#one day i will get the triple dipper

[goldrecord]

no matter what happens chilis will always be there for you

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

women in male fields

fratboy!jaehyun x reader

summary: you’re fully aware you’re dating a reformed fuckboy/fratiest fratboy to exist but that doesn’t mean he can get away with acting like a douche without a taste of his own medicine… OR the 3 times sweetheart finds herself acting like a fuckboy and the 1 time Jaehyun calls her out

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol, Americanized college described (l'm American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart, sweet girl) in order to avoid using y/n, Imk if I missed anything!

a/n: there was something completely magical in my Chili’s triple dipper because I sat down and pounded this out for 4 hours with minimal breaks! I’d had this idea for a while but figured I’d get it out before everyone forgot about the #womeninmalefields TikTok trend. Feedback is appreciated!

Timeline-wise let’s say this is about 4-6 months into Jae and Sweetheart being a couple

This story is a part of my fratboy!Jaehyun universe!

dividers from cafekitsune

You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Jung Jaehyun, one of the most fratboy fratboys to ever exist. You had been around for the parties, for the handful of nights where he overdid it and got sick, countless nights of standing by to watch him play beer pong, no dates on Sunday evenings because of frat meetings, and a couple philanthropic events. You were used to a lot of it by now. 

But your boyfriend had adapted himself so well to this role that you honestly kind of hated some of his behaviors. He had changed some habits, of course. He was no longer the fuckboy fratboy that slept around, no, he was committed to you and you alone. He made some effort into being romantic which took some work since his idea of romance was sending you a daily Snapchat for your streak with a red heart. Gross. Now, he got you flowers occasionally and your favorite snacks. His room used to be an absolute pigsty and now he at the very least he shoved his mess under the bed so you didn’t see.

Then there were some habits that didn’t change and you were tired of them. Beyond tired of them. You were tired of him passively listening, barely paying attention to you, being kind of an asshole, and just being a gross guy. So you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. If he could do all these things and you could still like him, why wouldn't he still like you?

It had started when you texted Jaehyun on a Thursday afternoon and he didn’t respond until Saturday afternoon. It had been nothing urgent, but you were still annoyed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, it was a horrible habit of his. He started a conversation or read a text you sent and just never responded. You knew now, based on experience and the other guys telling you, that Jaehyun sucked at texting. He would still post on Instagram or Snapchat, posting various athletes like they were his friends and promoting frat activities like normal. It was almost like he forgot that the primary function of a phone was to communicate. Good thing he was pretty!

It didn’t make it any less annoying that your boyfriend didn't care to change this habit for you though, so when he finally texted you back, you decided to give him the same treatment. Saturday came to an end and you didn’t text back. Sunday was the same and so was Monday. He texted you countless times, so many questions, random updates on his day, and asking you if you were ok or if he should send help to your dorm. So when you knocked on the door Tuesday afternoon scrolling on your phone when Jaehyun opened the door. It was pretty safe to say he was pretty confused.

“Where have you been? You didn’t answer any of my texts,” Jaehyun asked while he led the two of you upstairs.

You hummed noncommittally, your eyes not leaving the screen of your phone, “oh yeah, my phone broke. My bad.”

Jaehyun opened his mouth to argue, ready to tell you that he had seen you posting on your stories, your phone didn’t look new, and he had heard you on FaceTime with Haechan just yesterday. That you were literally scrolling through Instagram when he opened the door, but he didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his arms, and pulled up the most recent episode of one of your shows. 

He couldn’t really complain if you were here with him now, right? You were in his bed, in his arms, laying on his chest. Everything was fine. A few days of no contact was normal and you both had a good enough relationship where it shouldn’t bother him, right? But it did…

The next time Jaehyun pissed you off was just a week later. He had proven to be a little extra clingy after his punishment of silence and that was good enough for you. It had been enough to hold you off with some of his, less than perfect behavior, until the next time he messed up. Sure, enough it was just 7 days later when he acted stupid again. And it was time for him to learn again. Sometimes he just had to learn to not do something by doing it and learning the consequences. Like a child… or a pet.

Jaehyun had had a stressful week. You knew that, he had told you about it the last time you saw him just yesterday, so you did feel kinda bad for deciding to pull this out of your sleeve now. How was he going to learn if you never tried to fix it though?

Jaehyun was pacing around his room, running a hand down his face and staring at the email that basically told him nothing from their partner sorority. He was social chair, so he was in charge of planning mixers. That’s exactly what he was trying to do! But the Kappa social chair was either knowingly being a pain in the ass or just naturally was a pain in the ass. How was it useful for Jaehyun to know when a handful of sisters all had an astronomy class?! Why did that matter when he was asking her to choose from a handful of dates he’d already chosen?!

Not only was this sorority social chair being annoying, Taeyong had been on his ass to plan some kind of sponsored philanthropic event, but everyone Nu Chi had worked with previously was being so difficult! No one was returning a single one of his emails, he spent his afternoons on hold or making calls, and just getting in contact with new companies and vendors just took so much effort. He currently had one sponsor, which was fine, whatever. But nothing Nu Chi Theta did while Jaehyun was social chair was ever just fine. Fine was acceptable for Alpha Sig’s but not for Nu Chi’s. He would need at least two more sponsors to reach the level of finery he was used to working with.

So that’s what Jaehyun was texting you about, his fingers tapping across the small screen of his phone while he put all his ranting and raving into words and sent off the text with a sigh of relief. You would talk him down, get him through his stress, and give him some advice for his problems. Then he’d feel like a new man, ready to tackle his problems with a clear head just like you always did for him. Just the thought of your advice had him smiling down at his phone while he added ‘sorry, about that. had to vent. how was your day sweets?’ and sent it your way.

On your end, you read through the long text ready to reply and give him some advice and offer your own help, but then you remembered… You remembered how just a few days ago you were venting to him about a small argument you and Ari, your roommate, had gotten into, and he showed no signs of actually listening. You went to him for a reason! He had at least 10 roommates, he never had complaints about any of them, so it wasn’t like you were talking just to talk! You wanted your boyfriend to give you some advice like you always gave him, but all you got was a “damn... Wanna order me some wings?” You had to physically keep jaw from dropping. God, he could be such a fucking guy sometimes! It was like talking to a fucking wall! Albeit a very good looking, handsome wall, but a wall nonetheless.

It was time for him to get yet another taste of his own medicine. Instead of taking the time to offer your advice or offer your help, you smirked, staring at your screen as you typed out, ‘that sucks’. Next text, ‘My day was chill, kinda hungry … send me door dash?’

On his end, Jaehyun stared at the screen with blatant confusion, watching as the minutes ticked by while he waited for some long paragraph with solutions and encouragement to be sent his way. After five minutes nothing came. The same after 10. No change after 20 and then he sets his phone aside feeling grumpy and pissy. Why wasn’t his girlfriend helping him? Did you even read his message?

And he couldn’t exactly call you out on it because it wasn’t an issue between the both of you. They were problems he had before you guys were together sure, but he liked having you to lean on now. He sighed tiredly, resting his chin atop his folded arms with a pout while staring at his dark screen and willing you to text him back again so all his issues would be just one step closer to being fixed.

His heart skipped a beat when the screen lit up and he saw the familiar combination of emojis used for your contact. He reached for his phone eagerly, feeling his heart soar at the anticipated text where you would help him solve his issues. But his face fell into a frown and he groaned out loudly at the words on his screen: ‘is my food on its way yet?’

The last reciprocation of his fuckboy energy was probably the worst. You honestly don’t know how you let Jaehyun get away with it practically unscathed, but karma was coming around now and she wasn’t merciful. It was your pièce de résistance, the cherry on top of your fuckboy sundae, your magnum opus, your masterpiece. 

To give Jaehyun some credit, it had been a while since he had dated a woman for a long period of time, or really, dated any woman at all. Maybe he had forgotten some very basic decorum and manners as far as ways to act and things to say or not say. Just yesterday you had been complaining about your professor being very vague in the instructions for your assignment, and even more vague when you emailed him to ask for clarity. “Like the instructions make it sound so simple, but it can’t be that simple if this project accounts for 30% of our grade! Like hello, is it hard to reply to an email with words that actually fucking mean something?” You groaned, running your fingers through your hair while you texted your project group chat what your professor had replied.

Jaehyun chuckled, running a calming hand down your back, focusing his relaxing touch on your lower back as his fingers kneaded at your muscles, “chill out sweetheart, I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

You sent him an unamused look from the corner of your eye, “chill out? Jae, I just said this project accounts for a third of my grade. I can’t be chill about this.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, “are you… you know?”

Your fingers froze over your keyboard, waiting for his next words, giving him a chance to backtrack. He stayed silent and waited patiently. You exhaled, speaking in a voice that was all too eerily calm, “Am I what, Jaehyun?”

“Are you on your period? You just seem extra worked up about something kind of pointless.” He replied casually, his fingers continuing to work at your lower back. The exact area you had once confessed hurt you so bad you could barely stand in the first couple days of your period. This- somewhat thoughtful- little shit!

You smacked his hands away while you closed your laptop and gathered your things in a hurry, mumbling, “you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

Jaehyun stared at you in shock, an asshole? He was being an asshole for caring about his girlfriend’s well-being? “Sweetheart, it’s just that you seem to be making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is,” he tried to explain.

You held a hand up, silencing him, ”every time you open your mouth, you dig yourself into a deeper hole. No, I’m not on my period. Yes, it is a big deal and yes, I’m actually leaving. Good night and goodbye.”

This very conversation had been playing on repeat in your mind while Jaehyun vented to you about Johnny being up his ass about new recruits being low as he paced around his room. “I mean, it shouldn’t be solely on my shoulders if recruits are low. There are plenty of brothers who don’t have as many responsibilities as I do. Like, I barely figured out the whole sponsored mess with Taeyong and now Johnny decided to stick his foot up my ass too. Can I get a fucking break or something?!” He ranted passionately.

You stared at him blankly from your seated position on his bed, forcing your smirk to stay hidden. “Is it… you know?” You began to ask.

“Is it stressful? Hell yeah it is, I mean shouldn't we have any and all brothers taking turns trying to recruit. I mean that’s why I take my time to throw mixers, parties, and sponsored events that kick ass so that people want to join,” Jaehyun replied with a tired sigh.

“No,” you laughed softly, “is it like your time of the month? You seem to be making a big deal out of nothing?”

When Jaehyun turned to you with his eyes wide in astonishment, he expected to see you laughing it off playfully. He expected for you to confess that you were just kidding and kiss him sweetly. But you cocked your head to the side and raised a brow as if to ask, ‘what’s the problem?’

After that, Jaehyun was quick to rise to his feet, pinning you with a heated stare. “What the hell has been up with you? You've been acting… grimy for like the last month.”

You laughed in astonishment, “I’ve been acting grimy? Huh, then imagine how I feel on a regular basis!”

“You?! Sweets, you’ve been acting like a douche! Like when you didn’t respond to me for days even though you were posting like normal and you lied about your phone being broken! Like, hello! You were on Instagram right in front of my face with the same crack on your screen since I’ve known you!”

You raised a brow, holding back an amused smirk, “that’s all? I don’t reply for a couple days and now I’m a douche? Babe, you’re being like really emotional right now, calm down.”

“And that too!” Jaehyun exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “why are you asking me if it’s my time of the month when I’m talking about something that’s bothering me? I want you to support me. You did the same thing when I texted you looking for advice when I was handling the whole mixers and sponsors thing.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, “well, I don’t know what you want me to say right now.”

Jaehyun raised his brows and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what the hell he was hearing. Was he in some kind of alternate universe? Had aliens come down and planted worms in your brain? What happened to his sweet girlfriend?! “Well, an apology would be really nice,” he replies while cocking his head at you.

“And have you ever apologized to me for any of that same behavior?” You ask in a calm voice.

“Wha- me apologize?! This isn’t about me! It’s about you!”

“Oh, so it’s only a problem when I act like this and not you? Got it.”

“When?! When have I acted like you?” Jaehyun asks in exasperation, eyes wide with shocked confusion.

“Hmmm. Let me think!” You exclaim before dramatically placing the tip of your finger on your chin, “just like everyday we’ve been together, you dummy!”

“Give me examples. I can’t believe this.”

“Alright, how about how I’ve had to train you like some kind of pet to learn some very basic texting etiquette? I let you get away with being a shitty texter for months and the one time I do it, you go crazy. I got used to not getting a response from you after days on end and I act like you did one time and you almost call campus security to my dorm to see if I’m alive,” you state, counting out a single finger. 

With the next finger, “I come to you for advice regarding my single roommate considering you have like a hundred of them, and what do you do? You say, damn, buy me wings? Who the fuck does that?! So it didn’t feel very good when I did it to you, huh? Did you like looking for advice only to be hit with some bullshit response and then asked for food? Which I never got by the way!”

Third finger, “And just now. Oh no, did you not like being told your issue meant nothing? Awww, mmmm, are you sad?” You pull your face into a very sarcastic sad face, “now imagine how I feel when you asked me if I was on my fucking period?! Like, have you never been around someone with a vagina? Even Mark and Haechan who barely pull know better than to ask some shit like that! And these are just three of your douchebag behaviors! Shall I continue, Mr. so called I’m-perfect-and-can-never-make-mistakes-because-that-would-be-impossible!”

Jaehyun stood speechless. Was he really that bad? Well, clearly he was. He had to admit he didn’t think he was this bad. He had been really good about adapting to his new role as a boyfriend and thought everything else that came his way was just going to be easy to handle. Apparently, he hadn’t handled it all the right way.

“I didn’t realize I was this bad, I’m sorry. Wow,” Jaehyun sighed, sitting on the bed with his folded over his mouth, “sweetheart, I’m really sorry.”

But that was another way Jaehyun had adapted. He didn’t start arguments while being hard headed, he listened when the issue was serious, he accepted wrong doing, and made changes. 

You crawled across his bed, sitting beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been petty. I should have told you these things bothered me in the moment instead of using them against you… but it was kinda fun.”

Jaehyun rested his head atop yours and chuckled softly, “I think I’m really glad you’re not one of the frat guys because we’d always have girls in here yelling about you gaslighting them. How did you handle me doing this for so long?”

“It helps that you listen when it matters. You’re sweet, you can be romantic, you care about me, you make an effort for me, I can tell you’re trying to be better for me even if it doesn’t all come easily for me,” you explain in a calm voice, “and you’re hot as hell, the abs don’t stop, and you keep that body nice and tight for mama, don't you baby boy?”

Your cackle rings out across his room while he jumps away from you with flushed cheeks. “Don’t… don’t talk like that. It’s totally freaking me out!”

“Come on, babe,” you tease while deepening your voice playfully, “bring me that ass.” 

You manage to grab him while he tries, and fails, to jump away. You playfully knead his (lack of) ass while grinning up at him. You pucker your lips, to which Jaehyun playfully rolls his eyes before kissing you sweetly. “I’m so glad you’re a girl because you would be an absolute terror as a guy,” he states while shaking his head and cupping your cheeks.

“I think I should rush, baby,” you respond playfully, “you could be my big, dude! Come on, bro!”

“Enough of this!” Jaehyun jokingly hisses, “I want my sweet girl back.”

“Fine,” you drawl out with pout, “let this be your lesson though, Jae. When you go low, I can go lower. And I will go lower.”

“Trust me, I’ve learned. I’ll be better at texting, I’ll be an active listener, I’ll give you advice when you need it, and I’ll never ask you if you’re on your period again,” Jaehyun nods.

“See, you’re such a great learner. Let’s go get you a treat, baby,” you smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking his hand and leading him down the stairs toward the kitchen.

“I don’t know how I feel about you talking to me like I’m a dog…”

You smile at him, “you like it.”

Jaehyun raises a brow, “do I?”

You hum, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer, “yup, you have a praise kink.”

Well, if you say so…

[toiletclown]

numb, but i still feel it. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

spencer agnew x f!reader

angst/miscommuncation with a happy ending :3

summary: when your feelings start to be too much, you pull back. but is the pain of being away from spencer any better than the pain of telling him how you feel?

word count: 5.5k

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

“Hey, Y/N, did you want to get food after work? I’ve been craving a triple dipper from Chili’s,” Spencer asked his best friend. 

“Oh, sorry, Spen. I have plans tonight. Maybe some time next week?” She replied, face stoic. She started messing around on her phone, and the space between them grew just a bit wider. Spencer had to force himself not to focus on it.

“Oh. Sure, no problem.” He walked back to his pod, dejected.

That was how it started. She stopped seeing him as much outside of work, then suddenly wasn’t scheduled for games shoots for a week or two. And when she was on a games shoot, their usual bouncy, spitfire interactions just weren’t the same. They had been on a livestream together earlier in the week, with Shayne and Amanda. He didn’t check the chat or comments on that one. Spencer already knew what they said.

Week after week, texts went unanswered, or answered days later. She wasn’t present around the office. Spencer was hurting, but he didn’t know who he could talk to about it. For two months now, their dynamic had become entirely different. And he didn’t know what the fuck he did. If he even did do anything.

He was tired of being tossed to the side, feeling discarded. Y/N had been his best friend for more than five years now, and he hadn’t seen her outside of work in months. He knew he had to talk to someone about it.

After some internal struggle, Spencer decided Courtney was his best bet. Angela was closer with Y/N, but Angela would also be biased. Not that he could blame her, he was biased in Y/N’s favor more often than not, too. It was hard not to be. She was magnetic, her energy addicting. He missed her. Courtney would be more pragmatic, and give some better advice. No shade to Ang, she was a great friend, but he couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t say something to Y/N that would derail their friendship further, unfortunately.

Once Y/N had left for the day, Spencer creeped around the office, trying to catch Court before they left.

“Court! Can I steal you for a second?” He yelled, running after Courtney. They were clearly on their way out, and he needed to talk to them today. She turned around, seemingly surprised to see Spencer. 

“Oh! Hey, Spence. Yeah, can I meet you in your pod in like five minutes?” They were fiddling with their necklace, a nervous habit, and Spencer pretended not to notice. He nodded and made his way to the kitchen to grab a Kickstart. Y/N had already left for the day, and Spencer knew he wouldn’t be able to talk to Courtney if she were still in the building. She’d sense it somehow and find him spilling the metaphorical beans and ruin whatever chance he had at salvaging this.

After standing around in the kitchen for a moment, slightly procrastinating the conversation, he went back to his pod to find Courtney already there. “Oh, hey, I must’ve lost track of time, my bad.”

Courtney stood and walked over to Spencer, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Spence, I love you, but if you’re going to ask me anything related to Y/N, I would really prefer not to get in the middle.”

Spencer deflated, confused. “Uh, can I ask what you mean by that?” His eyes shifted around, ensuring no one was in the hallway or near the door. He didn’t want whatever was happening to be overheard.

“Well, I know you two are, like, going through it right now, I guess. I don’t want to get involved… I don’t want to… take sides or whatever.”

Now he was even more confused. “I wasn’t aware that we were going through it… or that sides were needed?”

Courtney led Spencer to sit down so they could be a little more clear. They didn’t want to hurt Spencer’s feelings, but she might have to be a little mean if it meant getting her point across.

“Spencer. We’ve all noticed something going on with you two. If you two are going to break up we just want it to be amicable, we all love you both so much that–”

“Break up?” Spencer cut them off, his confusion surpassing a new level. “What the fuck do you mean, break up?”

“Well, we don’t want you to! But if that’s where it’s heading–”

“Courtney! Me and Y/N aren’t even dating?” Spencer’s face flushed without his consent.

“But you told us all months ago that you wanted to ask her out… and then you both were so different after a week or two that we all kind of thought you were just toning it down to be, you know, professional.” Courtney looked embarrassed, but so did Spencer.

“Oh, my god.” Spencer was horrified. “No, we are not dating, I still haven’t asked her out or, or even told her how I feel.”

“Well, I guess I can tell Shayne to stop worrying now. He thought you were, like, keeping the relationship and hot goss from him. You know how much he loves love.” Courtney smiled fondly.

Spencer felt extremely nauseous. “No, of course I would be telling him everything. But there’s nothing to tell. And I wanted to talk to you because I’m starting to get worried that there never will be anything to tell. She’s pulled back a lot and I don’t know what I did wrong or what happened. I was hoping you’d be able to give me some insight.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing in his head and his stomach. “It’s like, everything was fine. And then randomly, out of nowhere, it wasn’t. But as far as I can remember, we didn’t have a fight. I can’t think of anything I could have done to upset her like this, and I’m willing to apologize for whatever it is but…” He let out a sigh, “It’s like she’s a different person now. She won’t text me back, or she’ll respond days and days later with some shitty excuse. She’s not on that many games shoots anymore and when she is, she doesn’t seem to want to interact with me. I just want to fix this. My feelings for her aside, I miss my best friend, dude.”

Courtney wrapped Spencer in a hug, knowing that physical touch in moments like this always helped. Something she had actually learned from Y/N. After a soft pat on the back, they pulled apart. “Honey, I’m so sorry. We all misread the situation. I hope you don’t think we were uncaring, or that we didn’t want to help. We all knew something was up, honestly, you both wear your hearts on your sleeves. But we thought that it was more of a personal, relationship issue than… this. I’m so sorry, babe. Tell ya what, me, Ang, and Amanda will have a bestie’s night with her and see what we can figure out. Sound good?” 

Spencer nodded, wiping a small tear that threatened to escape his eye. 

“I can’t promise I’ll be the best double agent, depending on what I find out. But I’ll see what I can do. I know you love her, Spencer. We’ll get this sorted, okay?” Courtney gave Spencer a little pat on the head, and he left the conversation feeling a bit better. 

//

“Y/NNNNNNNN!” Angela called down the hall, searching for her friend. “Yo, Shayne. Have you seen Y/N?” 

Shayne shrugged his shoulders, “Haven’t seen her all day. Did she call off?”

“You’re no help!” She replied, letting him walk away.

Alex Tran then turned the corner into the little lunch area, and Angela decided to accost them next. “Alex! Where’s Y/N?”

“Uh, I don’t know? I thought she called out today.” 

“What the fuck.” Angela took her phone out, immediately texting her.

yo where tf are u??? did u call out alex said u called out??

Angela then took a seat, a little out of breath from running around the Smoffice looking for her bestie. Luckily her phone vibrated nearly immediately.

yea sorry i got a lil stomach bug :/ hoping it’s a 24 hr thing bc i feel like ASS!!

“Okay she has a stomach bug everyone! Calm down!” Angela yelled, as though the lunch room was, a) populated and b) interested. She was interested.

stomach bug, eh? what’d you eat? spencer’s ass?

ANGELA???

what i’m curious sue me

i did not eat spencer’s ass. i had some leftover chinese food that might have been a little too left over. iykwim. be nice to me it’s coming out both ends!!

ok that’s tmi i fear

you just asked me if i ate my best friend’s ass

i asked if u ate spencer’s ass not mine <3

i fear after this convo u have been demoted to second best friend sorry queen </3

i’ll be over with some meds n soup after this shoot. u will forgive me then.

maybe.

After Angela finished her conversation with Y/N, she hopped over to the games set to do a quick livestream. It was slated to be an hour, but she silently hoped it ended a little earlier. After Courtney told her and Amanda that something weird was going on between Y/N and Spencer, she knew she had to sneak attack before the real attack. They had scheduled a bestie’s night out on Friday, and it was Wednesday. All three of them accosting Y/N at once wasn’t ideal, and she knew Y/N would clam up if she wasn’t eased into it, so she told Courtney and Amanda she would try and get some intel one-on-one first.

As Angela walked onto set, Alex informed her that he was swapping out for her in the stream, so she could head out whenever she wanted. They had winked when they told her this, so Ang could only assume this was a joint effort that he was in on. Good to hear.

She made her rounds to say goodbye and make sure she didn’t have any other tasks to finish that day, and confirmed with Ian and Anthony that she could head out. Once she was all good to go, Angela texted Y/N to let her know she was picking up food and then would be on her way.

//

You were laying in bed, curled up under the covers trying to come up with an excuse. Why did you have to say it was a stomach bug? You should be able to be open and honest with your friends. After a nice deep sigh, you got up and put on some sweats and a t-shirt, knowing Angela would arrive in mere minutes.

You grabbed a Red Bull from your fridge, needing a kick of energy. You should text Spencer. He had messaged you about an hour before, just to say he hopes you feel better. Damn your lie. You opened the text thread with him, looking at your frankly embarrassing lack of responses or late replies. He deserved better than that. That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? He deserved a better friend. And a fantastic partner. And you knew that he didn’t want that, despite how badly you did.

The feelings you had been harboring for Spencer were getting to a point you couldn’t deny them anymore. You’d been pushing them down since that very first day, and your heart was hurting. A lot.

– Five years ago –

You walked into the office, head held high despite your anxiety. You wanted to make a good impression, and you weren’t letting your brain get in the way of that. You couldn’t. Greeted by a man a few inches taller than you, though not by much, you felt oddly at peace right away. He had glasses and little tattoos decorating his forearms, and his curly brown hair was wisping to and fro under a hat with the Smosh logo across it. 

“Hey, are you Y/N?” He asked, and you nodded silently, finding yourself at a loss for words. “I’m Spencer. I’ll be sitting in on your interview. I help out on the games channel and edit here and there.” His smile was bright, and you felt yourself returning it.

“Oh, cool. Uh, I think I’m supposed to be meeting with Ian?” You said, despite him clearly already knowing this information.

He smiled again, and your stomach fluttered without your permission. The calm feeling that came over you was certainly reassuring, but if your body kept reacting to this random man like this, you were expecting a few problems in your future.

“Yeah, we’re meeting right down the hall here. I’ll take you over but then I’m going to run to the kitchen to grab a Kickstart. Ian should already be in there anyway, and he’s definitely going to appreciate your timeliness.” Spencer glanced at the watch on his wrist, seeming to mentally note that you were around five minutes early. Truthfully, you had arrived twenty minutes before your actual interview, but you didn’t want to be that early. After sitting in your car and listening to some music to relax, you had made your way in with eight minutes to spare. You got a little caught up at the door and the very kind and conversational woman at the desk, but still managed to be early.

You nodded again, and followed Spencer down the hall to a meeting room that was spacious but cozy. The man sitting at the head of the table – Ian, you assumed – smiled and stood as you entered.

“Hey, Spencer.” He walked to meet you both at the entrance, and he held his hand out to shake. “And you must be Y/N! I’m Ian Hecox, we spoke over email.” 

You shook his hand, introducing yourself and thanking him for the opportunity. 

Spencer told Ian he’d be right back, and you and Ian grabbed seats at the table. “I see you’ve met Spencer! He works on the games channel, but he’s lined up for a promotion to director of games so I asked him to sit in on the interview just so he’d be comfortable when he actually had to start interviewing people himself.”

“He’s very nice! He made me feel welcome right away.” You were lightly fidgeting under the table, anxiety coming back now that Spencer had left. 

You and Ian got to talking about your past experiences – improv with Groundlings, two one-woman plays at Dynasty Typewriter, and some script work here and there at small entertainment companies. You had applied for cast but told Ian you’d be fine behind the scenes as well, hoping to have a shot at one or the other and emphasizing your willingness to wear multiple hats.

Soon, Spencer returned and shut the door behind him, sitting across from you at the table with Kickstart in hand.

After the interview, Ian had called you personally a mere hour afterwards to tell you he was impressed with your resume and interview and wanted to bring you on. You’d start doing some script work, and then would transition to cast full-time if you liked it. You were ecstatic, but couldn’t help but be even more excited at the concept of getting to know Spencer better.

Unfortunately, by the end of the interview you could already tell you were developing a work crush on Spencer. You’d had them before, and you’d kept yourself in check. You could do it again, right?

Five years later, you weren’t so sure.

//

You were pulled out of your reverie by your Ring doorbell going off. You knew it was Angela because she also knocked afterwards, the same catchy little knock she always did. You took another sip of your Red Bull and ventured to your door, pulling it open and giving Ang a hug.

“Well, you don’t look all that shitty, considering you’re apparently shitting your brains out and puking them up as well. Spill, bitch,” was her only form greeting as she came into your apartment and sat the little soup containers on the counter. She turned around and glared at you, but there was no real venom in it. Angela could see through you like nobody else, even Spencer. He understood you in a way that was different, for sure, but you could never lie or even lightly fib to Ang without her immediately calling you on it.

Another sigh escaped you, and you sat on your couch to get into it. “Where should I start? Actually, tell me your hypothesis and I’ll go from there.”

Angela scooted up close to you, leaning her head on your shoulder. You were big on physical touch, and she somehow always knew what you needed. “You’re in love with Spencer and having trouble coming to terms with it because you think he doesn’t return your feelings so you’ve been silently freaking out for probably two months because you hate talking about your feelings even though I’m your best friend and know exactly what you’re feeling at all times even when you try to hide it from me.”

“You didn’t take a breath for that whole sentence, you know,” was your only response.

She poked your thigh, “Don’t deflect.”

You rolled your eyes, affectionate in every way, because you couldn’t be mad when she was fucking right. Because of course she was. “Is it deflection if you already know you’re correct, you demon? Yes, you’re spot the fuck on, as always. Jesus.” You laid your head on the back of the couch, trying to remain calm. “I don’t know what the fuck to do. I can’t hide this shit anymore, and it’s getting to a point where it’s interfering with my work, clearly. I know he doesn’t feel the same – I can’t even give myself hope that he does because, like, I feel like he would have told me at this point, you know? We’re always honest with each other, occasionally too honest, and I find it hard to believe he’d be able to keep that from me. He’s an open book, and I can read him like you can read me. I don’t know. I’ve been feeling lost about it, I guess.”

Angela let you get your feelings out, awkward pauses and teary eyes given grace because she’s always good to you. But then she laughed. A deep, rumbling laugh from the depths of her soul. Which hurt a little bit.

“Why the fuck are you laughing at me? I’m emotional, be nice, you freak!” You laughed beside yourself, because even though it did hurt a little bit, you know her intentions were golden.

“Y/N, you idiot. Walk me through your thought process here. Why do you think he doesn’t return your feelings, seriously. I want an explanation.”

“Like I said! He hasn’t said anything! I’ve just been pushing him away because that’s easier than being near him, Angela, it hurts to be next to him knowing I can never kiss him or tell him what I’m really feeling. I want to do everything with him. I want to carpool to work with him, I want to go to dinner with him and cook food for him, I want to go on Kickstart runs with him and try to understand why the fuck he drinks that shit when Red Bull exists. I want to understand him, inside and out. I want him, in every sense. And if he wanted all that too, he would have told me by now!” You were tired of keeping everything inside, and you knew Angela wouldn’t sugarcoat anything or lead you astray. 

