing reports and case notes."

"Misplaced?"

"It should have been taken back to Washington by one of my superiors. But it must have been dropped—dropped or stolen—because we picked up its signal in the Mystery Shack. The signal's gone today, but..." He sighed. "Maybe if I could look over our reports from last summer, I'd notice something I missed."

(Boy, Bill bet he would.)

"I just don't know why we hadn't already submitted those reports. We're supposed to submit daily reports and back up all documents at headquarters. The only reason I'd ever ignore our usual filing procedures would be if, per agency guidelines, we were dealing with an emergency of sufficient magnitude that we couldn't waste any time on something as trivial as filing. But...?" He flung up his hands in frustration. "I don't remember any emergencies! I don't know what I was thinking. Was it the summer heat? Am I just getting old?"

"Hey, don't say that," Bill said reassuringly. "You're not that old. I'm sure you've still got a good nineteen years left in you, maybe even nineteen and a quarter!"

"I appreciate it."

Bill was beginning to suspect he wasn't getting Powers to leave town. Without more time, resources, and allies than Bill had at his disposal, he didn't stand a chance of convincing him there was nothing going on in Gravity Falls. His next best chance was convincing Powers something was going on, but it was something other than it really was. But what?

How he missed who he was supposed to be. This should have been easy for him. If he had all his billions of borrowed eyes, if he had a clear view of the whole expanse of the future and all its shining branching timelines, if he had a body made of light that could slip into Powers's dreams... He wanted to claw off his skin, shed this burden of a body, rise up electric and perfect.

That would probably be a dinner date faux pas. He distracted himself from the urge by drumming his scarlet fingernails on the table. He needed to buy more time.

"Is everything alright?" Powers asked.

"Fine, I'm fine. I'm just puzzling over this mess, too," Bill said. "I think it'll drive me crazy until we figure out what's happening in this town."

"I'm sorry for burdening you with it." He shook his head. "I spent all dinner talking about work, didn't I?"

"Because I kept asking you questions!" Bill waved off the apology, "Don't worry about it, I love a good mystery. I bet I could even help you solve it!"

"Do you?" He considered that; then sat forward, lacing his hands together on the table. "Do you have any relevant skills?"

This guy loved collaborating with local informants. "I know a little something about just about everyone in town. I know gossip about some of 'em they don't even know themselves! I'm pretty well-versed in local history. I'm an expert in cryptology—"

"Really? How much of an expert?"

"Enough of one to know that there's a cryptogram stitched in the back of your jacket that says 'Government property: if found, please return to the Bureau of Covert Investigations, P.O. Box..."

Powers started. "How—?"

"You adjusted your jacket when you sat down! I got a glimpse of it!"

"That could only have been a split second. You must have decoded it instantly."

"It's just a simple substitution cipher! It reads like plain English to me." The better question was why they'd encoded the instructions on how to return a lost coat. Probably the end result of a long bureaucratic decision-making tree involving a dozen people who didn't talk to each other. It was a problem in any government department, but especially in a department where all the employees were trained to keeping secrets—even from each other. "Like I said, I'm an expert. Cipher's my last name."

"Isn't the phrase 'middle name'?"

"Sure, whatever."

Powers stroked his chin. "I might have to take you up on that. A surprising amount of this town's founding documents have passages written in code, and I don't currently have a cryptologist with me. We could use the help."

Ah, good old Quenty and his proclivity for hiding important information behind codes and treasure hunts. One of humanity's greatest and most unappreciated geniuses. He'd been ahead of his time. (And his time wouldn't come until Bill finally got Weirdmageddon going again. Bill really hoped Quentin survived that long; humanity's psychopomps were so stodgy, and getting a spirit out of one of Earth's afterlives was a bureaucratic nightmare he'd rather not deal with. He'd do it, but what a pain.)

Bill said, "Say, you've got some kind of case file on this town, right? I don't mean that drive you mentioned. You must have had records back at headquarters from the past thirty years—plus whatever you found on this trip. If I'm going to help you, maybe I should see everything you already know."

At that, Powers finally looked uncertain. Apparently telling Bill all about his case was fine, but showing him classified documents was beyond the pale. "I uh, don't have it with me," Powers said. "I left it in my motel room."

"Did you." He laced his fingers together and propped his chin on his hands. "I would," he said, "love," he said, "to see that file."

It took Powers a moment to raise his gaze to meet Bill's. When he did, the look in his eye—the disbelief, the hope, the eagerness—

He graced Powers with the tiniest smirk; and Powers's eyes widened and cheeks reddened as he realized he hadn't misunderstood Bill's offer.

Got him. A lonely, affection-starved man would do whatever it took to feel like he was wanted for a few hours.

(A lonely, affection-starved triangle would, too.)

####

Bill flashed Pacifica a thumbs up as he passed, his umbrella cane hooked over one arm and the other arm conspicuously looped around a rather flustered-looking Powers's. As soon as the door shut behind them, she whipped out her phone.

PACIFICA: Ok stop blowing up my phone, they just left.

MABEL: How did it go?????

PACIFICA: Really good, I think. I don't think the government guy can smile? But he didn't stop looking at Goldie and they talked the whole time.

PACIFICA: And he left a big tip. Always a good sign.

MABEL: 😻🎉🎉🎉

MABEL: Did you hear what they talked about?

PACIFICA: Mostly his work I think?? Which is fine, guys like to talk about themselves on first dates. I didn't get the details.

MABEL: That's great!

MABEL: Soos said he was gonna wait for Goldie down the street where the agent won't see him. (LONG story! 😹) Can you let Goldie know where to find him?

Pacifica slid into a booth to peer out the window. There he was, across the street and about two blocks away. But as Pacifica watched, Goldie looked toward the truck, made direct eye contact with Soos for several seconds, and then wordlessly turned away from him as the government agent let him into the passenger seat of his own car. (The agent had a crummier car than Pacifica had expected.)

PACIFICA: Actually, he and the government guy left together.

MABEL: Ooooh.

MABEL: Cool cool cool

MABEL: did they say where they're going?

PACIFICA: No clue.

MABEL: That's fine!!! I'm sure it's fine.

####

The last time Bill had paid attention to this corner of Gravity Falls, this block had been occupied by the Twin Bed Motel. Since then, the long one-story log building had been replaced by a two-story brick building, the Roamin' Holiday Motel. As they drove into the parking lot, he saw a car in the parking lot with two bumper stickers: one from Gleeful Auto Sales, and a simple black and white one with no text—a flat horizontal line followed by four triangles, starting short and obtuse but growing progressively taller until the sequence ended in an equilateral. Well, well. So this was where his gals were staying. Good to know.

Powers parked his own Gleeful Auto junker at the far end of the building. "Well. Here we are," Powers said.

"Here we are!" Bill agreed.

"I could bring the case file out to the car." Powers swallowed hard. "Or, if you'd like—perhaps it might be more comfortable for you to come inside...?"

What a gentleman, giving Bill one last chance to turn him down—but it wasn't gonna happen. His body had caught on to his brain's plans, and during the seemingly interminable drive from Greasy's to the motel, the metaphorical metal soup can in Bill's abdomen had melted down into a crucible of liquid aluminum that threatened to leak out and set the car on fire. He ground his knees together as though that would help contain his anticipation, and he tried to ignore how the movement had been automatic in spite of how alien it was. "I'd love to come in!"

While he waited for Powers to open the car door, he double-checked to make sure the envelope Soos had given him was still stuffed in his umbrella.

####

It wasn't the best human-on-human action he'd had in the last ten thousand years, but it wasn't the worst. It was certainly better than some cramped backseat fumbling.

Bill missed hearing my god, my god, my god; and he missed the taste of tears. But at least this human wasn't afraid to touch Bill's body. Longterm

And he was happy to let Bill take the lead. Powers hadn't had a longterm relationship since college, had given up on dating in his 40s; he was so lonely, so sure he'd be lonely forever, so grateful for the attention; he probably saw some pretty gal eagerly taking control, and mistook it for being wanted instead of being used.

