#mabel: she was such a good listener!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 11 months ago

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Chapter 58 of human Bill Cipher in a quantum uncertainty state between being and not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Everything you've wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

Let's rewind a couple of days.

####

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

"Welp," Mabel said, "I've got the rest of summer to try to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

####

Friday, 11:04 p.m.

It took less than five minutes before the guilt won.

Yeah, no, nope, nuh-uh, Dipper couldn't do this. Not to his sister. He rolled over and hissed, "Psss, hey. Mabel."

"Hm?"

"Listen," Dipper said. "I hate Bill, okay, but I care about you, and also I think Bill might be part of a prophecy, so, because of that—I... There's something I need to tell you."

####

11:15 p.m.

Bill hadn't even had time to start dreaming before something dragged his mind back into the waking world.

There were white points of light as he passed through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. Those lights were his eyes. Lately, every time he started to wake up, he'd been seeing his eyes in the distance.

This time, there was one right in front of him, so bright it almost blinded him. He thought he could see something in the light.

He touched it.

And then he woke up, laying on his cushion bed as usual, watching as Mabel slid out of her room, crept near, and knelt beside him. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Bill. Wake up."

And then he woke up—which was strange, considering he'd just done that—and stared at the dark inside of his hoodie.

He pushed back his hood. There was Mabel, crouched next to him, just like he'd "dreamed." Huh. Well done, Cipher, it seems you've just learned a new trick.

He tamped down his excitement; he could figure out what to do with this trick later. For now, he had a higher priority. "'Sup, kid?" He pushed himself up on an elbow, roughly flipping his hair out of his hood so it wouldn't keep tickling and choking around his neck. "It's the middle of the night." He yawned and mumbled, "Not that it makes a difference to me, but..."

"Shhh! We've gotta stay quiet," Mabel whispered. "I need to get you out of here. They're gonna kill you."

He sat bolt upright. "All right," he said. "You have my attention."

####

Dipper refused to say how, but according to him they'd synthesized just enough fuel for one shot with their fancy quantum whatever gun, and they couldn't make any more. They planned to execute Bill once Mabel was gone.

Mabel could just open a door for Bill and let him escape in the middle of the night—but that had dangers of its own. Bill would have to travel to a hiding place on foot—and his shoes were crap for hiking—his feet were also crap for hiking—and he'd only have until the adults started waking up and realized he was gone. Even if he kept moving all night, the adults would probably be able to cover the same amount of ground in a couple of hours, he'd probably inadvertently leave a trail a mile wide, and the forest's local supernatural population would definitely snitch if one of the Stans asked if they'd seen anything.

Plus, it wouldn't be very hard for the adults to figure out that Dipper had cracked and Mabel had helped Bill escape, and then everyone was in hot water.

They needed a way to cover Bill's escape to make it harder for the adults to pick up his trail, to give him as much time as possible to get some distance from the shack, and to delay Mabel getting in trouble. ("And Dipper," Mabel said. "Sure," Bill said unenthusiastically.)

But if they could, it would be best if they found a way to ensure the adults never even thought to look for Bill, Mabel never got in trouble at all, and the Quantum Destabilizer could never be fired again.

It was possible, Bill said. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was possible. They had a good chance. A very good chance. In fact, never mind, he'd decided it was guaranteed, they'd pull this off easily.

All they had to do was fake his death.

He knew a way.

####

11:45 p.m.

Dipper was stirred out of a drowsy near-sleep by the door creaking open and a couple sets of footsteps shuffling in. He rolled over and squinted across the room.

Mabel was quietly collecting craft supplies—pens, papers, her small starter sewing kit she used for repairs. Bill climbed into the loft to grab some musty pillows and blankets that had been stored for years in a cardboard box.

"Mabel?" Dipper mumbled.

Mabel put a finger over her lips. "Hey Dipper," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep, we'll be up in the loft."

"Doing what?"

"Scheme-y stuff. Don't worry about it." She flung her arms around Dipper, whispered, "Thank you," and ran across the room to grab her backpack and the height-altering flashlight.

Dipper glanced toward the loft. Bill was waiting at the top of the ladder, a dark vaguely-triangular silhouette, only his eyes visible as they reflected the dim light like a cat's. Dipper had had more nightmares than he could remember about waking to find Bill hovering in the dark above him.

Bill's gaze flicked from watching Mabel to staring at Dipper. They made eye contact. Bill didn't say anything.

Then Mabel climbed up the ladder, supply-stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders. Bill gave Dipper one last silent look, then turned away to follow Mabel to the back of the loft.

Dipper rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

####

The plan was to create a dummy that looked like Bill to take the Quantum Destabilizer's shot in his place, while the real Bill got as far from the shack as the weirdness barrier around town would allow.

Bill told Mabel that the dummy didn't need to be complicated: he had an enchantment that could make it completely convincing. All he had to do was write out a spell and leave the paper over the dummy, and anyone who looked at it would be convinced it was really him in the flesh.

Similarly, sneaking Bill out of the shack didn't need to be complicated. They could shrink Bill down and stick him in Mabel's backpack, and all she'd have to do was come up with an excuse to get out of the car and set him free before they left town.

The hard part would be the choreography of the whole thing. They needed Bill to put in an appearance that morning, to prove it really was him walking around; and then go somewhere that Mabel could hide him away without anybody noticing; and then ensure that nobody would see the Bill dummy until they were safely out of range, just in case. "The enchantment's pretty good," Bill said, "but the more people see it and the longer they get to look at it, the less potent it gets. And all it'll do is make the dummy look like me—it won't be able to walk and talk. It's best if the only person who gets a good look at it is my executioner."

The word executioner made Mabel shudder. It would probably be Ford, wouldn't it? She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. She knew it wasn't the first time he'd tried to destroy Bill. She knew she'd been fine with it last summer. She even knew that Bill would be okay. But all the same, she wasn't sure how she'd look at Ford the same way.

Once they had the dummy set up somewhere away from the family's prying eyes, they had to discourage everyone from trying to approach "Bill" until they were ready to kill him. And, ideally—just in case the executioner tried to speak to Bill or the enchantment otherwise failed—they should stage it all in a way so that no one would think Mabel had been involved in the escape plan.

The solution was obvious.

"I live to cause drama for no reason," Bill said. "I upset mortals recreationally. Can you act?"

"Can I act? Pshhh!" Mabel flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe you were too busy badly impersonating my brother to watch, but last year I kind of staged an entire puppet show performing and singing as every character."

So it was a plan: they would stage a fight.

They were sitting in the very back of the attic loft, behind stacks of forgotten boxes and abandoned junk, beneath the meager light of the loft's window. Bill didn't need the light. He had a pen and paper and was writing out his enchantment's spell while they talked, long lines of inscrutable text. It was so dark that Mabel couldn't even see what language he was writing in, but that was fine; Bill had said that if she read his spell—if anyone read it—it would break the enchantment.

"Whoops," Bill said, "yeah, afraid I missed your whole show! I was too busy backstage trying to avoid your friends and looking for a way onto the catwalk."

Mabel shook her head in disapproval. "You would have liked it. There were live pyrotechnics and lasers and fog machines and a giant tentacle monster war and seventy-four songs and puppets!"

"I'll admit, sounds like a killer show. How about gore?"

"There was a whole song about my love interest getting his legs chewed off in the war," Mabel said. "The sock puppets don't have legs, but everyone knows your own imagination is a lot scarier than anything you actually see."

This kid could have a brilliant artistic career as a serial killer. "That's familiar. Is this war based on that 'cats versus the giant octopus' dream you keep having?"

"Yeah, and you'd have known that if you'd actually watched the opera! Too bad you missed the whole thing," Mabel said. "I guess you were just too busy being evil to appreciate the simple joys of a good, clean, non-villainous puppet show."

"Oh no, I can't believe my actions have consequences," Bill said flatly. "What would I ever have done if you hadn't enlightened me."

"Died, probably."

Bill glared.

"You know! Like you did last summer? As a consequence of your—"

"You shush."

Bill shoved Mabel away when she started to laugh, and held the enchantment up between their faces so he didn't have to look at her. He read his work over, then folded the paper in half and half again. "Hey, maybe you can put on an encore presentation sometime." Bill carefully inscribed four symbols in a square on the folded paper. "I promise I'll laugh at the jokes and fake cry at the sad parts."

Mabel shuddered. "No way. I'm never touching that show again. Too many bad memories."

"Awww, how come?"

Mabel stared at Bill.

Bill said, "Oh, right."

"Yeah," Mabel said coldly. "Thanks."

Bill shrank back. He leaned against a cardboard box, not sure where to look, drumming his fingers self consciously on the floorboards. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to make it better.

"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind about reviving the show... can I play the reverend again?" He grinned.

Mabel wadded up a paper and chucked it at Bill's face.

####

They agreed that scripting out every bit of the argument would make it sound too fakey; and anyway they were going to do this on no sleep and with no time to practice, if one of them forgot a line mid-argument it would ruin their entire plan. Bill said he was great at improvisational acting (which Mabel suspected was his way of trying to make "great at lying on the spot" sound good), and Mabel was a pro at getting into character for pretend games, so this should be easy. They just needed to choose a few topics they could realistically argue about.

So they started making a list of things that would totally infuriate each other.

"I can't think of anything that would make me furious," Bill said. "Outside of something serious like a murder attempt, anyway. I'm an even-tempered triangle! I don't sweat the small things!"

"You got sooo mad when I forgot to tell you about my Summerween plans."

Bill grimaced. "Right," he muttered. "That."

Teasingly, Mabel asked, "Are you still grumpy I made plans?"

"I was not grumpy you made plans. I wasn't grumpy at all! I just would have appreciated if I'd known sooner, I planned my whole evening assuming I'd have somebody around to open doors—"

He saw Mabel's increasingly amused smirk, stopped himself, held up a hand, and said, "I'll save it for tomorrow morning."