Ang grabbed your hands, rubbing her thumbs against the backs of them – your favorite form of physical comfort from her. “Babe, I’m quite literally going to hold your hand when I tell you this. You’re way too in your head about this. Step back, take a deep breath, and try to see his perspective. You haven’t told him anything either, and now you’re ignoring him and doing your best to not be anywhere near him. How is he supposed to interpret that? How could he be honest with you about his feelings when you won’t even text the poor man back? What if he was gearing himself up for it, finally ready to be open, and then you pull back so far he doesn’t feel like it’s a good idea to tell you?”

After a few deep breaths on your part, and a nice inhale on Angela’s, you started calming down. “Well, yeah, I guess. But what makes you think he returns my feelings? What gave you that inclination?”

“I’ve been in an office with you five days a week for two years. And my eyes work. With or without my glasses. Y/N, I’m not trying to push you or stress you out, and I’m also not trying to tell you how Spencer feels. Only he knows what he’s feeling, but I know what I see. The way he looks at you, the way his smile fades just the slightest bit when you leave the room, the way he tailors his jokes to make you laugh the hardest, not even trying to make jokes that would land for anyone else. I can’t tell you that Spencer returns your feelings, but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he did. You need to let him in, and even though you don’t have to tell him how you’re feeling right away, you need to be more honest with him. He’s your best friend, and even if he somehow, in some extremely strange turn of events, doesn’t feel the same, I don’t think that he’s going to cut you off for loving him.” She punctuated her sentence with a hug and a kiss to your forehead.

“Can I have some soup?” You whispered, tears threatening to spill.

“Do you deserve soup? You are a liar. I don’t think liars deserve soup,” Angela replied, despite standing to grab the containers. You laughed, grateful for her lack of seriousness, and grabbed a tissue from your end table to dab at your eyes. 

She brought over the containers, setting them on the coffee table and handing you some napkins and a spoon. “Everything will be okay, honey. But you have to talk to Spencer, and soon. Can you promise me you’ll text him today? Even just to say hi. Like I said, you don’t have to tell him everything right away. But you can’t keep pushing him away, okay?” 

“Okay.”

After some soup and an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Angela headed out after nudging your phone closer to you. You nodded, and gave her a hug once you thanked her for her time and the soup. 

You put a record on, some random piano and instrumental album Spencer had gifted you after he found it at the thrift shop. Sinking into the couch once more, you muscled up the nerve to pick up your phone.

Angela had sent you a text encouraging you once more, and you sent some hearts in return. Opening the text thread with Spencer, your single pinned conversation in the messaging app, you took a deep breath and started typing.

hey bug. are u free?

His response was immediate, almost alarmingly so. You knew his phone was on do not disturb, but you also knew that you came through all his different DND modes. 

yeah what’s up?

can you come over? i miss you

omw love

The fast responses were a bit anxiety-inducing, and you realized you should probably make yourself a little more presentable. Making your way to the bathroom, Find My Friends app open and live-updating, you brushed your hair out and changed into one of Spencer’s shirts you stole however many years ago. You tossed on some pants, not wanting to be in sweats when you knew you were probably going to spill your guts as soon as he knocked on your door. Some mascara also probably wouldn’t hurt, but the Find My Friends app informed you that he wasn’t far away. Plus, you didn’t expect to make it out of this conversation without tears.

Spencer had to have been speeding with how quickly he got to your apartment. LA traffic was no joke, but it didn’t seem like he had encountered any somehow. When you first checked his location after texting him, you saw he was at the office, so you wondered what he told Ian and Anthony to be able to leave so quickly. 

You had finally managed to calm yourself down, and then he was in your apartment’s little entry alcove. You had given him a key as soon as you got the place. He hadn’t asked, but you were given two keys and knew if you needed him for anything he’d be over quicker than anyone else.

“Hey,” you whispered, taken aback by his natural beauty. He was wearing his glasses, which you secretly preferred. They suited him so well, and they made his eyes just a bit brighter. 

Spencer walked over to you, wrapping you in a hug with absolutely no hesitance. You appreciated that about him – no matter what was going on in either of your heads, you could always count on him to give you a hug when he saw you for the first time in a while.

“Hi, love.” He placed a small and quiet kiss on the top of your head, something he had been doing for years at this point, but it almost hurt a little bit this time. You were beginning to worry again. How could you deal with not having that physical affection if this went badly? “Get out of your head, Y/N. What’s going on, just talk to me, please.”

You both relaxed onto the couch, mere centimeters apart, as always. The strongest gods to exist couldn’t pull him away from you.

“I’m really sorry, bug. I’ve been shitty.” You looked down at your hands, decades-old habit of fidgeting with your thumbnail returning with a quickness. Spencer put his hand on yours, knowing you’d pick at your skin if he didn’t intervene. God, you really loved this man. “I’ve been pushing you away because I’ve been having my own internal issues, and that’s unfair to you, and I’m sorry. I’ve been a bad friend, but I want you to know it’s not your fault in the slightest. You know I tend to bottle stuff up, and I’m sorry I haven’t been honest.”

Spencer put his arm around you, pulling you ever-closer to him. You rested your head on his shoulder, a mirror of you and Angela a mere thirty minutes prior. Tears started falling, and you didn’t try to stop them. You had to let it out, holding it in wouldn’t do any good. Yeah, Angela tried to reinforce that you didn’t need to tell Spencer everything right away, but talking about it with her helped enough that you were confident now. It was time.

“Spence,” you started, looking up at him through your lashes. “I love you, you know that, right?”

He smiled, brighter than the sun, “Of course. I love you, too, Y/N.” 

“Yeah, but I’m not entirely sure you love me the way I love you.” You looked away at this point, unable to hold eye contact when you knew you were about to let far too many words fall out of your mouth. “Five years ago when I walked into that office and you greeted me, I was so, so anxious. Your presence immediately calmed me down, and I honestly knew then and there that I was fucked. You were just so kind, and in the interview you asked questions that made me feel like I’d known you my whole life. We fit together like two strange little puzzle pieces, and I’ve felt this way since that day. I’m so fucking in love with you, Spencer. It’s killing me. I don’t expect you to return my feelings and I promise, although it might hurt a little bit at first, I really, really don’t want us to go our separate ways. But I can’t keep this inside anymore.”

You took a breath, steeling your nerves. “I want to do everything with you, and I want to be everything to you. I’m head over heels over ass over dick in love with you, and it’s driving me crazy. I tried pulling away, I thought it might help the feelings fade. But I just feel like a dick, since that’s what I’ve been for months at this point. I’m really sorry, I was trying to preserve my own sanity but I didn’t take your feelings into account and that’s unfair and shitty. I can’t say that I love you and then treat you how I’ve been treating you. I hope you can forgive me for how I’ve been acting. And above all, I hope you can forgive me for loving you. I can’t make it stop, but I promise I won’t hold anything against you. And I promise I’ll be a better friend.”

You finally separated from his side, grabbing yet another tissue to dry your face before daring to look at him. When you did finally turn your attention to Spencer, he was silently crying too.

“Y/N, you wouldn’t believe how happy I am to hear that. I’ve not been fair to you either, and I promise I’m not upset and I don’t hold anything against you. I’d be extremely hypocritical if I did.”

You were quiet, hoping he’d continue to elaborate. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, you needed to hear it from him. You needed him to say it.

When Spencer realized you weren’t going to respond, he gave you what you silently asked for. Always a mindreader, him. “I love you too, Y/N, and I have loved you just as long. When I saw you all those years ago, my heart started racing, and I thought I was having a stroke.” A quiet laugh escaped him, reminiscing on that fateful day. “You were effortlessly gorgeous, and you held yourself so confidently. I’ve been gone for you since that day, so no, I’m not upset. I’ve been meaning to tell you, too, but right when I finally decided to nut up, you started pushing me away. I got super paranoid that you had somehow realized how I felt and were, like, grossed out and decided to distance yourself. But I love you too, I have for years, and I will continue to do so for the rest of my life. It’s been you for five years, and it’s always going to be you. I can promise you that.” 

He had been holding your gaze the whole time he spoke, and you could tell he was being a hundred percent genuine. All your anxiety dissipated and was replaced with a burning happiness deep in your veins.

Feeling all too bold, you quickly asked, “Can I kiss you?” 

His response came in the form of soft lips on yours, no pressure, no rush. Just… bliss.

You started to lay back on the couch, bringing him down with you, until you were both wrapped up in each other, lazily kissing like you had all the time in the world. And it felt like you did – time had stopped entirely and the only real, tangible thing in this universe was Spencer. 

It was easy, falling into this. But it had been easy all along, you had just made it hard because you were scared. And Spencer didn’t hold that against you, he understood better than anyone. When he did finally pull back, your smiles were both so wide you knew your cheekbones would be hurting come morning. All you could do was thank him. For the kiss, for his compassion, for his forgiveness. For returning your feelings, and not judging you for being a shithead for two months. For giving you the time and space you needed to pull your head out of your ass. Spencer wasn’t having any of it, of course.

You knew there was a conversation that needed to be had, about what this friendship or relationship was now, and how you were going to navigate this change. But that could wait. You had forever, hopefully, and you knew Spencer would give you any time you needed. 

That’s why you love him, after all – he understands you better than anyone, and he had more patience than anyone else you’d met. 

You weren’t exactly looking forward to getting off this couch and moving forward, to be honest. You just wanted to stay in this moment and in Spencer’s arms, his lips on yours and his hands on your waist. But life waits for no one, and after all, Spencer was in your life, for good. You weren’t worried about the future, per se, but you had been waiting more than 1800 days for this, and you were planning on savoring it for as long as you possibly could.

You had a feeling Spencer did, too.

//

told you!!!!!! send me all the deets when he finally leaves xoxo gossip ang

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾　　☽༓･˚⁺‧͙

another fic in the books who fuckin cheered!! i hope u enjoyed pls leave feedback if u feel so inclined... i love u!

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 ˖° a day at the beach with the Pines twins headcanons 

author note: okay, this is kinda a “what if au” where Stan never got kicked out of home (Filbrick I hate you), meaning he and Ford stayed together in new jersey and grew there too

u can imagine Stan with his mullet and twins being like… i bet you seen those edited screenshots of them where they are young and look like cousins of Mabel and Dipper? IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN I’m so sorry

Stan x reader x Ford, nsfw? (mostly it’s just wholesome and intimate but there’s mentions of sex still)

✧ Stan’s got you perched on his shoulders for a fight in the water and he’s talking shit the entire time, calling Ford “the human string bean” and yelling, “ya better hold on, sweetheart, ‘cause i ain’t lettin’ this nerd win!” spoiler: Ford wins

✧ the three of you build a sandcastle, no, no really. because Stan and Ford argue over everything in the process. Ford wants it to have “structural integrity,” while Stan insists on making it look “badass.” somehow, it ends up being both, a tower with a moat and little seaweed flags that Stan claims are “pirate-approved!!!” you’re the judge, of course

✧ Stan steals your sun hat. just straight-up snatches it off your head and plops it on his, smirking at you. “whaddya think, doll? does it suit me?” and honestly it kinda does, but you’re not gonna tell him that. Ford’s the one who eventually grabs it back, muttering about “immature antics” while carefully placing it back on your head

✧ imagine playing with Ford’s hair as you lay next to him on the beach, getting your fingers tangled in his soft strands, the ocean breeze making it swirl a little. you’re leaning closer to his face next thing he does is pressing soft kisses to your wrist. Ford’s eyes are beautiful, so when he glances up at you, he looks like he’s asking for permission to take that next step. like he can’t wait to kiss you, but he’s waiting for you to make the first move

✧ sharing the towel with Stan and Ford after you’ve all been in the water. sand sticking to your skin, that salty taste all over your lips. Stan just drops his towel on top of yours, pulling you in close so you’re trapped between them. “ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ya get cold, pretty,” Stan’s hands are sliding up your legs, getting close to the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms. Ford’s fingers caress your skin, too, both of them deciding who gets to take you first. god, you could melt between them. it’s totally not because of the sun

✧ they challenge you to a volleyball match, and oh god, it’s a disaster. because Stan’s so competitive, diving for every ball and yelling, “yer gonna hafta do better than that, sixer!” while Ford tries to play by the actual rules. sadly, it ends with Stanley smacking ball right into Ford’s face with “oops”

✧ Ford’s got sunscreen smeared across his nose because he applied it so meticulously he missed the most obvious spot. Stan, being a little shit, doesn’t say a word until you point it out and that makes him die at his brother’s embarrassed reaction. Ford just says, “at least i won’t look like a lobster.”

✧ Stan teaches you how to skip stones. but “teaches” is a strong word because he mostly just shows off, throwing perfect skips and smirking at you every time yours plops straight into the water. “ain’t no shame in bein’ bad at it, sweetheart. not everyone can be as talented as me.” Ford, of course, chimes in with, “it’s all about the angle of release,” and then he decides to demonstrate, making it look annoyingly easy

✧ they both get weirdly protective when some random guy starts chatting you up. guess who’s first to speak and says “don’tcha got somewhere else to be, buddy?” ??? 

✧ IDK WHY BUT I JUST SEE IT HAPPENING. hear me out. Stan buys you ice cream from a cart on the boardwalk, but the bastard purposely gets himself the messiest one he can find, idk, like a triple scoop with chocolate drizzle and sprinkles AND GUESS WHAT? it’s melting faster than he can eat it, dripping all over his hands and chest. HAH SUCKER (sorry i love him sm) and if you’ll look at him, his chest especially, thinking he won’t notice, believe me he will, “whatcha lookin’ at, doll? ya wanna lick it off me or somethin’?”

✧ Ford’s way more methodical with his treat, carefully choosing something sensible like a popsicle. he tries to eat it while reading, holding his book with one hand and the other balancing the melting stick. but he’s a silly guy who doesn’t know what summer is, so his popsicle drips onto the page and Stan immediately makes fun of him for it 

✧ more bout ice cream thing: it becomes like some kind of foreplay. Stan insists on buying you the biggest cone they have, all drippy and sweet, just so he can watch you try to eat it before it melts. “careful, baby,” as he messily licks a stray drop off your wrist. Ford doesn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweetness. by the time you’re done, the three of you are a mess of sugar and salt and heat

✧ at one point, Stan flops onto your towel, shaking sand everywhere. “hope ya don’t mind sharin’ with yer favorite guy,” he says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. however Ford tries to protest, pointing out that there are plenty of other towels, but his brother just smirks and says, “don’t be jealous, sixer. there’s room for you too.” and that’s how you three end up all squeezed together in a ridiculous pile

✧ Ford collects seashells. of course he does. hes a cutie. he’s walking along the shore, muttering to himself about “the fascinating variety of mollusk species” while carefully placing his finds into a small bag. Stan tries to look cool in front of you so he mocks his twin, calling it “nerd treasure,” or “typical nerds hobbies”, but later you catch him sneaking one of Ford’s shells into his pocket :)

✧ you challenge ford to a sand sculpting contest and he takes it so seriously because he’s sketching out blueprints in the sand, muttering about “load-bearing structures” while you’re just piling up sand with your hands. Stan joins your team, of course, and together you make the stupidest creation ever. Ford’s castle is a masterpiece, all detailed and structured, but when you ask the kids nearby to judge, they pick yours because it “looks funny!” 

✧ Stan’s sunglasses break because he sits on them and instead of admitting defeat, he just steals Ford’s

✧ it starts innocent, like most things do. Ford’s helping you tie the strings of your bikini top after a swim. but he’s not as composed and cool as he seems. Stan, being nearby, catches the whole thing. “aw, sixer, don’t be that nervous. want me to show ya how it’s done?”

✧ Stan’s teaching you how to body surf, him standing waist-deep in the water, his chest glistening from salt water and all golden from the sun. “so you just have to let the wave carry ya, toots,” he grins but he doesn’t let you go far, placing his big hands on your hips before squeezing your ass  

✧ they’ve set up a beach blanket, which is big enough for all three of you, and somehow you’ve ended up pinned between them. as always. not like you complaining though. Stan’s lying back, laying his arm around your shoulders. but Ford is more intimate, he’s talking about something you can’t even focus on because his hand is on your thigh as he brushes his fingers against the skin just beneath your bikini bottom. and then you both hear: “ya gotta share, sixer. can’t hog her all to yerself.”

✧ they both look at you like they’d devour you right there if they could

✧ Stan likes to tease, but he’s downright filthy when he gets you alone in the water. the sunlight makes your skin glisten beautifully and he can’t keep his hands off you. “ain’t nobody around, cmon,” he whispers in your ear as his fingers sneak beneath your bikini bottoms. “lemme feel ya, darlin’.” the saltwater does nothing to cool the burn as his fingers press in slowly and your body trembles, while his free hand holds you steady against him, his cock hard against your ass

✧ Ford acts all gentlemanly at first, adjusting your sun hat when the wind threatens to blow it off, complimenting how stunning you look with the ocean behind you. but you just have to tease him, so you lean into him and whisper something sweet and a little filthy in his ear. his reaction is immediate when he pulls you into the shade of a lifeguard tower, slipping his hand under your bikini as he kisses you and grinds his hips against you

✧ Stan cant help himself, he likes to watch your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink. it drives him wild. guess why

✧ Ford’s chest a little pink from the sunburn he’ll complain about later, but right now, he’s distracted by the way Stan’s fingers are trailing up your thigh as he applies sunscreen on you. he spreads the slick lotion higher, closer to where your thighs meet. Ford glares, but he doesn’t stop him; instead, he leans down and kisses your shoulder, saying something about needing to check for missed spots

✧ uh. . . imagine sneaking off to one of those little wooden beach huts which are meant for changing clothes, but it barely fits all three of you. but don’t be sad, the cramped space only makes things hotter!

✧ you’re dripping wet from a late afternoon swim and your bikini clings to your skin what makes Stan whistle and Ford fumble with his towel. the sun is setting behind you, turning everything in this golden, honey-like colour and you look like something out of a dream for both twins. “y-you’ll catch a cold,” Ford says as he wraps the towel around your shoulders. “nah, she’s burnin’ up already, don’t u see,” Stan is already behind you as he kisses your neck and the towel falls to the sand

✧ there’s something so funny but intimate about the way they take turns rubbing sunscreen onto your skin, even when you protest you’re fine on your own

[worthyheir]

volcre, quccninchains, loreforged, eledrar, onetrueheir, swornbones, and realmscruelty (hehehe) for the url thing!

Send me URLs and I will write them some positivity. Pass along the good vibes.

jfc lexi Under a cut because there's so many and they got long.

@volcre - ANNA! Damn what a fucking collab of muses though. I love a mad list of badass ladies, including how some of them are my faves. Your writing has always been stunning and lovely and shipping with Astrid is so much fun (secret little sneaks fr) and one day I'll hop on my other multi for some lovely ship shenanigans but even without that? Even though I don't do it OFTEN, I do love seeing your reactions when I send angst to the server for you to yell at me (but I try not to send you too much angst now because it's illegal I heard <3). You have always always been a joy to talk to, to write with, to plot with, and I just am so glad to write with you for real.

@quccninchains - CAIT CAIT WHERE ARE YOU? Come BACK to me! Who is Jace going to beef with now??? But nah, I absolutely adore Cait. <3 You have always been so lovely and so defensive of your muses, and I love that. Protect your people. Your fun aus are always a great time to plot with and I love chatting with you and one day, ONE DAY, we will get together. I literally have a gift for you (and you didn't know that until just now).

@loreforged - Damn, gonna make me wax poetic on MURPH now??? Okay. Rad. I can talk all day about how talented of a writer Murph is, no matter which muse they are writing, BUT instead of that, let me talk about how dedicated to these muses you are? Like the amount of backstory you put into Aeron makes my Davos look so stupid in comparison (don't let Aeron say a WORD he'll get pinned to the ground in a not fun way) but with them, and all of our other wacky and zany ships and dynamics, I literally never find a dull moment talking to you, whether it's about characters or work or hockey (xoxo) or even when you listen when I spam you with Degrassi shit lmao. I am fully planning this trip, I hope you are prepared for me. I think you are just one of the most fun, genuine people on this platform and I LOVE writing with you and talking with you every day. <3

@eledrar - Ew this one bites. Nah, PETER is such a blast to have existential dread with honestly. But in all actuality, writing with and plotting with and chatting with you is always so fun. Even when we're fucking tormenting Myrcella (please let this girl take a vacation she is so tired). Our insane little au with them is actually one of my faves and I love all the angst we put into it (because of course we did). Our server name is probably my fave server name (and not because I came up with it but just because it encapsulates US so well). <3

@onetrueheir - oh man CHAR and I have so much fun pushing Daemon out of the bedroom for Laenyra (sorry, but Daemon and Harwin need to go take care of the pretty babies while Laena and Rhaenyra take care of each other, actually). In truth, you are so talented, and I love our plots that we have so far (and anticipate many more!) and I'm so glad you're back. Can't believe she let Criston be his dad, what the fuck mom? Even if we never write again, I'll keep sending you Laenyra art because they are worth it. <3

@swornbones - I've only know AURA for like 5 seconds and already you are stuck here. No returns, refunds, or exchanges. We haven't written (yet) but I am so excited to get these plots going, and to explore Harwin and Jace and their "father"-son dynamic and how it plays into both of their characters so much. <3 I'm already so stoked to see what you bring to all these muses you are setting up.

@realmscruelty - Nerd. I almost ended it with that, actually. What can I say about you, LEXI, that I have not yet said before? I have for sure spoken volumes on how much I adore you and your muses and plotting with you and talking with you and WE WILL get triple dippers (maybe that'll be your 30th birthday... hmm... cooking ideas now, but not triple dippers b/c that is Chef Mike's job). Your muses are fantastic, and you are 10000 times better. I adore you. You are stuck with me forever. <3

[callipraxia]

Wrote up a review for the Stan Tea Without Lapsang yesterday, but my technology hated me and lost the post. Therefore, I shall now write a triple review!

Minimal mess opening, maximum mess scooping, but we sorted it out. An attractive blend visually.

Just throwing this in here to verify - yep, same teapot I’ve been using, sampling as standardized as I can really get it.

And this was yesterday’s cup. Lovely color, but when I tasted it, I was so confused! All I could taste was ginger and rooibos. That was it. Not a hint of anything else, including the caramel flavor that was supposed to go along with the rooibos by default. Where did all my lovely caramel go??

Today I woke up with a severe headache and just wanted something warm and caffeinated, and I vaguely associate ginger with illness, so I brewed up another cup of it…and when I tasted it, I was so confused! The predominant taste was now rooibos, the ginger only showed up on the swallow, and I found my caramel again! It was now only a pale shadow of itself, but it was there.

I’ve concluded that this is one where you can’t be too sure that a given spoonful is well-blended, so I’m going to try a third experiment with it: dumping the rest of the sample into my two-and-a-half cup glass pot in the morning and then drinking two and a half cups of presumably well-blended tea. I couldn’t make that experiment today, though, because I had pressed the glass pot into service for another job last night and it was still half-full as a result.

My little glass pot - originally half of a tea for one set from Whittard’s; I don’t care for the cup that came with it, but the pot is excellent - is one of my favorite teapots, if not the favorite, but a couple of years ago, I lost the infuser basket that fit it properly, which has limited its usefulness ever since. Then about two weeks ago, though, I was in Target, and I saw a loose tea infuser basket for six bucks, and I decided to be a nice person and get one for my aunt, who has started drinking this tisane she thinks will lower her blood pressure better than her blood pressure medicine will, but who has had an awful time figuring out how to prepare it, since herbal tea mixes oddly with the Keurig pod. As it turned out, though, Aunt was away that day, and something about the proportions of this infuser kept nagging me, and since I’m not that nice of a person, I ultimately ended up opening up the infuser and trying it out with my little glass pot…where it fit perfectly! The lid even fit perfectly while on top of the basket! So hurrah - had to get my aunt another one, and I’m not crazy about the fake gold color, but I have my favorite teapot back in full working order, and have been happily using it a lot for everything except these sample tastings ever since.

I already sampled the first Mabel, the watermelon-mint-strawberry thing, in hot form, so last night, after the relative success of brewing the Dipper sample up in a bigger pot and loading it with honey, I decided to attempt an experiment with the rest of the Mabel sample. I put it all into the infuser basket, poured on the water, and after a few minutes, I lifted the basket back out long enough to stir a good amount of honey into it. Then I put the basket back and let it continue steeping until the pot was no longer warm to the touch, at which point I removed the infuser and put the pot of tea in the fridge. Mabel Juice was, after all, a summer beverage from the refrigerator, so it seemed only appropriate, even though it’s currently an unusually cold February in my corner of the world….

Well, this morning, I poured half of this chilled, sweetened infusion into a glass and used it to take my meds, and it was surprisingly lovely. Nothing at all like the offspring of coffee and nightmares, so it can’t count as out of universe Mabel Juice, but I can see this being an excellent refreshing beverage in the summer. The watermelon and strawberry had melded together with a new aspect of the mint to create a rather floral, rose-like flavor, and it turns out that rose and spearmint is apparently a pretty nice combination. I enjoyed the glass, but then, since it was after all 5am on an unusually cold February morning, I put the other half back in the fridge, and am sipping on it now. I don’t know if it continued to evolve over the course of the day or if the state of my sinuses somehow contributed to this, but it tastes different this time - the strawberry is pretty clear, overriding the watermelon, and the spearmint has gotten sharper. Still not bad at all, though, and might be worth keeping a pitcher around come summertime.

Here’s hoping the technology cooperates with me this time….

[blvdheart]

GIRL I GOT AN IMBOX MESSAGE FROM YOU BIT WHEN I ORPN MY INBOX NOTHINGS THERE 😭😭 THWYD ELETED ALL MY INBOX MESSAGES HELP

ANYWAYS IN CASE YOU DIDNT GET IT (i saw claudias message and immedaitely freaked) HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY OMG WELCOME TO 20 😍😍😍 HOPE THIS NEXT DECADE IS YOUR PEAK ERA BC IT SHOULD BE!! since this is late i cant ask what you WILL do so how did your birthday go?? get any good gifts or have a cool party and eat cake (lowkey me all the time)

anyways besides that i just wanted you to know that you are the sweetest most engaging person on this app... ur gorgeous AND talented which is like double trouble catch me fainting on your doorstep but its so true!! i was SO happy that you watched arcane and again YOUR THEMES ARE SO GOOD?? NOT JUST ARCANE BUT LIKE ANYTHING?? LIKE THE SILENT HILL AND RD AKHDLAJSKS your talent for designing is beyond me oml NOT TO MENTION YOUR WRITING?? YOU'RE QUITW LITERALLY THE EPITOME OF BEING TOO GOOD LIKE HELLO 😭😭 the world does not deserve such a kind and loving soul but HEY YOU MADE IT TO 20 SO!! wishing you many more happy returns of the year, hope you had an amazing birthday and because its the last day of 2024, HOPE IT WAS GREAT!! (ik it was for me because i met you and sooo many other people and im so glad you're my friend holy shit)

have an amazing rest of your day girl and never forget thst i love you to the moon and back <3

HELLO HI JJ <33 HOW DARE TUMBLR DO THAT TO YOU 💔

and thank you so much!! i’m kind of in awe i’m officially twenty but i’m excited for what the years have in store for me YAYAYAY

my birthday this year was actually the best one i’ve had in a long time and i was surprised that i got presents 😭 i was gifted some face masks and a vanilla oil fragrance i’ve been eyeing for some months AND I WENT TO CHILI’S FOR THE TRIPLE DIPPER have you eaten there? :0

and oh my god you’re so sweet i’m going to melt WHAT THANK YOU i appreciate you so much for all your kind words!! the part about my themes too omg…smiling so much I LOVE YOU HELLO??

i hope you’re having an amazing new year’s eve/new year’s and that 2025 brings even more positivity into your life and radiates happiness YEAHH I LOVE YOU MWAH GIVING YOU THE BIGGEST HUG EVER I’M SO HAPPY WE’RE MUTUALS

[choclodox]

Change is Who We Are

Chapter 2 - Insanity

Word Count: 3015

(previous chapter)(next chapter)

How long has she been tracking us? Oliver asked himself while cooking some fish and cutting up some fruit to dry in the sun. The fact that he and his squad mates were under constant surveillance without knowing it all along was eerie to think about. He didn’t even think much of it when he sensed her presence in the forest two months ago.

Spider was showing them how to break a fall using the broad leaves of other plants on the way down. Turns out it came with a brutal learning curve.

“Come on, losers!” Spider taunted from the ground below. The sound of a light smack followed soon after, most likely the Colonel swatting the back of the boy’s head.

“Punk ass kid,” Prager muttered under his breath. It was his turn to go again, and he was already sick and tired of messing up and getting laughed at. Oliver rolled his eyes under his shades and preoccupied himself by looking around while he waited for his own turn. And then he noticed it.

The scent came from downwind of him, so it was pretty faint but still there. It wasn’t a thanator or a viperwolf, thank Christ, but not knowing what it was made him feel just as uneasy. Almost like a Na’vi but also like that smell right before a rainstorm or the mist when he and the squad were flying through the mountains.

“You smell that?” he asked out loud, looking in the direction it came from.

“Smell what?” Prager said.

“Over there, next to—" Oliver said, but the scent was gone.

“Next to what?” Prager asked again in irritation.

Oliver gave the area one last scan, then turned back to his teammate.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Well, the past was in the past, and he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to focus on getting back to the RDA.

Navigating Pandora wasn’t easy without a map. It wasn’t like he could look for the big dipper to find the north star. This world had an entirely different star system than Earth with constellations Oliver couldn’t even pronounce. He had to limit his flights to the day because all he knew was that Bridgehead City was to the South, and if he kept the sun to his right, he’d get there eventually.

Oliver just wanted to get back to civilization as soon as possible. He was tired of sleeping with one eye open every night and foraging for every meal he ate. And while he was a man of few words, he knew he’d go crazy if he only had Tomahawk to talk to.

Then again, a banshee was better than a volleyball.

He wondered what Earth looked like right about now. It was already a shit hole when he was there last, but if humanity’s aim was to make Pandora their new home, it must’ve been really bad. He’d heard that because of inflation, pets became a luxury only the ultra-wealthy could afford. The air was so full of smoke that exo-packs were customizable as they’d become a part of everyday fashion. The icecaps were gone, Africa was just a desert, and most people were going their whole lives never seeing a blade of grass.

Oliver thought about his mom.

It was just the two of them growing up. She was a nurse at a hospital downtown, sometimes working double or triple shifts to keep the dingy apartment they called home. She’d always come home late, but it never took a toll on her parenting skills. Never once did she take out her frustrations on her son, never brought home an asshole boyfriend or threatened to abandon him at a bus stop. Nope. She was the best anyone could ask for. 