####

"There's something wrong with this town." Even at a whisper, Powers's voice was clearly huskier than it had been earlier. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, only half re-dressed. "I can feel it whenever I'm talking to the townspeople—as though they're hiding something. Do you know what I mean?"

So many humans could rub together a couple of poorly-placed flesh accessories for an hour and suddenly feel like they could trust each other. Like baring the most secret parts of their bodies was equivalent to baring the most secret parts of their souls. It was so funny.

So useful.

It was like a dam had broken; and Bill was keen to see what came pouring out.

He was sitting in the center of the bed, legs crossed lotus style, the sweat still drying on his skin, staring at Powers's back. He hadn't bothered to redress yet; he was hyper aware of every cubic inch of his alien body, and covering up wouldn't fix that, so he might as well take advantage of the temporary socially-sanctioned excuse to not bother with human clothes. "I know exactly what you mean. I swear, it feels like they're all in on it. I don't think you can trust anyonein this town." The manipulation came easily; he didn't need to slip into Powers's skull to know how his words would rattle around in his mind, like knocking a pool ball around a table until it finally fell into a pocket. "Have you asked anyone if anything weird happened here last summer? Try it. They act like they didn't even hear you. It's strange."

Powers sighed deeply, evidently relieved that Bill hadn't simply dismissed him. "HQ thinks I'm getting paranoid," he muttered. "They almost didn't let me come back."

(That was news to Bill. From all the signals Powers was giving off, Bill had thought he'd resented being sent back to Gravity Falls. He thought the only reason he was trying to solve the case was so the bureau would let him move on from it.)

"I'm afraid this town has... done something to me. Done something to all of us. All us outsiders."

Slowly, Bill slid to the edge of the bed to sit beside Powers. "Something like what?"

"Last year we came to Gravity Falls to investigate some odd power surges and gravitational anomalies—just like this year—and... nothing. It's not that we found nothing, I just... I can't remember anything we found out. I can remember being in town, where I stayed, what I ate, people I spoke to, places I went undercover—we all can, I've talked to all the agents that were assigned to that investigation—but—but it's as if I didn't find anything useful out for weeks." A frustrated growl entered his voice, "But I know I must have found out something! I don't remember not finding anything, I would remember if I'd not found anything—but I don't know what I found! No one from that investigation does! We handed our files, all of them, over to a superior officer—and when we returned to HQ, we were asked where our files were! And we couldn't name who we'd handed our flash drive to! Who knows where he��went, I've checked all the agency personnel records that I have clearance to view I don't know how many times..."

"Did he have any distinguishing features?" Bill asked.

"I... He had a black coat, that's all I can remember." (It was something of a relief to know Powers hadn't counted the fingers, either.) "It's as if our entire team just... zoned out on the job for several weeks! All to be told by some superior officer we can't remember the name of that we'd been wasting our time chasing a meteor shower!"

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "We were heavily reprimanded—myself in particular, which I deserve, given that I was in charge. They almost took me off the Gravity Falls case entirely. Goodness knows I want to leave this accursed town behind. But I can't, because something happened to me here, and—I—need—to—find—out—what. But the only leads I have are the power surges, an anonymous tip saying there's someone dangerous in the Mystery Shack, and the signal from our missing flash drive."

He fell silent. Bill leaned against his side, sliding a hand onto his shoulder, reassuring (possessive, controlling).

Voice almost inaudible, Powers said, "Frankly, I'm terrified. At the thought that something might have been done to my mind."

"Of course you are." He ran his hand through Powers's thinning hair. "I can't think of anything more terrifying than having someone else's fingers inside your head, pulling the strings."

Bill almost felt bad for the big dummy. He was no great genius explorer-researcher, no intrepid paranormal investigator flying by the seat of his pants, no shaman nor scholar nor wizard nor psychic. He was by the books, methodical. He obeyed the rules, he filed his reports, he was patient with bureaucracy and trusting in the government.

He wasn't the kind of man who traveled to the bottom of a deep dark cave seeking a god of fire and sunlight who offered enlightenment. He wasn't the kind of human who called for Bill Cipher.

And yet... he had the potential to be an interesting person—and Bill did like to bring out people's potential. As staid and businesslike and dull as Powers was, buried beneath the tedium, he had that spark of curiosity that made a few humans so charming. The way he talked about Gravity Falls—the way its mysteries had pulled him in from the start, before it had scared the bejeezus out of him—Bill thought Powers wasn't driven to stamp out the strange, the way some eagles were. He just wanted to record it, quantify it, put it down in a little official report—see it.

Powers might appreciate a friendly muse pointing the way to the cave's exit and showing him the sunlight.

Unfortunately, there weren't any friendly muses in town. Just a dead triangle who didn't want to die again.

Powers put his hand over Bill's. "I'm glad I found someone I can trust."

"So am I." Bill leaned his cheek on Powers's shoulder, paying attention to the angle he tilted himself at, careful to seem natural. "It's good to have you here, Manny."

"Please... I—I want you to call me by my real name," Powers said. "It's—"

"Gary, isn't it?"

Powers turned to stare at Bill's face through the dark. "Yes. How did you know?"

"You know... I'm not sure."

Bill had a plan now.

And he wasn't about to help Powers find a way out of the cave into the sunlight; he was just reflecting fires in funhouse mirrors to dazzle his eyes and lead him deeper underground. This was what he was good at.

It would be fun. Bill would enjoy himself. Still, though—it was almost a pity. He mighta liked to get to know the guy. He might've been a fun toy to play with a little longer before he broke it.

######

(Some chapters you finish; and some chapters you stick in the queue to force yourself to stop editing them. This is the latter kind.

Once again, the only significant TBOB-related alteration to this chapter was clarifying Powers's department's relationship to other departments. Initially I had specified it was separate from the Department of Cover-Ups; now that we know his bureau handled the Trembley case, I put it under the Department of Cover-Ups.

Anyway this is a chapter I've been greatly looking forward to getting to, so I'm eager to hear y'all's thoughts!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #agent powers #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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citricacidprince · 2 months ago

Note

I was looking at your relativity falls au and I was thinking since Ford in the original series takes off Stan’s hat to show his hair, kinda revealing he is Ford, what if in relativity falls Ford takes the glasses off of Stan and puts them on and that is kinda of the moment

Also I really want more protective! Relativity falls Ford, I want to watch that child go feral and start biting people <3

Hiiiii!!! Sorry it took a super long time to reply to this I just,, this possessed me so much I may or may not have written, uh, 7400 words based on this lol (also a drawing but it’s hidden in the writing haha)

There sadly isn’t a lot of feral protective Ford in this, just sad wet cat baby Ford (tho you get a glimpse of it at the very end), but believe me I have many thoughts of protective Ford as they’re teens hehe!!

Like, they’re so fun to be because they’re the opposite of how they are in the show! Stan was the protector and would get into fights for Ford, but as teens Ford is extremely protective of Stan and will throw himself into a fight he know he can’t win in a moments notice because they insulted Stan, even when Stan tries to insist that it’s okay. These two make me siiiiick 💥💥💥💥💥

Anywho, this mini writing this is just a prolonged scene from Weirdmageddon part 3 but with my Relativity Falls AU paint on it lol

It’s filled with an comical amount of tears because I believe Mabel and Dipper are weepy saps and the baby boys haven’t had the ‘Boys don’t cry’ motto drilled into their heads yet, also they’re like, super traumatized atm haha

Well, have fun reading! Please please please please be nice, I know I’m not the best writer and just write when I’m possessed so please be so niceies to me or I’ll fucking cry <33💥💥💥💥

Everything is under the cut! :]

🍃🪦☁️~~~~~~~~~~~~⛈️👓🥀

Mabel and Dipper could only watch on in shock and horror as one of their beloved great nephew erased the mind of their other beloved great nephew. Dipper didn’t even know the boys still had that blasted machine, much less that they still had it on them here of all places!

Maybe it was good that the children had the memory gun hidden away. After all, they just used it to outwit and defeat Cipher.