Mabel wrote down the idea beneath four ideas she'd already scratched out. She'd temporarily removed the crystal from the height-altering flashlight so she could illuminate her paper while she wrote. "The concert will definitely come up tomorrow morning! And you can act like that's the first time you heard about it."

"Sure, no problem. We haven't talked about the concert where your uncles could overhear, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then that's perfect. I can pretend to be mad you didn't tell me." Bill forced a smile. "All right, your turn." He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. "I realize that, apart from the unfortunate meat suit, I'm the most flawless person you've ever seen—" he ignored Mabel's raspberry, "—but for the sake of argument, just imagine something you might get mad at me for."

"Um... insulting Dipper?"

"Now that sounds fun. But no, can't risk it, he'd be too tempted to jump into the argument," Bill said. "Besides, what if I said something you agreed with?"

"What! Why would I agree if you insulted my brother?"

"He smells like a sweaty ferret and when he has a crush he turns into a creepy little stalker."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, he does. Okay, um..." She went silent for a moment, tapping the butt of her marker on the paper.

She stopped tapping; and then quietly said, "I'd be so mad if I thought you were trying to keep me from hanging out with my friends."

"Oh, I could do that easily." Bill reviewed his wording, decided a human could take that as a threat, and quickly amended himself, "Could pretend that I'm trying to do that easily. You know I'd never, but hey, the adults here are ready to believe the worst about me—"

"You promise?"

"Sure I promise!" He processed the question after he'd already answered it. "Hold on—you think I'm the kind of person who would do that?" He was, but he didn't want her to see him that way.

She shrugged, looking down at her idea list again. "You've done it to other people."

"Name one!"

"Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket."

Oh, of course. That snitch of a backstabbing ungrateful ex-student, bane of Bill's entire miserable postmortem existence. Had to find as many ways as possible to make Bill look bad, didn't he. "All I did was tell Stanford that hick was a coward and a flake. I didn't make him do anything! If he agreed with me, that's on him." Bill crossed his arms irritably. "And Specs was a coward and a flake. Is it a crime to be right?"

"But you ruined their friendship on purpose, didn't you."

Bill tried to find a graceful way to wriggle around the direct accusation that excused his actions without contradicting whatever she might already know. "Did not," he said.

Mabel frowned at him.

Bill averted his gaze. "So! That's great. Trying to keep you away from your friends. Something I've never done to you but would be a really good thing to fight about. What else."

Mabel sighed and looked over her list again. She wrote something, scratched it out; started another line and scribbled it out; and then said in exasperation, "Your morals are terrible."

Bill had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his sudden laugh from waking Dipper. "You've got too many morals, it's your biggest character flaw. How many does one person really need, two or three? That's an easy topic, arguments about morality can drag out for hours!"

"We probably only need to fight for like ten minutes, right?"

"Sure. List done! That's everything we need."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. She read over the list, glanced at the flashlight she was reading with, and said, "I should get extra batteries. It'd be the worst if we got you way out of the shack and then the batteries died while you were still small."

Bill wasn't sure about that. Being so tall for weeks on end felt awkward and wrong. His limbs were always in the way. He bumped into things he should have been able to slide between. The more time he spent in this body, the more he wanted to spend a month at the size and thickness of a greeting card. He joked, "Hey, I don't know; it'd be easier to hide..."

"Yeah, and easier to get squarshed." Mabel turned off the flashlight and picked up her backpack. "I'm getting batteries."

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill picked up her list to see what topics they'd found to argue about so far:

Weirdmaged

Making me think you were Blendin to get the

Kitten fists meow meow

Almost killing me

Not sharing Summerween plans

Trying to make me kill myself by

Ruining Glove Story

Insulting Dipper

Insulting Waddles??? (too lovable!)

Weirdm

Mabeland Isolating me from everyone

Spray painting your eyeball

Weir YOU'RE TOO EVIL!!

I'M TOO NICE!!! ♡

He reread the list, feeling his guts writhe and twist involuntarily.

Yeah. Those were all the things he'd decided not to bring up, too.

At least they were in agreement on what they didn't want to talk about. That was true friendship, right? Friendship didn't mean never hurting each other; it meant mutually agreeing never to talk about it again.

He read the list a third time.

####

A spare pair of Bill's black leggings and a pair of black socks would serve as half of the decoy body, stuffed with old bedsheets and half a pillow that Mabel had sized up with the flashlight so it was closer to Bill's actual torso size. For the time being, the top half of the decoy was constructed out of a flannel shirt; Bill would have to put in an appearance downstairs in his hoodie, and then they could quickly go upstairs and put it on the decoy to complete the look.

He'd miss that hoodie almost as much as he missed his own face. But it was a small price to pay for his life.

"I don't know," Mabel whispered, inspecting the dummy with the flashlight from near the edge of the loft. "It doesn't look super convincing. It's kind of lumpy all wrong." She knelt by it and tried to poke the fake thigh into a slightly more convincing shape.

"Don't worry about it," Bill whispered, waving the folded paper with the secret spell written inside. "The enchantment will hide all that. As long as the dummy looks mostly human at a glance, no one will notice anything."

Mabel gave it one last worried look, but nodded and turned off the flashlight.

####

Mabel crept out of the office and eased the door shut. "Got it," she whispered, holding up a faded black umbrella. "Are you sure you don't want a better umbrella, though? Some of the spikes are broken and I think it's supposed to rain today."

"The other humans will be less likely to notice a broken umbrella going missing," Bill said. "Anyway, this one saved my life once. I'll take it."

"Then that's the last supply we needed to pack," Mabel said, sighing in relief. "It's still a couple hours until morning. Should we get some sleep?"

Bill considered it, and shook his head. "No. Better not."

Sleep scared him. Sure, he endured it when he had to—he had no choice—and, under the circumstances, although it was a close call, he grudgingly preferred sleeping to dying of sleep deprivation; but he kept it at bay as long as he could, sleeping irregularly, infrequently, and briefly. Knowing it was necessary didn't make the fear go away.

It was the helplessness of the whole thing—knowing that, once his mind had shut off, anything could happen around him, anything could happen to his body—and not only was he ignorant and defenseless, but he was also powerless to wake himself up any sooner than his tyrannical circadian rhythm dictated. He lacked even the power to think about waking.

If Mabel hadn't woken him tonight, he might have slept through his own death.

He continued, "What if we sleep in and don't have time for the fight? I'd be doomed." Bill didn't even have the luxury of an alarm clock.

"Oh—good point," Mabel said. "So we should probably do something to keep us awake."

"Right," Bill said, wracking his exhausted brain for an idea. "Overdose on caffeine?"

Mabel was quiet for a moment. "If this works, it might be a long time before we see each other again," she said. "You'll probably have to keep hiding until Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan leave town in the fall. And by then summer will be over, and I'll be back in California..."

She was right. If they pulled off this plan, he might never see Mabel again. It wouldn't exactly be safe to ring up the Mystery Shack. Sure, sooner or later he'd find a way to restart Weirdmageddon, and then he could invite her into his gang... And she'd join, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He just needed a chance to talk to her about it away from the closed-minded killjoys in her family that were holding her back. But until then...

She groped through the dark to grab at Bill's sleeve. "Dance party? While we still can?"

"Sure, star girl." Where had this lump in his throat come from? "Sounds fun. Dance party."

####

5:30 a.m.

It was the first time Bill had danced since his death.

All Mabel had to offer was Sev'ral Times, upbeat kid's show soundtracks, unlistenable synthesized junk, and whatever was playing before dawn on the radio stations that could reach Gravity Falls; the stained yellow shag carpet and homely plaid wallpaper made him miss the dark smoky rooms and strobing multicolor lights of a real club; he couldn't risk drinking this early in the morning if he wanted to have a head clear enough for escape; and he never forgot that, outside of the living room, the halls were empty and silent.

But he'd danced to music that made his eye bleed and his memories howl and he'd danced to no music at all; he'd danced in millions of crummy makeshift dance halls and night clubs and dive bars that had tumbled into or been cobbled together in the Nightmare Realm; he'd danced when he was so brutally sober that time in all its sharp cruel clarity seemed to have frozen to turn a spotlight on him; he'd danced with his worst enemies and he'd danced all alone; and there wasn't any force on this planet that would stop him from dancing now.

After spending four songs in a row making fun of Bill for attempting to figure out how to puppet a human body into some approximation of a dance, Mabel asked, "What were dances like on Flatworld?" It made Bill internally wince each time he heard it called that.

But he welcomed the opportunity for a break; he leaned back to half sit against the living room table, breathing heavily, arms trembling. "Dif—difficult question." He had to pause to catch his breath. His lungs and muscles couldn't keep up with him; this body was too hard to keep moving, so inefficient, 90% of the fuel that went into it was wasted uselessly. It was already beginning to atrophy in the few short weeks he'd had it, muscles withering from days stuck indoors with nothing to do but sit and stare out the window. He'd been made of pure energy for so long that maintaining all the little systems to keep a flesh body energized—food, water, sleep, exercise, not too much exercise, oxygen—felt like a Sisyphean torture. "S'like asking—'what're human dances like'? There's a—lot of variety."

"You know what I mean!" Mabel was still half dancing, bouncing from foot to foot. Bill wanted that kind of energy. "How do you dance?"

Bill shut his eyes, seeing colors flash behind his eyes—gyroscopic, kaleidoscopic, shapes spinning and whirling in spirals. "I'd show you, but there's not enough room in here for me to do a cartwheel."

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being serious! Plus I can't float. It wouldn't look right in a human body." It would look better if he cut his silhouette out of a piece of paper, taped it over a flashlight, and projected the shape onto the wall. "Tell you what—as soon as I'm back in my real body, I'll show you how I dance, all right?"

"Come on, Bill! You're just trying to wiggle out of—"

"Mabel," Bill said, "I can't do those dances in this body."

Mabel's teasing smile faded. "Really?"

"Unless you know a way to dislocate my shoulder so I can slide my entire arm from one hip over my head and down to the other."

"Ew." Mabel grimaced.