Always letting Oliver have the last piece of whatever meal they had, letting him hog the blanket on the one bed they had to share, helping him with homework that she herself didn’t understand, and enduring his temper tantrums and their arguments during his teen years.

His dad was a good man. He was also a marine and liked grilling on their apartment’s rooftop. Of course, Oliver wouldn’t know from experience: his dad died in a motorcycle accident when he was 4. He was too young to remember much, but Oliver did have one memory of him that stuck: when they went for a ride on his dad’s Harley. They were outside the city on an old highway, wind blowing through their hair while the sun gave way to night in the distance.

But were they really his parents? Was any of that really his life? He was just the recombinant of Oliver Mansk, a soldier killed in action over 15 years ago.

It was all this thinking and reflecting that made Oliver completely forget about the fish until it was too late. While he scrambled to save his food from burning, a pair of watchful eyes stared at him from a distance.

Rini was hanging upside down from the trees, sleeping peacefully in the warm afternoon sun. Nikea was in her ikran’s arms, sleeping the day away alongside her until the Na’vi woman smelled something smoky. It wasn’t overpowering. In fact, once she got past the burning smell, it was rather decent. She gave two pats to Rini’s chest, and in response, her ikran slowly unfurled her wings so Nikea could see what was causing the commotion. She winced at the harsh light of the sun but persisted. On the sands, the man let out an exasperated sigh. Meanwhile, his ikran sat by, basking in the sun. How that man and his ikran had survived this long was beyond her.

She was tucking herself back in when her stomach growled. Nikea rolled her eyes knowing that her appetite wouldn’t let her go back to sleep until it had been satisfied. Hunger truly was the bane of every Night Na’vi’s existence.

Before she could tell Rini that it was time to start foraging for fruit, Nikea looked at the man on the beach one more time. He was standing there, looking at the sea, and his tail lashed behind him with his hands on his hips. Behind him, his ikran was gulping down that miserable attempt at a meal. It must’ve been the guilt kicking in. She didn’t have much time before her head would start hurting, so she’d have to be quick. 

Well, if Eywa decided he should live this long, she might as well bring him with her to Awa’atlu for questioning.

Oliver let Tomahawk have his ruined lunch; it was better than letting it go to waste. At least he had the fruit still drying on the rock.

“Unless you want to spend the next several hours vomiting nonstop, I suggest you don’t eat that.”

He jumped out of his skin and looked up to see the Na’vi from last night.

“JESUS!” Oliver yelled. Tomahawk looked up and let out a startled squawk.

Her banshee was hanging upside down while she remained right side up. She used the saddle’s foot holds to stand on and the animal’s armored back scales to grab onto.

Now that it was light outside, he could see that her skin was a much deeper, darker shade of blue than a forest Na’vi. And even though her cloak and banshee rider leggings were hiding most of her skin, he could see that her stripes were more of a brindle pattern rather than like a tiger’s.

“See those red berries?” the woman asked, nodding her head to the vines covering the tree her banshee was hanging in. “Those are the ones you want. Also, that fish is meant to be eaten raw. In fact, the whole fish is edible, not just the flesh.”

Oliver screwed up his eyebrows and looked back at the fire. He’d been shooting himself in the foot the whole time.

“But I saw one of those monkey-things eating those fruit,” Oliver said. It was Spider that taught him that if you see an animal eating something, then it should be okay for you to eat it too.

The woman couldn’t believe the words the man had just said. It wasn’t even a full day and she’d already had to save him from aynantang, food poisoning, and starvation.

“Wiya,” she said under her breath. There was no way she was going to get any proper rest on this island with this helpless baby’s antics.

Rini stopped preening herself and turned her head to her rider. The eyeless ikran was growing impatient, and a low rumble emitted from deep within her chest. Nikea could feel the vibrations of Rini’s complaints.

“I will come back in the evening,” she sighed. “Try not to kill yourself until then.”

As the banshee dropped from the trees, the Na’vi woman remounted the saddle, and the two of them returned to the forest’s depths. Oliver and Tomahawk only looked at each other, both wondering how many more awkward exchanges they were going to have with that weird lady and her banshee.

The sun had disappeared behind Naranawm when Nikea had returned to the beach. She was a little surprised to see that the man was still alive.

“I see you’re not dead,” she called from the trees. Oliver’s hair stood up on end. He mumbled to himself and stood up from the rock he’d been sitting on.

“You sneak up on all your friends like this?” he asked, rubbing his arms to warm himself up.

“My friends? No,” she said. She came forward into the moonlight where he could see her better.

Oliver rolled his eyes and whistled for Tomahawk to come pick him up. Once he was on his saddle, he joined the Na’vi in the trees and jumped off again to stand on the tree limb with her.

“Okay, now what?” Oliver asked.

She looked over his shoulder to look at Tomahawk and walked around Oliver to get a better look at his saddle.

“Your ikran can’t make tight maneuvers because you keep that padding on his neck too tight,” she said, pointing at his banshee. “You also overfeed him.”

Oliver looked off to the side and mumbled something inaudible. The Na’vi woman’s unscarred ear twitched at that.

“I’m not trying to be ‘snobby.’ I’m trying to help you,” she said. His eyes widened. How did she hear him say that from over 10 feet away?

“Night People are good listeners,” she said as if she could read his mind. “Now come. I’m tired of you waking me up with your antics.”

“Night People?” he asked as they started climbing up the vines to higher ground. “They told us about you guys. The RDA I mean. It was only for like…10 seconds though.”

“Hm,” she said. “I’m surprised they had anything to tell you at all.”

In the dark, Oliver could see that her banshee wasn’t too far behind. It was crouched on a branch overhead, probably making sure he didn’t try any funny business while they were climbing up the tree. Based on his limited experience with mountain banshees, Oliver knew that they were loyal to their riders, but hers was more…attentive. Almost sentient, but not like a person. More like a dog, he guessed.

“Don’t worry about Rini,” the Na’vi woman said. “She’s just clingy.”

“Rini, huh? Is that her name?” he asked. He grunted as he jumped from the vines onto the branch she was now standing on. “Uh, what’s yours?”

She paused to think about it before she answered, “Nikea.”

“Just Nikea?” Oliver asked. He thought Na’vi names were longer than that.

“Yes,” she responded. Nikea stopped in front of a glowing mushroom-thing that was growing on the trunk of the tree. Nikea took out a knife from under her cloak, cut off a few chunks, and handed it to Oliver.

“Forest People call this atana hena,” she said while he put it in his pocket for safekeeping. “If you cut it off and soak it in fresh water every few days, you can use it as a light source. Once it stops glowing, you can have something to eat. It’s very filling.”

“Oh. We saw it all the time, but Spider never said anything,” Oliver said.

“Of course, he didn’t,” Nikea said, continuing their trek. “You’re the enemy.”

“Well, ‘the enemy’ is tougher and smarter than you think,” Oliver said, leaning back against the tree trunk. “I mean, you’re the ones trying to fight gunships and bombers with bows and arrows.”

“And you’re the ones responsible for your dying world,” Nikea said, cutting some more atana hena for herself. “Thinking that you’ll find salvation here by repeating the same mistakes you made there .”

“It’s the march of progress,” Oliver argued. She stopped cutting.

“It’s insanity.”

Her yellow eyes bore into him intensely. He also noticed that she didn’t have as many glowing freckles as most Na’vi he’d seen, even with the visor on.

“You didn’t have to wait until nightfall to give me a few pointers,” he said, looking away.

“We’re called ‘Night People’ for a reason,” she responded. She grunted after cutting through a particularly tough stalk. “Besides, I have to look for food anyways. Might as well show you how while I’m at it. Now eat.”

Oliver took one of the stalks in his pocket and took a few bites. It was like biting into stale cotton candy, and the taste was so sweet, it was almost too much. But she was telling the truth when she said it was filling: He was only three bites in, and he already felt like he’d eaten two hearty dinners. But his jaw hit the floor when he looked at Nikea.

While he had barely started the stalk he was eating, Nikea was already on her second . His eyes popped out of his head when she went for a third . She stopped eating when she finally noticed him staring at her.

“What?” Nikea said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Nothing,” he said quickly. He was taught better than to question another’s eating habits.

She finished up, put her knife away, and walked further down their path.

“So, if you’re willing to teach me how to find food,” Oliver asked, almost stumbling on a patch of glow-in-the-dark moss. “Could you maybe show me how to get back home?”

“I could,” Nikea said, lifting a branch out of the way so they both could continue walking.

“Would you please show me how?” he asked in an annoyed tone.

“No,” she replied. “If I send you back, that’s just one more enemy we have to fight.”

“Then what the hell is this all for?” he asked, stopping in his tracks. “If I’m that much of a threat, you might as well kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” Nikea said, pausing and turning to face him again. “Not while you have information that can be of use to Jake.”

“So he can kill me once he’s done?” Oliver asked in disbelief, turning back to his campsite. “I’ll just figure it out myself. It can’t be that hard—”

“If you go straight South, you’ll run out of islands to rest on and find yourself in the middle of the ocean,” Nikea pointed out, like an adult reprimanding a child. “The only way back is by flying along the mainland’s coastline; To get to the mainland, you’re going to have to pass through the villages you destroyed, and I doubt they’ll be happy to see you.”

Oliver stopped and looked back at Nikea.

“You have two options,” she said, holding up two of her three fingers. “You can go off on your own where you are guaranteed to die, or you can come with me where it is only highly likely you will die.”

He looked at the horizon, rubbed the back of his neck, and made his decision in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

After getting him properly fed, Nikea showed Oliver a much better place in the treetops to sleep for the rest of the night. The knothole in the tree was big enough for both Oliver and Tomahawk, but it seemed the ikran was happy to sleep outside to guard the entrance. He wasn’t the smartest ikran she’d ever seen, but Nikea had to acknowledge how much he seemed to care for his rider.

Oliver was fluffing the moss bed when he noticed that Nikea wasn’t making any preparations to sleep. She mentioned something about preferring to sleep with Rini.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back by the time you wake up,” she said while hopping back onto Rini’s back.

“Where are you going?” he asked as he approached Nikea, but Rini swerved her head right in front of him and furiously bristled her antennae. Oliver had figured out by now that that was her way of telling him to back off, and he didn’t dare challenge her.

“Rini’s getting hungry, and I am too to be honest,” Nikea said, patting Rini on the side of the neck to calm her down. She said something in Na’vi that he couldn’t understand. Well, he thought it was Na’vi, but it sounded different than what Spider taught them.

“How?”

Nikea paused and flicked her good ear.

“How are you still hungry?” Oliver asked in shock. “You ate three of those ‘aden hana’ things.”

“Atena Hena,” she corrected. “And there’s a lot of things you don’t know about Night People.”

After Nikea made a few clicking noises, Rini hauled herself into the open air and free fell halfway down to the forest floor. She opened her wings, and the two of them flew off into the night leaving no bioluminescence in their wake.

Oliver didn’t want to say anything about it earlier, but after watching her interact with Rini enough times, he confirmed something peculiar about Nikea and Rini’s flight style: not once had he seen Nikea actually queue up with her banshee to take flight. It was as if they didn’t need it.

Wiya = dammit Naranawm = Polyphemus Atana Hena = “carry-light” (mushroom-like organism I made up that can act as a portable light source if harvested and cared for properly) Atan = light

[blazingstorm8895]

Oh fuck I forgot to update my Gravity Falls watchathon regarding the Gravity Falls Finale

Spoilers below!

Part 1/4:

oh. oh the intro changed. Oh it’s fucked up and evil. This is peak intro to Weirdmageddon. Also goddamn Bill killed the Time Baby? And the Time Squad? Just like that? Holy fuck.

Also damn Bill’s havoc is. Wow

Also Gideon’s a little shit here, at least Dipper finally got some sense in his head

Part 2/4:

Happy Mabel Fun Time Land! I did a triple take when Mabel said that in the bubble, “the party will never end”. That’s what Bill said too that’s why he’s doing everything. Oh. Oh he was making a Mini-Bill over eternity. Fucked up. Also fucked up how Not-Wendy wanted Dipper to take her hand. Making a deal. Fndkgnsk ajgnskgkak. Also kinda funny how half a week has passed but only in Gravity Falls, the entire outside world is unaffected. Also also how did the cartoon bros escape. What. Also also also is the title a reference to hit movie Madagascar 2: Escape to Africa?

Part 3/4:

Welcome back wax guy and Multibear! Also holy fuck, ANIME. SHACKTRON. THE OLD MEN MEET AGAIN OGNEOGJWO. THE CIRCLE FINALLY RETURNS (though I can’t help but feel that Pacifica and Wendy were hammed in. At least Fiddleford was wearing the new glasses for several episodes now. Ice meaning cool and Pacifica only wearing the llama sweater that episode feels like too little for them. Also Stan and Stan fucked up the circle and now Bill’s gonna torture them all. Oh. Oh. Oh. The series finale next episode. Ohohohoohohohohoh

Part 4/4 (apparently Part 3 and Part 4 were aired back to back so technically still Part3/3):

It’s over.

I know that if I hadn’t been spoiled on Stanley’s switch nor on his recovery, I would’ve been bawling. I teared up at the part where Mabel doesn’t want to part with Waddles, like you can’t do that to me. Even as a fakeout you can’t force a girl to part with her pet pig

The credits were nice, forgot about Dipper 3 and Dipper 4. Nice to see that they are content with their lives in the woods. Also those moments between the family? That’s sweet. Also nice to see both Stan’s threaten the bus driver for Waddles, really cool of both of them. Overall, it’s a touching note for the series to end on.

When Bill turned into the statue I gasped and pointed like that one meme. That’s the thing from the ARG hunt and the Book of Bill I think

TLDR if I hadn’t been spoiled on major plot points (especially the later ones), I would’ve enjoyed it more. Even so, I still enjoyed this series a great deal, and I’m glad I took the time to watch it.

Oh and also minor note, the furthest episode aired that I watched as a kid appears to be Season 2 Episode 7: Society of the Blind Eye. Everything after I hadn’t watched before. Final calculations incoming beep boop beep

Watched:

S1: Episodes 1-4, 7-9, 11-14, 16, 18-19

S2: Episodes 4, 6, 7

That’s 17 episodes out of the (for all intents and purposes) 40 aired, meaning I watched 42.5% of the show as it aired and missed out on 57.5% of the show until now (spoilers not included).

Oh yeah the cops just straight up said they love each other. Hell yeah

Oh fuck me how could I forget about Soos inheriting the Mystery Shack

He deserves it, Soos the goat

Oh yeah also in Part 4, when Bill turned the others into paintings my jaw dropped and I went “oh my god, like from A Link Between Worlds! He Link-Between-Worlds’ed them!”

Also also Gideon still being in touch with his prison friends and using them to get back at that bully was funny

BIG TLDR: big good show even when I got spoiled on pretty much everything from “Not What He Seems” to “Somewhere in the Woods”. Peak fiction I fear. Maybe one day I’ll get into the books and the other media, but for now, I’m content with looking at Tumblr, what with Grunkle Stunkle Wins The Finkle Bunkle and Pyramid Steve and all the fanart skfkabfjangjkwndksbdksj

Anyways I gotta go to sleep now maybe I’ll do Adventure Time next stock for Weirdmageddon buy gold byeeeee

Wait what the fuck I didn’t know you could change text colour until just now. Oh okay but still BYE

[gravityfallsrewritten]

Chapter 15: Exchanging Bosses and Bodies

Summerween had passed exactly two weeks before. Things had moved slowly but steadily. Nothing significant had occurred. Stan kept working for the Shack, while Y/n was trapped in the portal room every evening until morning. No one questioned her erratic sleeping schedule, though Y/n appreciated it when Mabel made a plan and informed her ahead of time so she could adjust her time frame.

One morning, Stan was watching his favorite show with the kids, 'Cash Wheel' with his niece and nephew until Soos came and announced that they had a bus full of tourists coming in from different places. Stan made sure that the prices of each merchandise were tripled– no, quadrupled.

He even used Dipper as an attraction, having him dress in a wolf costume, who dances when people throw money at him. Mabel attempted to give one bumper sticker on the house until Stan chastised her for giving away something for free. Mabel told him to use his please and thank you, but Stan argued back that those words never earned him money.

The rest of the day, the employees of the Mystery Shack were ordered to paint the whole sign with pink glitter to attract more tourists before Stan went outside and saw Y/n by the vending machine.

"Oh, my- I thought you were someone else." Y/n jumped as she heard him by the door. She had just exited through the fake door and if someone saw her come out, their whole cover would be blown.

Stan rolled his eyes. "You're lucky the tourists were down at the museum or else you would have ruined everything. Now give me a Pitt Cola."

"Of course I peeked first before coming out. You think I'm an idiot?" Y/n elbowed the glass and the machine automatically spat out two cans of sodas. She took the two, tossed one to Stan, and they opened it at the same time.

Meanwhile, the four people standing on the roof in filthy clothes were now complaining about Stan being the worst boss ever. Soos also shared his own experience with Stan disagreeing with his idea of having a Mystery Shack mascot, which Mabel thought was where Stan crossed the line.

Stan entered after saying his goodbyes to the customers on his porch. When Mabel appeared behind him, he almost dropped the jar full of money. She followed him to his office, complaining that he had gone too far this time. "Did you seriously tell Soos not to follow his hopes and dreams because he 'couldn't handle it'?!"

The older man explained his way of bossing then around but Mabel was just not having it. "No way! I bet you'd make way more money being nice than being a big grumpy grump to everyone all the time!"

He was unimpressed all the same. "Ha! You think you know more about business than I do? You think you could wear this hat?"

Mabel accepted the challenge with glee, proclaiming that she can turn the situation around. Stan mocked her once more, claiming that he could make more money on vacation than Mabel could running the place.

"Then why don't you go on a vacation?"

Her proposition made him raise an eyebrow in interest. He rubbed his chin, thinking of a deal as he is a wagering man. "3 days. 72 hours. You run the Shack, and I'll go on vacation. If you make more money than me, then I guess it means you're right about the way I run my business."

Mabel stayed silent, contemplating his words.

"But if you lose, you- uh..." He picked up a random, dirty shirt from the floor and wrote 'LOSER' in marker. "You gotta wear this LOSER shirt all summer!"

She stared at the shirt in horror, imagining herself in the horrendous shirt, but she's not putting down a fight. "Fine! But if I win, I get to be the boss for the rest of the summer! Plus, you have to sing an apologizing song with lyrics by me! Mabel."

They had themselves a deal.

Stan changed his clothes before packing his belongings. He stuffed his suitcases into the trunk of his car. After closing it, he turned to face his niece. "See you in 72 hours! We'll see who makes more money." He entered his car, but before closing it, he threw his fez, which landed on Mabel's head.

But before he drove away, he returned his gaze to her. "Oh, and don't ask Y/n for help." He was gone before Mabel knew it.

An hour passed when Dipper knocked on Y/n's bedroom door. "Y/n? You there?"

She opened the door after a moment. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged. "Nothing's wrong, it's just that Mabel is calling us from Stan's office,"

"Why would she be–"

"She made a bet with Stan that she runs the Shack for 3 days while Stan is on vacation."

Y/n paused, averting her gaze. Stan? Outside? It was the first time he had been away from the Shack in 30 years. He deserved it because he's been working so hard. "Hm."

"So, are you coming?"

"Alright," she replied, "just give me a moment."

Dipper stood outside the closed door. He'd never been inside her room before and was curious about what it looked like. He never got a good look because the door was always shut.

Y/n walked out again after a full minute. "Okay, let's go."

On the way to Stan's office, they met Soos and Wendy who apparently were also called to meet 'Stan' but when they opened the door and stared at the large office chair, the old man was replaced by a young girl wearing an oversized suit with glasses.

Mabel had already sent a message to Stan that she has a different approach to business, as Y/n could tell. She has no idea how this will go, despite the numerous motivational posters hung on the wall and stickers attached to every tool.

The young boss informed everyone that Stan had gone on vacation and that they had made a bet that she would be the Mystery Shack's temporary show-runner.

So far, Mabel's shower of compliments and positive outlook have stood in stark contrast to Stan's nagging and demanding demeanor, which makes Y/n concerned. She's been in the Mystery Shack business for decades and is well-versed in its operations. She knew how to win over customers and how to attract tourists. She just hoped Mabel's temporary job wouldn't be too stressful.

All previous working conditions have been transformed into a relaxed, yet cooperative environment. Wendy's request to have friends at work was granted, Mabel had Soos' dream costume ready, and Dipper was dispatched to capture the next Shack's attraction.

Naturally, the boy was ecstatic, eager to discover anything that might exist in the journal. Y/n stood there watching as he practically jumped out the window.

"As for you, Y/n..." she heard Mabel say. She turned to the glasses-wearing tween. "How would you like to change the way you move around this establishment?"

Y/n didn't have an answer she could give to Mabel considering Stan really didn't give her a heavy load of work, but she didn't want to look like she wasn't interested with Mabel's changes around the Shack. "Well, if you want, Mabel, I can be your assistant around here. You know, in case things get hectic."

It was a sincere offer. With Stan gone, it was up to Y/n to take care of the Shack. She was a little concerned, but she knew they could handle it. What possibly could go wrong?

To put it mildly, the first 12 hours have been... okay. Mabel was wholeheartedly attempting to be a better boss, but nothing is truly better than before. The tour, led by Mabel and Y/n, was pleasant, and the tourists were satisfied, pouring money into the large jar.

Y/n smiled at Mabel's excited grin when she looked inside the jar filled with dollar bills.

"Guys! I caught something!" Dipper called as he arrived, pulling a large sack behind him. The creature inside was still thrashing around, groaning. "This is gonna blow those tourists away!" He laughed shakily as he couldn't contain his excitement, but it was cut short when the sack suddenly leaped and captured Dipper's arm with its mouth.

Dipper screamed, punching it repeatedly and it let go.

After praising his brother and giving a motivational speech to Soos who felt very unsure about the Questiony the Question Mark mascot, Mabel and Y/n walked inside the Shack and decided to check on the redhead.

"How's my favorite Wendy!" Mabel greeted cheerily but she was greeted back by a trashed gift shop.

Y/n felt frustrated, seeing the broken up merchandise and garbage lying everywhere as Wendy just stood there, doing nothing.

Lee and Nate were playing around with a shriveled goblin skull until the latter had the last kick that was unknowingly aimed at an innocent kid, hitting him directly into his face.

The kid cried aloud, sobbing as his mother frantically ran to him. "Billy, your face! It's ruined!"

Mabel dashed towards the woman while Y/n marched up to Wendy's friends, unafraid.

Unfortunately, they all - except for Wendy - got up and left without receiving much as a bicker from Y/n. She rolled her eyes, beginning to pick up the garbage and placing them on a nearby trash can.

The boss approached Wendy after handling the customer. "Wendy, you got a lot of cleaning up to do. Please?"

"Whoa," Wendy said, "all this rule stuff is starting to make you sound like Stan..."

Y/n stared at the older teen as she couldn't believe the incredulity of Wendy's dupe to make Mabel think that she's becoming like Stan, when she was completely aware that Mabel didn't ever want to be compared to the old man.

"What? No! I'm nothing like Stan!" Mabel hurriedly denied. "In fact, take the rest of the day off...?"

Wendy paused. "With full pay?"

Mabel didn't even hesitate, chuckling nervously. "Of course!"

The redhead gave her a thumbs up before sprinting out the door. Maybe this was her way of getting out of work, but she still took advantage of Mabel and that didn't sit right with Y/n. She shook her head as she felt that her respect for Wendy had decreased significantly.

Mabel was unnerving, even seemingly proud of herself for being such a nice boss. Y/n shook her head slightly. Oh, Mabel...

Dipper finally got the monster he captured inside the cage after nearly being killed. It was now time to show the creature to the two unsuspecting tourists. "Behold, part gremlin, part goblin..." he unveiled the cover, revealing the thrashing monster inside. "The Gremloblin!"

It was shaking the bars, groaning as spit flew everywhere. Alas, even when it spit out a real human skeleton arm, the couple easily dismissed the display as fake, referring to the body hair as strings.

Dipper tried to convince them, but they were more entertained with the other creatures. "Look at this, dear! The 'Six Pack O' Lope!'"

The man chuckled. "Wordplay!"

"No, everything else here is fake!" He pulled the two of them back to the caged monster. "This is a real paranormal beast! Hey! Fun fact about this little guy; if you look into its eyes, you can see your worst nightmare."

And looked into its eyes they did. It was also a fun little fact when its eyes glowed yellow and rendered the couple speechless. It was also quite hilarious when Dipper had to call for the ambulance because they were now permanently scarred, quivering and stammering.

"Thanks again for visiting!" Dipper bid the vehicle away, trying to appear optimistic but quickly abandoning the act when the ambulance was far away.

Mabel, on the other hand, was having a particularly bad day. She was feverishly running around the gift shop, assisting customers with everything. She was frantic as she helped the customers with everything they needed, completely unaware that she was messing things up.

Slumping on the back of the counter, she let out an exhausted sigh. Dipper plopped on the ground next to her. "Welp, I just made two people go insane. How about you?"

"I'm so tired," Mabel breathed, "I gave Wendy the day off so I had to do her job."

"Where's Y/n?"

"She wanted to excuse herself. I figured she was tired, so I let her take some rest..." the girl replied.

Dipper turned to her. "Well, maybe you need to start being a little bit tougher around here. And we need Y//n's help, why are you letting her slack off, too?"

"Being tougher is what Stan would do! No way!" Mabel immediately rejected, "And you know what he said before he left; do not ask Y/n for help."

"But we need all the help we can get!" Dipper argued. "I'm sure Stan didn't mean anything."

The other twin shrugged. "Let's just give her some space, maybe she really needed it. Meanwhile, I just need to think positive, be friendly, and everything will work out fine-""

Suddenly, a roar rang throughout the gift shop and the Gremloblin burst through the wall. Tourists screamed and ran out of the Shack as Mabel and Dipper hid behind the counter.

"What?!" Dipper exclaimed. "How did he get out of his locked cage?"

Mabel was guiltily fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater. "Well... I wanted to give him a 5-minute break so I taped the key on his cage! No big deal..."

"YOU GAVE HIM A BREAK?!"

"He's an employee...! Sort of..." she tried to reason.

He face-palmed, trying to devise a plan. "We gotta round him up. Where's Soos?"

"He was stressed out, so I told him to take a soothing nature walk," Mabel replied.

"Okay, we gotta call for Y/n, then."

"No! But what if she's asleep?"

Dipper's hands were shaking. "She should be awake from the noises right now! I need to go get her!"

The two managed to run out from the counter where the Gremloblin was near. They went through the Employees' Only door next to the broken up wall.

Before they could dash off, Y/n was running out from the hall. "Oh, my– what the heck happened?!"

"Y/n! Shush!" Dipper hissed, pulling her closer to them. They managed to evade the monster's sights. He tried to explain as quickly as possible. "Don't freak out. It was supposed to be a display for the museum, but Mabel accidentally let it out-"

"You captured a Gremloblin?!" Y/n exclaimed in whispers. "How did you even-"

"It doesn't matter," he quickly moved past it, despite being aware of the enraged look in her eyes. "We need to find a way to make it leave."

Mabel, having gotten a quick peek from the door, was pacing. "What do we do? He's awarding himself stickers that he didn't even earn!"

Y/n stared at the ground, knowing exactly what to do with the monster in order to sedate it. She recalled the first time they had an encounter with the Gremloblin, how F was there and that she and Ford saved him... Stupidly, Ford thought that in order to keep it calm, it needed-

"...'water'...'" Dipper was reading from the journal. Y/n's eyes widened when she saw that Mabel wasn't with them, only to be found outside with a glass of water in front of the Gremloblin. Oh, crap. She had to do a flashback that lasted for a whole minute.

"No, don't-!" Y/n tried to stop Mabel, but she already tossed the liquid onto the creature just as Dipper turned to the next page in the journal.

"... 'only as a last resort as water will make him much much scarier'! AH!" He closed the book in a panic. "Who writes sentences like that?!"

Apparently the author. Y/n scoffed internally.

Mabel managed to run away as the Gremloblin transformed into a scarier version of him.

Y/n glanced at the monster, trying to find a way to get on its back and sending a blow on its neck. She needed a distraction, but how?

The Gremloblin spent its hours playing with the knickknacks of the shop, including the Singing Salmon, which it has been pressing for hours now.

"Ugh, why doesn't he just leave?" Mabel said, exasperated.

All of a sudden, the monster seemed to be hungry, catching a whiff of the green dollar bills tucked inside the jar. It sat up and reached for the container, pouring the cash into its mouth.

"Our profits!" Mabel cried, not hesitating to run towards the beast.

"Mabel!" Y/n and Dipper shouted in unison.

"Stop, stop!" Mabel yelled as she flailed her arms, getting the attention of the Gremloblin. The monster grabbed her and lifted her up to its face.

Y/n cupped her hands on the side of her lips. "Mabel, whatever you do, don't look into his eye!"

"It's evil, Mabel!" Dipper shouted too. "You'll see your worst nightmare!"

Mabel was persistent, thrashing around in its grip. "I wish we had an evil eye to show him!" She said to the monster, unfortunately looking into its eyes. "Oh no!" Her eyes glowed yellow, and that made Y/n go forward and to the side of the monster, climbing up the logged walls of the gift shop until she reached a high shelf.

Dipper also had a plan of his own, having thought of the most logical way to beat a creature who has a pair of evil eyes. "Hey, monster!" he called, getting a random mirror off the ground. "Take a look at this!" He showed the reflective glass and it was sent to its own nightmares, making it drop Mabel.

Before the monster could thrash around more, though, it went unconscious when Y/n bashed something hard on the back of its neck. It was probably a stone golem version of Stan as a merchandise.

"Woah!" Dipper exclaimed as the Gremloblin crashed to the ground. "Y/n, that was... amazing! How did you know that?"

Y/n got off of the beast's back. "My mom made me do judo last summer," she quickly came up with an excuse, "and one of the lessons they taught me were pressure points."

"Well, good job, because then the Gremloblin wouldn't have dealt more damage to the Shack."

Suddenly, the Gremloblin woke up with a start, began running in circles before running towards the wall and flying away, but not before breaking off the tall totem pole and setting off a car alarm.

"Oh, boy." Dipper breathed.

"Guys! It's the third day!" Mabel said frantically. "We've only got 7 hours to earn back our profits, or I've got to wear that loser shirt all summer!"

Right at the hole where the monster just burst out of were Wendy and Soos. "Hey, guys!" The redhead greeted the three. "Am I nuts, or does this place look different?"

"Wendy, Soos! Am I glad to see you," Mabel exclaimed in relief. "We've got a lot of work to do, but if we hurry, we can still beat Stan!"