However… at what cost?

Stanley’s round face was drenched in silent tears as he held the memory gun to the back of his brother’s head, his gaze completely focused but his trembling grip on the memory gun giving away just how much this was affecting him.

Dipper always thought he’d be ecstatic when Bill Cipher was finally defeated. Spit on his face, dance on his grave, give the worst eulogy in the world, the whole shebang. But now that the moment has finally arrived all he can feel is sick to his stomach.

They’re just kids. They shouldn’t be here. His sweet little grand-nephews shouldn’t be paying for his hubris. This should’ve stayed between him and Bill.

It should have been him.

The bright blue light faded and the memory gun hit the ground, Stanley’s hands shaking even worse now as tears fell to the floor, unable to keep his head up as little hiccups fell from his lips.

Dipper was still squeezing Mabel close to his side, the two frozen in their huddled positions on the floor, gut-wrenching guilt on his face while his sister had her hands over his mouth, only able to watch on with dread.

Dipper only faintly registered that the other members of the zodiac had been released from their tapestry prisons. That blonde woman Mabel seemed to like was rubbing her head as that young Hispanic woman who works for Mabel, Anjelita, held out a hand to help her up. That red-headed hairy lumberjack and that one oddly peppy goth teen helped young Fiddleford through his shaky breathing.

After a couple of moments Dipper heard his sister take a deep shaky breath, his voice wet as one of her hands reached out towards Stanley.

“…L-Lee? Lee, baby come here-” There was a weary and wobbly smile on her lips. She was doing that thing where she tries to be the comforting light in an awful situation, even though she is not doing any better than anyone else at the moment.

She was trying to corral her crying great-nephew into her arms, a mixture of trying to comfort him and herself.

She was swiftly cut off by gravity going wonky.

Dark bricks ripped out of the walls and shot up into the rift up in the blood red sky, Weirdmaggedon falling apart at the seams. Creatures of many shapes and sizes flew up into the rift, the older twins gripping each other close as they stared up into the multicolored light. Everyone was staring up into the sky, hope and relief in their hearts that the nightmare might finally be over.

Everyone but Stanley.

He was intensely staring at the back of his brother’s head, silent tears continuously streaming down his cheeks, unable to see the small content smile on Stanford’s face.

As the light began to envelop the town of Gravity Falls, Stanley reached out his hand to his kneeling brother to try and grab onto him but was unable to before the light reached the two, erasing most traces of Weirdmaggedon’s effects and safely displacing everyone in the Fearamid to the ground below.

The woods were quiet. Everything was much quieter than it was during Weirdmageddon.

There was barely a moment of peace before Dipper and Mabel were sprinting through the woods yelling out for their great-nephews, panic increasing with every passing second.

They finally came across the boys in a small clearing after 2 minutes of franticness. Stanley’s back to the older set of twins and Stanford kneeling in the grass.

Mabel ran much faster than Dipper did, practically throwing herself to her knees as she grabbed Stanley and pulled him tight into her arms. She buried him into the crook of her neck, tears beginning to drip down her face as she ran her fingers through his messy brown curls, trying to soothe him while she gently shushed his crying.

“Shhhh… shhh it’s okay Lee it’s okay sweepea, I’m here, Grunkle Mabel is here pumpkin.”

Dipper would’ve chuckled at the use of ‘Grunkle Mabel’, something Stanley insisted on calling her even after she revealed that she wasn’t a man because he thought Grauntie sounded strange, but he couldn’t really feel anything but heart ache right now. He stepped closer to the crying duo, kneeling down next to them as he glanced over towards Stanford.

He still seemed to be unconscious, quiet as a mouse as he kneeled on the grass. He was so still that Dipper almost wanted to check his pulse to make sure his heart was still beating, but the soft breathing coming from his chest eased his worries. Stanford was always so stressed and on edge the entire time Dipper had known him, which in all honesty, wasn't very long. However, in this moment with that small smile on his lips his nephew almost looked peaceful.

Guilt ate at his heart even more.

God he should’ve seen the warning signs that tension was building between the two boys. He’s the catalyst for causing Weirdmageddon by saying he would train Stanford in Gravity Falls while Stanley went home. He should’ve put his foot down and said Stanford was too young and needed to go home at the end of the summer with his brother. But his great nephew was just so insistent and Dipper himself was scrambling to think of an amazing gift for his twin sister for their first birthday together in 30 years, he just caved and said yes.

He’s the reason Stanley ran with that cracked rift. He was the final crack in the already strained relationship between the boys and he was too blind to notice.

He turned to his sister once more, emotions welling in his heart seeing his sister and nephew so upset and clinging to each other. He gingerly rubbed Stanley’s back and Mabel’s shoulder, softly speaking with sorrow dripping from his voice, “Stanley, I am so sorry… words can’t express how much I didn’t want this to happen. You shouldn’t have had to deal with the consequences of my mistakes..” He gingerly tucked a loose curl behind Stanley’s ear, softly adding on with a feeling of shame flooding his head, “…It should’ve been me.”

Mabel’s head immediately shot up at Dipper’s words, a glare on her wet face as she shot back with a low warning tone, “Dipper Lee Pines.” He quickly shut his mouth. Noted, she wasn’t going to take any self depreciation coming from him at the moment. Can’t say he blames her, he would’ve done the same if any self-depreciating words came from her mouth.

Stanley muffled something against Mabel’s neck instantly making the two stop what they were doing to turn to him. “What was that baby?” Mabel gently asked as Dipper continued to rub his back. The young boy pulled himself away from Mabel’s neck ever so slightly, taking in a deep shaky breath as he shakily repeated himself.

“…n-not Lee-”

The older twins' brows furrow, their hands stilling slightly as it was Dipper’s turn to softly question, “What are you talking about Stanley?”

The brunet pulls his trembling form away from Mabel to stand up, wiping his wet face with his arm, his cheeks so flushed from sobbing that his faint freckles were easily seen against the red. He stood still for a moment, trying to calm his breathing before he stepped between the sitting pair of twins and towards his kneeling brother.

He took in the sight of him for a moment, a sick feeling in his stomach as his trembling hands tentatively grab onto the glasses on his unconscious brother’s face, his touch light as a feather and careful, as if he was afraid his brother would shatter if his finger even as so much grazed him. He carefully pulled the glasses off and stared down at them in his hands, a fresh wave of silent tears falling from his cheeks and onto the cracked glass lenses.

“I-I’m… I’m n-not…” He shakily whispers, voice caught in his throat as he tries to get the words out. He gingerly lifted the glasses to his face and placed them onto his red nose, his fingers gripping the temples of the glasses as he hesitantly turned around. His wet brown eyes locked with his kneeling great-uncle and great-aunt, the kid’s gaze drowning in guilt as Stanford hesitantly continued on with his wobbling voice, “…I-I’m not S-Stanley.”

The two froze at those words, Mabel's bewildered gaze kept whipping her gaze between Stanford and Stanley, quickly growing distressed while Dipper felt a deep pit form in his stomach.

He’s so stupid, it should’ve been obvious but in all the chaos he didn’t even think to check. In the moment of peace he finally saw the differences.

The six fingers and the way his eyes squinted without his glasses should’ve been a dead giveaway, but there were also other signs as well.

Stanley had told Dipper not too long ago that his tooth was knocked out the second day the twins showed up. Apparently it was knocked loose when he fell face first into the dirt while fleeing with Stanford from a vampire, after his brother had hid the 3rd journal away from Stanley all day, taking ‘Trust No One’ Dipper had scrambled onto that in a paranoid panic to heart.

Stanford just lost his tooth not even 30 minutes ago. When the boys had begun to argue on the Zodiac Wheel Stanley couldn’t take it anymore and decked Stanford to the ground. Dipper remembers the immediate regret that flashed onto the young boy’s face when his brother spat out a bloody tooth onto the floor, opening his mouth to try and apologize but was unable to get a word out before Stanford quickly punched him back, causing the infamous fight between the two.

Stanford still had some speckles of dried blood on his chin, a reminder of that awful fight.