"It looks cooler on a triangle." Bill smiled wanly. "But hey, I spent all day yesterday teaching you everything I know—you can teach me something. I haven't used a human body in thirty years! What dances are popular these days, I haven't learned anything new since the moonwalk."

Mabel's eyes widened. "You know how to moonwalk?"

"Sure! It's easy. I figured it out in Stanford's body."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

Bill pushed off the table. "Oh, yeah? Are you ready to look stupid?" He effortlessly glided backwards across the floorboards. He pointed at Mabel's gaping face as he passed. "What do you think of that?"

"Show me how to do that and I'll teach you every dance I know."

Bill grinned. He loved deals that were unfairly biased in his favor, and he loved it more when he didn't even have to propose them himself. "You've got yourself a deal, Shooting Star." It would keep them occupied for the next hour.

####

6:32 a.m.

About fifteen minutes ago, Bill had warned Mabel that he'd just glimpsed the beforeimage of Ford crossing the living room in the future; and then they'd kept partying, wanting to get in every last second of joy they could before he arrived in the present.

But once Ford was no longer approaching but actually there, seeing his face was like a bullet to the head. Bill had been having so much fun, for a few minutes he'd almost forgotten that today was execution day.

And it wouldn't be execution day if he had anything to say about it.

Bill demanded, "What's with the sour face?" (Ford's eyes were so dull, his expression so heavy; Bill had never seen him wear that look, not even any of the previous times he'd tried to murder Bill.) "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" He squeezed Mabel's hands tighter.

Ford just gave a tiny shake to his head and hurried past them, not even deigning to look at Bill, as though he were telling himself he'd only imagined he'd heard the voice of a ghost.

I know what you're up to, Bill thought at top volume silently in his head. But you won't do it. You won't do it.

He met Mabel's gaze. She gave him a tiny nod. Party was over. Time to get to work.

####

6:36 a.m.

Over the course of the night, Dipper had been woken twice by bursts of quickly-hushed laughter; three times by random bumps and thuds; once by Bill falling off the loft and Mabel's squeal of alarm; and several times by Mabel waking Dipper to ask if it was okay if she gave Bill Dipper's old shoes (so Bill could finally walk in the woods properly), his sleeping bag (so Bill didn't have to sleep on hard rocks under a single sad Pony Heist bedsheet), his "Edible Plants of Oregon's Blue Mountains" booklet (self-explanatory), and several other things he also said "yes" to without hearing properly. It had better be one heck of a prophecy that Bill was involved in, because Dipper was this close to just murdering Bill himself.

When Dipper went downstairs, he couldn't even look at Mabel and Bill—terrified something in his gaze would give the whole conspiracy away. He didn't even know what they were planning. Was dancing in the living room part of it? Was it some distraction? He'd hoped Bill would already be gone by now.

He couldn't meet Ford's eyes either, for the guilt of betraying his trust. He didn't deserve these scrambled eggs.

He couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

He really, really hoped Mabel and Bill had a plan. He hoped it was a good plan. Because whatever the heck they were up to—Dipper was afraid it was on him to prevent Ford and Stan from intervening too soon and finding out.

####

6:49 a.m.

After they'd escaped the kitchen, Bill glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before Mabel got the attic door closed. "Do you think Ford noticed something?"

Mabel was already running across the room, retrieving her phone charger and phone to stuff in her backpack and pocket, making sure she'd packed everything she needed for her trip—everything except for Bill. "I wasn't looking. Did he?"

"I don't know." Bill flashed one last worried look at the door; but he couldn't afford to slow down, he had a dummy to finish. He hurried up the ladder, took off his hoodie, pulled on a tank top, tried to fish his pre-written enchantment out of his pocket in the same movement, and fumbled and dropped the paper over the edge of the loft.

Mabel had been checking her bag for the concert tickets when a paper fluttered down on her hair. She instinctively grabbed it and unfolded it before she registered the four sigils written on the outside and realized this was the enchantment Bill had said would stop working if anyone read it. She'd reflexively read the first few lines before she could stop herself. She froze. Her gaze jerked up to Bill, eyes wide.

Bill dropped down the ladder, snatched the paper out of her hand so quickly it almost tore, and immediately climbed back up. "I told you not to look." He carefully refolded it.

"Is that...?"

"It'll work," Bill hissed, with an insistence that said he wasn't sure it would work at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" He held up the dummy's pillow torso and yanked the hoodie on top of it.

When Mabel didn't say anything, Bill sighed. "Even if it doesn't—this only needs to work until we're on the road. They can't stop us then."

"Bill—"

He shakily inhaled, and then he raised his voice loud enough he'd be heard downstairs. "What do you need to spend all that time around those two brats for, anyway?! What, am I not good enough company for you?!"

They didn't have time to adjust the plan. They were in the middle of it, right now, and the guys expected to hear an argument. Mabel swallowed hard and raised her voice as well. "Not when you're acting like this, you aren't! You're a bigger brat than—than both of—and my friends aren't brats!"

Bill bit his lip, brows drawn in pain, eye squeezed shut, trying not to laugh.

Mabel chucked a sock at him, don't you dare. "You can't say I can't hang out with my friends, that's stupid!"

"I never said you can't!" Bill held the folded paper a foot above the completed dummy, the square of symbols face up, and tapped it twice so it hovered in place when he let go. "Hang out with your stupid friends, I don't care! But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

####

7:02 a.m.

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!"

All three eavesdroppers cringed—Dipper hardest of all. His heart was hammering out of his chest and his t-shirt was at least 50% sweat by volume. Was this part of the plan? It sounded like an insane plan. This couldn't be the plan. It had to be the plan. He'd already prevented Ford from intervening, what if they were really fighting? But what if this really was the plan?

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT! What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

Dipper messed up. He'd actually ruined their friendship right before Bill was about to die and Mabel would be miserableand it was all his fault. This fight was real. They were furious. They hated each other—

####

7:03 a.m.

"OH YEAH, WELL—" Mabel faltered as she struggled to think of a fitting retort. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!" She cringed at herself, struggling not to laugh.

Bill had been fighting the urge to laugh so hard that his face was turning red. "OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Mabel's voice went shrill with suppressed hysterics. "SHUT UP!" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she socked Bill's arm. If he made her lose it when everyone was outside listening—

The door opened. "Hey—!"

They both rounded on Stan. "STAY OUT OF IT!" Mabel snatched up a discarded sweater. Stan shut the door just before the sweater hit it.

Mabel quietly wheezed, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"No, n—" Bill had to clap both hands over his mouth and nose to keep silent. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and smushed her face against his chest to muffle herself. They stood there, shaking, until the hysterics passed.

The stress was getting to them.

####

7:06 a.m.

"Fine!!" Mabel lifted the height-altering flashlight. "Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

Bill had on his backpack (Dipper had "agreed" Bill could take his) and was clutching his umbrella. He gave her a thumbs up; ready. "FINE!"

"FINE!" Mabel turned on the flashlight. When Bill was around four inches tall, she turned it off, knelt down, and offered her hand for him to climb on. She stuffed the flashlight in her backpack, carefully set Bill in a sweater nest (how had Gideon flung her and Dipper in a jar so cavalierly? she was terrified of snapping Bill's bones like toothpicks), zipped the backpack and gingerly put it on; and then Mabel was storming out of the room.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with fear. "He's in TIME OUT."

Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..." He looked so worried. She hadn't had a chance to explain the plan to him.

Mabel glared into his eyes. She summoned up all her mostly placebic Twin Empathy Powers to beam her thoughts into Dipper's brain. Don't. Please don't. If you say anything you'll ruin it.

He raised his hands. "Okay, fine."

Mabel rushed past him to the stairs, trying to escape as fast as possible without jostling her backpack.

####

7:08 a.m.

Buckled into Mrs. Grendinator's car, voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Now, before someone ran out of the shack and waved them down to demand Mabel explain where Bill had gone. Her hands were trembling in fear, clutched protectively around her backpack with its secret cargo. One of her best friends was in there. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window, afraid the adults might have already gone in and discovered their trick; but no one looked back.

Now all she could do was hope the paper Bill had left floating over the dummy would do its job.

####

(Shoutout to the one person who theorized the size changing flashlight could be involved, I'd @ you but I don't want you to see this before you read the chapter. You may claim credit in the notes. Based on the messages I received, one person guessed Mabel got involved halfway through the fight, no one guessed she was in it from the start, and NOBODY guessed Dipper got involved.

For a fun time, go back and read last chapter and this one in chronological order via the timestamps!

But first I wanna hear all your thoughts.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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shanklin · 3 months ago

Text

Stan and Ford never actually lose contact after the summer. Sure they don’t talk as much as they used to and it’s a bit lonely but some time apart did them good!

Ford tries not to be hurt by the fact that Stan was doing so well without him and found friends of his own the moment Ford’s presence stopped holding him back.

Ford also tried not to be hurt by the fact that Stanley refuses to come visit them. Even when their father called and ordered them to take Stan off his back for a summer, Stan wouldn’t budge. He made other plans with his new friends, who were normal and fun and nothing like Stanford.

Ford still only had one single friend to call his own. Don’t get him wrong, Ford loves Fiddleford but he made one big miscalculation when he told Stan to go back to New Jersey alone. Fiddleford wasn’t Stanley. There is no possible way for him to fill the void that Stan left behind.

Ford ignores Stan’s calls for three weeks straight after Stan refuses their father’s order to visit them the first time.

Three weeks and one day later he picks up the phone and lets Stan apologize and make up excuses. He’s too tired of missing Stan to argue. If their calls are all Stan could spare for him, Ford will take them, those little scabs that, just for a couple of minutes, make him feel whole again.

Just like always they end their calls by slapping their palms against the phone in a makeshift high six and hang up.

Stanford cries for a long time after.

Another year passes and Ford is pissed. Fine. If Stan won’t visit him, he’ll go to New Jersey himself and knock some sense into the knucklehead.

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel ask him if he’s sure. They know how hard it was for Ford in New Jersey with all the bullies but Ford waves them off. He’s 14 now, almost 15, not a little kid and he managed just fine living in Jersey for the first 11 years of his life.