Wendy sheepishly rubbed the top of her hat. "Uh, yeah. I've got a little headache, so maybe I should, like, not work today."

"And I actually just met this pack of wolves, and I think they're gonna, like, raise me as one of their own, so I should really be at the den right now..." Soos followed with his own reason why he shouldn't work today.

"But-but..." Mabel helplessly stuttered, wearing a huge frown.

"But, hey, we'll see ya on Monday." Wendy and Soos didn't even notice Mabel's change in mood as they both walked away.

"Um, guys?" Y/n tried to butt in and explain that they would really need their help. I mean, did they even see the look of the Shack? How insensitive.

Mabel was twitching angrily, holding her purple pen so tightly that it broke in her hand. "ENOUGH!" Her scream was through the roof, stopping both Soos and Wendy from leaving. Dipper and Y/n gasped at her sudden change in tone. She walked to the back of the counter. "I have HAD IT! I fought a monster to save this business, and this is how you repay me?! I'm gonna get an ulcer from your lollygagging!"

Wendy raised an eyebrow. "Lollygagging?"

Soos followed. "Ulcer? You're acting... different."

"You shut your yaps!| Mabel shouted back, making the two gasp. "I've been doing everyone's job while you bums have been bleeding me dry!"

"B-but, I-"

"No buts except yours on the floor cleaning! Now quit loafing and get to work!"

"Yes, Mabel."

Mabel narrowed her eyes. "That's yes, BOSS!" She slammed her hand against the counter, making Stan's fez fall and land on her head. She looked in the nearby mirror and gasped when she saw who she looked like. "Dipper, what have I become?" She wondered aloud.

Dipper appeared beside her and laid a comforting pat on her back. "What you had to, Mabel. What you had to." He nodded.

"We've got 7 hours to turn this around!" She stood on the counter, holding up the money jar. "Let's go, people!"

And they were off to work. Soos had to contact a construction worker with an excavator to fix the totem pole. Wendy was sweeping the floors while Y/n was fixing the broken walls of the gift shop.

Mabel was yelling on the megaphone, still wearing the red fez. "Time is money, hard hat! You got complaints, file them with the complaint department!" She shouted, holding up a trash can. "Ugh, my back." She stretched with a groan.

Then, a tour bus pulled up on the yard, making Mabel yell angrily at her megaphone once more. "Dipper, we've got tourists at 9 o'clock!"

Dipper was in front of her. "But what do I show them? Real magic just freaks people out."

"Figure something out, knucklehead!"

After thinking of numerous ideas, he eventually came up with one. "Soos, c'mere!"

The two quickly came up with the idea of having Soos as one of the attractions, naming him 'The Horrible Giant Question Baby,' with Dipper even dressing up like a mini Mystery Man. Of course, the people were sold, pouring their money into the photographs and the gift shop. Concerning the shop, it was fortunate that it was repaired quickly and that Y/n knew where the other stocks of merchandise were hidden so that they could sell it.

Dipper waved goodbye to the tourists, who were all holding their own Mystery boxes. "We put the 'fun' in 'No Refunds'!" He walked back inside the Shack. "How'd we do?"

Mabel pridefully lifted the container. "We filled the whole jar!"

Everyone in the room cheered and hollered. Guess they had the chance to defeat Stan after all.

Y/n wasn't all that enthusiastic even after the results of today. All that jarful of money would all just go away once they calculated the expenses, then the damages...

Dipper brought out the printing calculator and began counting the bills. She pulled out the amount of cash they needed for the repairs as he was inputting the numbers into the device. They worked flawlessly, whilst the rest of the three watched. "Minus the money to replace all the furniture, supplies to fix the Shack. That leaves us..."

Mabel glanced at the lone buck sitting on the bottom of the jar. "One dollar..." she frowned.

The door was slammed open as Stan walked in with his suitcase and a digital clock that read 00:00. "Tick-tock! Time's up, kids!"

"Oh, no!"

Stan strode to the five of them by the counter. "Nice to see you learned how to dress while I was gone." He said, pointing at Dipper's Mystery Man outfit.

The boy glared at him in reply as Mabel asked, "How much did you beat us by?"

"I won three hundred thousand dollars!" The older man exclaimed. The twins gasped, while Y/n was looking around him for the money or the large check but it was nowhere to be found. Did he leave it in his car? "And then..." he trailed off, telling the story of how he had gotten to the final part of the game where he just needed to guess one more word.

Rich, the host of the show, had said the hint for the final word, "What is the six-letter word you use to ask for something politely? For example, 'May I blank have that'?" Stan had answered wrong the first time, and even when he was given another chance, he was unsurprisingly incorrect again because the word was-

"Please!" Mabel pointed at the sticker with a huge grin on her face, her braces shining.

Stan frowned in defeat. "Apparently that word can make you money."

Y/n couldn't help it. She burst out in laughter. The older man narrowed his eyes on her. "Really rubbing it in, Y/n," he grumbled.

Her laughter dissipated just as Dipper spoke. "So, wait. If you lost everything, then that means... Mabel, you won!" He turned to his sister.

They were overjoyed, but when Stan explained that part of their bet included Mabel becoming the new boss, everyone objected. Stan was perplexed, but Mabel admitted that trying to be boss was difficult. She handed him his fez, which she had been wearing for the entire afternoon. Her grunkle reapplied the hat as he drew the twins in for an embrace. "It's nice to be back, you know?" The three of them smiled.

"Okay, okay, that's enough, get off-a me!" Stan said, playfully pushing the twins away from him. He then turned to his other two employees with a calm smile, holding his hand together. "And Soos, Wendy... get to work!" He cleared his throat. "...please. Ugh, still hurts."

Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes. Stan had good intentions, he truly does, and he has such a kind heart. He just doesn't know how to express his feelings, though he does so through actions.

"Mabel, didn't your agreement say something about Stan having to do some kind of apology dance if he lost?" Dipper spoke after a moment.

Stan became hysterical. "N-no. No, it didn't!"

Mabel nodded with a malicious grin. "Actually, yeah, I think I have it in my notes here."

"No! That never happened!"

Wendy, having overheard the entire conversation, popped in with a laugh. "I'll get the camera!"

"Alright, let me just..." Stan dashed away from the three as far as he could. But he couldn't run away forever.

***

To say the least, the next few days have been eventful. Y/n had fallen back into the bottomless pit after Stan insisted on getting rid of his Mystery Shack suggestion papers despite the strong wind and storm that was approaching. She was now strung along with the twins and Soos, who attempted to save Stan, and they ended up telling stories for twenty one minutes.

The last time she was in the pit was with Ford and it was... an experience. She spent her minutes constantly thinking about her mentor and the feeling of knowing more about him. He tried to tell jokes, and each one was funny (she loved bad jokes), and she'd gotten to know more about him and his life before Gravity Falls.

They told stories with Stan, Dipper, Mabel, and Soos that were entertaining enough to last the entire twenty-one minutes of falling in the pit.

The following day was the hottest day of the summer. Y/n had no idea what 110 degrees hotter felt like because, obviously, she doesn't feel pain. She sat comfortably with her jacket on her study table in her room, while the others were suffering in heat, sweating profusely even with most of their clothes discarded, and laying on the ground.

She refused Stan's invitation to the newly opened pool because she wanted nothing more than silence while reading one of her favorite books. Fortunately, Stan didn't care about her opinion because all he wanted to do was go to the public pool and cool off. She was given command of the entire Shack, so she had the entire house to herself - and Waddles.

The very next day was completely normal. Mabel and Dipper were having fun with their new "Attic Stuff Mini-Golf" game. Their room was filled with props made from items found in the Shack, such as Dipper's old laundry "where man fears to tread," as Mabel put it.

Dipper had just sunken a Stan shot, and they were arguing about whether it was a legal play or not, when Mabel's Meow o'clock began to ring. She handed him her golf club. "Hey, Dipper, I gotta go hang out with Candy and Grenda tonight."

"Aw, again? You can't leave mid-game." Dipper frowned.

"Don't be silly, I'm not leaving," the other twin smiled. "My friends are coming to me!"

"Wait, what?!" The boy's eyes widened, dropping the clubs as he realized... "Oh, no. No no no. Sleeping bags? Rom-coms? Calling All Boys: Preteen Edition?!" He stepped back in fear. "You're not having a..."

The door opened behind him, and there stood Candy and Grenda grinning in the shadows. They jumped in, finishing Dipper's sentence. "Sleepover!"

Dipper screamed in horror that could be heard in the entire house.

The girls had arranged their cushions and pillows, as well as their snacks and essentials, together. They were talking about boys (as usual) when Mabel began screaming, followed by Candy and Grenda, who then began punching the wooden floor.

In the other half of the room, Dipper was losing his mind and hearing.

He tried asking the girls to do this somewhere other than their room because of the noise, but when they retaliated using makeovers, he decided that he shouldn't be here as he's pretty much outnumbered. So he took his pillow and blanket and began to tread through the hallways of the Shack, walking up to Soos who stood in front of a door that says "Break Room".

"Hey, Soos, can I sleep in your break room tonight?" He sighed.

Soos smiled, "Of course, dude." He opened the door to reveal a very cramped up closet with hazardous pipes and steam. When the handyman further explained how to fit inside, Dipper just walked away and found himself going near Y/n's room.

The thought of sleeping in the same room as her was awkward, but he had no choice. So, with all his strength and courage, he lifted his hand and knocked three times on the door. He waited with baited breath, but there was no response after a few seconds. He knocked again, louder and faster this time because he was getting worried about his actions.

It was silent again, making him sigh. Guess she was a heavy sleeper.

After a few minutes of searching for places to sleep in, he finally found the perfect place. He breathed out in relief. "Sleeping under the stars..." He could feel the cold grass under his vest, and the rubble under his pillow, but he couldn't care. "Not bad."

He momentarily closed his eyes, but not before he heard a growling sound. He sat up and saw a wolf biting on his leg. "Ah! Get off! Get away!" He tried to push away the creature, but then he looked up at the window of his room and saw Mabel, Grenda, and Candy jumping up and down, singing very loudly.

Dipper's gaze reverted to the wolf, who was still biting and shaking his ankle. "This is still better," he said, glaring, and laying down again as the wolf gnawed on his leg.

The morning arrived and that's where Mabel bid her friends goodbye and promised a next time. Dipper returned to his room, all beaten up with a black eye and twigs in his hair. He proceeded to lay on his bed. "Mabel, last night an owl tried to eat my tongue."

Mabel only laughed optimistically. "That's great!"

"No, it's not great!" He sat up on his bed. "This is impossible to live with!" He said, gesturing to their messy and wrecked room.

Mabel was trying to cheer him up, but Dipper had had it. He put his foot down and began laying down some ground rules. One of them was prohibiting sleepovers, in which Mabel argued back that he's keeping her up every night with his summer reading.

"Well, at least my braces don't whistle when I breathe."

"At least I wash my clothes once in a while."

"Washing clothes is a waste of time, I'm a busy guy!"

"Meow meow meow meow meow!"

Dipper glared. "Alright, if you meow one more time-!"

"Meow meow meow!"

"Okay! That's it! That's the final straw!" He walked around. "Maybe we shouldn't share a room anymore!"

Mabel was taken aback, lost for words. "Wah, uh... well, maybe we shouldn't!"

"Fine by me!"

"Double fine by me!"

Dipper raised an eyebrow. "Then we need to talk to Grunkle Stan about moving rooms."

After preparing for the day with deep frowns on their faces, the twins ran to the living room where Stan was watching fights on his TV. "Grunkle Stan, we want different rooms!" Dipper demanded.

Stan laughed mockingly. "And I want a pair of magic money pants. It's not gonna happen."

"Magic money pants...?" Mabel questioned under her breath.

"Come on, Grunkle Stan. Can't we work something out?" Dipper begged.

Stan smirked. "Look, kid, there's my room and the attic. That's it."

Dipper's eyes seemed to light up as he came up with an idea. "What about Y/n's room?"

The suggestion wiped the smirk away from the older man's face as he had gotten hesitant. "Eh, I'm not sure she would want that."

"We haven't even seen her room yet, Grunkle Stan!" Mabel agreed to the idea, now feeling excited.

Stan remained silent. He didn't know what to say, but he also didn't want more silence to pass for the kids to suspect that Y/n was hiding something, which Y/n and Stan both didn't want to happen.

While all of this was going on in the living room, Y/n had been cooped up in her bedroom all morning. She had just returned from working underground all night, and she should have been sleeping, but she didn't feel sleepy at all. She suddenly felt reminiscent. She was pacing around her room aimlessly, attempting to fall asleep but failing miserably. She couldn't help herself.

She really missed him.

When was the last time they experimented for fun? Coming up with novel inventions? She took a look at the old calendar on her bedside table. 1982 was in front of it because she never ripped it off or moved it. It was simply there. She had no idea why it was still hanging there, perhaps as a painful reminder that he had been gone for 30 years and that she just liked to torture herself, or perhaps as a motivation that they should keep going or all of this would be for naught.

She began a small quest to look for experiments that she kept in her storage with a small smile, which didn't take long because it was a striking blue that immediately caught her eye. It was rolled up and tucked into a corner. She effortlessly lifted the dusty material and placed it on the ground. She grabbed the end of it and lifted it up as if dusting it, revealing good 'ol Experiment 78.

She was giggling with delight as she noticed the familiar yellow loop in the center of the design. It was laid out on the ground as she felt the material. Very shaggy. She couldn't help but laugh as she started rolling around on the carpet, feeling the electrons on her skin. She was creating carpet angels when she heard a knock on the door all of a sudden.

Opening the door slightly with a creak, Stan was on the other side with Dipper and Mabel. Immediately, she looked up at the older man's eyes that were staring down at her. "Yes?"

"They want to share rooms with you."

Y/n couldn't form a proper response. "Uh..." she then looked across to see the twins who were waiting for their answer. Just what happened that made them decide to switch rooms? "Sure." She opened the door wider for everyone to see. Stan rarely comes here, while it was the siblings' first time seeing everything.

They began listing off things that they could see about her room. "Woah, this is just as big as the one in the attic!" "You have your own toilet?!" "A study table! I would love to read here!"

While they were being excited about her room, Y/n stood beside an unimpressed Stan as she glanced at the rug that they were stepping on. She couldn't help but be worried. "Okaaay, that's enough ogling. What's going on?" She stared up at Stan.

"Well these bozos just randomly come to me demanding that they want separate rooms, don't cha, kids?" The older man said, placing his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, and in my opinion, I should be the one sharing the room with Y/n," Mabel spoke, pointing at herself. "Me and Y/n can bond over girly stuff and actually have fun. She'll have the funnest roommate ever!"

Dipper glared. "Yeah, well, I know that Y/n wouldn't wake up to my night reading because she's a heavy sleeper!"

"Wait, how did you know that?" Y/n chimed in.

He was suddenly flustered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I was knocking on your door last night, and you didn't answer so I figured you were fast asleep..."

Y/n's eyes widened. "Oh, you were?" She composed herself. She couldn't admit that she wasn't actually in her room last night, and that she was working hard in the portal room downstairs. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't hear you..."

"That's alright," Dipper easily dismissed it. "It's perfect! I can be your perfect roommate!"

"Wait a second," Stan began, walking between both Dipper and Mabel. "So you both want to be Y/n's roommate, huh? Because I own this Shack and specifically, this room, I'll be the one who decides who gets the other half depending on whom I like more." He said so confidently even without asking for Y/n's opinion.

Stan looked around the room until his gaze fell on a random dream catcher hanging on the back of her door. He snatched the item off of the wood that made Y/n yell out in protest. "Hey, put that down! What are you gonna do with that?"

"This is just gonna act like some sort of key. Whoever got this dream catcher in the end gets to be your roommate," Stan easily answered.

"I'm not agreeing to this!"

"Come on, Y/n, how are we supposed to figure out who gets to share the room with ya?" He asked before bending down and pulling his shoelaces loose. "Uh oh, looks like my shoes untied!"

The twins looked at each other for a second before scrambling to the ground and trying to tie Stan's shoe. Stan cackled maniacally. "To the kitchen!"

He ran out of Y/n's room and Dipper and Mabel got up to follow him out the exit.

Y/n was rendered speechless. She didn't know what the heck just happened in the last ten minutes. All she knew was that she had to hide some of her personal belongings from the twins if either of them decided to stay here. While doing so, she tried to figure out Stan's plan without having to ask him directly. Is he doing this for the journal? How will this even go?

And why did the twins even want separate rooms now, anyway? What happened that made them want to do this?

Her beeping watch interrupted her brewing thoughts. She groaned, knowing what she had to do. Glancing quickly around her room, she thought that she had hidden what she needed to hide before leaving her room to tend to the portal. Her watch does the reminder for portal duties during the day.

While walking down the hall and tip-toeing around the gift shop, she kept thinking about her room. She didn't forget anything, did she?

Stan's watch was beeping too, but he quickly turned it off, focusing on his great niece and nephew instead who were busy mowing the lawn in such heat. "Dipper, you're phoning it in!" He called out before drinking lemonade.

They were eventually done with that one chore and they all went inside. "Grunkle Stan, can I go to Y/n's room? I need a little break."

He was aware that Y/n could be downstairs already, meaning that her room would be completely empty. "Sure, but she's not gonna be there."

"Oh? Where is she?"

"She's out, I made her fetch the laundry," Stan quickly came up with an excuse that the twins didn't even question.

Mabel was out and about in the kitchen, throwing in eggs in the pan and garnishes she could find in the cupboards. She wasn't saying anything as she was clearly busy.

"Hey, Dipper, before you go, I need you to fix the door hinges by the toilet. Go get the toolbox on one of those closets on the way." Stan instructed, making Dipper roll his eyes discreetly. "What was that?" Stan still caught it.

"Nothing, nothing!"

"Want me to deduct your suck-up points? You're already at a negative, you know."

"What! No, no, no! I'll do it, I'll do it. Just don't deduct my points!" Dipper begged before walking away towards the hall that leads to the toilet.

It was a fairly quick job, but not for Dipper apparently. For starters, he's too short to reach the top hinges so he had to find a stool. But the tightening part was done quite swiftly. Dipper didn't waste anymore time and made his way to Y/n's room.

Luckily, it was unlocked. It's alright to come inside her room, right? She's not home, and it'll be his room as well eventually, so it's okay, right?

He opened the door and sighed. "I mean, all these chores will be worth it. She even has shag carpeting. Nice." He removed his shoes and began shuffling his sock feet on the carpet as electricity built up around his legs.

Mabel's voice cut off his lounging moment. "Hey, brother. Don't get too comfortable. I just made Stan an omelet shaped like his own face.

Dipper stood up and began pacing around Mabel, building up more electricity.

"Face it. I'm like a suck-up ninja. Half of Y/n's room is as good as mine, and we'll be the best roomies! You might as well give up now. What do you say?" Mabel said, stretching out her hand.

He narrowed his eyes on her. "I say I'm gonna be Y/n's roommate somehow, and when I do, I wouldn't ever have to worry about any of your sleepovers, and we'll never have to share anything ever again!"

Dipper slapped Mabel's hand away, electrocuting her and causing a massive glow between them that knocked them both out.

The girl sat up first, rubbing her head. "Ugh, what happened?"

"Dipper?" The boy said. "Why are you wearing my clothes... and my..." he began to feel his skin. "...face! Am I in your body?"

"Am I in your body?!"

The two began screaming in unison. Mabel in Dipper's body ran to the toilet and threw up while Dipper in Mabel's body was having a meltdown.

After a few moments, Dipper and Mabel stared at their new, swapped bodies in Y/n's tri-fold mirror, pointing out weird things about each other now that they were in each other's bodies. "Great. Just what we need, more Gravity Falls weirdness."

"This is stupid!" Mabel exclaimed. "Sharing a room was bad enough, now we're sharing bodies?"

Dabel (in Mabel's body) walked over to the edge of the carpet and took a look at the tag. "Hey, look. 'Experiment 78'." He flipped the tag over and the back said 'Electron Carpet'. "Electron Carpet. Atoms can swap electrons. This carpet can swap electrons. It must build up a static charge so powerful it can swap minds!"

"But why does Y/n have this?" Mabel asked.

"I have no idea. W-we need to change back and tell Y/n about this."

Mipper (Mabel in Dipper's body) sighed in relief. "Phew! Glad I'm switching back. If I was you I would totally lose the contest."

"And if I was you, which I am, I could sabotage myself! Then Mabel would lose her points and the room would go to Dipper!"

"Wait what?!"

"Oh, Stan!" Dabel yelled out. "I've always hated you!" He chuckled evilly. "See who gives the room to now." He ran out of the room.

Mipper began to chase him but tripped on her feet. "Tie your shoes!"

The two attempted to say and do things that would almost certainly result in them losing points. Dabel poured cereal out of the box everywhere and laughed obnoxiously as Mipper kicked the oven and bottles around. Stan, clearly perplexed, walked out of the kitchen, followed by the twins, who demanded that the points be removed.

Back in Y/n's room, Soos was chasing down Waddles who unknowingly went inside her room because the door was wide open. It was also the handyman's first time seeing the girl's room, while Waddles didn't care as he rolled around in the carpet, loving the way it felt. "Aw Waddles," He cooed, "Nobody thinks it's cute when I lie naked on the living room floor." He began rubbing the pig's head. "I wish I could be a pig."

And, lo and behold, his wish had been granted by the electron carpet, and their bodies were swapped in a snap.

Meanwhile, Dabel was running through the hallway. "Grunkle Stan, come back! I have more terrible things to do!" He turned around. "You're toast, Mabel!" He began to sprint off, only to crash into Grenda.

"There you are, Mabel!" She exclaimed.

"Attack her with love!" Candy followed, hugging Dabel and Grenda close. The two - with Dabel embraced tightly, jumped in unison. "Sleepover!"

"What?!" Dabel thrashed. "No! No, no, no!" He screamed as he was carried up the stairs while Mipper tried to run after them.

Grenda and Candy ran into the twins' room.

"Wait, come back!" Mipper shouted. "Hey, um," she faced Grenda by the door, "can I talk to my... sister, for a sec?"

"This is a sleepover, buddy. No boys allowed!" Grenda emphasized before slamming the door in her face.

Mipper crouched down and peered through the keyhole to see Dabel unsure about the entire situation. Grenda and Candy were giggling and gushing over Grenda's mother's age inappropriate romance novels, which she had brought with her. She had just learned about the book's protagonist, Gerard the werewolf, when someone approached her.

"What's going on, Dipper?"

She gasped and tried to cover the keyhole where she was looking in. Stan glanced at the door and he had the idea on what Mipper was up to. "Ah, you're at that creepy age where you spy on girls, huh? Guess it's time you and I had a man to man talk. About the birds and the bees, you know?"

Mipper frowned deeply as Stan led her to his office. He shuffled around the room until he found just the ideal book for the topic. 'Why Am I Sweaty?' was the book's title.

While all of this was happening above, underground, Y/n was stressing out about the portal. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, staring at the control panel in front of her. Why does she have to keep the portal stable when it's not even running?

They actually needed the three journals as a blueprint for the inter-dimensional portal to work, but they only had one in their possession. Wait a minute, the third one was nearby; they just didn't have the perfect opportunity to grab it.

She shifted her gaze to the journal, which she opened to a specific page. Since when has she been staring at this section of the blueprint? She's been staring at it for three whole decades and it's already imprinted in her mind.

Shaking her head, she stood up. That's enough inquisition for the day. She glanced at the control panel again, giving it a hard punch. Her knuckles slammed against the metal but it didn't hurt one bit. She smacked it in hopes of a functional portal, but alas, no change.

Y/n rode the elevator quietly, walked up the path to the vending machine and took a peek through the glass display. The gift shop seemed to be vacant – even Wendy was out, signaling that the coast was clear. As quickly as possible, she opened the machine and lurked her way out, not forgetting to get herself a can of Pitt Cola to make it look like she was just getting herself a drink and not someone who just got out of a secret door.

Opening the can, she took a sip and exhaled in relief. The drink was always a nice one. She turned around casually and she just realized the chaotic mess of the gift shop. It looked like someone made a breakdown and destroyed everything in their path. The banners were chewed, the signboards were broken in half, and the glass jars were shattered on the ground. Who could have done this?

She heard multiple voices coming from down hall. It sounded like it was coming from her bedroom. She sprinted across, finally arriving at her room just as Dipper and Mabel were dashing out with the dreamcatcher on the boy's hand.

"Dipper, give it back!" Mabel screamed, chasing after him.

Y/n stood there, staring at the numerous unwanted visitors inside her room. She was too afraid to step inside. Clearly, their bodies have been swapped because of their personality changes.

This was her fault and all she blamed was herself for bringing the carpet out again, but she couldn't help but feel mad for the people uninvited who were screaming and laughing from the body switching shenanigan.

"Everybody, stop!" She screamed, and it was silent. "Why are you in my room?!"

Everyone looked at her, speechless as if they were caught red-handed.

"Please, don't move. I demand you all to form a circle, and shuffle your feet against the carpet," she urged them, and thankfully, they granted her request.

Eventually, each one of them had returned to their own bodies and Y/n immediately ushered them outside, one by one.

Once they were out, she was pulling her hair in frustration. What a mess.

While she was cleaning her cluttered room, the twins eventually returned from what seemed to be their feud. They stood from outside of her room, and because the door was opened, Y/n just let the two in.

She resumed her cleaning while the twins were watching her from the door.

"Hey, Y/n, I'm sorry we got inside your room without your permission," Dipper began.

"It's fine," Y/n answered without even looking at him. She was trying to focus on reorganizing the stuff on the shelf.

He stepped forward. "But, I wanted to ask you about the carpet. It was an electron carpet that can swap... well, our electrons."

Y/n almost smiled as she stopped her movements momentarily at Dipper's inquiry. The experiment still works.

Dipper paused in his speech. How does he even ask the question without making her feel bad? "Where... How... Why...?" He stuttered out. That was pathetic.

Finally, Y/n turned around. "I bought it at a yard sale; I didn't expect it to be like that!" Another lie. She couldn't decide whether she should feel bad or proud of herself for thinking of that excuse so quickly.

Before the twins could utter anything in response, she decided to change the subject. "So, who won the uh... contest?"

"Dipper won, but now I understand and won't argue about it anymore," Mabel said with a kind smile as she looked over her brother.

Y/n shrugged. "Alright."

Everyone helped with the moving, but it was mainly his bed. His clothes had a special shelf from one of Y/n's drawers. The room was parted in half, just like the attic used to be. The electron carpet was long gone. Dipper thought it was already thrown out, but it was hidden under her bed.

"Well, this is it," Y/n said, looking at Dipper who was adjusting the mattress. "We can share the study table, but, uh... is it okay if I use my toilet?"

"Uh huh. Sure..." Dipper trailed off, looking down at his pillow. He moved ever so slowly, and she had a feeling he was adorning a frown.

"What's wrong?"

He let out a sigh before turning around and sitting on the edge of his bed. "Nothing, it's..."

"It's what?"

"I thought it would feel more liberating having separated from Mabel, but I had no idea it would be..."

"Would be...?"

"Lonely," he said.

She stared at a random wall, fiddling with her hands. "I'm sorry," seemed like the right thing to say at the moment.

"No, no, don't be," Dipper quickly replied, "It's fine. It's the first time we didn't sleep in the same room, and..."

"Dude, you need to stop letting me finish your sentences."

"I already miss Mabel."

Y/n sat awkwardly on her bed, her interlocked fingers placed on her lap. She didn't like the silence this time as she could practically feel Dipper's depression resonate through the room. "Well," she started slowly, "we could always have a little sleepover?"

A small smile appeared on his face. "I can't believe I would say this but a sleepover sounds like a good idea." He looked at her with hopeful eyes. "Wanna come?"

"Oh," she jumped. "I- I figured this could be between you and your sister...?"

Dipper rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, you've never been in a sleepover?"

With a solemn smile, she averted her gaze. It was almost comical how she didn't have time for sleepovers or other activities that most kids do. Consciously, she rubbed her baggy eyes. Her exhaustion had only recently caught up with her, and she realized she'd spent the previous thirty years underground. She was extremely fortunate to be unable to feel pain and to heal quickly, or she would have honestly died by now.

He was taken aback by her silence, which made him look at her slightly sad. He got out of bed after grabbing his pillow and did the most spontaneous thing of his day, if not his life. He approached Y/n as she looked at him expectantly.

"What are you doing?"

Dipper grabbed her hand and yanked her off her bed before leading her out of the room. "All right, come on." He was holding her hand in the one hand while still gripping the pillow on the other.

"What?"

"We're doing a sleepover... right now." Dipper smiled at her. Thankfully, Y/n let him lead her upstairs to the attic.

The boy dropped her hand before knocking on the door and a few seconds later, Mabel answered, opening it just a bit so she could only see him.

"Hey, you wanna have a sleepover?" Dipper asked sheepishly.

Mabel glanced at the pillow under his arm and smiled widely.

"Oh, and I brought a friend," he smiled and pushed the door open, allowing Mabel to see Y/n, who was waving shyly.

Her grin widened even more when she saw the two of them and immediately drew them inside. Mabel picked up her mini golf club before giving a spare one to Y/n. "Fore!" She shouted, striking a synthetic eyeball. "Let's play Attic Stuff Mini-Golf!"

Y/n let a smile stretch her lips. "How do you play?"

"Just hit the ball and we'll score the points depending on how awesome it goes!" She explained.

Dipper smiled and encouraged her, placing the eyeball on the ground by Y/n's shoes.

"Okay..." Y/n trailed off, allowing her golf club to kiss the ball for a brief moment before swinging back and swatting the ball too hard, causing it to bounce on various walls and surfaces until it crashed through the window and fell on Stan's head.

"Ah! Why am I even out here at night?!"

Their laughs filled the entire attic as they had fun for the rest of the night until they eventually passed out on the floor, cuddled together.

***

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 16!

MASTERLIST

RG'H LPZB GL YV GRIVW. BLF XZM GZPV Z YIVZP

author's note: love u guys <3

[kens-double-sunglasses]

Taking NRC boys to 6 flags: great America and making them ride roller coasters

Each boy gets a Rollercoaster or ride randomized with the tried and true method of a name wheel everyone at once. Let's gooOOOO

Riddle - Battle for metropolis

Takes saving Metropolis very seriously

Knows what happens if he fails

^This is a reference to making him play injustice

I couldn't have planned this better

Doesn't get the best score, but has fun

Probably wants to go again

Trey - Raging bull

Underestimated the ride

He was like "this isn't terrible"

And then the coaster did the coaster thing of getting really fast after the first dramatic rise

And he just kept yelling fuck

Not a fan

Cater - x flight

He totally loses his phone on the ride

It fell out of his hands while he was recording a video of the ride

But other than that? He loved it

Wants to check out all the coasters now

Ace - Mardi gras hangover

It's just a circle

How bad can it be?