The two had faint freckles dusting their face but Stanley was the only one who had freckles on his shoulders.

The bandaid on Stanford’s face was falling off, as if it was peeled off and slapped onto his face.

Mabel let out a weak and breathless noise of confusion, brows furrowed and clearly overwhelmed by everything happening in such a short time. “W-Wha-? How-?”

Dipper cut his sister off. She was barely keeping it together as is, and while he was also extremely upset he had a lot of practice suppressing these kinds of emotions to survive in the multiverse. He can take over for a moment just so Mabel can take a moment to breathe.

“Stanford… what happened?” Dipper questioned, a comforting hand on his twin’s shoulder as his furrowed gaze met Stanley’s. Despite how intense he looked, there was a softness in his voice. A quiet plea for his great-nephew to tell him what the hell is going on.

Stanford’s watery eyes stayed locked with the ground, looking almost as overwhelmed and weary as Mabel did while his hands fidgeted against his stomach. “W-When you two started getting c-chased Bill I…” His breathing hitched. “…I didn’t know what to d-do, I was just so s-scared.”

One of his finger’s lifted to his lip as he unconsciously began to chew the skin off the side of it, a habit Mabel has been fighting tooth and nail for Ford to quit through the entire Summer.

Not that she can really bring herself to care at the moment.

Stanford looked increasingly distressed as he continued. “I-I was panicking, I always know w-what to do and I just I couldn’t t-think of anything! I thought my h-head was going to explode when-” He takes in a sharp breath, more tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “…w-when Stanley said he had a plan.”

Stanford was trying to wipe away the thick tears off his face, his cheeks irritated and red from how often he's been rubbing away tears. “E-Everything went so fast. He was explaining the p-plan as fast as he could while we swapped clothes. Said we were going to p-pull off our best con yet. Tricking Bill into S-Stan’s mind by convincing him it was m-mine and then erasing him for g-good.”

“I t-tried to ask why we were d-doing all of this… Stanley could've just erased my mind after I let B-Bill in and e-everything would just end, but Stanley… S-Stanley didn’t budge. He s-said it had to be him. Said I… S-Said I actually had a future.” Ford breathing hiccups, shoulders hiking up to his neck as even more even more tears run down his cheeks and to the grass below. “A-A-And I was j-just so scared I… I let him… I let h-him take my place…”

A choked sob rips from his throat, unable to take it anymore as he covers his face with his polydactyl hands, continuing to explain through the tears and shaky speech. “O-One of the last things I ever d-did was punch h-him in the face! I never t-told him I was s-sorry! He DIED thinking I h-hated him!”

Dipper immediately jumped into action, pushing himself over to Ford and pulling his hands away from his face. He rested his forehead against his great-nephew’s and held onto his smaller hands, keeping his eyes on Stanford’s as he firmly spoke. “Breathe with me Stanford. In and out.”

It took a moment but the kid’s breathing slowed ever so slightly as he tried to mimic Dipper’s breaths though he was still unable to control the hiccuping and sniffling.

“You didn’t kill Stanley.” Dipper continued to speak, his tone softening considerably as he gently squeezed Ford’s polydactyl hand with his larger one. “He’s alive and breathing right behind you.”

The kid began to look frustrated as he lowly choked out, “He might as well be.”

Dipper… couldn’t exactly retort that. By all means Stanley would be a shell of his former self, fundamentally a completely different person when he wakes up. However, he wasn’t going to let his great-nephew wallow like this. He gently squeezed his hands once more and softly questioned, “…Do you really think Stanley would hate you after all of this?”

Stanford froze at the question, only the sound of rustling leaves and birds chirping to be heard as the brunet boy’s eyes stayed locked with Dipper’s before letting it fall to the dirt below. After a couple quiet moments Stanford finally mumbled out. “He should.”

“But would he?”

“….” Ford couldn’t reply, a bittersweet and melancholic feeling flooding his heart.

As if on cue, a faint noise was suddenly made behind the three of them.

Everyone whirled their heads over to where Stanley sat kneeling on the grass. His brown eyes blearily began to open as he raised his hand up to idly rub them. The faint freckles on his cheeks and his brown curls were dusted in the warm light of the sun. A yawn fell from his lips, tiny tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the deep breath, before he finally opened his eyes completely.

His brown eyes blinked away sleep, his gaze slowly darting between the three people also kneeling on the grass in front of him, not saying a word yet, just taking them in.

Dipper and Ford waited with baited breath, words stuck in their throats as they stared back at Stan, trying to find any familiarity in his eyes.

Mabel couldn’t wait a single second longer.

“…S-Stanley? Lee?” She softly questioned, tears beginning to well up in her eyes again as she gingerly crawled closer to him. “H-Hey my little firecracker! You r-remember me right? Your lovable Grunkle Mabel!” Her hands raise up to cup Stanley’s round cheeks, her smile a little wobbly but her brown eyes filled with a ray of hope. “You remember me, d-don’t you pumpkin?”

Stanley just stared blankly at his great-aunt, completely silent for a moment before his brows furrow. He tilts his head, confusion clearly seen in his blank eyes as he bluntly asks, “Who are you?”

Mabel’s heart might as well have shattered into a million pieces. The tears welling up in her eyes freely fall but the wobbly smile refuses to fall. One hand raises to run through his messy curls as the other continues to cup his face. “W-What are you talking about sweetheart? It’s me, Stanley, It’s Mabel.”

Dipper sprung forward and gently began to pull Mabel away from Stanley, that pit in his stomach growing even more as his sister tried to weakly yank herself out of his grasp while crying out, “It’s me, Stanley! It’s me!” He squeezed her in his arms as her cries turned to sobs, burying her face against Dipper’s chest as she finally let out all the pain she’s been keeping in her chest since the moment Weirdmageddon had begun.

“It’s no use Mabel, Stanley doesn’t remember anything.” Dipper softly spoke. He hugged her close and rested his cheek on the top of her head, her silver curls brushing against his skin as his brown eyes locked with Stanley. The kid looked so confused and lost, a sight that just made his heart ache even more. “…Stanley doesn’t even realize it, but he just saved the world… Saved us… Our little hero…”

Stanley brows were furrowed, not understanding anything that was going on in the slightest. He glanced over at where Stanford was standing, lifting up his hand to cup his mouth and loudly stage whisper to the brunet, “What’s up with the old guys?”

Stanford didn’t answer, just staring at Stanley with large globs of tears dripping down his cheeks. Without warning he sprinted to his brother, engulfing Stanley in a tight hug and hiding his face in his neck. The impact of the tackle hug almost knocked the two to the floor but Stanley managed to keep himself propped up with one arm, brown eyes wide with shock as even more confusion filled his fuzzy mind. “W-Woah, okay-! We’re hugging now, I guess!”

“I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry-” Stanford kept repeating those words over and over against his brother’s neck, his body trembling from just how hard he was crying.

Stanley had no clue what the hell was happening. He was in a place he’s never seen before, surrounded by strangers sobbing their eyes out, and he was realizing that he couldn’t really remember what his name was again. A part of him was telling him he should just book it, get away from these weirdos, but something in him refused to let him.

Maybe it was because they all genuinely looked so sad. He didn’t know who they were but his heart sorta ached at their grief-stricken appearances, kind of wanting to comfort them in some way.

Maybe he’s a bleeding heart, he can’t really remember if he is.

Stanley shuffled a little in Stanford’s tight grasp until finally something kinda heavy was laid onto the sobbing child’s shoulders. Stanford tentatively lifted his wet face from his brother’s neck to peer behind him.

It was his leather bomber jacket. Stanley had subtlety slipped off the jacket, careful not to jostle the crying kid too much, then plopped it onto his shoulders.

“You looked like you needed it more than me.” Stanley spoke, an awkward but kind smile on his face. He then quickly shrugged it off and added on with a casual tone, “Besides, I was gettin’ warm in that thing, you can just keep it.”