He doesn’t tell them that the only reason he survived those years was because of Stanley’s fierce protection.

Ford is pissed at Stan but he’s also excited to finally see his brother again. He’s gonna surprise him and then yell at him and then hug and go to the beach and see how the Stan o’ War is doing. Stan told him he made some improvements and he is excited about what ridiculous upgrade Stan came up with.

When they finally arrive at the pawnshop they’re met with police cars and an ambulance. The paramedics carry out a body bag and Stan is let out by the police in handcuffs.

Stan's eyes widen in surprise but his expression closes off not a moment later.

Everything happens in a blurr.

His father is dead. His brother in custody and they’re being questioned by the police.

Grunkle Dipper and Grauntie Mabel do most of the talking while Ford is not listening, hiding his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground.

“I want to see my brother.” is the only thing he manages to say. He ignores the concerned looks the adults give each other. He’s here to see Stanley and nothing else.

***

Then, finally, he gets his wish after days of waiting.

The social worker leads him to Stanley and tells him that she managed to get them some time to talk in private.

It’s the first time in three years that Ford gets a good look at his twin. He’s not sure he likes what he sees.

Stan is bigger than him, has more muscles. But not the kind you get from boxing. The kind you get from doing hard labor for a long period of time. Stan mentioned a part time job at the docks but now Ford fears there was more to this than Stan let on. Much much more, looking at the new scars Stan never mentioned. There was one on his forehead. One on his arms, a hidden one on his shoulder. Ford dreads to know what else Stan is hiding.

The worst part, however, is how despite all the muscles and scars Stan looks small. Pitiful even. It’s unsettling the way he won’t meet the social worker's eyes, the way he shies away from her kind touch. It’s nothing like the Stan he remembers. Nothing like the Stan he's been talking to for at least once a week for the past three years.

The social worker leaves them alone with a reassuring smile and Ford tries to find the right words. He thought this would be easy. That they would be able to talk with each other just like they always did.

“Stan-” Ford starts unsure of how to continue. Luckily Stan is two steps ahead and moves in for a hug. Okay that's good. Ford can do a hug. Ford opens his arms to let his brother in, only for Stan to open Ford's jacket and inspect the inside.

Ford blinks, arms still open.

“What are you doing, Stanley?” Ford asks, bewildered.

“Checking for bugs, genius.”

Stan's voice had lost the quiver that had made him so pitiful just a moment earlier and took on an irritated and condescending tone instead.

He lets go of Ford's jacket as if he touched something especially nasty and throws himself into one of the many chairs in the meeting room and leans back.

“Guess the bitch really did tell the truth, huh?”

Stan stares out of the window and frowns.

“So what the fuck are you doing here? Pretty sure I told you I was busy again this summer.”

“Stanley..what happened to you? What did you do?”

Stan leans forward, looks deep into Ford's eyes and grins.

“Nothing they can prove.”

Stan laughs and keeps on laughing as Ford tries to make sense of it all.

Stan is mocking him. Just like their former classmates, just like the bullies.

Ford storms out and refuses to talk about the meeting.

Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper keep throwing each other concerned looks and Ford knows they're not only for him, but also for Stanley.

His brother has everyone fooled. He pretends to be a victim, hurt and afraid, telling lies about their father abusing him. He makes a show of it during the hearings and has the adults wrapped around his little finger. Some, Grauntie Mabel and Grunkle Dipper included, shed tears for him.

Stanford just watches and seethes. What game is Stan playing here? Why is he doing this?

In the end they let Stan go, judging their fathers death as an accident.

Before they leave for Oregon Mabel sends them both on an errant run, which Ford knows is just supposed to function as some more bonding time between him and his brother.

The moment Stan leaves the adult's sight he drops his charade and stops looking like a kicked puppy.

“You never answered my question. What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

“We came to visit you, but clearly we shouldn’t have bothered. You were doing all so great by yourself it seems.”

“You only got that now? After I spent the last three years coming up with weak excuses not to see you?” Stan laughs. “And they call me the dumb one.”

Ford flushes in anger but holds it in. It makes no sense. If Stan really didn’t want anything to do with him, why the frequent calls? Why bother pretending missing Ford and all the apologies for not visiting. If Stan really didn’t care he would’ve just ignored him completely. It would’ve been easy.

Stan moves to leave but Ford grabs his arm and holds him back.

“Stan, enough with the lies. Tell me what’s really going on. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together. As a team.”

Stan twirls around and pushes Ford hard against a wall. For a moment he looks around at the empty street before gritting his teeth and almost growling.

“Don’t touch me, you freak!”

Ford barely registers the words as he kneels over from a punch to the gut.

Stan walks away and this time Ford lets him.

It’s the last time Ford sees his twin for a very very long time.

If only Ford had followed Stan that day, secretly stalked him through the hidden alleyways and closed off passageways.

He would’ve seen Stan enter an abandoned building guarded by armed men on each side.

And if he listened closely he would’ve heard Stan shouting for a man named Rico to show himself and demand to see the kids.

But Ford doesn’t follow Stan and so he will never find out what that was all about. 😌

“Where are the kids Rico?! If you did anything to them I swear-”

Rico throws up his hands, feigning innocence.

“Relax, Stanley, relax. I’m a man of my word. I don’t hurt kids.” Rico puts an arm around Stan's shoulder. Stan tries to wiggle out but Rico holds firmly in place. “I’m not like your dear old Pa, after all”

Rico slaps Stan on the back and ruffles his hair.

“You’re welcome by the way.”

Stan uses the moment to put some distance between them and glares at the stronger man.

“You nearly got me put in jail for murder!”

Rico grins and spreads his arms.

“I had full faith in you getting yourself out of it, my boy. And the show you put on? Simply wonderful. I almost shed a tear myself at your performance!”

“Where. Are. The. Kids. Rico?!”

Rico sighs and waves his hand. Some of his henchmen lead two kids, a couple years younger than Stan himself, into the room. The moment they see Stan they shout his name and run up to hug him. Stan holds both of them tightly in his arms.

“I missed you, dude!” The boy cries and hides his head inside Stan's shirt while the red headed girl glares at Rico standing behind Stan.

Stan looks them over and smiles.

“Soos, did you take good care of your sister?” Soos rubs his eyes and nods. Stan looks at Wendy, who gives him a thumbs up.

“Yes, very touching. Now let’s discuss business. I need all three of you on a plane to New Mexico in about 2 hours.”

All three of them?

“What's the catch?”

There is no way Rico would let them go just like that. He must know they’ll run away the moment he lets them leave.

“There’s no catch. Do your job and no one gets hurt. If you choose to betray me though and run away.” Rico pulls out a knife and tips it underneath Stan's chin. Stan pulls Soos and Wendy behind his back. “Well I might just have to let my frustrations out on your dear twin. You two look so much alike, he’ll do nicely as a replacement.”

Stan snorts but schools his features and takes on a worried look.

“Eh, boss.” One of the henchmen butts in.

“Pines just beat up his brother before coming here. I don’t think that threat is gonna work”

Rico rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

“See what morons I have to deal with on a daily basis?” He tells Stan and then turns around to the henchman.

“He was obviously acting, you idiot.”

“Oh believe me. That wasn’t an act. You did your research. My family abandoned me. Hurt me. Why the fuck should I care about what happens to them?”

Stan takes both Soos and Wendy by the hand and drags them towards the entrance.

“But who am I to tell you how to do your business? So we’ll be off catching that plane and all that.”

Rico snorts.

“Oh Stanley, you’re a gambling man just like myself. That’s why I like you, but you’re a bit too young to fool me just yet. You will do just as instructed or it’ll be your brother who suffers. Maybe we’ll cut off his hands and sell them to one of those tourist trap freak shows. That way you can visit him while I’m hunting you down for betraying me.

Stan stops walking and deflates.

“Good boy.”

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

#Selfish Shellfish AU #gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #relativity falls #me: lets do a quick post about how sad it would be if they kept talking through the years and High Sixing through the phone #also me: writes whatever this is on an off for the past few weeks #on a different path there is no rico and after Filbrick dies the kids steal an old van and go on tour with their newly dubbed Mystery Wreck #they take care of each other and their life is totally sustainable like that #child abuse mention #not me now using every oppotunity to have people call Stan a good boy after a certain fanfic scene a few weeks ago broke me

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 26 days ago

Text

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Scripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 4

Propaganda

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359):

But. MINKOWSKI. Please read all that Minkowski propaganda I wrote and then consider voting for her. She's the love of my life and THE sexiest podcast woman, bar none.

MINKOWSKI

Mabel Martin (Mabel):

Let’s go Mexican lesbian who worships her gf like a catholic saint, ate glass one time, & can never escape her childhood home or the inevitability of love no matter how hard she tries. 🗣️🗣️🗣️

MABEL NATION STAY STRONG WE WILL PREVAIL

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Renée Minkowski (Wolf 359):

the most badass commander there is. she spent a week hunting a plant monster living on the air ducts of her station with a goddamn harpoon. she managed to keep her people alive and get them home. she managed to keep Eiffel alive for like five years and for that alone she deserves a fucking medal

She did not just spend one week hunting the plant monster, she spent TWO WEEKS hunting the plant monster. Later on, she used the very same harpoon to murder an evil capitalist WHILE SHE HAD A BULLET IN HER CHEST.

She's haunted by the memory of the first time she took a life, and what's sexier than a character with regrets?

She works out. Muscle women. Enough said.

She's devoted to protecting her crew above all else, and despite her self-doubt, she's REALLY damn good at it.

She's a theater kid! She loves musicals! She writes showtunes! Sondheim is her favorite composer!

She Russian-Roulettes a guy into not blowing up her ship, and does such a good job of it that he never even realizes there aren't any bullets in her gun.

She's been trapped in a time loop, possibly multiple times.

She's the best character in all of audio drama, I love her, she's beautiful, she's sexy, and she deserves every vote.