Screams like a baby the first time it goes upside down

Totally didn't cry

Except he did, because his ass lifted off of the seat while you were upside down and he thought he was gonna die

Deuce - Whiligig

This is nice

Just two bros chilling on high speed swings flying through the air

Has fun

Kinda wants to try the more intense rides too

Leona - Chubasco

This is a teacup ride

An indoor teacup ride

But a teacup ride nonetheless

Absolutely just chilling

You're doing all the work spinning this cup

He's a bum 😍

Ruggie - Little Dipper

I haven't been on the little dipper in years

But I remember it was pretty chill

Y'all simply raise your arms and do over dramatic screams

For funsies

Everyone thinks you two are ridiculous

But you're having fun

So they can suck it

Jack - Sprocket Rockets

Not loving some of these turns

Like yeah, he's buckled in

But why are you doing this to him

Probably not a huge Rollercoaster guy

He just doesn't seem like it

But this man?

This man fucking loves the teacup ride

Azul - American Eagle

Did somebody say motion sickness?

Why would you do this to him

If you sit in the back car it kinda leaves the track a little bit during a few parts

Call that fishtailing

He'll start crying when your car does that

But it's revenge

Jade - Aquaman splashdown

Oh this is nice

Grins like a maniac when the drop happens

Not totally happy about being soaked

But you can make it up to him one of these days :)

Floyd - Loggers run

Only got on because of the drop

And the water

Is sopping wet and loves it

Gonna drag you on for a second ride

Kalim - Dare Devil dive

My personal favorite

Excited to go on with you

And you two are stapped to eachother

It's like a big hug

Absolutely delighted the entire time

He's putting one of these in scarabia

Jamil - Maxx force

How did you get him on this thing?

Did you trick him?

He looks like he calls Rollercoasters death traps

Almost breaks your hand while riding the ride

That's it

He's done

No more Rollercoasters for Jamil Viper

Vil - Whizzer

Pretty chill

Until he finds out you have to sit in his lap for the ride

And that this thing is going to be whipping him around at high speeds

What do you mean there's one seatbelt

But he does end up loving it

Probably wants to go on more

Rook - Batman the ride

Loves the view

Also found the line charming

For some reason???

He's not well

Neither here nor there on Rollercoasters

Epel - Revolution

A Rollercoaster fiend once he gets on one for the first time

He saw it and went "woOoOoOw"

And this was the first one

It isn't really a rollercoaster,, but it's a start

Saw the 7 when the giant swing hit the peaks while spinning at high speeds

Idia - Triple Play

Triple Play flings you into the other passenger and keeps you there

He was not expecting this and let out a shriek when you were suddenly pressed into his side

He wasn't ready and y'all are just stuck there now

Having a minor heart attack

Ortho - Sky Trek

This is nice

Gets excited when he sees the Chicago skyline at the top

He asks to go a second time

It's a nice view

Malleus - V²

Wow, what a fun human contraption

Obligatory Sebek is sitting behind you two

Likes the coaster overall

His hair manages to stay in place the whole time???

Like????

Drop the hairspray sir

He does that pretty Malleus laugh

You know the one from all the fanart

And now he wants to go on all of them

Lilia - Carousel

A classic ride for an old man

Thinks it's fun

Makes the Diasomnia boys get on too, has pictures of all of them on it

But now it's time for the real rides

Silver - Giant Drop

You literally carried him through the line

And you woke him up when you guys got to the front

You guys got situated and now he's desperately trying to stay awake

The ride does wake him up

But in the fight or flight way

Not the participating in society way

No more Rollercoasters for him please

Sebek - Viper

Another one who underestimated the ride

Holds your hand for comfort

Will never admit it

That he held your hand

OR that he needed comfort

Just... don't mention it

Crowley - Dark knight

Screamed a lot

The dark knight ride has a lot of flashing lights and loud noises

It also whips you around

Bought the Keychain of a photo of you and him on the ride

Crewel - Buccaneer Battle

All of the students are shooting him with water

He's shooting back

You're soaked

He's soaked

And everyone who shot you two with water has detention

Pays for you two to use the giant dryers

Vargas - Superman

Was cool with the coaster

And then it lifted into position and whe was like

wHat?

Wasn't in love with that

Or the collection of gum on the supports of the ride

But still had fun on the ride

Trein - Goliath

Why would you do this to him?

Are you trying to kill him?

Doesn't get on the ride

You're going alone

Sam - Go carts

You two were merciless

You guys got banned because you were a danger to others on the track

Tbh it was kinda therapeutic

Chenya - Joker

He loved it

And now you guys are getting back on

He's dragging you to every colorful ride he can find now

You've created a monster

Neige - Roaring Rapids

Loves it

Even the parts where he got sprayed with water

Has loads of fun

Probably wants to go on other rides too

Just no coasters for him

He might cry

[asterkiss]

Still alive, barely.

To prove it have something written up quickly that never really went anywhere and is very much a shell of an idea that didn’t get finished.

Prompt: Everyone gets a random power when they turn 18. Unfortunately, yours is rather boring.

The second the clock struck midnight, Mabel squealed in delight and set off a confetti bomb across Dipper’s bedroom. The boy protested at the mess but was cut off by his twin jumping on his bed enthusiastically.

‘It’s happening, it’s happening! We have powers!’ She threw her arms out emphatically but no blasts or elements sparked out of them which was a bummer. Hmmm. She came to a stop and closed her eyes tightly, lips pursed as she concentrated.

‘….What are you doing?’

‘I’m imagining a beautiful unicorn made from candy. Has one appeared?’

‘No. It hasn’t.’

She reopened her eyes. ‘Urgh.’

‘Cm’on, it takes some people years to figure out what their superpower is,’ Dipper explained. Although most people went to be expertly researched and diagnosed with their superpower if it had been more than a few months. It was generally considered a bad idea to be walking around with an unknown power in case it went off at the wrong time.

‘I guess,’ she muttered, gaze falling towards him and-

Huh.

Mabel blinked at him.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘You have the number ‘18’ floating over your head,’ she said, pointing.

Dipper glanced up but saw nothing. He even cast himself a glance in the mirror but there was nothing there. A moment later he perked up. ‘Hey, that must be your power!’

‘What, having random numbers over people’s heads? Urgh, you know I hate maths, Dipper. This is more your thing, maybe it got mixed up between us being twins.’

‘I mean, we just turned eighteen. It’s probably my age. We can test it on mom and dad when they wake up.’

‘Uuuuurgh.’ Mabel groaned, falling onto his bed. ‘That’s so boring though! You can have this power instead.’

‘I don’t think it works that way.’

‘I want a redo!’

>

And so Mabel Pines could see the age of anyone she looked upon, and she was sour as hell about it. Her best friends had super amazing powers like brute strength or teleportation, whilst she obtained something as mundane as this.

Life was so unfair.

At least Dipper’s power didn’t turn out to be super awesome. He could become half transparent. So not totally invisible but just a little bit. He complained for days after trying to tell her to put up with her power – the hypocrite.

She supposed her power could be somewhat useful at least. She’d be able to tell if a guy was lying about his age on a date.

Other than that, she wouldn’t be rescuing any innocents anytime soon with her superpowers.

But it may just land her being involved with a villain.

Oops.

>

She was at a fun fair with the girls a few months later, seated on a bench with all their bags of stuff as the other two used the bathroom. Her gaze drifted across the crowd, taking in their faces and the varying digits hovering after them.

But then she saw something unusual.

Triple digits.

Now, sure, there were some people who were lucky enough to make it past one hundred but the individual appearing beneath those three figures was a young man who looked like he was in his early twenties!

She tried blinking several times, but the numbers didn’t lie.

-And then, as if feeling her gaze upon him, he turned to meet her gaze across the field. She froze beneath his piercing eyes, feeling bound to the spot. She should look away. She should really look away like right now!

In the end she was saved by her friend’s reappearance as they stepped in front of her and blocked the stranger from view. She glanced up at them as they retrieved their goodie bags.

‘Are you okay, Mabel?’ Candy asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Uh….’ She laughed nervously. ‘I might have.’

‘Urgh, don’t joke about that,’ Grenda muttered, shuddering. ‘I hate ghosts.’

Anything else Mabel could say died on her throat as a voice cleared their throat from behind. Both her friends parted and turned around to reveal the young man smiling politely at them. ‘Hi there, ladies,’ he said, voice smooth like honey. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting.’

Candy and Grenda immediately giggled and blushed. ‘No, no, of course not!’

He smiled at them before his gaze slid Mabel’s way, and her heart skipped a beat though from attraction or fear she wasn’t quite sure. ‘Hope you don’t mind but I spotted you across the way and had to come say hello to an angel like yourself. Would you do me the honour of letting me borrow you for a quick word?’

> 

She was never given the option to say no. Her friends all but threw her his way as they giggled.

The man, who introduced himself as Bill, invited her onto the Ferris wheel. Mabel wanted to say no, but her eyes continued to glance at the number above him and the curious part of her agreed and went with him.

Neither of them said a word as they got in and sat opposite one another, and as the ride moved, he smiled across politely at her. Mabel couldn’t be entirely sure if it was the moving shadows or not, but his expression seemed to become more sinister as their carriage went higher.

Then they came to a halt at the top.

And he spoke.

‘So, what’s your power?’

‘Huh?’

He stared at her, smile still in place. ‘You’re older than eighteen, yes? What power do you have?’

Mabel paused, before pursing her lips. ‘Why don’t you tell me yours?’

His eyes narrowed; his smile became tighter. ‘I asked first.’

‘Well, I asked second.’ Nice comeback.

Bill’s smile finally vanished, and oh why wasn’t the ride moving yet? He leaned towards her, the space within their carriage rather small for two people now that she thought about it. She could practically feel his breath on her from this proximity.

‘What did you see?’ he hissed, eyes darkening.

‘N-Nothing.’

‘You’re a bad liar, kid,’ Bill drawled. ‘You were staring at me.’

‘So? You’re , um, good looking.’

‘I am, but you weren’t looking at me with the same googly eyes your dumb friends had.’

‘Hey!’

‘You looked anxious,’ he replied. ‘Bewildered, confused, even a little bit scared.’

‘Why would I be scared of you?’ she countered, glaring at him as she tried to put on a strong front.

He smiled. ‘You tell me.’

Mabel swallowed uneasily, refusing the temptation to glance up once again above his head. The numbers didn’t lie, they were still the same.

‘My dear friend won’t move the carriage until I give him the signal,’ Bill went on. ‘And I won’t do that until you tell me what you know.’

Oh God.

Was he immortal or something, perhaps? Was his ability that he couldn’t die? That would make the most sense. But he seemed rather sinister, and Mabel was anxious what he would do if she revealed she knew his secret.

So, she lied.

‘I… can tell when someone’s going to die.’

His expression shifted; his earlier ire replaced with surprise. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that. Mabel shifted in her seat, eyes briefly flickering above his head once again.

‘What do you see?’ he whispered; gaze intense as he pressed his lips flatly together.

‘Numbers,’ she replied. That part was true. She was a bad liar so if she mingled it with the truth, it would be easier to come off as genuine. Dipper had told her that once before. ‘Above people’s heads.’

He leaned away from her, gaze darkening as his expression became subdued. ‘And what do the numbers above me tell you?’

She couldn’t exactly say the guy was going to live a long life to appease him or else he’d question why she’d been staring at him oddly and know she was bluffing.

So, the opposite, it was.

‘Fourteen days,’ she blurted, and his eyes widened.

‘I have fourteen days left to live?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded.

‘Hm. And this power, does it relate to the body or soul?’

‘I…’ Mabel blinked, tilting her head. ‘How does that matter?’

‘Oh, it matters,’ he replied, flashing a menacing grin as he raised his arm out the window. The ride abruptly stirred into movement once again, and Mabel glanced down as the ground came towards them once again. She wondered what he was thinking. How did an immortal feel hearing the news he was going to imminently die? (Even if it was a lie).

‘I think you and I should talk further,’ Bill said with a smile, eyes flashing.

‘Oh, uh, thanks but I have plans with my friends, so….’

He leaned closer, smile widening.

‘I wasn’t asking.’

The next second darkness overcame her.

The last thing she saw were the numbers “519” flashing above his head before she succumbed.

[itsthemysterykids]

Welcome one and all to the first ever Mystery Kids summer games.(Cheer reel) It's a balmy 102 out today making it the perfect day for out first game, THE BLACKTOP SLOWPOKE RACE! A barefoot race across the Summerween Superstore parking lot in triple degree heat, the LAST one across wins. Remember, no gizmos, balms, lotions, spells, or Psychonaut abillities for the duration of the race. READY? GO!!!

Announcer: *As the Mystery Kids prepare for the round* The summer sun beams its’ harsh rays down on an eight way rivalry. A young, slightly pigeon-toed girl with blue hair-

Coraline: Hey!

Announcer: A goth mechanic with back problems-

Wybie: I’m not goth!

Announcer: Twins oozing a faint smell of sweat due to one’s infatuation with sweaters and one’s glandular problem.

Mabel: They’re fashionable!

Dipper: I can’t help it!

Announcer: A horror movie nerd who doubles as an unpopular medium-

Norman: Seriously?

Announcer: A ginger boy who will never make it through middle school socially.

Neil: I’m getting there!

Announcer: A cocky little shit of an acrobat.

Raz: Oh, I’m coming for you after this.

Announcer: And an antisocial little botanist.

Lili: … Ya done?!

Announcer: All eight stare in awe at a man- No, a god. Known simply as ‘The Announcer’.

Norman: Can we do this now?

Announcer: And… GO! Let’s see how this goes.

Neil: OH MY GOD! MY FEET ARE BLISTERING!

Mabel: DON’T! GIVE! IN!

Wybie: *Biting his hand to hold in a scream*

Raz: I CAN’T DO THIS! I NEED COLD GROUND! *Runs into the store*

*Three minutes later, only Lili and Wybie remain*

Coraline: YOU LOSE THIS, AND I’LL KILL YOU!

Raz: I LOVE YOU, LILI!

Lili: SHUT UP- OH GOD! IT HURTS! I CAN LITERALLY SUMMON FIRE! WHY DOES THIS HURT?!

Norman: CAN ONE OF YOU JUST LOSE AND STOP THE MADNESS?!

Lili/Wybie: NO!

Wybie: I AM NOT LOSING THIS POINTLESS GAME! WHY AM I PLAYING THIS?!

*One minute later, Lili wins!*

Lili: *Soaking her feet in cold water* Oh thank God!

[fallen-gravity]

Fightin’ Back

That’s why I’m so tough on Dipper. So when the world fights, he fights back.

or,

five times that Stan helped Dipper recover after an encounter with the supernatural, and one time Dipper returned the favor.

~~

Here’s my first attempt at a 5 + 1!  My ideas and notes for this ended up getting super long, so I decided to break it up into different chapters instead of posting it all at once!

AO3

Stan can tell it’s the kids coming in through the gift shop door without even looking up from the stash of earnings he’d been counting. The height of tourism wouldn’t come until next month, and sitting around in the gift shop waiting for tourists to come by when he could always just close early to watch TV tended to get very boring very quickly.

He glances upward to greet them, and he’s surprised to find that they’re covered head to toe in cuts and scratches, and there’s twigs and leaves stuck in their hair. 

“Yeesh, you two get hit by a bus or something?” he jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t stick. The young twins just blink at him in eerie synchrony, and he can’t help but notice as they make their way to the living room that they’ve both got a slight limp in their step, and...come to think of it, hadn’t Dipper been wearing a cap when he left? 

“Hey, uh, hold on a second”

Both twins freeze, and turn back around to face them with their soft brown eyes tinted with exhaustion. Stan clears his throat. “W-wouldn’t you know, I uh, accidentally overstocked on some inventory, so, uh, how’s about each of you take one item from the gift shop? On the house”

The grin that spreads across Mabel’s face is bright enough that it could put any electrician within a ten mile radius out of business. Her brother seems less convinced, and raises his eyebrows at Stan in an expression that nearly mirrors one of his own. 

“What’s the catch?” 

“The catch is do it before I change my mind, now pick something”. 

The answer seems to pacify the kid. Mabel excitedly sprints off to the opposite side of the store as something shiny seems to catch her eye, and as much as the kid’s trying to hide it, Stan can’t help but notice how much slower Dipper’s moving without his sister’s arm wrapped around his shoulder for support. It seems he’s gotten the worse beating between the two of them from...whatever it is those kids have been up to all afternoon, and even from where he’s standing at the register Stan can see the dark purple ring of a bruise sitting just below his eye.

He’d always bruised much easier than his sister.

Even when they were the tiniest of kids, and he’d take the eight hour drive down from Gravity Falls to babysit them in California, Dipper would always end up with bruises all over his arms and legs from the smallest of falls. For the longest time, he’d chalked it up to being a terrible babysitter, and it was only a matter of time before Mabel would end up the same way, until one day when he witnessed them trip over the same dent in the rug within ten minutes of each other. Where Mabel had been able to get right back up and be on her merry way, Dipper had cried about the scraped knee the short fall gave him for at least ten minutes.

Stan clears his throat. “Hey, uh...kid?” 

Dipper turns from where he’d been admiring his new hat in the small shelf-side mirror. “Yeah?”

Stan fidgets anxiously with the collar of his suit. There’s gotta be something the kid’s not telling him, right? There’s only one other  person Stan knows who could wander off on his own for half an hour and come back looking like he’d been fending himself off from wildlife for the past month, and it didn’t take much to notice the kid took after him in a lot more ways than one. “I…”

“GRAPPLING HOOK!” Mabel suddenly shouts from the other side of the room, startling his train of thought away. When he and Dipper turn to her, she’s dangling from the ceiling.

“Uh…” Stan blinks. “Wouldn’t you rather have a doll, or something?”

Her grin only grows wider, and she pulls the trigger again to loosen herself from the ceiling. She lands to the ground with a heavy thump. “Nope!”  She aims her grappling hook towards the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, and flings herself towards it. She smacks against the door, but with a quick “I’m okay!,” she stands to her feet and disappears through the door with it.

Beside Stan, Dipper chuckles, and it’s light and genuine. “Good luck getting that back from her ever again. Mom and Dad bought her a bedazzler for our twelfth birthday and she slept with the thing under her pillow for six months. She’s never giving that thing back”.

Stan shrugs, amused. “Heh, well, least now I know she’ll be able to defend herself if the goat turns on her.”

Dipper laughs. “After she got banned from the petting zoo I doubt she’d even need the grappling hook in that kind of situation”

...That’s a story he’s going to need to hear for sure.

But no, he’s getting off-track. Might as well bite the bullet before the kid heads to bed and he loses his nerve to ask. There’s a brief moment of silence between them, like Stan’s waiting for Dipper to speak up first, but then…

“Kid, are you sure you’re doing okay?”

Dipper tenses, and that should probably be enough of an answer for Stan, but Stan knows the kid, and he knows a white lie when he sees one, even if it’s just in the way Dipper carries himself. Stan’s had a lot of practice undermining how he’s feeling for the sake of other people. After you’ve been doing it for so long it becomes pretty easy to recognize in other people.

“Yeah!” Dipper’s voice squeaks, the way it does when he’s lying. “What makes you think that I’m not?”

Stan raises an eyebrow at him. “You and your sister come in looking like you’ve been mauled by a bear, and you’ve got a huge bruise on your face that your sister doesn’t” he gently taps at his own cheek to indicate its location.  He sighs, shaking his head. “Look, you don’t gotta disclose to me how it happened, if it’s scary, or embarrassing, or whatever, but I want you to be honest about how you’re feeling. Your parents are trusting me to take care of you for the summer and I can’t exactly do that well if you hide things from me”.

Dipper frowns, his gaze turning away from Stan and down towards the cuts and scrapes on his arms. He looks as though his mind’s racing at a hundred miles per hour, and Stan almost wishes he had the power to read minds just to make this whole ordeal easier. 

He settles for a shrug of his shoulders. “Oh, you know me.” His voice is more controlled than it had been a moment ago, but he’s still not making direct eye contact with him. “I’ve always been clumsier than Mabel. Must’ve gotten it when I tripped over that tree root sticking out of the ground.” He tries to dismiss the thought with a wave of his hand, but it’s as if he’s trying to demonstrate what he means, because his elbow bumps against the edge of the counter and he hisses in pain. He rubs at it tenderly, and when he stops and moves his hand away his fingers are lightly caked with blood. 

Stan’s mouth forms to a tight, straight line. He punches the cash register to open it and put the rest of the day’s earnings inside. “Alright, that’s it. Come with me” 

Dipper looks horrified. “You’re not taking me to the hospital, are you?” A quick glance to his hands, and he finally notices the blood. “I don’t need stitches, do I? Am I gonna get some weird, gross infection, or-”

Stan kneels to his level. “Whoa, whoa, take it easy there, kiddo” he says, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “I’m not taking you to the hospital. Doesn’t look like nearly enough blood to need stitches anyway. We’re just gonna go into the kitchen and get the first aid kit, okay?”

Dipper sighs, and his breath is shaky. “Okay”.

He follows Stan into the kitchen like he’s his shadow, gripping onto his elbow like his life depends on it. He hops into a chair at the kitchen table and watches Stan’s every move, tight grip on his elbow not lightening up. Stan takes the seat besides Dipper, placing the first aid kit on the table beside a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. 

“Alright,” Stan clicks the first aid kit open. “Show me what the damage is” 

Dipper flinches at the use of the word damage, but he finally loosens his death grip on his elbow. It’s caked with dry blood, but Stan’s relieved to find that it doesn’t look like it’s gushing. He’d been right in assuming that he must’ve reopened the cut banging his elbow on the gift shop counter. Stan hums a noise of acknowledgement as he stands to wordlessly tell Dipper he’ll be right back, and pulls a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink. He runs it under cool water for a moment before he squeezes out the excess water and offers it to Dipper. 

“Clean that off with this” Stan scrunches his nose. “Last thing you need is dry blood blocking the thing’s airway, and I can’t see how bad it actually is ‘til you clean it out. I’d help you with it, but, uh, I tend to have a hard time being gentle”

There’s a quiet laugh as Dipper takes it from him. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he says with a smile, and Stan ruffles his hair as he sits back down beside him.

“Yeah, well don’t go telling anyone that I’m going soft. I owe too many people too much money for word to get around that I’m a good guy, or something”

Dipper stares blankly at him for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if he’s joking or if he means that statement completely seriously, but then he rolls his eyes as he wipes the cut clean. Once he’s sure that he’s finished, he holds his elbow up towards Stan so he can check to see how it looks. It’s bigger than Stan expected it to be, but he’s relieved that it doesn’t seem very deep. He takes a tube of triple antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit, and squints as a shaky hand moves to keep Dipper’s arm still. 

“Alright, this is gonna sting a lot while I rub this stuff all over the cut, but I’m gonna need you to stay still.” With his free hand, he grabs for the miniature box of bandages and offers it to Dipper. “Take one of these. I’m gonna need you to put it on while I check over everything else”.

Dipper doesn’t reply with anything other than a nod of acknowledgement, though the look in his eyes is something reaching admiration. Stan can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips at the sight.

Once that’s taken care of, he gives the kid a one-over to make sure his other injuries don’t need as much attention. He still doesn’t know what the kid’s been up to all day, but if his brother’s first journal is anything to go by then he knows there’s no such thing as being too careful. He doesn’t look like he encountered any huge monsters, as there doesn’t seem to be any significant bite marks anywhere on his skin, and Stan’s relieved to find that the majority of Dipper’s scratches are already in the process of fading. 

Just to be safe, for the scratches around his cheeks that had gathered small patches of dirt, Stan dabs a gauze into the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and gently wipes at the scratches with it until the dirt clears away. Without standing from his chair he tosses the gauze towards the trash can, but it bounces off the rim and lands to the floor beside it. 

Dipper snorts in barely-contained laughter, and the sound of it has Stan smiling again. 

“See? Good as new” Stan says, gesturing vaguely towards Dipper.  He blushes, smiling towards the floor, before he stands from his chair and rushes forward to give Stan a hug that’s over as quick as it starts.

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan”, he murmurs, and he’s running towards the staircase before Stan’s even finished processing the hug. He’s just about to reach the top of the staircase when something finally comes to Stan, and he rushes towards the stairs just before his nephew can disappear around the corner.

“Hey, Dipper?”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“Just…” Stan taps at the hand railing with his fingers. “Just promise me you and your sister’ll try to stay safe, okay?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, but eventually Dipper nods his head. “I promise”.

[skia-oura]

Dipper’s Day Around the World

A/N: This is 21k written over the span of like 6 months, so buckle in folks.

ao3

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 5:58 AM EST

           Dipper didn’t exactly sleep, anymore, but he was close enough to rest and unconcern with the matters of the rest of the world, sandwiched between Torako and Bentley in their bed, that the sting of the summons—friendly, from a personal circle, not from the standard one that strangers used—startled him into a disgruntled moan. Torako, a lighter sleeper in the morning, the early bird between them, twitched and then hummed an inquiry. “Izza…summons,” Dipper mumbled back before he turned and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

           “Mmm,” she said. After a while, she asked, “Someone you know?”

           He could hear her voicebox buzzing under the skin at his lips, could feel it vibrating lightly into the cartilage (manifested cartilage, yes, but cartilage as long as he wanted it to be) of his nose. A very dim part of him strengthened by still-waking awareness wanted to open his mouth and bite down into the flesh a little, just to feel it echo more directly into the not-bones of his teeth. The rest of him knew that it was a bad idea and was a sure way to get the heel of her palm slamming into his nose hard enough to break and hurt. It wasn’t even omniscience that told him this, just unfortunate prior experience.

           She still let him close, though, and so he nuzzled in. “Yeah,” he sighed, but he was mostly awake now. “It’s a friends and family circle. Even though it’s at—oh, look, it’s 6 AM,” he said.

           Torako reached over and up and ruffled at his hair. He sat up and smoothed it flat, glowering down at her. The motion dislodged Bentley’s arm from his waist but the Bentley that lived in this house was a deeper sleeper than the Bentley that returned to the apartment he’d been kidnapped from, and so he did nothing but scrunch up his nose (adorable) and sleep-mumble unintelligible noises before relaxing back into deeper sleep. Dipper sighed and relaxed shoulders he hadn’t even realized were tense.

           “Go gettem, Dips,” Torako whispered, eye cracked open in a half-awake smile. “We’re gonna have breakfast bout nine, ok? Ben’n I got busy days planned.”

           “Okay,” Dipper said. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Torako’s forehead. “Let Bentley know where I’ve gone when he wakes up, okay?”

           “Mmmkay,” Torako said, then yawned and snuggled back into the covers. “Later gater.”

           The summons stung him again. Dipper hovered above the bed for a moment, wings spread, then melted from comfortable (but elegant!!) pajamas into a more formal (but somewhat casual) suit before focusing on tracing the summons back to its locus, and slipping from bedroom on the East Coast to elsewhere.

December 4th, 11:01 AM BST

           Elsewhere turned out to be another bedroom, in front of somebody he knew (Soos, no—Olla, her name is Olla) in England. He also knew that her mother would destroy them if she found them together, and it was the middle of the day and wait, what was Olla doing home anyways?

           He blinked down at her. “Why are you even in your dorm? Don’t you have classes?”

           “Alcor,” Olla moaned. Her hair was a mass of messily plaited braids, ribbons bright but askew. “You gotta help me. You’re my only hope of passing this stupid chemistry class I decided to take with my friend but we’re both hopeless—not hopeless, but definitely for sure 100% in over our heads—and for some weird reason most of the people in class aren’t keen on talking to me long enough to do studying or they’re busy or they’re just pain rude, please save me.”

           Dipper sat down on her bed, which was next to the desk she was sitting at. Olla Sussally twisted the chair around in place, leaned forward to heave something up off the floor, then turned back around. In her hands—fingernails painted vivid, somewhat chipped colors that shifted weakly from hue to hue—was a very large tub, and in that tub was the biggest horde of candy Dipper had seen anywhere other than a grocery store. His mouth, despite any efforts to the contrary, began to fill with saliva.

           The memory of Olla’s mother was just terrifying enough to remind him that his skin was actually prickling with discharged magical energy. “Your mom changed the wards again, didn’t she? It’s a shame they didn’t work, but she’ll know you summoned me, she always does, and she’s always so pissed even if I didn’t technically approach you.”

           Olla moaned and tipped her head back for a moment. “I know I know, it’s so dumb and I hate it yet my mum really is the best and I love her n’all, but like, I have got to get this chemistry in the brain space as fast and fully as possible so can we talk about mum later? I have a candy bag per concept and you’re, like, supposed to be super smart, right? You’re supposed to know everything.”

           Dipper cocked his head at her. Olla wasn’t smiling, not even nervously. Well, Dipper thought to himself, Mrs. Sussally couldn’t be too mad if this meant Olla a) was less stressed, and b) passed chemistry.

           “Okay,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Deal.”  

           “Oh gosh oh thank you you’re the best,” Olla breathed out, then reached out and shook his hand vigorously with both of hers. Blue fire bloomed, then sputtered when she whirled around and pulled a textbook towards her—which, considering the fact that Olla was one of the most laid-back and calm people he knew, was concerning. “Okay, so, let’s start with chemical formulas, because hoo my man—my demon? I’ll have to ask you later—but, like, there’s molecular formula, and then there’s empirical formula is sometimes the same but sometimes different, and it has to do with math which is fine but I still don’t get why.”

           Dipper blinked at her, then reached forward and pulled a bag of malted biscuits from Olla’s candy stash. She had swiped several worksheets and class notes up to hover in the air between them. “It’s easier to deal with some chemical equations that way,” he said.　“Look—here, at this problem…”

_______________________________________________________________

           Halfway through explaining the Gillespie-Nyholm theory in regards to double and triple molecular bonds, Olla’s phone rang. Dipper stopped, stared at it. Olla looked down. The display read: ‘Mum <3 <3 <3.’ The hearts twirled in circles and threw off little digital glittery sparks.

           “Aw,” Olla groaned, tipping her head back. “It’s only been, like, an hour. Come on, mum!”

           “Maybe she hasn’t noticed yet?” Dipper ventured. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to lick off the sour sugar particles and eyed the still mostly-full tub of candy. “If she hasn’t, we could definitely get through another few concepts. I’ve only had four bags.” He wanted at least another three. Maybe five. Ten would be best.

           Olla stuck out her tongue at him, took a deep breath, and then answered the phone. “Hey, mum, what’s up, howsit going, what’s on, you at lunch or something, it’s so weird for you to call me now haha you know class just finished!”