Stanford sharply inhaled at those words, polydactyl hands letting go of Stanley to grip at the jacket draped over his shoulders and pull it even closer, acting as if it was a barrier that could protect him from the world around him. A choking sob ripped from Stanford’s throat, hiding his face against his brother’s neck once again.

“Okay! We’re still crying!” Stanley awkwardly sputtered out, tensing up as the brunet continued to cry against his neck, unsure of what he should be doing. Eventually he settled on tentatively patting the crying kid’s back, hoping that he was actually comforting the kid and not making whatever was happening worse.

“I s-shouldn’t have pushed you a-away because I was t-told to! You w-were never a burden! I-I don’t hate you! I n-never did!” Stanford kept crying apologizes against Stanley’s shoulder, making the already confused brunet boy even more lost with every word spoken. His hand continued to pat on Ford’s back as he softly replied, his words tentative and unsure, “…I don’t hate you either.”

“Yes you do.” Stanford thickly replied against his brother's shoulder, completely and utterly convinced in his distraught state that his brother would absolutely hate him if he could remember what Ford did to him.

Stanley couldn’t exactly reply to that because he genuinely didn’t know if he did hate this kid. He didn’t even know who he was. So instead of responding he just continued to rub the brunet’s back, hoping to ease the hyperventilation sobs buried against his skin.

It took a handful of long moments filled with silence and tears for the three to compose themselves, Dipper being the first to finally stand up.

“…We’ve been wallowing here long enough, people are going to get worried.”

Dipper gingerly pulls Mabel to her feet, tears had stopped falling from her face but her cheeks red and her famous smile no longer present. He made sure his sister was steady on her feet before holding out his hand to the twin boys huddled together on the ground, a small weary smile on his wrinkled face.

“Come on… let’s go home.”

The twins pull themselves up with Dipper’s help. Once on their feet Ford latches onto Stan’s arm, sticking to his side and refusing to let go. Stanley doesn’t seem to mind or even notice the clinging presence as his brown eyes look up at the sky and over the tall trees with curious wonder.

Dipper softly sighed and eyed over the fascinated brunet looking over the tree line with concern, “Are your muscles alright, Stanley? No issues with walking or standing?”

The kid didn’t respond for a moment, still looking around before he finally registered that he was being spoken to. His brown eyes darted around before he pointed at himself with his free hand. “Oh! Am I Stanley?”

Dipper felt a stab in his chest at the question, but still gently replied, “Yeah… you’re Stanley.”

Stanley nodded at the confirmation and softly said ‘Staaaanley’ under his breath, getting accustomed to the unfamiliar name.

“Stanley… cool name! I like it!” He cheerfully replied, a wide smile spreading across his face that showed off his missing tooth. “And my legs are fine, I think.” He used his free hand to grab onto Dipper’s hand and loudly added on, “Now lead the way, old man!”

Dipper sighed and squeezed onto Stanley’s hand, gently guiding him through the woods back to the Shack, never forgetting the route home even after all these years.

The twins were parallels of each other as they walked. Mabel was clinging onto her brother’s arm and leaning her head against his shoulder while Stanford was doing the same with his brother. The air was so tense and gloomy around the four, affecting all but Stanley.

Stanley was looking around the woods as they walked, his brown eyes full of innocent wonder as he mumbled under his breath about ‘Never seeing trees this big’.

When they made it back to the Shack Dipper could only wince at the state it was in. It was falling apart and damaged from the battle during Weirdmageddon, the damage unable to be reversed even after the apocalypse had ended.

“The Shack…” Mabel sadly lamented under her breath, the sight of the place she spent 30 years making into a home and business just adding onto her already overwhelming amount of sadness.

Dipper was about to try and comfort her when he noticed 3 figures standing in front of the shack. After a moment the three started to sprint towards the family, frames becoming clearer as they got closer.

It was Anjelita, Boyish Dan, and Fiddleford.

“Are you guys alright?!” Boyish Dan loudly asked with his booming voice before he even reached the family. Anjelita was silently but swiftly following behind him, her hand gripping her Abuelo’s cap so it wouldn't fly off her head and her eyes filled with concern. Fiddleford was tripping over his feet from how fast he was sprinting, Dipper was mildly concerned the accident prone teen was going to trip over a branch or rock and slam face first against the ground.

He didn’t trip, thankfully. The small blond teen stumbled to a stop in front of the family, specifically the younger set of twins, panting heavily. “Thank the lord y’all are alright! I thought y'all had gotten trapped under somethin’ or hurt or worse!” Fiddleford anxiously rambled on, clearly having thrown himself into a tizzy over his friend's safety.

Stanley’s brows furrowed at the new faces, especially the long nosed southern one right in front of him. He raised an eyebrow and looked over the blond with an untrusting gaze. “…You’re not going to hug me and cry too, are you?”

Fiddleford looked bewildered at the question, blinking in confusion as he asked, “Now why on’ earth would I do that?”

Before Stanley or someone else in the family could reply, Anjelita spoke up from beside Boyish Dan. “His memory was erased, correct?”

The family, minus Stanley, flinched at the question.

Anjelita was a very observant young lady, so it makes sense she would be the first to notice.

Fiddleford and Boyish Dan kinda tensed up at the question. They also saw what happened while they were trapped in the tapestries, but they had hoped that maybe…

“That really stuck? He doesn’t remember anything?” Boyish Dan questioned.

“Nothin’ at all?” Fiddleford softly added.

Dipper wordless shook his head and a solemn silence covered them all.

The three followed the family into the dilapidated Mystery Shack, everyone looking over the cracks and debris with melancholy and sadness on their faces. Well, all but Stanley.

Stanley excitedly jumped up as they all entered the run down living room. “Wow, nice place you have here!” The brunet ripped away from Stanford and Dipper’s grasp, the suddenness making Stanford weakly try and latch back onto his brother for just a moment before giving up and wrapping his arms around his stomach. The boy then ran full speed at the dusty recliner. Stan always loved that chair would steal it from Mabel whenever he had a chance.

He jumped onto the seat and laughed as he bounced a little before settling down. “Lovin’ this chair! I just sink into this thing!”

He opened his brown eyes and saw everyone standing at the edges of the room, the miserable air of sadness weighing so heavy on the room he could feel it pressing against his skull. Stanley limply leaned back in the chair, a faint look of annoyance on his face as he bluntly questioned, “Geez, am I at a funeral? Who died and turned you all into sad sacks.”

No one answered.

Fiddleford turned to the group, going to lift his finger to bite on it only to stop himself when he realized he was doing it. Instead the blond lifted up his chewlery necklace and began to bite on it instead, his nerves shot as he desperately asked, “Surely there must be ah’ way to reverse this!”

“No, there isn’t.” Stanford replied, not even bothering to look up from the floor, looking extremely tired and downright miserable as he hugged his jacket closer.

Fiddleford whips around to Stanford, exasperation and agitation clear on his face as he yells back, “There's gotta’ be!”

Dipper softly sighed, defeat dripping from his voice as he gently replied. “I’m sorry, Fiddleford. There isn’t anything we can do for Stanley. No one can come back from something like this.”

Anjelita perks up from the besides Boyish Dan, counteracting Dipper’s statement with a simple, “Miss Candy.”

“W-What?” Dipper questioned, blinking up at her in confusion.

The large red-headed teen jolted and jumped up at the reminder.

“That’s right! Kooky Candy got her memories back during that whole weird secret society adventure!”

Fiddleford looked up at Dipper with hope and desperation in his green eyes, hands trembling from the reminder of that awful day and his shot nerves. “Y-Yeah! An’ Miss Candy’s mind was cracked ‘cause of tha’ memory gun!”

The blond points to Stanley sitting on the recliner, the confused brunet just staring at the group with furrowed brows, not taking in anything that they’re saying. “Lee still gotta’ chance!”

Dipper is quiet for a moment, brain running a mile a minute. When he finally speaks up again his voice is low and unsure.

“… I’m not going to say it's going to work,”

His eyes meet his sister’s, her sad brown eyes filled with a glimmer of hope at the thought of being able to save her little firecracker.

“But I’m not going to say it’s impossible either.”