#minkowski my beloved. love of my life. other half of my heart. sexiest woman in podcast ever. i love her

#MINKOWSKI!!!!!! #i love her sooo much fun fact

#my girl! my favorite girl! she won! #let's keep this energy going everyone!

I don't really remember anything about Wolf 359 since I only listened to a few episodes so I'm throwing my lot in with whoever has the most compelling/funniest propaganda. I think this would be funny and I commit to nothing if not the bit

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

Mabel Martin (Mabel):

I haven't listened to Mabel yet but I liked how far she got last year.

#MABEL <3

#VOTE MABEL MARTIN BEFORE I BLOW UP THIS ENTIRE BUILDING

#Mabel Martin Is Sexy 2025

#she’s sexy and intense and I love her to bits

#MABEL!!!

#Mabel Martin of course you would win#she's just an unsettling faelike lesbian

#mabel!!!!! #the girl ouroboros herself #feral fae child latina godling. what else do i need to say

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

#2024 Round 4 #Renée Minkowski #Mabel Martin #Renee Minkowski #Mabel #Wolf 359 #Mabel Podcast

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darlingdaisyfarm · 4 months ago

Text

to the past, with love (and glitter!)

★ mullet!stan & dipper & mabel. based on the episode “the time traveler’s pig” (s1ep9)

there are a lot of ways to mess up time travel! you can, for example, go too far back and get eaten by a dinosaur. or too far forward and see the singularity when robots overthrow humanity (Dipper’s fear). or worse, you can land smack dab in the middle of your own grunkle’s life. . . before he even became your grunkle

there were a lot of things Dipper was prepared for when he woke up this morning. fighting gnomes? sure. dealing with Stan’s weird scam-of-the-week? totally. getting dunked on by Mabel for being a huge nerd? unfortunately, yes.

what he wasn't prepared for was that the Blending Blanding's time machine would throw him back several decades into the past. . .

they don’t mean to mess up the timeline. well. Dipper doesn’t. Mabel is like 60% on board with it, because time travel is fun! and she’s already accepted the fact that messing with the past is basically inevitable

“well,” Mabel said, dusting herself off as she stood up. “that happened.”

Dipper groaned, pulling himself out of a pile of garbage bags. “yeah. thanks, Mabel, for tackling me while i was holding the most fragile piece of technology in the universe!”

“excuse you, i was trying to stop you! so really, this is all on you, mister i-think-i’m-so-smart!”

Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but then he actually looked around and— oh. oh, no! oh no no no no! this wasn’t the Gravity Falls they knew.

they were near the Mystery Shack, but. . . it didn't felt right at all. it was scrappier and messier than usual. instead of looking like a wildly successful tourist trap, it looked like someone had just slapped a sign onto a creepy old house and hoped for the best

Mabel popped up beside him, a grin splitting her face. “let’s do it again!” as she tried to steal time machine from her brother's hands

“do what again?” a gruff voice barked. before either of them could panic properly, the shack’s front door slammed open.

Dipper had exactly 0.5 seconds to process this before Mabel screamed an excited. “OH. MY. GLOB.” before clutching on Dipper's shoulders, shaking him like crazy. “DIPPER, LOOK AT HIS HAIR. LOOK AT HIS HAIR RIGHT NOW. LOOK AT IT.”

Dipper did not, in fact, needed to look at it. his brain was already in overdrive because oh no. oh no! they’ve gone way too far back!

“. . . oh boy,” Dipper whispered in fear. “Mabel, i think we just traveled back to the eighties.”

“hey! who the hell are you two and why are you screaming on my porch?” holy crap. their grunkle Stan! but. . . not. this Stan was younger, his face had fewer wrinkles and somehow his nose looked less like it had been broken five times, and oh god, Mabel is absolutely right, his hair!

Mabel was losing it. “YOUR HAIR. YOUR LUXURIOUS, BEAUTIFUL HAIR. CAN I TOUCH IT?!” and without Stanley's response, she lunged.

“Mabel, NO—“ but it was too late as she grabbed the mullet with both hands and started petting it.

“oh my GOSH, it’s SO SOFT. IT’S LIKE PETTING A DREAM.”

Dipper, ever the voice of reason, nervously gripped the time machine. “we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.” but before he could get it working, because of squeezing on it too tight, something snapped under his fingers and a very small, very important piece of the machine rolled right into a crack in the floorboards. Dipper panicked.

Stanley flailed backwards, nearly knocking over a rack of off-brand Mystery Shack merch. “HEY, HEY, HANDS OFF THE GOODS, KID! KID!”

Mabel ignored him, still enraptured. “it’s so full-bodied. so wavy. Dipper, this is like- this is like a perfectly made pancake, but made of hair!”

“i— i don’t even know what that means,” Dipper said weakly, still trying to reboot his brain from the horror of whatever this situation was.

Stan rubbed his temples. “listen, unless you two are here to buy something, get lost. i don’t do babysitting.”

“okay, first of all, rude,” Mabel huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “second of all, we are time travelers from the future! we can totally tell you your future! in fact,” she elbowed Dipper in the ribs making him groan in pain. “bro, tell him something cool! but not anything that’ll mess up the timeline, like the butterfly effect or whatever.”

“Mabel, literally everything we could say would mess up the timeline—“

Stan stared at them meanwhile. then he burst out laughing. “pffft— HA! oh, man. time travelers? that’s a new one. that’s some grade-A sci-fi geek nonsense right there. sixer would have loved it!” he wiped a tear from his eye. “you kids crack me up.”

“just tell him something small! like, um, he gets. . . even richer in the future!” Mabel threw up her hands in excitement.

Stan immediately perked up. “oh yeah?”

“uhhh, yep,” Dipper said weakly, avoiding eye contact. “definitely. totally. you, uh, you make tons of money. so much money.”

“alright, you kids talk weird. plus, ive never seen you around here before. you’re not from town, are ya?”

oh, this was bad. this was really bad. if Stan got too suspicious, they’d be in huge trouble.

“uhhh,” Dipper said, scrambling for a cover story. “we’re, um, lost. we’re just two normal, average, completely inconspicuous children! yeah!” he was trying very hard not to freak out because oh god they were literally talking to Stan before he was grunkle Stan.

Mabel was staring at Stan's hair all the time with very wide smile and that made him pretty uncomfortable “kid? hey, kid, stop drooling at my hair. it’s weird.”

“how do you get it so fluffy,” she whispered in pure awe with her pupils dilated.

Stanley ran a hand through his glorious locks, looking smug. “it’s called not wasting money on shampoo. just the rain, kid.”

***

Stan was very much done with these weird time kids. his hair had been fluffed, styled and glitter bombed. his red jacket was now covered in rhinestones. but worst of all, they had somehow managed to charm him. and if one day, he had a niece with enough sparkle to fill a thousand sequins, maybe he wouldn’t be so bad at the whole family thing after all.

Mabel had been telling him about all the ways he could make “big bucks” in the future, mainly by selling even worse bootleg merch, which he had to admit was genius.

“and guess what? your shack becomes the best tourist trap ever! people come from all over to see your weird stuff.”

Stan’s eyes lit up with a mix of greed and hope. “you don’t say. maybe you kids aren’t so useless after all.”

“yup! and you’re a total legend!” Mabel gushed and Dipper shot her a warning look.

“Mabel, maybe we shouldn’t—“

“nah, tell me more, i like this kid,” Stan interrupted. “how do i do it? what’s my secret?”

“uhhh, hard work?” Mabel tried and Dipper gave her a thumbs up for the safe answer.

“and um, believing in yourself?” Dipper added, though he knew present-day Stan would probably gag at that advice.

Stan laughed. “believe in myself, huh? easier said than done. not like i got anyone else to believe in me.”

Mabel’s heart twisted a little. she reached out and patted Stan’s arm. “well, we believe in you. and you’re gonna do great things. pinky promise!”

Dipper, however, was acting weird, too suspicious, always stuttering, sweating and Stan was no fool. he could smell a kid with secrets from a mile away.

“so,” he said, watching Dipper fidget. “spill it, kid.”

Dipper froze. “s-spill what?”

“whatever’s making you look like a kid who’s about to confess to breaking a window.”

Dipper gulped. “. . . okay, hypothetically speaking, if we did know something big about your future, would you want to hear it?”

Stan frowned, trying to keep his face emotionless. “d-depends.” he stuttered and immediately hated himself for it. “is it about my brother?”

the whole shack went silent. Dipper and Mabel exchanged glances, both wide eyed and shocked.

what?

#ughhhughhhhh im not ok #now i need to write mullet!Stanley travel to present GF and interact with wendy soos robbie and gideon #gravity falls #young stan pines #stan pines #gravity falls fanfiction #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanley pines #ford Pines #mullet stan #grunkle stan

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cracklinhaze · 3 months ago

Note

What's your favorite part of writing Pacifica? Are there anything about it that surprised you?

everything about pacifica northwest surprised me tbh

i will be completely real: i didn't really care about her for a good period of time. didn't hate her or anything, but she was just not a character that scratched my brain.

and then.

one day. for some fucking reason. i clicked with her. she just wiggled into my head and wouldn't leave???? pacifica northwest: only heir to the northwest family, molded to be exactly what her parents want her via a pavlovian response to a bell??

Things About Pacifica Northwest That Make Her Babygirl To Me

her secret favorite food is deep-fried anything

there's a very slim chance that she actually has blonde hair

she may not be be preston's kid biologically???

her father hosts grown-up masquerade parties highly implied to be swinger/sex parties

she's canonically had her memories erased by the blind eye

rich awful twelve-year-old to tired diner waitress pipeline

she's a secret first-person shooter gamer girl

she would cry listening to her parents' fight growing up

is now protected by the lumberfolk spirits :(

turned DOWN a deal with bill

routinely dreams of blood on her hands

thinks about the pines twins daily

was maybe quite silly as a little girl, much like mabel, but it was forced out of her

i mean, look at this face:

#pacifica northwest #fine i admit it she's babygirl whATEVER #gravity falls #ask quinn #quinn talks

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decentwritings · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 7

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.

previous part <--> next part

You stare at the list, the names burning into your memory without effort. It’s not intentional—you just can’t help it. Your eyes flick toward Erin and the other detectives. They’re focused, immersed in their own investigations, but you can feel their scrutiny like a weight pressing down on you.