           There was a muffled noise, the sound of somebody talking just out of earshot. Dipper tipped his head to the side. Would eavesdropping even be worth it?

           “Woah, that’s weird, the wards are juuuuust fine here!” Olla cast her eyes up at the ceiling. Dipper looked up as well, and winced a little at how almost soggy some of the wards looked, bent out of space from where he’d pushed his way through. Well, their cover was blown. He cast a longing look at the candy bags, and wished for a reality in which he could earn them. “I guess your alert app is just fritzing out again!”

           Silence. Then, several garbled words, Olla’s eyes widening and cutting to him. She laughed a little nervously. “What do you mean, mum? Sure, I wasn’t in Mid-Millenium Literature class, but that’s just because chem is kicking my ass into a sad bit of lumpy dough and I needed to take time—no, no, no tutors, just me and my cute little—wait you’re right outside the building??”

           Dipper froze again. He met Olla’s eyes. As Olla’s mother started talking again, Olla flapped her free hand at him frantically, mouthing go go go!! as she listened.

           If he really wanted to, he could take Olla’s mom. But a) he respected her, b) Olla really loved her, and c) Olla’s mother actually kind of just a little bit intimidated him when he wasn’t hopped up on anxiety and possessiveness and fear for his Mizar’s safety. So Dipper grimaced, lifted a hand in farewell, and blipped out of Olla’s dorm room with the fleeting thought of the next place he could go on such short notice.

 December 4th, 9:29 PM AEST

           It was, perhaps, not the best idea to suddenly appear on the couch right next to Tommy and Filara Hangar—they were a little jumpy—but Dipper wasn’t anything if not dramatic. He slung one leg over the other, slipped into something a little more formal mid-blip, and set his hands on top of his knee so that the fingers were curled a little over the kneecap. “Hello,” he said, pitched just high enough to be heard over the evening news.

           Next to him, Tommy Hangar screeched and nearly scrambled over the back of the couch. Filara Hangar seized a wineglass off the table and flung it at him with incredible accuracy. Taken off-guard, Dipper had only a split second to decide whether to let it land or whether to pluck it out of thin air. He hesitated, and the decision was made for him—the glass smacked into his nose and red wine splashed up and over his face. Blinking, liquid clinging to his eyelashes, Dipper said, “Well, that was rude but I get it, I guess.”

           Tommy wheezed from behind the couch. “What the fuck, you feathering fuckwit,” she said. “Holy shit you can’t do that to us without giving a ring or tapping out a coupla knocks first. I hate it when you do that! It freaks me the fuck out.”

           Filara, on her part, was staring at her outstretched hand, bewilderment blooming all over her aura like morning glories. “I threw a glass of wine at Alcor the Dreambender,” she said, a little faintly.

           “And hit,” Dipper groused. He materialized a stylish handkerchief from out of his vest pocket, snapped it open, and dabbed at his face just to emphasize his point. “You’re lucky that this suit is literally materialized out of the power I possess and isn’t actual fabric, because that would be a bitch to clean.”

           “Die mad about it,” Tommy said. Dipper opened his mouth to respond to that, but Tommy widened her eyes at him and he wisely shut his mouth. She hauled herself back up and over the couch to sit squarely between Dipper and her wife. “We wouldn’t pay for it anyways, it’s your own feckin fault for slipping in here out of thin air at—” she glanced at the news “—9:34 PM, what the hell and why are you even here?”

           Dipper waved the concern aside as though it were a physical thing he could clear the air of. He finished dabbing the wine off his face and snapped the handkerchief again to disperse it from its momentary existence. At the same time, the wine was pulled out of the non-fabric of his clothes and vanished. “My last appointment was cut very abruptly short, and I’d been meaning to check in on you two so I figured that now was as good a time as any. How are you?”

           Filara blinked at him. “I hit Alcor the Dreambender with a half-full glass of wine,” she said, a little glee in her voice and in her eyes.

           “Yes you did, honey,” Tommy said. She patted her wife’s hand and smiled. “It was a hot damn moment of glory and I love you even more than I already did.”

           “Didn’t you throw ice water on him a few months ago?” Filara cocked her head and looked Tommy up and down, lightning bright sparks of realization fading into soft ombre appreciation.

           Dipper frowned. There was no need to rub it in, he totally could have stopped that from happening—both the wine and the water. “Yes she did, and we’ve already covered the wine stuff, how are you?”

           “It’s 9:34 PM,” Tommy drawled, turning her attention away from her wife to glower. “What do you think??”

           “Now, now,” Filara said, rubbing at Tommy’s shoulders from behind. “I know it’s late, but we haven’t seen him in a while and I threw wine on him, so I think that it would only be fair to entertain him with a little conversation, don’t you think? I’m sure he’s a little lonely, aren’t you?”

           Filara smiled at him. She looked nothing like Lionel, but Dipper read him into the quirk at the corner of her mouth that said she was still smugly amused at her unintentional victory over him. The little heartache that came with the thought moved Dipper to look past it and the quite frankly presumptive opinion that he was lonely, he wasn’t lonely. He was fine.

           “No,” he said, “but Bentley and Torako are busy sleeping right now, and I’m awake and out so I wanted to talk to you.” The more he thought about it, though, the more tempting the thought of blipping back home and crawling into bed for snuggles was. He absolutely was not lonely.

           Tommy wrinkled her nose. “That’s right, it is stupid early over there still, isn’t it?”

           “Yeah,” he said, though stupid early was a relative term when it came to individualistic habits and sleep patterns. For some people in the same time zone, it was stupid late.

           Filara leaned over and propped her elbow on Tommy’s shoulder. Her near-invisible lenses flashed a little, and she grinned. “So how are Ms. Gorgeous and Mr. Sigils?”

           “Adjusting.” Dipper leaned back into the arm of the couch and twisted a saccharine drink out of nothing to sip at. “We just finished settling into the new house nine days ago. Torako or Bentley might have sent you pictures?”

           Tommy had been frowning at Dipper ever since he pulled out his drink. “Dude,” she said, slowly, “I know you’re a demon and all, but that’s rude, man, just ask for a drink.”

           “Oh, it’s quite all right,” Filara said, patting Tommy’s arm. “If he brings his own drink, that means that there’s more wine for me. And yes, Torako did send me pictures of the house. Bentley didn’t, but he made up for it by sending me updates on how things were going, and I very much appreciate it.”

           With a sigh, Tommy leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms.

           “Did she send you pictures of the tables?” Dipper drawled, swirling his drink around in its glass. “Mine was the best one.”

           “That’s not what she said.” Filara raised her eyebrows. “In fact, she said that you all voted hers the best, and that’s the solid truth there.”

           Dipper sniffed and took a sip of his not-beverage, mentally pulled together his arguments in favor of not Torako winning their unofficial competition, and launched into them with a passion that Bentley would have described as ‘overkill’ and Torako as ‘desperately in denial.’

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 8:39 PM PHT

           Dipper only burned through an hour before Tommy had enough and kicked him out during a lull in conversation, citing that she actually wanted to spend time with her wife, not the dude who came around to pick her wife’s brain and engage in furious debate over the most mundane things before turning around and treating the most abstract concepts with the same fervor. He’d relented and accepted a couple drinks—overly sugary and laden with alcohol that couldn’t affect his non-existent metabolism—and found himself having made off with one of the Hangars’ drinking glasses on accident. He shrugged, sent it off to the Mindscape Shack, and figured it would make a good excuse for another visit.

           In the meantime, it was time to visit somebody very new to their current life.

           Dipper closed his eyes and followed one of the faint bonds inside of himself to a small apartment of Cebu—Grand Courtyard Bldg 5, apartment 607, nursery with the window facing north-east—in the evening, when its sole occupant was sleeping soundly, parents in the other room finishing dinner and relaxing before the baby woke up again. There was a personalized cam-monitor in the corner, anti-tamper sigils that reminded Dipper of Bentley (and when he looked at them for more than a split second, he saw Bentley working on them as part of a senior project for undergrad, and how strange, how incredible to think that they’d gone so far from that point, blooming into existence under his fingertips), and Dipper only spared a single thought to artificially looping the input past the anti-tamper sigils (they were Bentley’s, of course he knew how to get around them) before drifting closer to the crib.

           Lloyd Remnit had not lasted long after their visit, after Dipper tore the information from his mind and Fantino had died as a result. Stan had always given everything for family, and it always hurt when he failed to protect them. (many Stans had summoned him over the years. Some paid the ultimate price for their loved ones. Some paid a different price, but it all fell to pieces around them anyways. Others, ones who hadn’t summoned him, had summoned others instead—one had given away her soul to be consumed. Dipper had torn that demon to pieces).

           This time around, given how his last incarnation had ended up at odds with Alcor, he was determined to have Stan on his side. Which meant—this.

           “Hey,” Dipper said softly, breathily. In her crib, María Elena ‘Inyang’ Dimayuga lay on her back, fingers curled into soft fists. He took a moment to take her in—a little on the large side, for a two-month-old, eyelashes dark and soft against her puffy cheeks, baby hair thin clouds across the crown of her skull. “Hey. I’m going to be your Uncle Dipper. Your parents don’t know yet, but they don’t know a lot of things about you yet either, do they? They’re still calling you Aweng. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

           Inyang shifted in her sleep and scrunched her nose. Dipper stilled, but her eyes didn’t open, and her barely-there, underdeveloped aura didn’t shift suddenly in that telltale breath between sleep and wake that infants tended towards. After a few moments, he slid from stillness into careful motion, chin propped in the heart of his palm, elbows on the edge of the crib, ankles-crossed mid-air. His wings fluttered once or twice. He sighed a little.

           “It’s been a few years since I’ve interacted with somebody so young,” Dipper confessed. “Not since Lata, at least. Nobody’s been stupid enough to summon me with a newborn sacrifice recently, and the chances to meet babies like you are otherwise pretty slim in my line of work.” He laughed a little. Inyang let out a breathy sigh of an exhale. “But you’re family, you know? I should—I should stick around for you.”

           Inyang’s fingers tightened into fists, then relaxed. He looked at her nails. She probably needed them trimmed, soon. Dipper remembered sharp baby nails, and they were a somewhat discordant experience when the rest of them was so soft, so malleable, so easy to swallow—

           Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and chased the thought down into the deepest, most terrible part of him. Then he opened his eyes and looked back down at Inyang.

           Inyang looked back, dark eyes large in her small face.

           They stared at each other for a few seconds, Inyang frozen by the uncertainty of an unfamiliar face hovering over her, Dipper by the very human instinct of ‘maybe if I don’t move, this very small child will just go back to sleep instead of crying.’ Despite being a dream demon who didn’t need moist eyeballs, Dipper was the one who blinked first.

           Inyang’s aura twisted. She let out the start of a choking cry. Galvanized by memories of caring for babies over the years, Dipper started shushing her, reaching into her crib on reflex. His sharp talons faded into stubby nubs, his gloves melted away to materialized skin. “Hey, hey, no, it’s all right—”

           Footsteps outside the door. Moments before he managed to pick Inyang up, Dipper frantically twisted himself into the shadows under her crib. Seconds later, the door opened.

           “Oh, that’s odd,” the parent said. Dipper blinked, and there it was—Alisha Dimayuga, journalist, wife to Jolan Dimayuga, owner of a small clothing boutique that custom-sized for all its customers. “The camera didn’t pick up on you waking up—hush, hush, sweet little Aweng, here I am, it’s okay. Why don’t we go see your Zaza, hmm? Zi would love to hold you, love to kiss your precious little nose and all the pain away.”

           Dipper stared up at the bottom of the crib, seeing Alisha pick up Inyang and soothe her without physically seeing it. Alisha rocked from side to side with each step, murmuring about how hard it was to be a baby as she slowly made her way out the room, Inyang still crying pitifully in tired-sleepy-pain-overstimulation. She was going through one of her growth spells, Dipper knew suddenly, though he’d always known it. It hurt, to grow so much all at once and not understand anything, and thankfully it was knowledge that faded quickly. Dipper still remembered his second birth, how things changed and ached and felt like fire melting and reforging and melting his bones all at once. The pain of it, over and over, all at once after stretches of nothing.

           He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

           Dipper considered revealing himself to Alisha and her partner. He thought about introducing himself, but the thought of Alisha’s fear and Jolan’s terror-courage and the rift that would possibly set between him and Inyang made him hesitate, caught between the soft shadows of the nursery and the light spilling in through the open door. He stayed for a few moments, listening to Alisha and Jolan’s soft voices in the other room, hearing Inyang’s cries get quieter and quieter until she was silent.

           Maybe another time, Dipper told himself. He coalesced back into his humanoid form next to the crib, with its whale-patterned sheets and its pale linoliwood bars. He looked out the door, into the sliver of the hall he could see, and remembered other babies over the years that he had raised, or helped raise. Later, he told himself firmly. For sure.

           Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and blipped—

 December 4th, 8:54 AM EST

           —into his designated seat at the dining table, aka the chair that Torako had snatched for her temporary bedside table and kept falling out of bed for. Dipper might have—in the previous months—maybe on occasion scooted it just far enough out of reach that she would tumble out of the sheets. Just maybe on occasion, though. Not every night. That would just be suspicious.

           “Morning,” he chirped at Torako, who was sipping at a cup of coffee. He eyed it—hazelnut creamer, oof, she was anticipating a Day.

           “Hey,” Torako said. Across the table, Bentley’s forehead was flush against the wood surface. He groaned out something that Dipper interpreted as a greeting.

           “You never jump anymore,” Dipper complained. He crossed his arms and set them on the table, leaning forward. “It’s so disappointing.”

           “Dude, we’ve lived together for, like, eight years, of course I don’t jump anymore,” Torako said. Dipper hummed in absentminded agreement in order to hide the fact that he was as of that moment making plan after plan to startle the snot out of her. “Besides, now I have a Dipper-sensor as long as Bentley’s around—he moaned out something a second before you popped up.”

          Very kind of her to tell him what situation he needed to avoid in order to succeed. Torako really was her own worst enemy, because she should know by know that Dipper wasn’t nearly nice enough to not take advantage of such facts. “I had forgotten about that.” He actually almost had. “Bentley conscious yet?”

           Bentley groaned again. Torako picked up her fork, stabbed a sausage on her plate, and shoved it in her mouth. Dipper squinted his eyes at the remaining sausages and wondered if he could get away with sneaking one off her plate.

           “Kind of. I think he had a rough last hour of sleep; he was really groggy when I finally shook him awake.”

           Half-formed schemes of how he was going to make Torako scream in surprise fell to the back burner as he cast a more appraising eye over Bentley and his aura. Bentley kept saying that he didn’t want them to treat him like something fragile, like those delectable sugar cubes that were 90% air, 9% sugar and 1% flavoring and were so thin they fell apart the moment they touched your tongue, but Bentley was also dealing with PTSD among a host of other problems so Dipper was going to worry. Especially since, you know, exhaustion crept and shifted slow through his aura in a way that Dipper hadn’t seen since last week.

           “Hey, Ben. Looking tired there.”

           Bentley didn’t make a noise. Instead, he lifted his head up just enough to glare at Dipper. Dipper winced, both at the animosity and at the tiredness strung at the corners of his eyes and in the crease of his forehead. Bentley glared even more.

           Torako whistled. “I’m not sure, but it might have actually gotten worse?”

           “Shut up,” Bentley groused. He reached out and nearly knocked his mug of coffee over (and if it weren’t bad enough that he was drinking coffee, it was worse because even all the way across the table, Dipper’s teeth could feel the half-cup of sugar Bentley had poured in) before tugging it close and sipping. It must have tasted awful. Bentley didn’t blink an eye.

           Dipper looked at Torako. Torako glanced at him. They both decided that shuddering was probably not the wisest course of action, with Ben so grumpy. That being said, Torako still opened her mouth. Really, she was her own worst enemy.

           “So you’re…still going to work today?”

           Ben grunted and shifted his gaze to her, narrow-eyed. “I gotta,” he said. “There’s a new sigils company being built here, and there’s a…what’s the word…mandatory, right, there’s a mandatory meeting at 9:30 about it.”

           “What about a teleconference?” Torako speared another sausage. Dipper, momentarily distracted, looked down at her plate and stretched nonchalantly. If his hand was a little closer to her plate than before, well, that was just coincidence.

           Shaking his head, Bentley took another sip of his coffee before saying, “Confidential information. Gotta be in person.”

           Dipper, after a blink and a quick rush of information, thought that it might be more that Bentley was being stubborn about ‘earning his keep’ and less about ‘having to go to the meeting in person.’ Dipper was actually pretty sure that Karl Svinhish would happily come to visit just in order to fill Bentley in on the details. He considered the pros and cons of actually saying that, and decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Torako distracted, he set his fingers right at the edge of her plate.

           Torako snorted and pointed her fork at Bentley. “And Karl Svinhish wouldn’t bend over backwards for you, no, no he wouldn’t.”

           Bentley actually hissed at her and bared his teeth. Torako’s face went—not pale, no, but she had the expression of somebody who has just realized that they’re treading right at the edge of too far and should really go back before they’re mauled. She stabbed down for her sausages.

           Dipper, right on the edge of getting himself a tasty salty snack, howled as her fork stabbed right into the back of his hand.

           “Oh fuck,” Torako said, jumping out of her chair. “Oh fuck, how the fuck did your hand get there, what even—”

           Dipper felt torn between cackling and screaming. It really, really hurt in all the best and worst ways. “You stabbed me!”

           Bentley, at some point, had half-pushed himself out of his chair. He lowered himself down into it, lifted his coffee mug, and raised his eyebrows as Torako pulled the fork back out of Dipper’s hand. He sipped.

           “Shut up,” Dipper giggled at him, tears streaming down his face.

           “I’m too tired to be nice,” Bentley muttered. “You were asking for it.”

           Torako blinked. She looked down at her sausages. “Were you—trying to take my breakfast?”

           “No,” Dipper lied. He licked at the puncture holes in the back of his hand, then willed them to go away. His blood tasted almost like copper, today. “Of course not.”

           Torako glowered at him, and pointed the fork. “You were.”

           “Never,” he said. There was a tug somewhere in his gut, and he recognized family—friend—Batoor a split second before he said, “and you can’t prove otherwise, Batoor’s calling, see you guys later bye!”

           Torako threw her fork. He disappeared before it could reach him.

 December 4th, 4:09 PM GMT

             Dipper blipped back into physical space upside-down and in a pretty snazzy pair of electric blue ruffled slacks. He craned his neck back to look Batoor in the eye. “You called?”

           “Someday, I hope you realize how old you sound when you say that,” Batoor complained. He was sitting on his desk, a textbook in his lap and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His curtains were open, the dorm courtyard below empty but for the few students taking advantage of a clear afternoon to get some much-needed sun. Dipper tilted his head and pointed.

           “Is that kid stacking chips on her nose?”

           “Undoubtedly,” Batoor said, not even looking. “It’s a new fad. You wouldn’t understand them, being an old geezer.”

           Sometimes, Dipper regretted introducing Torako to Batoor. He extra regretted that Torako and Batoor had exchanged contact information, and that Batoor was picking up on some bad habits of Torakos, like bullying Dipper with no regard for how impressively powerful he was. No respect these days.

           “I understand fads,” Dipper grumbled.

           Outside, chip-stacking student made it to four chips high. Four chips wouldn’t be nearly so impressive if they weren’t being stacked corner to corner. Dipper was kind of jealous—he wasn’t sure he would be able to do that without taking advantage of his powers.

           “You keep telling yourself that,” Batoor said. “Anyways—I need help with this history paper. You know about history, right?”

           Dipper fancied that, if he’d never become a dream demon caught in the claws of near-eternity (he knew that he wouldn’t last forever, but it may as well be—it basically would be, as far as this universe was concerned, and more than that he couldn’t quite wrap even his demonically-altered brain around), he would have been a scientist, or a mathematician, or an over-qualified pizza store manager (which if it came with free pizza, wouldn’t be a half-bad gig.) At almost-thirteen, he hadn’t been as interested in history beyond conspiracy theories and supernatural stories. Now, though—“My middle name may as well be Historical Record,” Dipper said. He flipped over mid-air. His braid fell over his shoulder as well.

           Batoor blinked at him. “Those pants are…new,” he said, in English. Dipper narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

           “Not really,” he said. “What, you don’t like them?” Mabel had been the one who pestered him into conjuring them for himself in the first place. He’d gotten a whole cheesecake out of that deal, and the mortification of them had barely been enough for his young-demon ego to deal with. Now, though—they were ruffled, and bright, and Mabel’s, and that was enough.

           “And the braid is different,” Batoor said.

           Dipper looked down at it, pulling it further into view with his left hand. He flipped the end of it between his fingers. “ Yeah, I don’t usually go for this style. It’s fun, to change things up.”

           Batoor blinked. The scales around his eyes shimmered. “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “I guess so. Anyways, I need help with the history paper. About history. In English. I am older so class is harder? It’s a high-level class.”

           “Okay,” Dipper said, easily enough. It wasn’t like Torako or Bentley would be better company now, and they were going to be busy anyways. “What you got to pay me, then?”

           Grinning, Batoor opened a desk drawer with his foot. Dipper perked up despite himself, shoulders dropping and eyebrows raising. “Candy,” Batoor said, “and snacks. From Kabul.”

           Not as easily obtained as gummy peaches, here in Ireland. “Oh,” Dipper said. “I see what you’re doing. You’ve been talking to Torako.”

           “Of course,” Batoor said, before switching back to Dashto. “She’s the only one that can handle you, other than Bentley, and she’s the one with the Demonology degree. She’s been very helpful in my studies.”

           Dipper stilled. He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were doing a degree in Community-Building and Inter-Species Relations,” he said, slowly.

           “I am,” Batoor said. He reached inside the desk drawer and picked up a couple packages, one carefully-preserved mini gosh-e fil stuck in stasis, powdered sugar and chopped pistachios kept in place through the power of food-regulation preservation spells, and the other an assorted bag of koloocheh. A few of them were broken despite the spells, and Dipper knew they had to be good. Koloocheh were brittle cookies by nature, after all.

           “Oh,” Dipper said. He couldn’t look away from the treats for a second, then made himself because he could get a major deal out of these if by some small chance Batoor didn’t know any better. “They’re pretty good, but for a whole paper?”

           “And proofreading,” Batoor said. He smiled, as sweet as the sacrifice he was offering. “I know exactly how valuable these are. They’re not only delicious, they’re sentimental. My Oware bought them for my Transfer-Day. I haven’t had gosh-e fil since we left Afghanistan.”

           Oh fuck, Dipper thought. He felt a trickle of unease down the back of his neck a second before the realization hit him and he sunk to standing on the floor like a dumbass. “Oh,” he said again. “You’re doing a specialization in community law and advocacy, aren’t you.”

          Batoor grinned. “Demonology overlaps with law-writing classes a lot, you know. Anyways. For help finding relative articles about my history topic in both English and Dashto, assistance refining my arguments, and thorough proofreading of my English composition, I will give you both of these very valuable, sentimental treats, and maybe we can have some video game time together if my roommate doesn’t come back too early.”

           “That’s a big if,” Dipper said. “Do you have the new Red Rider game? The one that’s set in a magicless urban wasteland that you have to carefully scavenge tools and make intelligent allegiances in order to strategically rise to the top of the crime syndicate that’s taken over the city and make the ultimate choice whether to rule over all with an iron fist or transition to a better societal system?”

           Batoor stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You like that game?”

           “Well,” Dipper said. “I suppose I kind of do, yes, but not too much.” Dipper carefully did not mention that the open-story ending that mimicked the rewards and consequences of living a high-stakes human life scratched the same itch he had tried to, over and over and over in human skins that lasted not long enough. He also didn’t mention that the mathematics that went into calculating story paths from individual choices was jaw-droppingly incredible and he needed to see it in play for himself.

           Batoor nodded. Dipper narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion at the sparks of mirth and slowly unfurling anticipation in his aura.

           “Stop being amused,” Dipper said, pointing his lace-gloved finger at Batoor and scowling. “I kind of like it.”

           “Sure,” Batoor said with a perfectly straight face that was very at odds with the emotions that Dipper was reading. He held out his hand. “Anyways, I do have the game and we can play it if there is enough time. If there isn’t, we’ll play at the next opportunity feasible for both parties. Do we have a deal?”

           Dipper looked at the sweets. He tilted his head and thought about the promise of the game—which he was guaranteed to have a chance to play—and then about the difficulty of the task before him. He didn’t mind proofreading either, especially because English had cast off a bunch of the fiddly rules about punctuation that honestly Dipper thought were still needed. He could make sure that Batoor’s teachers weren’t teaching him too much that was wrong.

           Grinning wide, Dipper reached out and took Batoor’s hand. “Deal,” he said. Blue fire licked up from between their palms briefly, and Dipper felt himself get—sharper, smarter, stronger—for a brief flash as the deal lanced through him. Then he let himself slide into that state of mind where he was—not compelled to do a task, no, but it was similar.

           “Great,” Batoor said, grinning lazily. He leaned back against the desk and looked very self-satisfied. “Because my Red Rider game’s multiplayer option hasn’t been used since the time my roommate agreed to try it out with me.”

           Dipper tipped his head. Something niggled at him. “How long ago was that?”

           “Two months ago,” Batoor said. “The day I got the game.”

           Anticipation tingled up and down Dipper’s arms. He felt himself lift back off the ground. “Oh? Why not? It’s an excellent game.”

           “He said I was too intense.” Batoor picked under his fingernails at imaginary dirt, but Dipper could still see the grin on his face.

           “Oh,” Dipper said again. Then, he said, “Well, we should finish that paper as quickly as possible, shouldn’t we? I doubt that you’re more intense than I can be.”

           “We’ll have to see,” Batoor said, eyebrows raised.

 ________________________________________________________________

             They did not, unfortunately, get a chance to see. Writing papers was harder than Dipper remembered, and Batoor had chosen to write about anti-preter sentiment in Ireland two hundred years ago and the impact of the laws enacted during that time had in the centuries following. There weren’t too many papers on the matter in Dashto, and any articles that they could find were harder to understand the further back they were, so Batoor was stuck with English and translated Gaelic sources.

           Halfway into Presumption of Guilt: How Lawmakers Built a Sinister System in the Absence of Politically Powerful Preternatural Citizens that Resulted in the Summer Riots of 3784, Batoor’s dorm buzzed. They froze.

           “Hey, Batoor!” Dipper heard. He swung his head around to look at Batoor, who met his gaze. “Why you lock the door? You got company?”

           Batoor flushed. “No!” he yelled, voice cracking a little as he flapped his hand at Dipper. “I just was studying!”

           Dipper snatched what remained of the delicious snacks that Batoor had traded and stopped just short of blipping out. “When are we going to play Red Rider?” he hissed quietly in Dashto.

           Apparently Batoor’s roommate had very, very good ears. “Batoor?”

           Batoor leveled the nastiest glare that Dipper had been subject to from him. Dipper threw up his hands in frustration and tried to communicate, with his eyes, that he was just asking, no need to get pissy about it! To which Batoor shook a finger at Dipper, waggled his eyebrows in I-told-you-we’d-get-to-it-when-we-get-to-it, and gestured for Dipper to stay quiet for good measure.

“I was only talking to myself!” Batoor yelled back. “Let me get the door for you—”

           Dipper felt a tug in his gut. Thankfully, he let himself follow the summons, twisting out of existence from Batoor’s Irish University dormroom and—

 December 4th, 9:44 PM EAT

           —into a small bedroom with sparsely decorated walls, a pale tile floor worn right to the edge of minor neglect, and a small child sitting on a patterned rug right at the edge of his circle.

           Dipper swallowed back his customary greeting and instead asked, “What’s up, kiddo?”

           They hugged their knees closer to their chest, squashing what looked to be a very sentimental stuffed manticore. “Sshh,” they said, so quiet that Dipper had to readjust his hearing. “Aunty Adi is asleep.”

           “Oh,” Dipper said. He sat cross-legged a half-inch above the wobbly chalk lines. After a moment, he whispered, “I like your scentless candles.”

           The child ducked their face into their knees and the stuffed manticore’s fuzzy mane. “Thanks,” they said, but then said nothing else for a long time. Their aura shifted between embarrassment and hesitation and quick flashing bursts of smothered pride. Dipper made the decision to wait for them to speak, and instead cast out his senses more to assess his new surroundings. There was a small bed in the corner, third-hand but well maintained, a nice new desk bought at a bargain, temperature-regulated sheets, a little bookshelf that was crammed overfull, a tablet for children open to what seemed to be a digital copy of a centuries-old summoning how-to that had never been legally published but had found its way around anyways. Down the hall to one side there were three other signatures—two more children, one adult, each in separate rooms, and to the other seemed to be a living space complete with kitchen and a harmless little snake that curled up in a hole in the wall, sleeping off its latest meal. The night air was cool in such a way that suggested the previous day had been hot.

           “Are you really a demon?” The kid asked.

           “Yeah,” Dipper said, wiggling his claws at them. Their eyes were big and dark in the candlelight from right over their knees. “Alcor the Dreambender, at your service.”

           Another very long pause. Dipper waited.

           “The book said you were nice,” they said. Dipper tilted his head. The book had been distributed during one of his nicer, more mentally present phases. Fortunately for this child, he’d had over a decade of recent socialization with human beings, so he wasn’t super tempted to take advantage of what the kid thought.

           “Right now I am,” he said. “What you want, then, kiddo? People usually don’t summon me unless they have a deal in mind.”

           They looked away and buried themselves further into themselves. The minutes passed. Outside, bugs sang and small lizards rustled in pursuit. The candles flickered, burned wax into vapor that wafted away, slow and lazy but inevitable. Dipper kept himself breathing, steady.

           “…Aunty Adi doesn’t like me,” they said.

           Dipper blinked. “Oh?” he asked, and looked closer. No broken bones, a bruise on their knee (legitimately tripped and fell), short curly hair (useful for the heat), crooked fingers (an accident when they were two years old), missing tooth (their adult teeth were coming in). Whatever it was, it wasn’t overt physical abuse. Dipper narrowed his eyes. “What does she do? Where are your parents?”

           They shifted one foot over the other. “I act funny,” they said instead. “Mom and Dad are busy working in Lilongwe, so they left me with Aunty Adi.”

           There was a lengthy silence. Dipper had started getting that uneasy prickling along the back of his neck, the one he got when kids weren’t safe and happy, and he had to breathe in deep and out slow to stop himself from getting ‘intense,’ as Torako put it.

           “Other kids don’t like me either,” said the kid. “I don’t get it, I laugh when they want me to and follow all the rules, the ones they don’t say but are there anyways, but they still don’t like me.”

           Lonely crept over them like a purple shroud, heavy and dark and bruiselike. Dipper watched it settle and shift for a few moments, and turned the words over in his head. They waited.