He racked his brain once more, trying to think of a solution, an answer that has a high probability of working.

“…Maybe if we had something that could jog his memory-”

Mabel suddenly gasped, eyes wide as she squeezes Dipper’s arm, her grip tight. “My scrapbook!”

She then quickly rushes to a desk near the table, glitter and shimmering pieces of paper fluttering out as her hands rummaged in one of the drawers. She let out a loud ‘Aha!’ And pulled out a pink and very sparkly scrapbook.

“It’s not going to work.” Stanford bluntly mumbled, defeat and sorrow clinging to his small frames.

“Not with that attitude!” The old woman quickly shoots back, not letting anything snuff out her freshly burning glimmer of hope in her chest.

She quickly ran back over to Stanley, the rest of the group, minus Stanford, following suit. She placed the glimmering book onto the confused child’s lap, the front labeled ‘Summer of 2012’ in sparkly glitter pen.

“I’ve been working on this book since the day you two arrived!” Mabel offhandedly explained while opening it to the first page. Pasted in the middle of that page was a cute photo of Stanley and Stanford unpacking their bags. Stan was making a silly face at the camera while Ford had not realized the photo was being taken, too busy hanging up his Nikola Tesla poster with a concentrated face. Stickers and other miscellaneous crafting objects were glued to the page. “Here’s the first day you two arrived!” She then pointed at about 4 to 6 small pieces of wood taped to the page. “And those are the splinters you got stuck in your hand when trying to unpack!”

Stanley furrowed his brow at that, very confused on why she would keep something like that but not having a chance to ask before she pointed to the next thing.

The next photo on the page was Stanford and Stanley looking a tiny bit scratched up and tired. Ford was looking away from the camera and into the inner pocket of his jacket, excitement shining in his eyes as he stared at the journal he had found in the woods that day that was poking out of his jacket ever so slightly. Stanley was also excited but for a very different reason. His eyes were wide with excitement, his equally wide smile showing off the space in his teeth where his tooth was knocked out. The missing tooth was being held very close to the camera, still covered in small flecks of blood.

“And here’s you losing your tooth the very next day!”

Next to the photo was also a small tooth taped onto the paper, assumedly Stanley’s baby tooth that was knocked out. He especially wanted to ask why she had scrapbooked that but was once again cut off, no one except him finding this old woman strange in the slightest.

Fiddleford had leaned over and flipped the page. On the page was a photo of Fiddleford, Stanley, and Stanford all huddled together on one of the boy’s beds, all of them wearing pajamas. Stanford and Stanley seemed to both be talking at the same time, talking over each other while Fiddleford looked a little nervous and overwhelmed, but a smile very clearly seen on his face as he was squished between the twins.

“Tha’s the first time I spent tha’ night after we ‘came friends! After I, uh, ya’ know, tried to kill ya’ with a giant robit-”

Boyish Dan pointed at the next page. The twins were wearing 70s themed dancing clothes, disco lights shining on the two as they stood alone on a dance floor. The boys were covered in punch but still smiling while sideways hugging. Stanford in particular looked a little tired and had a bruise or two.

“Your guy’s 13th birthday party? A bunch of power hungry Ford clones causing so much trouble we pulled the fire alarm and set off the sprinklers?

He then pointed at two carnival tickets taped onto the page next to a photo of Boyish Dan’s grappling both of the twins under his arms and lifting them high into the air, standing in front of a carnival as the warm afternoon light washed over them. Dan was laughing maniacally while Ford looked shocked, grabbing onto Dan’s large arm looking at the ground nervously, as if he was afraid of being dropped. Stanley also looked shocked but not in the same way Stanford did. Stan’s face was bright red and he looked like he was trying to laugh off being picked up so suddenly.

“How about the carnival? You tried that ‘test your strength’ game while Ford did that ‘guess how many jellybeans are in this jar’ game and both failed at them?”

Anjelita softly spoke up next to Boyish Dan as he turned the page. A picture of Stanley all dressed up was pasted onto the page. He was wearing a black suit, a red fez with the same symbol that’s on his sweater Mabel made him, an eye patch, and an 8-Ball cane. He had his eye patch flipped up and was winking at the camera, fully showing off his showman persona. Next to that photo was another one, this time depicting Stanley and Stanford sitting in a booth with Anjelita and her grandparents. Stanley and Anjelita’s Abuelo, Soos, were scarfing down a pizza slice as fast as they could, assumedly in a race to see who could eat it faster. Stanford was looking at his brother with mild disgust and concern while Anjelita’s Abuela, Melody, was excitedly cheering on her husband. Anjelita was sitting at the table leaning her chin on her hand, a soft amused smile on her lips.

“The time you were the boss of the Mystery Shack for a day? The arcade with the killer robots?”

Dipper had his hand on Mabel’s shoulder, carefully questioning, “Is any of this ringing a bell? Anything at all?”

Everyone, minus Stanford, were crowding Stanley, all in his personal space and making the dazed child even more confused. On edge and gripping the scrapbook tightly, furrowed brown eyes completely void of familiarity as he looked over the group.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Stanley began, quickly looking down as he slammed the scrapbook closed. “But none of this is making any sense to me! You keep talking to me like I know who you are, but I don’t!”

The hope in the group died at Stanley’s outburst, all of their enthusiasm fading and disappearing entirely in record time.

“Told you.” Stanford softly mumbled from the other side of the room, despondent and hugging himself tight while leaning against the wall, utter exhaustion seeping into his bones.

Stanley shifted uncomfortably in the recliner, that bubbling sense of guilt building in his stomach and his chest once again at the sight. He doesn’t even know these people but he doesn’t want to see them upset. Guess he really is a bleeding heart. He’s learning something new about himself every second.

The brunet sighed, idly rubbing his round cheeks as he quietly added on, his voice much softer than before, “Look… I’m sorry I don’t remember… I really am…”

“It’s alright Stanley, it’s not your fault.” Dipper gently replied, unaware of the way Stanford flinched at those words behind him.

There was a depressing and strained silence hanging over the group afterwards, no one really knowing what else to say after their hopeful attempt was proven to be pointless.

Then all of a sudden hot air and a snorting noise tickled Stanley’s left ear.

The kid whirled his head at the noise only to come face to face with a big old pig with a collar around its neck, along with a name tag that Stanley couldn’t read from where he was sitting. The two just stare at each other for a couple seconds, blank stare to blank stare, until it was finally broken by the pig hopping up and getting closer to Stanley, trying to chew on his brown curls.

Stanley squealed with surprise and tried to push the massive pig away, Mabel weakly laughing on her knees at the antics, her mind flashing to all the times Waddles has lovingly bothered her great-nephew the entire time he’s been here. She was about to tell her beloved pet to stop messing with Stanley when the kid beat her to the punch.

“Augh! Waddles! How many times have I told you to stop trying to eat my hair!”

Everyone froze, even Stanford’s head whirled over at Stanley’s words.

“…What did he say?” Ford asked, his voice laced in disbelief.

Stanford initially didn’t want to think there was a chance for Stanley to remember, figuring that this was going to be his punishment. Forever mourning someone who’s not even dead, someone he all but killed. But when Stanley spoke Waddles name, something he shouldn’t remember, felt that little ball of hope he’s been trying so hard to suppress in his chest reemerge.

Now Waddles was trying to lick Stanley’s cheek, making the boy squeal even more.

“I said get Waddles off me, Sixer!”

A small breathless laugh left Dipper’s throat as ran his hands through his silver curls, a hopeful disbelief in his eyes. “…It’s working.”

Stanford suddenly sprinted up to the group, grabbing onto his Great-Aunt’s arm from where she’s kneeling in front of Stanley and holding her scrapbook. “Keep reading, Grauntie Mabel.” His gaze serious, but his voice a soft plea.

Mabel had to quickly blink a couple times and bring herself back to reality, adrenaline beginning to pump in her veins at the prospect that this was working. She jumped to her feet, not even wavering as her knees creaked at the sudden movement, and called out to everyone in the room, “Story time!”