You shouldn’t be here. You know that. But the urgency of the situation has pulled you in too deep to back out now. Each name on the list feels like a warning, a reminder of the tangled web you’ve become ensnared in. Worse, every name represents someone who could be in danger because of you.

Your eyes stop on a name you recognize, and your brow furrows in confusion. Your pulse quickens as you lift your gaze to Erin, meeting her eyes immediately.

“Why is my dad’s name on this list?” you ask, pointing at it.

Erin steps to your side, glancing at the list. Her expression shifts from confusion to realization in seconds. “Erin,” you press, your voice lower now, more pointed. “Was my dad a CI?”

She pulls the list from your hands, shaking her head. “This is the fake one we came up with,” she says quickly, her tone controlled. Her eyes flick to the other detectives, who exchange subtle nods. “You didn’t think we’d give you the real list, did you?”

You know her too well. Even now, after all these years, you can see the lie plain as day.

“Erin,” you say again, calmly this time, though the storm brewing inside you seeps into your tone. You meet her eyes with a look you hope she understands. Her lips press into a thin line, her head giving the faintest shake. A silent plea: don’t pull on this string.

But the glance she shares with the other detectives—it tips you over the edge.

“Erin, quit looking at them,” you snap, your fists clenching. “The list is real, isn’t it? My dad was a CI.” This time, it’s not a question.

Erin sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping. “The list is real,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears. The revelation hits like a physical blow, but the pieces fall into place almost too easily. Of course. It all makes sense now—why your dad was found outside the hospital after an apparent overdose. Why the security footage from the ER entrance mysteriously disappeared. His death wasn’t an accident.

Your chest tightens as anger surges through you, hot and unrelenting. “He was working for them, wasn’t he?” you demand, your voice trembling with rage. “That’s why he got involved with those people in the first place.”

The betrayal cuts deeper than you expected. Your dad wasn’t just caught in their world—he was a part of it. And now, because of them, he’s gone.

Erin's expression darkens. "Y/N, listen—"

"No, you listen!" you interrupt, your voice rising. "He didn't tell me anything! I could have helped him! I could have—" You cut yourself off, frustration spilling out in shaky breaths. "Why didn't he tell me? I could have helped him!"

You're out of breath, eyes are filled with tears and you feel...horrible. Here you thought your dad was doing it out of selfishness but really he was helping the police. What may have started as stupidity winded up him helping to end this for good. Not just for him, but for everyone involved.

Erin steps closer, her voice gentler now. "I know this is a lot to take in, but he did what he thought was right. He was trying to protect you, Y/N. He didn't want you dragged into this mess."

You wipe at your eyes angrily, shaking your head. "But I am dragged into it! And now he's dead because of it. What good did any of it do?" You look at her, hoping she had the answers. You know she does. She's had her nose in those files for the last six hours.

"Your dad cooperated in a lot," Erin finally speaks, smiling sadly. "He tried to work his way to the top. Things slowed down with Weeks' death but he still managed to get intel during those times. We had suspicions of Ronald Betancourt but we could never prove it...is the guy you guys call Ronny?"

Erin takes a photo from another detective and shows you a photo, from a still of a video. You stare at the photo in Erin's hand, your stomach twisting. The man in the picture is unmistakable—Ronny, the one who threatened you, the one pulling the strings now. "Yeah," you mutter, your voice barely audible. "That's him."

Erin sighs, putting the photo down. "Your dad was close to connecting him to Weeks' crew, but he didn't get enough time. That's why they took him out." She pauses, glancing at you. "Ronny must've found out your dad was working with us."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. "So, what? Now it's on me to finish what he started? Is that what you're saying?"

Erin's eyes soften. "Y/N," she says softly, and your anger decreases when you hear her say your name. "He did this because of you."

You blink, confused by her words. She moves to grab a file then moves back to you, opening it to show you what the original detective on the case wrote.

Informant reason for approaching the station: wants to be like his daughter and save lives.

Your breath catches in your throat as you read the note. Wants to be like his daughter and save lives. The words blur for a moment, and you can barely process what you're seeing.

"He—he wanted to be like me?" you whisper, staring at the paper, your mind racing. All this time, you'd thought your dad had fallen into something dark for selfish reasons, but it was because of you. Because he wanted to do good, just like you.

The wall of fame he had for you and now this. He really was proud of you.

You look at the list again, the names blurring in your vision. Your father gave his life to protect you—and others—from these people, because of you.

Tears well in your eyes as you realize the depth of his sacrifice. Everything he'd done—getting involved with dangerous people, risking his life—was because he believed in you. All the anger and confusion you'd felt over the past months start to shift into something else, something heavier but clearer. Pride. Sadness. A strange, painful mix of the two.

You wipe your eyes, the weight of the list in your hands suddenly feeling much heavier. Your face switches to one of determination, almost like a switch flipped. You look at Erin, setting your jaw.

She nods, understanding the look very well. She turns back to her colleagues and they nod as well.

"Grab some pen and paper, I got a lot of information to give."

\\\\\\

You finish the call with Rudy, thanking him profusely for taking care of your family. He tells you they have questions, and you instruct him to tell them the truth—that the police are involved. He urges you to cooperate with them fully, to go along with whatever plan they have and you can only assure him everything will be fine. No matter what happens to you, as long as at the end of everything your family and Mabel are okay, you will be happy. You hang up, anxiety creeping in as you rush up the stairs, two at a time, hoping Mabel is home.

You want to see her before she leaves.

Knocking three times, you wait, chewing on your nail nervously. You hadn't messaged her, thinking this conversation needed to happen face to face.

After a minute, Mabel opens the door, her expression cold and guarded. She glares at you, and you instinctively raise your hands, trying to ease the tension.

"Let me explain," you start, watching as she leans against the door frame, silent but giving you the chance to speak.

Before you can get more than a few words out, Mabel stops you, her tone sharp. "You don't get to explain away what's happening."

"Wait, Mabel, please—" you plead, but she doesn't let you finish.

"Let's go," she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument. You stand there for a moment, stunned by her tone and demeanor. You've never seen her this angry, this hardened, and it's throwing you off balance.

"Mabel," you call out, hurrying after her as she storms down the stairs. She's moving fast, almost too fast for you to keep up. "Mabel, stop—slow down, at least."

When you finally catch up to her outside, you grab her hand, desperate to slow her down, to talk this through. She immediately flinches out of your grasp, her glare even more intense now. You step back, lifting your hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry," you offer, the words feeling hollow. Her glare doesn't soften, and you let your hands drop to your sides, sighing deeply. "Mabel, you shouldn't be involved in this. I don’t want—"

"I'm in it now," she cuts in, her voice level but laced with anger. "Now get in the car. We have to meet the guys."

Your brows furrow in confusion. "What guys?" She turns to you, eyes narrowing like you're supposed to know. Then, realization hits. "No. Absolutely not. You need to get out of town. This is my problem—"

"You made it mine now, too!" Mabel's voice rises, startling you with a volume and intensity you hadn't expected. It leaves you momentarily speechless. "You thought I didn't care, but I did. I do care. So I went out of my way to find out what you were hiding..."

A cold wave of guilt washes over you, and you swallow thickly, staring down at your feet, shame twisting in your gut.

“You really think I’m just going to leave town, leave you, to do whatever stupid plan you’ve conjured up alone?” she waits for your input and when you remain silent, she scoffs.

"I was right," she mutters, her voice softening as if the weight of the situation is settling on her shoulders. "This town just drags you down, just when you think you're out."

You take a small step forward, wanting to close the emotional and physical distance between you. But Mabel steps back, shaking her head.

Your shoulders slump, the guilt heavy on your chest. "I told you, Mabel. I didn't want—"

"Yeah, I get it," she snaps, her frustration clear as she turns and heads toward the driver's side of the car. "Let's go. We have to pick up Charlie." She climbs into the car, leaving you standing there, regret burning in your chest with every passing second.

You sigh quietly, glancing to your right when you see a car pull up behind Mabel's. You furrow your brows, recognizing it from somewhere. The glass is tinted so you aren't able to see inside but something about it doesn't feel right.

You get in the passenger seat, looking at the side mirror to see the car pull off the same time as Mabel. You sit back, buckling up as you glance over at Mabel. She's tense, her hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly. You want to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. The weight of everything hangs in the air between you—what you've dragged her into, the danger looming over both of you.

You reach to turn the radio on but stop when you see her eyes flicker to your hand. You sit back with a huff, crossing your arms like a scolded child. You glance at the side mirror again, finding the same car again, but lagging behind. It's trying to hide its following you.

There's an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. Glancing at the side mirror again, you try to place where you've seen it before. The tinted windows give nothing away, but there's something about it, something that makes your gut churn.

"Umm," you speak up, nervous, afraid she would yell. You clear your throat and sit up, turning your body to look out the back window. "Make a left here."

"What?" Mabel asks, sending you a glare.

"Make the left, just make the left," you order quickly, and with her driving skills, she does it perfectly.

Mabel grips the wheel even tighter, her knuckles turning white as she takes the sharp left without hesitation. The car screeches slightly as she turns, but her skill keeps it under control. You twist in your seat, watching through the rear window as the car behind you hesitates for a second before making the turn as well.

Your heart pounds in your chest as the uneasy feeling solidifies. "It's definitely following us," you mutter, more to yourself than to Mabel. "There's a car following us." You tell her.

"How long has it been there?" she asks through clenched teeth, her eyes focused on the road ahead but her voice laced with frustration.

"Since we left your place," you admit. "I recognized it earlier, but I couldn't place it. Now I'm sure. They're tailing us."

Mabel curses under her breath, her face hardening with anger. "Who the hell are they?"