           “Do you want a friend?” Dipper asked, finally.

           A heartbeat, two, and then a nod.

           “Do you want me to be your friend, tonight?”

           A double nod.

           “I’ll need something in exchange,” Dipper said, because it was true (though not really, no, he could totally absorb the backlash that came with spending a night playing with a kid but this wasn’t Mabel) and the kid should know that, but also— “maybe some candy? Kids have candy, right?”

           He’d really, really prefer the manticore. He almost asked for it. Then he thought of what Torako would say and do to him if she found out he’d taken a beloved stuffed animal from a lonely, friendless child and figured that stealing candy was a comparably minor offense.

           Their wide dark eyes stared into his, and then they very slowly nodded, and even more slowly pointed in the direction of their desk. “In the drawer,” they said. “Milk drops.”

           Dipper tilted his head over at the desk and blinked. “Okay,” he said and extended his hand. “Is it a deal?”

           After a short moment, they nodded and extended their hand over the shaky, weak chalk lines of their summoning circle. “Deal,” they said, their hand in his, blue fire flaring up between them for a second before dying down.

           Dipper tilted his head, blinked into something a little softer (more comfortable, something that would set the kid at ease) and asked, “So, kiddo, I’m yours to play with for a while. What you wanna do?”

           The kid didn’t smile, but hesitant happiness spread like frail roots through the heavy purple lonely in their aura. “Well,” they said, quietly, “there’s this—card game, that I got to play once…”

_______________________________________________________________

           It took several hours of very quiet playtime for the kid to finally get tired enough to fall asleep. Dipper tucked them—tucked Pili—into their bed, sang a slightly off-key lullaby until their tired eyes finally blinked shut and their chest rose and fell softly and their grip on their Manticore (Nadine) loosened. He thought for a moment, then summoned a Dream to curl up next to them and a Nightmare to stand guard until Pili woke in the morning.

           “You keep an eye on them, alright?” Dipper said. The dream baa’d and snuggled in close to Pili, who relaxed further. Himmwichlint, the Nightmare, blinked its five eyes independently and huffed out a derisive what, you think I wouldn’t at Dipper. Dipper huffed back and rolled his eyes.

           “I’m not saying you can’t or won’t,” Dipper complained, crossing his arms. He was wearing a very soft sweater that Pili had exclaimed quietly over before stroking for a solid five minutes. “I’m just saying what I want you to do.”

           Himmwichlint rolled its eyes back at him. The effect it had was really similar like those plastic googly ones that Belle had once used to bedazzle a pair of sneakers into a constantly-rustling horror show. She had worn them every day for a month to class. Dipper had ended up making a deal with Lionel to have them disappear.

           “No respect,” Dipper complained. “What is it with everybody in my life refusing to show me respect? I am a very powerful dream demon, you would think people would remember that more.”

           The Nightmare chuffed low in its gizzard, and its wool shook in laughter. Then it turned itself around to lay on the ground at the side of the bed, very purposefully looking away from Dipper.

           Dipper threw up his hands. “Unbelievable,” he whispered, turning around himself to leave the room. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

           He very quietly swung the door open and then stepped into the quiet hallway. Another step, and he shifted from the soft sweater and comfortable sweatpants he’d put on for Pili into a sharp black suit, dark and imposing and shadowy. He didn’t need to close his eyes for more than a few seconds to know that he wanted the room at the very end of the hall. He walked forward on the thin air just a hair off the ground, passing by several pictures on the walls and a totem lodged in an inset shelf near the ceiling. It was supposed to protect the inhabitants, but the spirit that was supposed to be there was missing. It had been missing for years at this point.

           Not that it could have done much of anything if it had been there, Dipper thought to himself with a little grin. It could not have stopped him from having a little chat with Auntie Adi. He doubted that it would have even tried.

           In moments, he reached her door. The insects outside had fallen silent. He pushed the door open, soundless, and entered her room.

           It was dark. A thin sliver of slightly-overcast moonlight drifted through the crack between the curtains. In the middle of the room was a wide bed, thin summer blankets draped over a sleeping figure. When he looked around, the room wasn’t overly different from Pili’s—the same well-cared-for furniture, clothing bought at a bargain and a few priceless treasures (gifts, or inheritances, or simply items loved to the point of powerfully tempting)—but there was something about it that cradled the sleeping figure. There had been a lot of love in this room. There was a lot of love, and care, and fondness. Pili’s room seemed so much emptier by comparison.

           Alcor made his way to the edge of the bed. He flicked out his cane, threaded his hair back into a ribbon-tied ponytail, and then sat down.

           Adi didn’t respond for several moments, still deep in sleep. No matter. He knew that the deep part of her responsible for living, for detecting danger and escaping from it was slowly waking up. With every breath, it was pulled closer and closer to the surface, a buoy rising to the surface of a wide dark sea, dragging consciousness up with it. Her brow started to furrow. The soft lines along the edges of her mouth began to deepen. Her eyes tensed. Inhale, exhale, and her eyes fluttered open.

           It took two breathing cycles for her to register that there was a strange person in her room, sitting on her bed and looking down at her. She jerked into motion, opened her mouth, and screamed.

           Alcor smiled into the silence. He had already borrowed—not stolen, he might still give it back—her voice. “Now, now,” he said, softly. “You shouldn’t disturb the children’s sleep. Let’s be quiet, all right?”

           Her eyes are wide. The sclera is bright against the darkness of the room. Her hand feels at her throat, which is bobbing with fruitless effort to speak.

           “I know this is frightening,” Alcor said. His grin widened. The fear shooting up from Adi in sparks set him on the most wonderful edge. It buzzed against him, just enough to turn his teeth a hair past sharp and blow his pupils a clawtip longer. “But really, this is quite important—can I trust you not to scream?”

           She nodded. What a fool—he already knew he couldn’t. He knew she would scream as loud as she could, and then her children would come in, and then Alcor would have to figure out how to deal with them in non-lethal ways. What a mess that would be. Instead, he chuckled before reaching out and tracing a claw against the bottom of her jaw. Adi froze. Her chest barely moved, quick and light.

           “Don’t worry,” he drawled, leaning in a little. Her eyes darted from his teeth to his eyes and then back down again to his teeth. “I already know I can’t. Anyways, this will be a far more productive conversation if you aren’t doing any of the talking.”

           With a sharp inhale, she clenched her fingers in the blanket pooled at her waist. Alcor tapped her chin. She nodded again, this time short and jerky. Her fear really was quite exhilarating, Alcor thought to himself absentmindedly. He’d have to make sure to milk as much out of her without compromising his position, or Pili’s.

           Ah, yes. Pili’s. A no-name soul that he hadn’t had any meaningful prior relationships with. But children were children, and no-name souls could earn names, couldn’t they? Lionel and Torako and Georgi were all excellent examples. He would have to keep an eye out for Pili—make sure that Adi didn’t do anything unfortunate.

           “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Alcor said, leaning back a little. Adi exhaled shakily, and nodded again. “Well, it has to do with your nibling. Did you know that they’ve managed to access quite the outdated collection of demonic academia? Their circle was a little wobbly, but it’s supposed to be simple enough for a child to draw with a bit of effort, if they’re desperate enough.”

           Alcor noted the sudden tension in Adi’s shoulders, the sourness of jealousy that rose up among misplaced gangrene anger, the mist-like waft of dark guilt that drifted off as quick as it drifted in.

           “You see,” Alcor said, crossing one leg over the other and wrapping his hands leisurely around his knees, “children have to be desperate enough to draw my circle. That’s not even taking into account the effort many go to in order to get the information needed to draw my circle, and say the incantation, and gather the necessary supplies. Children, you see, don’t often have the resources or freedom an adult does. Please, do me a favor and consider—how desperate must young Pili have been to go to the effort of all that?”

           Adi’s anger flashed and deepened. She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to retort before she tried to speak and remembered exactly who it was she was talking to. Fear drowned out the anger. She curled back in on herself, shifting back on the bedsheets with a near-silent rasp.

           Yes. This was what he deserved. This was the respect he had earned, that he had been deprived of the last few hours. He breathed it in deep.

           “I know you haven’t laid a hand on them,” Alcor drawled. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Trust me, we would be having a—different conversation at that point. Perhaps off in the desert, where you could scream and I could enjoy it without having to worry about your spawn ruining everything. But that’s also the problem, because—you haven’t laid a hand on them in love, either.”

           Silence. Her aura spoke volumes. He let it balloon up between them, bobbed his foot as she swallowed past a rabbit-quick heartbeat. The pale moonlight coming in through the crack in the curtains glinted off the shiny cap on the toe.

           “Your nibling summoned me because they were desperate for a friend,” Dipper said, very very quietly. “They wanted somebody to play with. To love them, even if that love wasn’t as real as what they really needed. Even just for a night. You, as their guardian, have failed them. You have neglected them, for terrible, petty reasons that have nothing to do with who Pili is, and have everything to do with who somebody else is—one of their parents, I’m assuming.”

           Adi bristled again, shoulders drawing up and back in indignation. Her sleeping cap shifted, exposing some of the kinked hair it was protecting. Alcor reached over. She stilled, heartrate jack-knifing as he pulled the cap back into place.

           “You don’t have to be their friend,” Alcor said. He smiled. “But it would be such a shame if you didn’t learn how to be kind to them and how to be supportive of them. Such a shame indeed. There are always…repercussions, you see, for these kinds of actions.” He leaned over, resting his chin in one palm, fingers curled in a precisely calculated mimicry of danger. Adi trembled, swallowed. Sweat tricked down her brow and along the lines of her slender neck. Dipper watched it drip down, and felt her terror spike.

           “What a shame indeed,” he said. He glanced up, still smiling, and caught her eye. The shallow inhale she was taking hitched. Her pupils shrunk despite the darkness. Alcor tilted his head to make sure the light glinted across his sharp teeth. Then, he drew back.

           “But I suppose it would be better for Pili and your other children if I actually gave you the chance to learn,” he said offhandedly, and looked at his claws. The next exhale broke out of her, ragged and loud in the silence. “I’m trying to be a better person, you see, and I suppose you haven’t done anything egregiously worthy of…such harsh retribution.”

           Alcor stood. He picked imaginary lint off his shoulder, pulled his eight-ball cane back into the physical realm, and leaned on it. “I don’t suppose I have to inform you that if things don’t get better, I will know,” he drawled. Adi’s hands were clutching at the fabric over her heart. “But, for the purpose of all transparency…if they don’t, I will know. I doubt you’ll enjoy what happens afterwards.”

           With a grin that was satisfyingly wide, Alcor bowed and faded out of sight. A moment later, he released his hold on Adi. He watched her place trembling hands over her mouth and hyperventilate for several minutes. She eventually calmed enough to slide out of bed and stand on shaking legs, though it took her a few tries to be steady enough to walk on her own. She checked her eldest son’s room, then her daughter’s, and then finally –with no little hesitation—her nibling’s.

           Alcor grinned as she stifled a gurgling scream at the sight of Himmwichlint curled up in front of Pili’s bed. Himmwichlint lifted its head, blinked its five eyes at Adi, and then yawned on purpose to show off its incomprehensible but terrifying teeth and its two whipcord tongues. Adi whimpered and stumbled back. Alcor, upside-down on the ceiling, hummed and grinned wider.

           Himmwichlint tilted its head up, made eye contact with him, and huffed.

           Alcor rolled his eyes back at Himmwichlint. He did not need to get out of here, not when this woman’s reactions were absolutely hilarious. He hadn’t been front-row seats to a horror show with so little blood in ages.

           Himmwichlint snorted, looked back at the woman, and nestled itself back in. On the bed, Pili sighed and snuggled the dream closer. The dream obliged.

           Aunt Adi dropped her fist, just a little. She stared at her nibling, eyebrows furrowing. Soft surprise echoed out in the spaces between her terror and horror. If he looked closely, he could see the beginnings of wonder peeking out from behind the residual film of jealousy and anger.

           Oh, he thought. Maybe she would learn. What a disappointment, almost to the point he was the slightest bit mad about it. He’d been looking forward to eking out some more terror from her, maybe indulging in snacking on a finger or two, possibly a kidney, nothing life-threatening. Her actually cleaning her act up was going to ruin things for him.

           Oh, he thought after another moment. Maybe—maybe he did need to go somewhere—else. Dipper closed his eyes and as quietly as possible, tessered into the mindscape, lay in the grass among his Nightmares and Dreams, and simply was.

________________________________________________________________

§¢ɷʘϠϰѬ  ҈۝†‡₰  ʯ͚:ͼǂ  Nightmare Realm

             It was nice, for an indeterminable amount of time, to let the manic buzzing energy and self-righteous anger and the hunger for justice (revenge, the kind that benefited him and him alone) seep out of the front of his mind and down into the back. A couple Dreams nestled up to his sides, and one had decided that his chest was the best place to curl up on. It chewed on his lapel absentmindedly. Dipper would have minded more if it a) wasn’t easy to fix, being made of thought, and b) weren’t the case that the Dream was in the top tenth percentile of cute Dreams—which were altogether adorable as it was.

           The Nightmare taking advantage of the situation to snuffle into his hair was another thing entirely.

           “Erschie,” Dipper said, eyes closed but eyebrows furrowed down. “What are you doing.”

           A pause, then Erschie snorted warm sulfuric air directly into Dippers mostly-made-up scalp. Dipper waited a few seconds for something else to happen, then opened his eyes. The moment he did, he felt Erschie’s fangs and sharp front teeth start to scrape at the top of his head.

         “Gross,” Dipper said, even as he felt the skin slice open just a little. “Disgusting.”

           Erschie paused, then withdrew. Dipper blinked. Erschie then licked at Dipper’s hair with all the gross slobber in Erschie’s dumb gross mouth.

           Dipper bolted upright, the Dream on his chest now in his arms and the other two left to flop into the grass and baa irately over the sudden lack of support. “ERSCHIE!” Dipper screeched. His hair stood up on end. He could feel the slobber starting to trickle down the back of his neck. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

           Erschie blinked up at him, closed its eyes, and then let out a wool-rustle throat-croak hoof-stomp that Dipper knew to indicate Erschie’s general amusement at being a nuisance in Dipper’s life. The Dream snuggled into Dipper’s arms. This, unfortunately, limited what response Dipper could take.

           In order to demonstrate to Erschie that he was a dangerous, serious, terrifying dream demon, Dipper opened his mouth, displayed all his rows of teeth, and hissed at Erschie. For some reason, that just made the Nightmare express Amusement more exuberantly.

           “You’ve been conniving with Himmie, haven’t you,” Dipper said. He resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “You’re both out to show me as much disrespect as possible.”

           Erschie clacked its teeth together and flicked its ears.

           “What do you mean it’s not hard?? I am Alcor the Dreambender, Devourer of Souls and Lord of Nightmares, King of Darkness, Destroyer of Light, the Infernal Star! I’m literally the Scourge of All Beings Living and Dead and you say it’s not hard to disrespect me??”

           With an exaggerated snort, Erschie dipped its head down and up twice before flicking its ears in succession.

           “I do not embarrass myself!!” Dipper howled, throwing his arms up in the air. The Dream previously occupying them fell to the grass with a disgruntled bleat, and glared up at him as ferociously as it could manage. Dipper looked down at the Dream and winced.

           Erschie performed its most vigorous Amusement dance yet.

           Dipper pointed at Erschie and glowered. “Shut up,” he said.

           Predictably, but disappointingly, Erschie did not listen. Erschie continued to do its best to convey its Amusement at Dipper, adding insult to injury by throwing in a mirthful head-shake.

           “Can’t get any respect around here,” Dipper grumbled, squatting down and papping the Dream to show his remorse as was only appropriate. “They’re all out to get me. But you won’t be like that if you ever become a Nightmare, will you? You’ll be appropriately respectful, unlike that ungrateful troll over there. Yes, I could eat it, but no, I am merciful and abstain like a good demon. And this is the thanks I get.”

           The dream looked up at him and blinked. It turned its head to take in Erschie, who was now turning around in a circle as it continued to mock Dipper. Then the dream looked back up at Dipper and flicked its ears just like Erschie was.

           Dipper stood and put his hands on his hips. “Wow,” he said. “The rebellion really does start early. I can see I’m not welcome here, in my own Realm.”

           Erschie blew a raspberry. All three Dreams watched Erschie in clear curiosity, then turned around to Dipper and did the same.

           “Rude,” Dipper growled, and pulled himself away into another place chosen on a whim.

________________________________________________________________

December 5th, 1:58 AM, AZT

             Dipper found himself outside a small home with a bright blue door. The outer walls were made of corrugated metal that had also been painted blue, and a birdhouse had been set between two of the windows. It was cold. Dipper breathed out, then in, then suffused heat into his next exhale just to see the condensation rise and dissipate into the air.

           He turned around, looked down the footpath that meandered down the slope the house was set into. There were more houses, roofs illuminated by moonlight, windows largely unlit. It was 2 AM in this small town of Laza, after all. There wasn’t very much to do, unless he really wanted to terrorize the inhabitants by tap-dancing on their ceilings or whispering traumatizing thoughts into their dreams. He thought maybe that might just possibly be a not great thing that Bentley would get quiet and frustrated with him over, though. Instead, maybe he could just eat some of the goats that one of the houses kept down below. Dipper hummed and tapped his finger on his chin.

           Eating goats was probably something he would get in trouble for, on second thought. He could just terrorize the goats. That was still fun, but didn’t hurt any people. Actually, Torako would get a kick out of some selfies, he could do that. Tempt her into another passport-less road trip, for the fun of it. They could take Bentley too, this time. It would be much lower stakes. Yes, a picture would be good. Dipper took a step forward, absentmindedly casting his mind around to count the souls in the vicinity, and then froze.

           He turned back around, looked at the blue house with the blue door and the birdhouse set into the side of it. A gust of wind blew through him, then around him as he made himself just a little more solid. In turn, he stared through the house and at the soul on a couch. The soul had dozed off while watching the news, which had turned off automatically an hour ago. Dipper stared, then—because he really didn’t have anything better to do—blipped from outside to just in the living room.

           She had become an old, old man, this time, Dipper realized. A very well-groomed and well-dressed old man, even in sleep. She didn’t seem rich this time, he thought to himself, taking in the heirloom table and the rugs worn with age and use, but then again, Pacifica tended to bounce up and down the economic scale from life to life.

           Dipper took a seat in the thin air above the table, on which there was a lone, empty cup that had held coffee at some point. He tilted his head at the old man, watched him breathe in (a little raspy) and then out (almost a snore) for several minutes. Dipper closed his eyes, and saw Pacifica’s death—

           Tunar, in a hospital bed, age 146, seven weeks and two days before his birthday. He breathes in, and then out, and then in, slower and shallower each time. The heartbeat monitor chimes weakly, but steadily. His nephew holds his hand, an old man himself, and his great-great-grandniece is smoothing down the sparse hair on Tunar’s head.

           Tunar does not open his eyes. He has already said goodbye, said it in the hour he was awake before he slept, said goodbye the same way he always did before falling asleep—with a soft ‘I love you,’ a kiss on the forehead or on the hand or on the cheek, and a small little sigh as he set his head into the pillows and closed his eyes again. His other grandnibling has gone with the rest of their family to get something to eat and bring food back for the two who stayed behind. This is probably for the best—there are nineteen of them, you see, because Tunar had loved well and was well-loved in turn.

           His death is slow, as easy as death is capable of being. Medicine has brought the human body far, but there will never be immortality. There never is immortality, not for humankind, not for the dayflies who are born at dawn and die at dusk, not for the oldest of vampires or the fairest of dragons or the coldest of yukionna. All things die, eventually. All things pass.

           Tunar takes a slow, slow breath in, lets it out, and does not inhale again.

—and opened them only to see that the old man had woken up, 137, still nine years left to him, and was looking right at Dipper.

           Dipper startled a little, but didn’t move. The old man did not startle, but instead stretched after a moment in the way that old people do to get stiff muscles to cooperate again.

           “Ah, I fell asleep on the couch again,” Tunar muttered. His hands shook a little as he clapped them once. The lights came on, dim. “I really should stop doing that, it’s very bad for my back and for my sleeping schedule. This face isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

           Dipper cocked his head. “Do you want it to?” he asked.

           Tunar scoffed and pushed himself to sit up straight before reaching for an elegant white cane. His hands, wrinkled and adorned with liver spots, wrapped thin fingers around the gently curved top of the cane. “You think you’re so smooth,” he said, narrowing thick eyebrows at Dipper. “I know better than to make a deal with you, Soul-Devourer.”

          After a brief pause that stretched on to the edge between acceptable and too long, Dipper said, “Actually, it was mostly curiosity.”

           “Mostly,” Tunar drawled, leaning back into the cushions and looking down his nose at Dipper. Dipper was reminded almost viciously of Pacifica and how she would stare at him, unimpressed, after whatever shenanigan he’d pulled recently that pissed her off. It froze Dipper for several long seconds, his heart in his throat as he couldn’t stop seeing her face over Tunar’s. Then Tunar sighed, and the spell was broken.

         “I suppose you’re not actually here to reap my soul for whatever reason, though.” Tunar tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “I know you caused a big hullabaloo a few countries over several months ago, but they’re saying that the river is purified and that there were minimal casualties, which really is quite surprising.”

           “Well, old man,” Dipper drawled, leaning over, “what makes you think that would stop me from taking what I want?”

           Tunar blinked, looked closely at Dipper, and said nothing for a long time. His eyes were dark, if a little clouded, but piercing in a way that had Dipper twitching his foot. The light buzzed overhead. The clock in the other room slid nearly-silently to the next minute. Outside, Dipper could hear grass rustling in the wind if he concentrated enough, or too little.

           A hum brought his attention back to the Pacifica in front of him. Tunar had leaned forward, placing his face and throat closer to Dipper, close enough he could reach out or lunge if he really wanted to.

           “Well then,” Tunar said, smiling, his prosthetic teeth shining somewhat brighter than the few natural ones he had left, “seems to me that you don’t want to eat me.”

           That wasn’t completely accurate—it never was—but it was accurate enough that Dipper found himself flushing. He withdrew and hunched his shoulders, looking at the pictures set into the wall as though he’d never seen anything like them before. Fingers wrapped around his knee, he managed to respond, “Says who?”

           Torako would have gleefully needled the truth out of him. Bentley would have stared at him, arched an eyebrow, and said “Says me,” with the slyest little grin on his face. Pacifica would have lifted fingers to her mouth and chuckled, eyes half-lowered in a kind of superiority-fueled amusement.

           Tunar snorted, eyebrows shooting up higher, and leaned back. “Can’t believe I thought you were some kind of suave, smooth-talking master-villain,” he said. “You’re a dumbass.”

           Dipper scowled at Tunar. Tunar grinned unapologetically, sharp at the edges. “You suck,” Dipper said, finally.

           With a cackle, Tunar finally lay his cane across the top of his legs. “I’m thirsty,” he said, finally. “Make me some coffee.”

           “Make—you have a demon in your living room, and you’re telling him to make coffee??” Dipper said, voice momentarily going shrill.

           “That’s right,” Tunar said, eyes creased in a self-satisfied smile.

           “I could—I’ve manufactured deaths for less offense,” Dipper said, even though it wasn’t much of an offense.

           “I’m a hundred and thirty seven years old,” Tunar said, archly. “Even if I thought you would do that, I wouldn’t be frightened. I’ve lived a long time.”

           Dipper stared. “Unbelievable,” he finally said. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been dealing with this kind of disrespect all day. You don’t even know me.”

           “You just have that kind of face.” Tunar reached out with his cane and poked Dipper in the arm. Dipper’s jaw fell open. “Now. Coffee. I like mine with heavy cream and a scant spoonful of cane sugar. Get to it.”

           It took Dipper several moments to get his jaw closed. Then, he stood up, feet firmly on the rug below the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen to do as Tunar said. He was never, he thought to himself, introducing Tunar to Torako or Bentley. Never.

________________________________________________________________

           In the middle of a story about the time that an acquaintance, unaware of the fact that Tunar wasn’t particularly interested in romantic or sexual entanglements, tried to set Tunar up with xir grandchild ten years Tunar’s senior when Tunar was 23, Dipper’s phone rang. The lyrics to Dancing Queen blared in the air between them before Dipper could answer it.

           Tunar tilted his head. “You have a phone?”

           Dipper sent a glower at Tunar, then answered the phone. “Yes?” he asked, in an approximation of what passed for English these days.

           “Oh, thank goodness you answered,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Dipper blinked and took a second to place the voice—Reynash, right. “Listen, Lata’s sitter dropped out on us again, he was supposed to pick him up from school today but we just got the call that he didn’t, could you—”

           “Yeah, yeah, no, give me five, ten minutes,” Dipper said, tipping his head and calculating the closest point to Lata’s new school that he could feasibly tesser to and remain anonymous. “I’d teleport right to him but that might be a bit—”

           Reynash laughed, a little too tight to be completely sincere. “Ahaha, yeah, no, we would appreciate—no, thank you, I’ll let the school know that Lata’s Uncle Tyrone will be coming to get him.”

           “Sounds good,” Dipper said. “I’ll message when I pick him up, okay?”

           “Thank you again,” Reynash said. “I’ll be home after five, maybe five-thirty, so if you could keep him company until then—”

           “Yeah, no problem at all!”

           “You’re a lifesaver,” Reynash said. “Thanks again, see you.”

           “See—” Dipper only managed to get out one word before the dial tone sounded. He looked down at the phone, and then said, “Well then, he really is busy I guess.”

           “Alcor the Dreambender has a mundane social life?” Tunar said, droll. Dipper relaxed, purposefully, then tilted his head at Pacifica’s latest incarnation. He looked at Tunar through half-lidded eyes, Stan held in the back of his mind—Pacifica did like her fame, he remembered absently. She liked being the center of attention, and what better way to be the center of attention than to have a juicy news scoop to sell to the highest bidding news agency?

           Tunar took one look at Dipper, humphed, and then smacked Dipper in the knee with his cane.

           “Hey!” Dipper protested. “What the fuck?”

           “Don’t you get snippy at me,” Tunar said, wagging a finger in Dipper’s face. Dipper was seized by the childish urge to snap his teeth at it. “I could see you getting all paranoid on me. On me! After I’ve spent the last unbelievable amount of time talking to you about my life and all the personal details in it. I even let you slide on reciprocating. The least you could do is let me have this.”

           Dipper narrowed his eyes at Tunar. “You going to tell anybody?”

           Tunar snorted. “Tell people that Alcor the Dreambender came by for coffee and a chat and ended up taking a phone call in my presence? I’d either end up with terrified Demonologists tearing up my house or being prescribed a variety of medication for hallucinations and fits of fantasy. Perhaps I would have been tempted in my youth, but these old bones are done with all that drama.”

           He watched Tunar’s aura, saw it peppered with the lightest of lies—Tunar was plenty tempted now—but it was enough that Dipper leaned back into the couch and took a final sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said.

         There was a beat of silence. “So,” Tunar said, “you have to leave, I’m supposing.”

           “Yes,” Dipper said. He leaned forward, set the cup in its saucer with a light a clink as he could manage, and stood up. “My apologies for intruding.”

           With rolled eyes, Tunar set his cup on its saucer as well with far less care than Dipper had taken. “Bah, you’re not sorry. I expect to see you here next week—though possibly at a more reasonable hour. My Doctor says that I really need to keep myself on a better sleep pattern.”

           Dipper’s hands stuttered over where they were needlessly straightening out his collar. “Next…week?”

           “Of course,” Tunar said. He stood with the help of his cane and grunted with the effort. “What, you think I started that story with the intention of leaving it unfinished? No, you will be back next week. And—you have a phone. Call me before you come so that I am ready for company.”

           Dipper could only blink. “But I don’t know—”

           “It’s written on the stasis fridge, top left corner. Take a look at it when you bring the cups in to the dishwasher.”

           Spluttering, Dipper said, “I—you expect me to wash the cups?!”

           “And you can let yourself out, I assume,” Tunar said. He turned a genial grin on Dipper, but Dipper was savvy enough to see the slyness in the corners of it. Also, the amusement in his aura helped matters a lot. “Seeing as you let yourself in.”

           “...I am an all powerful demon, and you expect me to wash your cups for—”

           “That just means I am all the more assured you are capable of such a simple task,” Tunar said. He reached out a slightly shaking hand, patted Dipper on the shoulder, and then said, “Well, I am off to bed. Again, I expect you next week. Do try not to show up in the middle of the night again, it’s not good for my heart.”

           With that, Dipper watched Tunar shuffle off around the coffee table and down the hall beyond the other side of the television screen. He blinked a little, completely blindsided—though he probably shouldn’t be. Pacifica also had a tendency of bulldozing through most of her social interactions.

           Sighing, Dipper reached down, gathered up the teacups, gave them a little rinse with the sink tap before setting them in the washer, and entered Tunar’s number into his phone. He looked down at it, displaying up at him with deceptive innocence, and furrowed his eyebrows. Then, he saw the time, said, “Oh, crap,” and blipped out of the darkened kitchen.

December 4th, 4:13 pm, PDT

             Lata screeched with joy as he barreled into Dipper with all the force of an exuberant six year old, face pressed into Dipper’s waist and arms flung around Dipper’s legs. Dipper, dressed up in his nicest, most disarming and charming human persona, grinned down at Lata.

           “Hey buddy,” he said. “How are you doing?”

           “I was so bored,” Lata said, nearly yelling the last two words. “But now you’re here so I’m not! Can we go get ice cream?”

           “Ah,” Dipper said, before deciding fuck it and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, but I have to sign you out first and let your dad know we got you, okay?”

           Lata appeared to have stopped listening after ‘sure,’ and released Dipper to go have a good old jump-and-punch-the-air-in-victory dance. Dipper re-evaluated the intelligence of giving this already hyper child more sugar, then shrugged because he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout, would he?

           “Uncle Tyrone, I presume,” the secretary said, grinning a little. At first glance, she looked like an older middle-aged woman, but Dipper saw the fangs and the sunglasses and thought vampire. She tapped a few buttons, and a screen lit up in front of her window for Dipper. “Please verify your identity with this security question chosen by the child’s guardians and then sign.”

           Dipper peered down at the question. What did you suddenly yell at Reynash Pines that one time that had him scream, launch a full package of Choco Piecies into the air, and tumble back over his home office chair which meant he had to go to the hospital and get three stitches behind his right ear?

           He blinked, then toggled the keyboard to input, What U Cravin. The system thought for a moment, then blinked green before showing him the field to write in his signature. Dipper took hold of the stylus it materialized for him, signed, and then said goodbye to the secretary.