She grabbed onto Stanley, that classic Mabel smile was back on her face as she easily lifted him up and sat down where he was sitting on the recliner, pulling the frazzled boy onto her lap. She reached out and yanked Dipper to her as well, making him sit right next to her on the recliner. It was a bit of a tight squeeze but thankfully the two twins had always been on the lankier side so they made it work.

Dipper held his hand out to Stanford, helping him up and pulling him onto his lap, paralleling his sister next to him. Stanford’s immediately pressed against Stanley’s side, polydactyl hand instinctively slipping into his and squeezing like his life depended on it.

Boyish Dan and Anjelita leaned more on the farther back sides of the recliner while Fiddleford jumped up and sat on the armrest closest to Mabel, the blond pressing himself against Stanley’s other side.

Stanley was now completely surrounded once again, being hugged and squeezed and picked up by these strangers. However this time he didn’t get annoyed or uncomfortable at the attention. Instead there was this familiar warmth in his chest, like he was always meant to be held like this. He can’t really describe what caused that shift.

Maybe these guys are right, maybe he is remembering.

Stan allows himself to relax in the arms of the older woman and against the two kids pressing against either side of him, a small smile growing on his face.

“Okay okay,” Mabel began, flipping back to the first page of the scrapbook. “It all started when I got a call from my dearest older brother asking me to watch my sweet darling great-nephews for the summer, and how could I say no to having my precious little nephews all to myself for 3 months!”

Mabel began to go over every picture and every memento in the scrapbook, everyone else pitching in and adding their own commentary or laughing every once and a while, a smile on everyone’s face.

Except for Stanford.

Stanford was looking intensely at his twin, waiting anxiously for the moment Stanley finally remembered him.

A part of him was excited, the other was dreading it.

The moment his brother remembers what happened, what Ford did to him, their bond is going to completely shatter and Stanley is going to want nothing to do with him anymore. No more late night talks, no more covering for each other, no more getting into trouble. Stanford wouldn’t be surprised if Stanley wanted to cut him out of his life completely after this after what he did. Stanford wouldn’t even blame him. He deserves it after all.

Then he saw it and his heart stopped in his chest.

Stanley rapidly blinked for a second, a familiar shine in his brown eyes as he turned to look at Stanford, recognition and understanding in his stare for the first time since the end of Weirdmageddon.

The two stared silently as Mabel continued to talk, everyone’s words muffling into background noise.

Stanford wasn’t going to beg for forgiveness. His eyes weren’t filled with sorrow or guilt. They were steady, completely prepared for anything Stanley threw at him, knowing whatever it was he deserved it.

Stanley’s eyes were filled with that familiar shine but no emotion showed on his face as his stare bore into his twin, completely silent as the two eyes stayed locked.

Then Stanley did something Stanford wasn’t expecting. His brown eyes softened, a smile on his face as he got closer and leaned his head onto Stanford’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing over his twin’s polydactyl knuckles the same way their mother would do whenever she tried to calm them down when they were much smaller.

Stanford was tense, completely frozen. He was expecting yelling, punching, blaming, or even something as simple as wordlessly pulling his hand away, but he wasn’t expecting forgiveness.

He didn't deserve this. Stanley should hate his guts. Despise him and push him away just like Stanford was doing most of the summer.

Ford’s body didn’t untense, but he did slowly rest his head on top of Stan’s, squeezing his brother's hand as if it was his life line, his thoughts swirling in his mind like a hurricane.

He didn’t deserve Stanley’s forgiveness.

Or was it pity?

It must be pity.

It has to be.

Mabel was still speaking as she leaned down and rested her chin onto Stanley, Dipper doing the same with Stanford. A warm fuzzy feeling enveloped everyone in the room. Everyone but Stanford, who instead felt a sickening feeling of guilt deep in his chest.

Stanford didn’t deserve this. This kindness.

So he swore right then and there that he was going to spend the rest of his life atoning for what he did, staying by his twin’s side to make sure nothing would never, ever, hurt his brother ever again.

Or until the day Stanley wises up and realizes that Stanford wasn’t worth his pity, that he’s too good to have a coward like him for a brother.

Whatever came first.

🌻🌱🌤️~~~~~~~~~~~~🌦️🛡️🥀

Hope you liked it!! It was fun to write when my thumbs weren’t hurting from typing on my phone for 6 hours straight lmao 💥💥💥

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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!! I love your writing!!!!! Could I request some totally self indulgent headcanons or a small Drabble/fic? Ford x reader on their birthday! It’s my birthday in a few weeks and I just really want my fictional man there 😭😂 but I thought I’d ask early in case your inbox was full! Thank you! ❤️

when the scientist loves you | Ford Pines x reader

hii angel, happy birthday!! ♡ i hope your day is as lovely as you are, may this year bring you endless inspiration, happy moments and everything your heart desires! ♡ ♡ ♡

tags: birthday, fluff, sfw, established relationship

Ford's voice carries softly from the kitchen, muttering as he reads measurements off an old recipe card. You sit at the table, watching the back of his head tilt toward the stovetop. The apron Mabel gave him, the one with "may the fork be with you" scribbled across the front in obnoxious block letters, look ridiculously cute tied over his sweater.

“You look very dignified in that, professor,” you tease, propping your chin on your hand.

Ford turns his head to shoot you a dry look, though there’s a tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Sweetheart, you know, my culinary doctorate doesn’t let me cook in anything else.” he teases you back.

You laugh and Ford straightens a little, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his wrist.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you look at the table where a neatly folded napkin waits beside a single glass of wine. “it’s just a birthday.”

He glances over his shoulder, his face expression changes into serious one. “Just a birthday?” he repeats incredulously. “this is the day the universe decided to grace existence with you. The fact that you think it’s ‘just’ anything is absurd.”

You're staring at him in silence right now because, to be honest, you can't find the right words to respond to such a compliment. And as if satisfied with your surprised cute face, Ford turns back to the stovetop, missing the way your lips press together to suppress a smile.

“Besides,” he adds, stirring whatever’s in the pan, “i’ve run calculations. The probability of me burning this is well below fifteen percent.”

“Comforting.” your answer makes Stanford smirk, but he keeps his focus on his work.

Minutes later, he places the plate in front of you with both satisfaction and concern on his face. “honesty, no pressure, but if it’s terrible, i might die of shame. . .”

You roll your eyes at your husband because how does a man that smart always doubt and criticize himself?

Taking a bite, your lips turn into smile, the taste becomes warm and pleasant, pulling a hum of approval from your chest. “Ford, this is amazing?”

He exhales with relief and pulls out the chair beside you. “Good, i wasn’t sure if the seasoning would—”

“You’re incredible,” you interrupt and Ford stops mid-sentence as the tips of his ears turn red.

“Believe me, my love, you deserve nothing less.”

You eat together and at one point, he picks up the fork himself, offering you another bite. Once the plates are cleared, he stands abruptly, holding out his hand. “Lets go, sweetheart.”

“Where?” you ask, letting him pull you to your feet.

“You’ll see.” you barely have time to grab your coat before he’s leading you toward the door. His six fingered hand feels so warm in yours as you step outside into the cool air. “Close your eyes,” he says, and when you hesitate, he squeezes your hand. “trust me.”

You huff but obey, curling your fingers against his. Ford proudly guides you through the woods as he starts talking enthusiastically. “You know, if we were walking blindfolded through the quantum multiverse instead of this forest, you’d have a thirty-five percent chance of stepping into a dimension where time runs backward.”

You grin, keeping your eyes closed. “Fascinating.” you're parodying his catchphrase. “should i be worried about that here?”

“Unlikely,” he deadpans, though you can hear the smirk in his tone. “but if you hear an oscillating sound, let me know immediately.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously well-prepared.” some minutes later the ground beneath your feet changes texture, the soft crunch of dirt giving way to grass, and Ford’s pace slows.

“Are we there yet?” you ask impatiently.

“Almost, darling. Okay, stop. You can open your eyes.” you hesitate, preparing yourself before letting your eyelids flutter open. The sight in front of you makes you gasp.