You shake your head, the pit in your stomach growing heavier. "I don't know... but we need to lose them."

Mabel's jaw clenches as she accelerates, weaving through the narrow streets. The car behind you speeds up as well, keeping pace but struggling to stay hidden now.

"Oh, they know we know," you mumble, sitting up slightly to grab your gun from your waistband.

"What are you doing?" Mabel asks, glancing at you as you check your magazine.

You cock the gun. "Popping their tires."

"How about we try the gun-free method?" You scrunch your nose, unfamiliar with said method. "We try to lose them. Give me a minute."

You pause, your hand tightening around the grip of your gun. "A minute?" you mutter, your anxiety bubbling up. You glance at Mabel, her focus unwavering as she handles the car with precision. She's determined, and it sparks a small sense of reassurance in you.

"Not literally a minute," she grunts as she makes a sudden turn.

"Fine," you say, sliding the gun back into your waistband. "But if they catch up—"

"They won't," Mabel cuts you off, her eyes narrowing as she takes a sharp right turn, the tires squealing in protest. The car behind you follows but starts lagging, clearly not expecting the maneuver.

You grab the handle above the door, bracing yourself as Mabel floors it down the next street. "I hope you know what you're doing."

She spares you a quick glance. "Trust me."

Another quick turn, this time down an alley, and the distance between you and the tailing car grows. You peek out the back window, watching them struggle to keep up. Mabel swerves into a side street, and for a split second, the pursuing car disappears from sight.

"Now what?" you ask, your heart racing.

Mabel takes a breath, slowing down just slightly. "We take another turn and lose them for good." She does as she says and soon, you're back on a road you're unfamiliar with.

"I think I want to be a writer," Mabel says all of sudden. You raise a brow, confused by the topic but intrigued. "I don’t know. The whole…radio silence between us had me writing a lot more than usual and when I realized I turn to writing in any kind of situation, the first thing I thought of is…”

She glances at you, like she’s debating whether to tell you this or not.

“The first thing I thought of is, I wanted to tell you,” she confesses.

You look out the window, jaw tightening. You can’t believe you put her through such a hard time these last few days.

You don’t deserve her.

You lean back in your seat, considering her words. "You’d be a great writer," you say softly, picking at the loose string on your pants. You look at her and smile, loving the way her lips curve slightly at your words. “I’ve heard you talk, I like hearing you talk…I bet your written words are just as incredible.”

Mabel smiles slightly, though it's faint, weighed down by the tension still lingering in the car. She shakes her head. "I'm still mad at you."

The light turns green, and Mabel accelerates, driving a little more calmly now. The streets are quiet, and it feels like you've finally shaken the tail.

You nod in understanding, unable to find other words besides "I'm sorry," to say to that. You sit in silence for a moment, staring out the window as you process everything. You stare at her as she drives, heart aching for putting her in this situation.

She’s been nothing but supportive and communicative with you. You feel like you’ve given her nothing while she’s given you nearly everything. You want to be supportive.

You want to communicate.

You don’t want to lose her.

"My dad was a CI," you tell her, and has to force herself to keep her eyes on the road when she hears your words. "His accidental overdose...not so accidental." You share with her.

Her walls shatter then, the need to console you breaking it. "I'm so sorry," she says quietly, her voice full of empathy.

You look at her and shrug. "I guess in some sort of way, I was being like my dad. Hiding the truth from the people I love, thinking I was protecting them but really..." you pause, and she meets your eyes when she stop at another red light. "I was just putting them in danger."

She doesn't say anything. Instead, when the light changes green, she takes your hand and intertwines your fingers, squeezing your hand.

Once. Twice.

Three times.

You know what it means but don't say anything. Just squeeze her hand three times back. You see her lips twitch into a smile as the car rolls to a stop outside of a big house. You eye the house, then the street. You have never seen this side of town before.

Mabel leans over after parking, connecting your lips with hers. She pulls back just a few centimeters. "We're going to get through this, okay?" Her hand goes up to your cheek, running her thumb gently along your skin. Her eyes search yours, full of determination and something deeper—something that feels like hope, despite the storm swirling around you both.

You nod, swallowing hard as you let her reassurance sink in. "Okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible but filled with resolve. You connect your lips with hers once again, wanting to express what you're unable to say aloud. When you pull apart, she glances out the window and sits back in her seat.

The back door opens and you glance back, finding Charlie sitting in the backseat awkwardly. You don't blame him. He just caught you kissing his ex-girlfriend, who he still has feelings for. You're positive the only one who isn't feeling awkward is Mabel, because she's shifting the gear to drive.

"Nice to see you too, Charlie," Mabel says without missing a beat, her tone light but edged with a certain defiance.

Charlie clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "You sure about this, Mabel?" he asks, his voice low and tight.

You glance at him in the rearview mirror. His jaw is clenched, his gaze fixed on Mabel like he's trying to will her to change her mind.

"Absolutely," she replies, her eyes on the road as she pulls away from the curb. "If you have something to say, now's the time."

Charlie shakes his head. "You shouldn't even be back in this," he says pointedly and you can hear the way its directed to you.

You turn in your seat to look at him. "Have you tried arguing with her?" You hear her let out a quiet chuckle. "I don't want her involved in this either, Charles–"

He opens his mouth to correct you but you don't give him a chance to.

"–but here we are," you continue, cutting him off before he can protest. "You think I want this? Any of this?" Your voice rises slightly, frustration bubbling to the surface. "But Mabel made her choice. Just like you did."

Charlie glares at you, his expression a mix of anger and guilt. "Yeah, well, at least when I was doing it, I kept her out of it," your glare doesn't waver and he slouches slightly under it. "I never wanted to rope her in to this. She doesn't belong back in this world."

Mabel scoffs, her grip on the wheel tightening. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here," she says firmly, her tone carrying the weight of someone who refuses to be sidelined. "I know exactly what I'm walking into, Charlie. And for the record, I don't need you to save me."

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken tension. Charlie shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. You don't turn back around, keeping your gaze on Mabel.

"Fine," Charlie mutters after a long pause. "But when this blows up—and it will—don't say I didn't warn you."

You rest your elbow on the doorsill, huffing. "That's just the positive attitude we need."

Charlie lets out a grunt as he tries to find a comfortable position to sit in. "What even is the plan?"

You and Mabel share a look, and a grimace crosses your face. You think Charlie sees because you hear him groan.

"There is no plan, is there?"

"I’ll explain when we’re with the others,” you say simply, sharing one last look with Mabel. It’s not much but you understand; she trusts you.

Charlie throws his hands up in exasperation, slumping back against the seat. "Great. Just great. We're driving straight into the fire without a damn extinguisher."

You glance at Mabel then over your shoulder at Charlie. "You want a hint, kid" you start and Mabel slows to a stop at a red light. He grunts at the nickname, like a child. “It involves my ex-girlfriend."

Charlie sits up and looks between you and Mabel. "That's only fair, since mine is involved." Mabel sends him a glare that makes him sit back silently.

"And your ex-girlfriend is..." Mabel asks slowly.

"A cop," you say and Charlie huffs out a laugh. "Hear me out, I went to her already–"

"And she didn't arrest you? Wow. Feelings are still there, clearly."

You turn to make sure he can see your glare. "Charles, you want to walk out alive from this plan, stop talking." He crosses his arms like a scolded child and huffs. With a head shake, you turn back around and look at Mabel. "She has an idea and it may get us all out of this...safely."

Charlie hears the hesitance in your voice at the last word but he does what you told him, stop talking. He glances between you and Mabel, waiting for his ex-girlfriend response to this.

Mabel drums her fingers on the steering wheel, her lips pressing into a thin line as she considers your words. The light turns green, and she pulls forward, her gaze locked on the road ahead.

"A cop, huh?" she says finally, her tone cautious but not dismissive. "You really trust her? Because if this goes sideways—"

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't," you cut in. "She wants to help. And I have gone over it with her already–she's the one who told me about my dad."

Mabel glances at you at that, aware of the weight behind your words. Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and her eyes flicker with something unreadable—concern, maybe, or anger on your behalf. She exhales slowly, nodding for you to continue.

"We went over this case and apparently, my dad was close to revealing who was behind all these drug runners, which is why they had to shut him up," you say, feeling anger rise in the pit of your stomach as you recall the information on the case file. "They just need one major deal to go down, catch these guys red handed to shut it all down. Erin wants to help."

Charlie huffs in the backseat. "I don't buy it. There has to be more to this." He leans forward again and looks at you directly. "There's no way any of us walk out of this scot-free."

You hesitate, and since Mabel is focused on the road, she doesn't see it, but Charlie does. You send him a look, silently pleading with him not to ask anymore questions. He sits back quietly, but the tension in the car thickens. Charlie's eyes narrow slightly, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of answers. He doesn't press further, but the weight of his skepticism hangs in the air, making everything feel fragile. And despite not liking you entirely, he trusts you wouldn't put Mabel in a situation that could get her hurt or into anymore trouble.

Mabel, ever perceptive, picks up on the subtle shift in the atmosphere. She glances briefly at you before turning her attention back to the road, her voice low but steady. "If you think this is our best shot, I'll back you. But..." she hesitates, her fingers tightening on the wheel, "if it comes down to a choice between her plan and keeping you safe, I'm choosing you. Every time."

The sincerity in her voice makes your chest tighten. You nod, swallowing hard. "I know. And I'll do everything I can to make sure it doesn't come to that."

The car falls into a tense silence, the weight of the situation settling over all three of you. Charlie finally breaks it with a low sigh. "So, what's her play? She's got to have something if you're putting this much faith in her."

You glance back at him, then at Mabel. "Ronny asked for a list. He wants to know all the names of the CIs and UCs in the area." You inform them then shake your head as the list of names flashes in your head. "I have to meet him tomorrow to let him know the names. We can go over what else will go with the guys." You say as Mabel searches for a place to park at the docks.

When Mabel finally finds a parking spot, you all exit the car and follow Charlie to his brother's boat. There, Costa, Tommy and now Nunes is there waiting for you all.

"Nunes?" You greet him with furrowed brows. He shrugs and pulls you in for a short embrace.

"Mabel needs helps, she's got it." Nunes says with a shrug.

You glance at the girl and she smiles, moving closer to you and don't waste time into pulling her into your side. Her hands go around your waist and you look around the group, noticing the tension that still lingers between everyone.

You go over what's expected of them during the plan. All they have to do is be there, and since Tommy has to be the one to move the larger products, he's already expected. Nick and Ronny won't be suspicious of his presence but they will of Charlie, Costa, Nunes and Mabel. So you had to play this right.

"Ronny will want me there," Mabel says, glancing up at you for a second then the others. "You said he thought we would make a good team and he's right–we'll use that and make him think we'll work with him. I'll be there."

You hate the idea, but you know there's no point in arguing with her. All you can do is nod and look over to them, hoping Mabel won't see your obvious disdain for that part of the plan.

"Costa, Nunes," you look at them, then look at Charlie. "Charlie."

Charlie arches a brow at the use of his actual name. It means you're serious.

"Be on standby. I'll let Erin know about you guys." You tell them.

Charlie's brow furrows, and for a moment, it seems like he's about to argue, but then he catches your serious expression and settles back with a resigned sigh. "Alright," he mutters, "but I still don't like this."

Costa chuckles lightly, crossing his arms and looking out at the water. "Yeah, well, none of us do," he says, his tone neutral. "But we do what we gotta do."

Nunes shrugs. "Rangers lead the way, right?"

You smile in his direction, surprised he remembered. That's for damn sure, you think as you nod in his direction. Which is why you're going to make sure they come out unscathed. Especially Mabel.

\\\\\\\

logged off two months ago after posting and got caught up with school work. semester’s almost over so I’m hoping I can dedicate more time to posting. I wanted to get this out as soon as possible since I know the wait has been long so there will be grammar errors so i apologize.

Thank you for your patience and for sticking around. See you in the next one

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind #mabel (finestkind)#lighthouse #mabel (finestkind) x reader

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talekinesis · 8 months ago

Text

Random Gravity Falls Headcanons

Stan

This guy smokes to help deal with the stress of everything. He picked up the habit after he was kicked out by his father and hasn't quit since. He used to be a chainsmoker but after getting to look after the kids for the summer, he drastically cut back and is actually thinking of quitting altogether because he wants to be around long enough to watch Mabel and Dipper grow up

Actually a pretty decent cook, it's just baking he sucks at. With cooking you can sort of eyeball the ingredients and add more or less depending on your own personal taste, but with how strict baking is with its ingredients, he never really picked it up. He's only baked a cake twice in his life, once for his mom when he was a kid, with the help of Ford, and once for the kids' birthday (it was lopsided and runny and they decided to just go out for pancakes instead)

He can play the guitar really well. He had to teach himself how to play when he was young and homeless, playing for tips. He still has his original guitar and occasionally, on a good day, will get it out and play it. He played it once for Mabel, who, for once in her life, actually sat still and listened

Part of his daily routine is kicking gnomes out of the trash because they keep trying to eat leftovers. He just bats them off with a broom like they're raccoons

He grew up a huge mama's boy since she was the only supportive parent he had. After he got kicked out of the house, he called her from a pay phone a couple times to ask to come back home and to wish her a happy birthday. To this day he still makes it a point to get a cupcake on her birthday since he can't celebrate it with her, and sometimes he'll tell the kids stories about her, like how she would have loved Mabel since Mabel has all these different unique sweaters, and his ma used to collect different, big, unique earrings

Stan coaches Mabel in boxing, and actually helped her discover a passion for it, he attends all of her matches. He even taught her a couple illegal moves that she can't use in the ring but can use in real self defense

Even in his early 60s, he still thinks it's funny to bother Ford as if they were still kids. He'll randomly snatch his glasses off his face (forgetting that he also wears glasses and Ford can retaliate), he'll just start copying Ford and repeat what he says, he once even dressed up as Ford, but it didn't last very long because Ford wears a much smaller size of pants, and Stan has a bit of a gut on him. He changed after about five or ten minutes.

He's a die-hard fan of Chappell Roan

He's actually the more responsible of the Stan-Twins. He breaks laws sure, but he always makes sure everyone is fed and safe. He's like this close 🤏 to putting Ford and Mabel on leashes when they go out because they have a tendency to run off

"I'd like to make an announcement to the store, I lost someone." "Oh, did your kid run off?" "My 60 year old brother, yeah. No he doesn't have a cellphone."

Has a biological kid out there somewhere but the mom cut him off. I just think the scene where he said, "Scary movies are great, the girl cuddles up next to ya... next thing you know you gotta raise a kid.. And your life falls apart.." sounded too much like he was speaking from experience and not as a hypothetical. He wants so badly to be a dad though and regrets not keeping contact. (let me know if I should make an oc for this :] )

Ford

He can't eat doritos or any triangle shaped chip because one time Bill hid inside a chip bag just to startle him

It took him a while to adjust to this dimension's laws of physics. He was frustrated for a while that he couldn't just leave his coffee floating in the air. He broke three mugs and one of them was Stan's.

Despises pickles as if he held a personal grudge against them. He hates them an irrational amount, and even gets irritated with Stan for just having them in the house. He acts like a child about it too, arms crossed and everything. "Here, Poindexter, you want me to take the pickles off your sandwich? Like a child?" "Don't bother, the meal's ruined >:( "

He gets sucked into those soap operas that Stan watches, and will sometimes watch from the doorway or over his shoulder. He won't admit it, but Stan knows.

He lights his face on fire because he saw someone else do it in a different dimension where that was normal

Unlike Stan, he's actually amazing at baking (he likes to follow precise measurements and instructions) But sucks at cooking. Caught a pot of water on fire.

When he first discovered the shape shifter, he kept it as a pet because he found it cute, but ended up letting it go when he found out it had a human-like sentience and could speak. But for a while he raised it the same way Mabel raises Waddles, putting it in little shirts, hats, and just absolutely adoring it

Used to play 'Dungeons, Dungeons, and more Dungeons' with a group in college as the DM, and it was the first time he actually had a friend group. The other players loved the way he set things up

Doesn't like alchohol. At least from this dimension, he got used to alternate dimension alchohols that tasted way better, so when he came back to Earth everything tasted way too strong and almost like dirt to him so he just quit

Used to know a little banjo since Fiddleford taught him but forgot it while in other dimensions

Used to babysit Tate on occasion and sucked at it

He also used to babysit Shermie and *also* sucked at it. He'd have to pass him off to Stan if he got fussy or started crying since only Stan and their mom could calm him down

• Used to play David Bowie in his lab and would occasionally lip sync or dance to it. Even when traveling dimensions, he'd introduce David Bowie music to the people, creatures, and beings he met, until he lost the cassette tape and was devastated

Mabel

Allergic to chocolate and makes up for it by eating way too much of other candies. She still tries to eat it though because "Maybe I'm not allergic anymore," but Dipper has to stop her. Stan even makes it a point not to keep chocolate in the Shack when they visit because he knows Mabel is a heathen with little self preservation. It's not epi-pen bad, but it will burn and itch her throat and get her coughing (Ford will use chocolate substitutes when baking for her and Dipper)

She likes to tell people that she and Dipper were originally two of three, and that she ate their triplet in the womb to become stronger. This is not true.

She wants to be a big sister really bad and sometimes that comes out onto Dipper despite him only being 5 minutes younger, much to his dismay and protest

She found a passion for boxing after Stan taught her how, and even asked her parents to let her start doing it as a sport, which she got really into. Coincidentally, after she picked up boxing, Gideon suddenly left her alone completely. Future Headcanon: She grows up to box professionally and one day even faces Grenda in the ring, but there's obviously a mutual respect between them. They agreed ahead of time that if they ever had to face each other, neither of them would hold back and it would be a fair match. Even after there's a winner, they meet up afterward and go out for dinner with Candy, who posts their matches to social media. Waddles is her mascot.

Mabel makes even more friends when she returns home from Gravity Falls because she takes Waddles for walks on a leash and it's a pretty good conversation starter

She is convinced that if she eats all the ingredients for a cake, she'll have successfully made a cake in her stomach. Once again, Dipper has to physically stop her from doing this. Ford does too, the first time he heard her say this (through a mouthful of flour) he went, "That certainly is an interesting theory, Mabel, but no-"

Dipper

Let's get it out of the way, I really like the 'Trans Dipper' headcanon. It just fits really well and I, as a trans person, can relate to him a lot

I think he knows how to dance a little because his mom taught him and used to take him to 'Mother-Son' events

He secretly keeps a tally of how many times Mabel rolls herself out of bed because it always wakes him up but he also kind of thinks it's funny because she just sleeps through it. Even if they don't share rooms back at home, he can always here the distance "thunk" of his sister hitting the floor. The tally isn't a sheet of paper, it's a small notebook with multiple pages filled in

He sometimes gets the courage to try and roughhouse with Stan, who is always on board but purposely takes it easy on the kid because he's like "baby bird" fragile

Dipper was the one to break the news to his Grandpa Shermie that Stanley was still alive and Stanford was actually missing for 30 years with Stan taking his place, almost giving the poor man a heart attack. (Shermie ended up booking a flight to Gravity Falls to yell at his brothers in person because that's not a conversation you can have over the phone)

Dipper was the one to introduce Stan to Chappell Roan by accident, but now they listen to her if they're in the car together

his DD&MD character is a female orc fighter named Yotula and he got very excited to info-dump about her to Ford (who was equally as excited to listen)

Has an odd addiction to chocolate milk. He makes a glass of chocolate milk at least once a day. Twice if it's been a rough day. He actually gets a little upset if he misses his daily cup of chocolate milk, its just routine. Stan one time made an offhand joke that since Mabel's allergic, Dipper has to consume twice as much for the both of them, but Mabel took that seriously and now to her its just the truth.

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