Ahead of you, nestled in the clearing, is a flower that glows, it's long and translucent petals, curved outward, are made of the thinnest glass. Luminous veins, similar in color to silver, pulsate through them. The center shimmers with different colors, like the aurora borealis trapped in a single bloom.

“Ford. . .” you take a step forward, the damp grass pressing under your shoes, but you can’t look away. You turn your head slightly, glancing at him. Ford is staring at the flower too, the bright light from the flower is reflected in his glasses, but his expression isn’t the detached curiosity he usually wears while talking about his discoveries. It’s different now, gentler.

“A luminaria eximia,” Ford explains, predicting your question. “it’s rare, very rare, it only blooms under specific conditions.”

“You brought me here to see this?”

“Of course,” he replies with intonation as if the question confuses him. “you deserve extraordinary things.”

Your chest tightens and the tears you’ve been holding back sting at the edges of your vision. You don’t want him to see, don’t want to ruin the moment with your sudden wave of overwhelming emotion, so you turn away and close the space between you and him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his chest.

Ford stiffens, caught off guard by your reaction. Did he do something wrong? That's his first reaction, worry and concern for you, but then he relaxes, settling his hands settling your back, hugging you too. The time he spent with you made him know exactly what to do without you needing to ask and explain.

“Hey, hey,” he says gently, leaning down. “now what’s this?”

You shake your head, tightening your arms around him. “You—” you hate how your voice trembles, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

Ford chuckles. “sweetheart, of course i did, i wanted to.”

You lift your head slightly, still not letting him see your face, and his hand moves to your chin, tilting it upward until you have no choice but to meet his attentive gaze.

“You deserve this,” his thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek. “you deserve everything.” his words unravel you completely and he must see it because his brows knit together with concern before softening again. His six-fingered hands cup your face gently, treating you like his precious artifact he’s vowed to protect. “you mean so much to me, i don’t know how else to say it except—”

But you don’t let him finish. You lean up, standing on your toes to close the small distance between you, and kiss him. The first reason is just because you want to, and the second is because that smartass needs to shut up with his touching speeches before you flood the whole field with your tears. Ford freezes for a moment, startled, but then his hands find your face and he deepens it carefully, afraid of breaking the moment.

You don’t know how long you stay like that because you're ready to spend eternity with his lips on yours, kissing you slowly, so sensually, softly, so damn tenderly, trying to memorize the shape of your mouth while his thumbs moving in slow arcs over your cheeks.

When you finally pull back, his hair ruffled from your hands, Ford looks at you as though you’ve just rewritten the laws of the universe. “oh, you really do have a way of surprising me.” he raises his eyebrows.

“Takes one to know one,” the corner of your mouth lifting as you run your finger over his jawline.

He laughs at that and after one last lingering glance at the luminous flower, he takes your hand again. “come on,” his voice changes into more teasing. “i haven’t even given you your present yet.”

“This wasn’t it?” you ask, gesturing back toward the flower as he starts to lead you out of the clearing.

“No, this was. . . an extra. A bonus, if you will.”

“Ah, an extra,” you repeat teasingly. “you’re ridiculous, Stanford Pines.”

“You already said that.”

By the time you step inside the Mystery Shack, the lingering chill of the evening has melted away. The warm glow of the lamps greets you and Ford’s hand lingers on yours before he releases it. He takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of a chair. You follow suit, watching as he rubs his hands together nervously, before giving you a soft lopsided smile.

“Wait here for a moment!” and though you’re still glowing from the earlier surprises, his tone piques your curiosity again. He disappears, leaving you standing there, before you can ask any questions.

When your husband returns, he’s holding a small wooden box, polished as though he carved it himself. Its edges are rounded and there’s a mark burned into the top: his initials, alongside yours.

“This,” and for all his brilliance, his voice sounds so nervous as he holds it out to you. “this is for. . . you.”

You take the box carefully and lift the lid. Inside, on a piece of dark fabric, is a necklace. No, calling it a necklace doesn’t do it justice. It’s far more otherworldly, the pendant a swirling prism of beautiful colors that change, reminding you of the starlight caught in a bottle.

You stare at it, not daring to find the words.

“It’s called a crystallite shard,” Ford explains again. “i found it on one of my expeditions. It only exists in one dimension and it’s said to reflect the thoughts of the person wearing it. Not their memories exactly, but their essence, in a way.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed. “Ford. . .”

“I thought,” he continues, “that if anyone deserved to have something so unique and unrepeatable, it would be you.”

You’re speechless, brushing your finger over the pendant as it gleams under the light of the Mystery Shack.

And before you can say something, ”b-but that’s not all,” Ford gestures to the box. You tilt it slightly and see another layer beneath the fabric: a small, intricately detailed wooden charm, shaped like a constellation. More simple compared to the necklace, but so beautiful in its own way.

“I carved that,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s. . . it’s the constellation we saw the first time we stargazed together. I wanted you to have something from me, personally.”

Your heart swells and before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around his neck, clutching him tightly. “Ford, you didn’t have to. This is. . . this is so perfect.”

Stanford smiles softly, wrapping his arms around you. “you deserve perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you deserve more than I could ever give, darling.”

“This is more than enough,” you pull back to look into his eyes.

Ford akes the necklace from the box. “May i?” what a damn gentleman, you think and nod, turning around as he drapes it carefully around your neck. When he’s finished, you touch the pendant lightly, marveling at the way it seems to shift with your movements. “It suits you, matches your beautiful eyes.” he just stands there and can't stop admiring you.

You both end up on the couch not long after, wrapped in the softest blanket he could find. Ford's arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you against him. But some time later, blanket is forgotten as his hands desperately, but gently explore every part of you they can reach, your back, your arms, the curve of your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ford brushes his lips against your hair. “i hope you know that.”

You laugh. “well, you tell me often enough.”

“Not often enough,” he says firmly, cupping your cheek. “i don’t think i could ever say it enough or show you enough. You're everything i don’t deserve but can’t let go of.”

“Ford—” you start, but he doesn’t let you speak, kissing you, stealing the words from your mouth. Ford tilts your head gently, threading his long fingers into your hair as the kiss grows with aching intensity, damn, he’s been starving for this moment. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, clutching at him.

“Every time i touch you, i can’t believe you’re real.” he breathes out between kisses, trailing his lips down to your jaw, then your neck. He pauses there, pressing another kiss just below your ear. “your skin,” his hands trace the line of your shoulders. “so warm, i could stay like this forever.”

You can’t even reply, not when he’s kissing you like this, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck.

Then he leans back only to take your hands in his, bringing them to his lips, kissing each knuckle. “these hands, they’ve done so much. They’ve built a life for us, cared for me in ways i never thought i’d experience again. They’re precious to me.” you bite your lower lip when his mouth finds the delicate skin of your wrists. “and this heart,” he presses his lips where your pulse beats steadily. “so full of love, so generous, i’m in awe of it every single day.”

“So beautiful, every part of you. I could spend a lifetime just looking at you, touching you, loving you. I just love you, love you so much it terrifies me sometimes.”

You can’t find the words to respond, so you just lean into him, burying your face in his neck as he holds you. His hands never stop moving, caressing and holding you, trying to reassure himself that you’re here, that you’re his. Because you damn deserve to be cherished, every inch of you deserves to be kissed, to be loved. And Ford Pines will spend the rest of his life making sure you know that.

“Come here, darling, closer, need you closer,” he pulls you deeper into his embrace, his lips are on you again, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. You giggle when he presses another kiss to your temple, then to your ear. “do you know how long i’ve waited to hold you like this? to touch you, to love you? it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but he doesn’t stop, cradling your face in both hands. “youre extraordinary, every part of you. your mind, your heart, your body. I don’t know how i got so lucky, but i’ll never stop trying to be worthy of you. You're everything to me and i’ll spend every day reminding you of that. Happy birthday, darling, thank you for letting me love you.” Ford kisses you until you’re dizzy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to keep up.

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