           Lata had, in the meantime, decided that he needed to be crawling around on his feet and hands like some kind of humpbacked bear cub. “Are you done?” Lata asked, turning around in a circle, still not standing. There was dirt on his hands. Dipper resolved to get Lata to wash them as soon as they could find a public restroom.

           “Yes, I’m done,” Dipper said. “You wanna ditch this lame joint?”

           “It’s not lame,” Lata said, twisting his head to look at Dipper in such a way that Dipper wondered how he wasn’t snapping his own neck. “School is really really awesome, it’s just that everybody’s already gone home and I could only just wait for people to come pick me up, and waiting is boring.”

           “That tracks,” Dipper said after a pause. Lata looked back down at the ground and then started walking forward, down to where the entryway doors were. “You gonna keep walking like that buddy?”

           “Yeah,” Lata said. “This is the bear walk! We learned it today in Activities. We also learned the frog leap –though I already knew it—and the lizard crawl, and the earthworm, and the kangaroo hop. Nobody believed me when I said I went to Australia to see the kangaroos, though. They said that you can’t just go to Australia, because there are big spiders.”

           Dipper paused a moment to take in that information. He opened the door for Lata, watched him crawl down the front step and onto the rougher—colder—pavement. Lata frowned at the ground, but kept going. “Your…teacher said this?”

           “No,” Lata said in his best are you stupid voice. Dipper felt affronted that he was turning it on Dipper, his most favorite Uncle Tyrone. “You and Mom and Dad all said not to tell any adults, so I didn’t! But kids don’t count, so I told them. And they didn’t even believe me!”

           Letting the door close behind him, Dipper politely ignored the person walking their dog that stopped in their tracks to first stare at Lata, then turn away with their hand over their mouth and their aura splashed all over with viridian amusement. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Dipper said. “You don’t even have a passport yet.”

           “What’s a passport?” Lata asked. His steps forward were far more ginger than they were earlier, inside on the tile flooring of the hallway.

           “It’s, uh,” Dipper said, looking down at Lata’s animal-print backpack. It had shifted over entirely to one side of Lata’s back, unbalancing him a little. He reached down, adjusted it, and continued. “Well, it’s a special document—like a little book, I think, though maybe that’s changed—that they scan at Ports when you go from one country to another country.”

           “Huh,” Lata said. He took another step, stopped, and then stood up. At the sight of his hands, Dipper moved hand-washing even further up the list of priorities. If he’d thought inside was bad, it was nothing compared to the brief jaunt down the path up to the school. “Do you have a passport?”

           “No,” Dipper said.

           Lata looked up at him, tilted his head so that the leaves on his antlers bobbed a little. “But you have to, to go to another country, right?”

           “Most people have to,” Dipper amended. “It’s expected.”

           They passed by a couple arm-in-arm, a single long scarf wrapped across both their necks. Dipper looked down at Lata. “Where’s your scarf?”

           “In my bag,” Lata said, like that was the best place for it on a chilly December afternoon.

           “And your gloves?”

           “In my bag, duh,” Lata said, rolling his eyes.

           “Hey,” Dipper said. “You really want to pull an attitude with somebody who said they’d get you ice cream in such cold weather?”

           Lata hummed, his finger on his chin in thought. A cold breeze had him shivering a little before he answered, “Maybe?”

           Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, really elongating the word in a way that immediately caught Lata’s attention. “Maybe we don’t need ice cream after all. It’s about 3 degrees Celcius right now, after all.”

           Lata gasped. “No, you can’t take it back! No take-backs! You said we’d go for ice cream!”

           They were now by the public bathroom that Dipper had initially blipped into. “Let’s wash our hands then,” he said, pointing, “in preparation for ice cream.”

           Lata screeched in victory, did a little dance, and then started running towards the bathroom. “First one there gets to eat as much as they want!”

           Reynash would demolish him if Dipper let Lata eat as much ice cream as he wanted. Dipper burst into a very graceless, very hasty run, and didn’t really consider that he wasn’t beholden to any deal he hadn’t verbally agreed to.

________________________________________________________________

           “I cannot believe I let you get all that ice cream,” Dipper said, having blipped them to a nice ice cream place down in New California before bringing Lata and their spoils to the Pines home.

           Lata giggled and stuck his spoon into his Custom Mouse Sundae, complete with five scoops of ice cream molded into the shape of a mouse and topped off with two round waffle cookies that made the mouse’s ears. He dug out the piece of chocolate that made up the eye and stuck it in his mouth, kicking his legs.

           “I would’ve beat you if you hadn’t used your superpowers,” Lata said, trying to pout but failing in the face of the massive, self-satisfied grin that kept breaking through. “You had to be nice to me. It’s only fair.”

           “Your parents would hate it if I had let you eat the Turtle Family Sundae, the Spaghetti Ice Cream Set, and the Mouse Sundae,” Dipper said, pointing his spoon at Lata from across the table. He had gotten a custom ice cream Mega Bowl, and had filled it with a variety of ice creams and toppings. Lata kept glancing at it with unashamed interest.

           Lata leaned back in his seat—Dipper reached across and pulled the chair back onto all four legs with his foot—and groaned. “But it would have been so delicious,” he said. “So worth it. It’s not like they can do anything to you! They can’t ground you, or take away TV privileges, or game privileges, or have you write letters of Recon-ciliation to exchange with each other.”

           Dipper blinked. “Letters of Reconciliation?”

           Lata carefully carved the tip of the mouse’s nose, cherry and all, off from the rest of the ice cream. “Yeah,” he said, before taking a break to stuff his mouth.

             “What’s that?”                

           “It’s when we have a disagreement, and I write a letter saying what I thought and how I felt about the thing, and Mom and Dad write a letter saying what they thought and felt about the thing, and we give them to each other and read them and then talk about it. It’s so boring.”

           Rain tapped against the roof and windows—rain might be a bit of a misnomer for the half-rain, half-ice slush that was falling from the sky, but nevertheless Dipper was glad they hadn’t been caught out in it before heading down to NewCal. That would have been super messy, and cold, and gross. Dipper scooped up a bit of ice cream, swallowed it almost immediately, and then responded. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said.

           “Ugh, you’re such an adult,” Lata whined. He leaned down and pulled one of the cookie ears out of the mouse with his mouth. When he bit down, the part of the cookie that wasn’t in his mouth fell onto the ice cream below, which was starting to melt a bit.

           “You’ve gotten sassy since entering Kindergarten,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at Lata. “Where’s the little monster that kept saying things like ‘rawr’ and ‘I’m a nibble monster’ and all? Also, I’ll have you know that I am essentially eternally twelve. That’s not an adult.”

           “But it’s still old!” Lata yelled, suddenly. He leaned back on the rear legs of his chair. Dipper reached out with his foot and pulled his chair back down with an ease that was somewhat frightening after so many years of not parenting. “You’re old! I asked Dad how old you were and he said you were thousands of years old! That’s so many years. I watched him write out all the zeros, and then we counted out rice and it was so much rice and took so long.”

           Dipper scowled and crossed his arms. “I bought you ice cream, and this is how you repay me?”

           “I’m just saying the truth,” Lata retorted. “It’s the truth, so you can’t be mad about it.”

           Dipper snorted. “Now that’s not how things work,” he said. “Plenty of people get mad about the truth. They do it all the time.”

           Lata blinked at him. “But why? It’s the truth. You can’t get mad at something that’s true. Hans told me so.”

           As Lata began licking the ice cream, hands fisted on either side of his take-out bowl, Dipper hummed and tapped the flat of his spoon against his own ice cream. He cycled through the examples in his head—everything died, but plenty of people sought immortality—it was true that if you caught a knife to the throat, you would not last long but people got so upset about that—people worshipped or didn’t worship in many ways, and yet there were those who decided that those ways were wrong and got mad—kids grew up, and there were some dumbasses who resented how those children grew up into their own skins with their own experiences and opinions instead of staying malleable, agreeable, naïve—preternatural citizens existed, and yet—governments weren’t perfect, but—and finally hit upon one he thought Lata would understand.

           “Well,” he said, slowly, “have you ever watched something on TV and gotten mad about it?”

           Lata maintained eye-contact while licking across the ice-cream-mouse’s head. Savage. “Mom says that we have to look up stuff that they put on the TV sometimes, because it’s not always right, and when it’s not right then of course I’m allowed to be mad about it. Because it’s not right.”

           Right then, maybe not that. Perhaps he ought to take a different approach here, let Lata provide the basic scenario. “Okay, buddy, how about you tell me all the things that make you mad.”

           With a hum, Lata took a huge bite right out of the scoop of Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise in front of his mouth. Dipper watched and wondered how effective that technique actually could be. “Um,” he said, completely ignorant of the melted ice cream smeared over his nose and lips and even chin, “well, I guess I get mad whenever Ri-Ri lies to me about the places she goes with her parents. And when Toma writes on my papers when I tell zir not to. Or when the lady on International Animal Discovery Channel is absent and her coworker comes in and covers for her, because he’s stupid and gets stuff wrong all the time. And when I have to go to bed at eight thirty, even though all my friends get to go to bed later. It’s so stupid! Why do I have to go to bed earlier? It can’t just be because it’s good for me because I’m a kid, because if it was my friends would go to bed earlier too! And also when Mom says she can’t come pick me up at school because she has an emergency meeting, like today, because she goes to work before I go to school and I don’t get to see her until I get out of school. And—”  

           Dipper swallowed the entire scoop of classic mint before holding up his hand and waving it. “Okay, okay, I think I have enough to work with there, thank you. Let’s talk about bedtime, okay? You’re mad because you have to go to bed earlier than your friends, right?”

           Lata slumped and poked his ice cream with his index finger. “Yeah,” he mumbled, before sticking his finger in his mouth and sucking the melted ice cream off of it. “I guess.”

           “Right,” Dipper said. He paused, suddenly doubting that he was the right person to tell Lata about this part of life. This seemed like a very—very parent-to-child conversation, not an Uncle-to-nibling conversation. It was kind of heavy.

           He paused too long. “So?” Lata said. Dipper looked up to see that Lata had resorted to grabbing the ice cream with his full hand and was licking it out of his palm. What a mood, Dipper thought, but instead narrowed his eyes at Lata.

           “Hey, use your spoon, not your hands,” he said. “And actually—here, use this napkin to clean your hand off. If you put your hands on something, it’ll get dirty and then we’ll both have to deal with the consequences, aka your parents.”

           “Okay,” Lata said, reaching with his dirty hand to take the napkin Dipper had pulled out from the 100% biodegradable takeout bag he’d gotten at the ice cream shop.

           “Probably should get the ice cream on your nose and chin while you’re at it,” Dipper said absentmindedly, watching Lata scrub at his hand with the paper napkin. Lata was a good kid, Dipper thought to himself. Lata would understand what Dipper was trying to say. This wouldn’t be too hard.

           Lata wrinkled his nose, but got most of the ice cream off his face. Good enough, Dipper thought, and then he launched into his little speech.

            “Right, so, it is true the kids need a lot of sleep, because they’re still developing their brains and bodies. The reason that babies sleep so much is that they’re growing and learning so much, and everything is new, so it’s exhausting. You’re still learning a lot of new stuff, and your brain is,” Dipper squinted at Lata and tilted his head, “currently, it’s learning how to handle complex and somewhat abstract concepts such as time, numbers, is expanding its capacity for vocabulary, and is beginning to develop the pathways needed to understand things such as life and death and your place in the cycle. You already have a very good grasp on concentration and a decent awareness of places existing outside of your home and school, though, that’s pretty impressive at your age.”

           Lata’s eyes went a little unfocused. Dipper dialed it back. “Point is, your brain is working hard, and it needs that sleep to recharge, refresh, and retain—keep—all the information that you’ve been learning. Your friends should probably be going to sleep around the same time you are if they’re waking up when you are, though every kid is different and every family is different.”

           Slowly, Lata tilted his head at Dipper. “What?”

           “Your parents are right,” Dipper said after a short but deep inhale, “that you should go to bed at 8:30. Your friends also need the amount of sleep that you do. It’s the truth. Are you still mad at it?”

           Lata thought for a moment. “Kind of,” he mumbled.

           “Why?”

           Lata grumbled, “This is worse than Reconciliation Letters.”

           “Why thank you,” Dipper said, grinning a little, “So? What’s got you so mad then? It can’t be that your friends are right and your parents are wrong for sending you to bed early, right?”

           “I think you’re like all the wrong people on the TV,” Lata said, frowning, not meeting Dippers’s eyes. “I think if I look it up you’re going to be wrong.”

           “I’m an all-powerful omni—I mean, all-knowing demon,” Dipper drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Lata. “I know things that Ping never would, and I know all the things that Ping is wrong about. Wanna try again?”

           For a long time, Lata stayed quiet. He kicked his legs under the table and glowered at his ice cream. Resentment breathed slow, auburn in his aura, and frustration sparkled at the edges like dew on stinging nettle. Dipper sat on the urge to interject what he wanted Lata to learn, and waited.

           After a whole six minutes, twenty-three seconds and four-hundred ninety-eights of a millisecond, Lata said, “’Cause I wanna watch Seawitch Adventures like Ri-Ri and all the others get to.”

           Dipper had not known about Seawitch Adventures, but it made sense. He translated, “Because you don’t like it. It goes against what you want the world to be like.”

           Lata tilted their head in a shrug and papped at the dining table surface with their hands. There was still a residue of ice cream lingering on the one hand, but Dipper decided that was whatever and Reynash or Kanti could deal with it later. He was doing awesome at this conversation thing.

           “People don’t get mad when things are factually wrong. They get mad when things aren’t the way they want them to be. And that’s okay!” Dipper said, after a length of time. “Everybody does it. The problem is when you choose to take that anger out on other people, people who don’t deserve it.”

           Lata paused, and looked up. “Do you do it? Take it out on other people.”

           Dipper felt his heart stutter in his chest. “…Sometimes.”

           “Is that why Daddy and Mommy were afraid of you?”

           Dipper held a desperate lie against the back of his many teeth before closing his eyes and letting it melt away, unheard. “…yes.”

           “Don’t you know it’s a problem, though?” Lata asked.

         Dipper shies away from that truth. He gives a not-quite-lie. “I forget, sometimes.”

           Rain splashed against the roof, the windows. The stasis fridge hummed in the kitchen. Lata had stopped drumming against the table. Dipper felt almost compelled to pick it up in his stead.

           “…what did you do?”

           “A lot of things,” Dipper said, quietly. He opened his eyes. “A lot of very bad things that I forgot were bad.”

           Lata stared at him. His dik-dik horns, so much smaller than Henry’s, than Paloma’s, seemed to embody all of Dipper’s regrets and failures for a brief moment. Dipper felt the phantom slide of a soul down his throat. He swallowed, met Lata’s gaze and tried to push the feeling away. Lata’s eyes looked right into Dipper’s until Dipper looked away, a little scared of what Lata was reading in them. Scared, maybe, that Lata might just see his own soul between Dipper’s teeth, even though that was impossible. Anyways, the only soul Dipper had between his metaphorical teeth was—

           “Even now?” Lata asked, again.

           “No, no, now is better. I forget…less,” Dipper said after a beat. Thoughts of souls faded to the back of his mind. They never really left, though. The temptation was always there, like the background hum of a generator, or the near silent slide of the second hand of an analogue clock. “Now is—I can control how mad I am. I remember that it’s not right to take my anger out on innocent people. I understand that sometimes I’m mad at the wrong thing. Usually I can pull myself back. I never remember to pull myself back when I’m…when I’m like what your parents learned about.”

           “Oh,” Lata said. They were quiet for a long time, the two of them. The ice cream in their bowls continued to melt. Dipper stared at his, watched the strawzzleberry cheesecake ooze into the peanut butter fudge scoop.

           “I yelled at Mama when she made me go to bed,” Lata said, in a quiet voice. “I said I hated her.”

           Dipper winced. That had always hurt—his children, his sister, his niblings saying they hated him in fits of anger. He’d known they didn’t mean it, usually, but it still hurt. Sometimes it hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d lashed out in response. And sometimes, a very few sometimes, he had hurt them far more than they had.

           He shied away from the thought. “How—what did your Mama think of that?”

           Lata shrugged, poked his ice-cream soup with his spoon. “She frowned at me and said I was going to bed no matter that I hated her.”

           Dipper remembered putting on a strong front. He worried lightly on his bottom lip. “Ah,” he said.

           After a few moments, Lata looked up at him. “Do you think I hurt her?” he asked. He shifted in his seat, but kept looking Dipper right in the eye.

           Dipper opened his mouth to say yes, because he’d always been hurt (even if just a little bit), but Lata looked so small and worried, undertones of dark guilt hovering around his shoulders. He swallowed the yes, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. You—you have to ask her.”

           “Oh. Okay,” Lata said.

           They sat in silence. Rain hit the window, the roof. Dipper stared at his own ice cream soup for a while, colors having swirled into a muddy mess. He passed his spoon through it once, twice, a few more times, before sticking it in his mouth with a sigh. In his periphery, he saw Lata blink at him. Incredulity lanced over his head. Dipper stifled a grin and set down the spoon on the table with a light clack. Hyperaware of Lata staring at him, he sighed in exaggeration before picking up the ice cream cup and pouring the contents down his throat.

           “Ew, gross,” said Lata.

           Dipper swallowed and licked his lips, glancing up at Lata. “What? It’d be a waste to throw it out. You don’t want your own sugar soup? I’ll drink it for you.”

           Lata screwed up his nose at Dipper, then pushed the cup at him. His guilt was still present, but disgust and also amusement were sliding over it, burying it from the moment. Soon it would be nothing more than an aftertaste, something Dipper would have to concentrate to be able to sense. “All the flavors are mixed now, it’s so gross.”

           “Excellent,” Dipper said, before taking the ice cream and swallowing that, too. There are soggy chunks of cookie in it. It’s not particularly appetizing, but it’s also not a rule breaker, and the mixed flavor is a mystery on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, swishing the last of the mixture around in his mouth to try to figure out what was in it.

           “Ewwww, what are you doing,” Lata said, giggling. “It’s not mouthwash!”

           Dipper swallowed. “Definitely Raspberry Crunch and Honeyed Alfalfa,” he said. “You got something chocolaty in there, right? Some kind of—fudge, fudge something, oh! Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise, right?”

           “You can’t taste everything,” Lata accused.

           “If I work hard enough I can,” Dipper said, opening his eyes and smirking. There’s a tug at his navel that means summons, but honestly this is more important (and probably more fun). “Five scoops, right? And I’ve already figured out three of them.”

           Lata pushed himself to kneel on the seat of his chair, semi-sticky hands flat on the table and eyes wide. “You can’t,” he breathed.

           “Can so.” Dipper hummed and thought to himself. “There was a nutty kind of flavor in there, nutty and a little salty, but it wasn’t cashew, it was a little less fatty, it was—right, I remember you pointing to the Wonderful Salted Walnut.”

           “Noooo!” Lata leaned forward even further. Dipper cast an absentminded eye at the pressure that was placing on the front legs of the chair and whether they were likely to tip and smash Lata’s face into the table. It was pretty low, only 28%, so he let it be. “That’s still not all! There’s still one left!”

           Dipper cackled and spun the empty ice cream carton on one talon. With a nudge from his mind, it balanced perfectly and continued to spin unnaturally fast. The summons tugged again at his stomach, but he smothered it. It wasn’t anybody he knew. It wasn’t important. “I think you mean only one.”

           He closed his eyes to focus on the last flavor, and that can be the only reason that he only realized they weren’t alone when he heard, “And what are—did you have ice cream??”

           “Oh shit,” Dipper said without thinking, eyes flying open.

           Lata said, with the absolute worst timing known only to children under the age of ten, “Oh shit! Welcome home, Papa!”

           Reynash Pines leveled him with the most incredulous glare he’d seen in a while. “Ice cream and swearing?”

           Suddenly, the importance of the summons skyrocketed from rock bottom to very near the top of his priority list. Dipper dropped the carton on the floor. “Oh, hey, Reynash, buddy, how’s it hanging, uh, sorry to skip out but I actually just got a summons, you know how they are haha, can’t help that work life, on call twenty-four-seven, see you later hope you’re not mad byeeeee!”

           Reynash spluttered. Water dripped off his bangs and onto his forehead. “No, you can’t just bail on—Dipper!”

           But Dipper had already clenched the connection to the summons in one metaphorical hand, had tugged, and was gone.

 _______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 9:39 PM BRL

             The first thing Dipper noticed was that the candles were scentless. He billowed up from nothing in the most dramatic smoke he could think of, pulled the reverb in his throat to mild extremes, and said, “Who presumes to call upon Alcor the Dreambender?” into the dark of the blue-lit room.

           The second thing Dipper noticed were the chalk lines—exact angles, minimal differences in stroke width, painstakingly duplicated symbols. Its perfection was mathematically precise, and there were even three layers of binding spells woven into the circle. Dipper casually pulled his cane out of thin air, coalesced his top hat from residual smoke curling into the space above his head, and smiled to himself. Binding spells weren’t much more than a nuisance to deal with.

           The third thing Dipper noticed were the people in the room—elegantly dressed adults in formal suits and skirts, beautifully crafted silver masks over their faces, hair coiffed and pressed and sprayed. Their arms were uplifted, frozen in the moment they’d succeeded in summoning him. There were nine of them. Dipper glanced over them, saw their determination and hard-edged stubbornness and solid righteousness in their auras, the colors subtly different for each person.

           “Lord Alcor,” one of them said. Dipper blinked, and knew they were he. “We come to offer you an exchange: a solution to our troubles for a worthy sacrifice.”

           Dipper hummed, leaned on his cane, and didn’t let them in on the fact that he’d already surreptitiously snapped one of the binding circles. “Oh?” he drawled, a lazy little grin curled into the corners of his lips. “Tell me, what are your troubles?”

           “Our beloved country,” the Speaker said, “is being cast into ruin and shadows by those currently in charge. We seek only to remove the…obstacles facing our country’s future.”

           “I see,” said Dipper, and then he really did. He was in Brazil, in New Fortaleza, and the government was currently making social reforms that benefited those in the lowest economic tier. There were many people pushing for those reforms from places of influence—born into and risen up to alike. He raised his eyebrows. “And…what would your idea of a fair exchange be?”

           The Speaker turned his head and nodded to the woman next to him. She nodded back, then turned around to head away from the circle and towards the stairs at the edge of the wide space they had chosen for his summoning. Dipper watched her go, and did not blink. Absentmindedly, he slid his power around and under the second barrier spell. This one would be a little trickier—raw power would only alert them to its failure, so he would have to play a subtler hand.

           One of the summoning group shifted xir weight almost imperceptibly. Dipper blinked to look xir way. Xi made eye contact through the mask and flinched.

           “Be steady,” the Speaker said. “Lord Alcor, it would not go unappreciated were you to…refrain from any posturing or intimidation tactics.”

           Dipper chuckled, refocused back on the Speaker. “Condolences,” he murmured, pitching the tone so that it echoed off the far walls regardless of the volume. “I cannot control how much terror your…acquaintances feel. I am a demon. Instilling fear in those who look upon us is an unavoidable part and parcel of this existence, you understand.”  

           The Speaker said nothing, but swallowed. Dipper counted that as a victory in and of himself—he was getting the sense that this man enjoyed talking, and enjoyed even more than that the chance to hear himself talk.

           The soft whir-click-swoosh of a door being unlocked and opened echoed through the empty room. It whispered off the walls. Dipper watched the Speaker’s aura twist in uncertainty before determination smoothed it out, hot shmellow oozing over dirty blue-green until it was smothered. He held the Speaker’s gaze until the footsteps started echoing around the room too—the steady tread of the woman’s shoes, followed by a hesitant, uneven, sometimes scraping cacophony of quiet noise. The breath halted in Dipper’s useless lungs. Nobody seemed to notice; his chest had hardly been rising and falling anyways.

           Nine children followed the woman. He could hear their shallow breaths, their hitching hiccups, barely restrained tears. He could smell the acrid-sweet scent of fear, the way it spiked and swelled when he leaned back on thin air. The second barrier snapped, and he was just barely aware enough to stop it from flickering with bright thunder. He wanted this. He hated this.

           The Speaker waited for Alcor’s attention to shift to the children, but when he didn’t comply, he swept an arm out to call attention to the newcomers. “Nine lives, from nine of us, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to our country. We have learned that you…like…children, and their lives would be yours to do what you see fit with.”

           It was strange that these types always learned all the wrong lessons about children, he thought absentmindedly, almost vapidly. It was strange that they always dismissed the possibility of more ethical sacrifices, like candy or sentimental items or factories worth of ice cream. Dipper cast his gaze over the children, his face frozen in that way it was when he felt like he was on the cusp of something terrible. They were cleaned—recently, from the faint hint of chemically-recreated pomegranate on the air—but some of them had clearly had better care than others. He skipped from terrified face to terrified face. The youngest of them was—six, dark curly hair, bought from desperate parents like human lives were commodities, teeth digging into a bottom lip and eyes welling with tears. Then there was—seven and petit, ten and too tall for her age, eleven and barely scared enough the fear drowned out the anger, two eight-year-old twins with vitiligo on their palms (and no, Bentley didn’t have vitiligo, but the splotchy color difference was enough to make him burn colder, right in his chest), nine and born blind, six-and-a-half and missing a finger, and a twelve year old on the cusp of turning thirteen. Tomorrow was xir birthday.

           The Speaker’s voice turned soft. “Jamilla, come.”

           The twelve year old inhaled sharp and quiet, but went. Xir hands twisted in xir gold shift. Blue fingernail polish flashed in the light, like all the other children’s. Dressed up pretty, their individualism smoothed away as best as possible, for the very ends of their lives. “Papa?”

           The Speaker waited for Jamilla to come to him. Alcor kept his eyes on Jamilla every step of the way. He watched how xi quivered, how xi glanced over at him over and over. He thought about thirteenth birthdays and never reaching them, thought about his puffy blue vest and that stupid pine-tree hat that he had loved with all his heart, and how it was hard to even think about wearing things that casual for very long. His power rolled over to the third barrier and began to eat at it.

           “This is my own child,” the Speaker said, setting his hands on Jamilla’s shoulders. “Xi knows how important the future of our country is, and was willing to sacrifice xirself for it. While most of the children here are orphans, or as good as, this is a token of my dedication, of my seriousness.”

           “…I see,” said Dipper. He tilted his head. Jamilla shivered and averted xir gaze, but did not move otherwise. “Dedicated indeed, to sacrifice somebody you love. Very powerful.”

           He cast his eye, slowly and deliberately, over the other children. He tried to catch their gazes where he could. Everything around him felt—slow, almost. He stared into the eyes of the angry-scared eleven year old, whose name was Leilani and whose ambition was to become a child caretaker because children deserved people who protected them and nurtured them and loved them, whose anger had left silvery scars between her knuckles from how many times she’d split them over on somebody else’s face or gut or kidney, whose eyes were dark, furious brown and who could have lived to forty-one, dying young and tragic but not as young and tragic as this.

           “Indeed,” the Speaker said. “Now, do you agree to the terms laid out?”

           Dipper held Leilani’s gaze a moment longer, before breaking away to fix his attention on the Speaker and his child, his poor, youngest child (who had been loved and cherished but raised with the knowledge that this may happen someday, who had been prepared and taught to step into xir own death of xir own fledgling, undeveloped will). Dipper smiled.

           “Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country, correct?” Alcor passed a whisper of blue flame between his fingers as he spoke.

           The Speaker waited a moment. His hands tensed over his child’s shoulders as he thought the words over. “The nine lives we offer you, to do with as you please, for the lives of those on this list.”

           Alcor looked down on the list. Two career politicians who had slowly turned over new leaves, a charismatic rabble-rouser, three underpaid and overworked lawyers with a talent for defending their wrongly-accused clients, a university professor whose lectures were widely distributed and widely influential, an old farmer with a penchant for speaking up loud and proud in defense of reforestation and traditional farming methods, and a janitor who had convinced their coworkers to unionize and strike for better wages. Influential in all the ways the Speaker and his cohorts disapproved of.

           As few as twenty years ago, Alcor would have taken advantage of the situation to cause as much carnage as possible while keeping the children safe. He would have gotten 18 souls and probably an additional nine life-debts from the children, to cash in as he pleased, when he pleased. Ten years ago, he would have settled for 9 souls, 9 bodies, and 9 traumatized children placed at the nearest orphanage.

           Today, Alcor remembered being angry, and terrified, and determined in the face of the world ending. He remembered the terror of being watched, the nightmares about rearranged faces and deer teeth. He remembered dying.

           “Like I said,” Alcor drawled, eyebrow raised. “Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country. Or, if you want me to be a little more transparent, nine souls in here for nine lives out there and a whole lot of chaos thrown in.”

           The Speaker hesitated. “Chaos?”

           Alcor laughed, leaned on his cane a little more. The third barrier dissolved under his power at last with a flicker that he disguised by flaring his flames just a bit higher. Fury burned colder and deeper in his chest, at the very core of him. “What do you think nine people dying suddenly is going to cause?! Especially nine people as influential and high-profile as the ones on your list, and all at the same time! It’s going to be unbelievably chaotic. You might have a little trouble controlling the investigation that follows, but I’m sure you can squash things like freedom of the press and the people’s right to assemble in a jiffy, what with your very powerful positions. I’m all here for that, props to you!”

           “You’re taking their souls?” One of the other politicians said, a quiver of trepidation in their voice. Hesitation and guilt began to seep through their aura, dark and damp and almost physically heavy. “But I thought…”

          “Young souls are the best,” Alcor said. He had—he shied away from the thought, comforted himself with the many many times that other demons had spouted the same things he was now. “They’re very soft, not nearly as entrenched in their fleshvessels. Absolutely delicious.” He swallowed the drool that had begun to pool at the back corners of his mouth.

           “I…”

           “Enough,” the Speaker snapped, hands tightening on his child’s shoulders again. Xi was beginning to have terrified second thoughts. The only thing keeping xir where xi stood was xir father’s presence behind xir and years of conditioning convincing xir that this was the right thing to do. “Alcor the Dreambender, do we have a deal?”

           Alcor grinned, extended a hand that arched in a graceful, almost indolent line in the air. “I thought you’d never ask,” he purred.

           The Speaker flushed with a victorious, vicious kind of pride, then reached out to shake Alcor’s hand. The flames licked up between their palms, and Alcor grinned even wider.

           “It’s a deal,” Dipper said, before he took a step forward and plunged his hand down the Speaker’s throat and hooked his claws into the soul nestled at the base of the man’s neck, cradled in the hollow of his clavicle. As the others in the room started screaming, as fear saturated the air around them within seconds, Dipper looked into the Speaker’s confused and angry and terrified, determined eyes, lifted the soul up to his lips, and sunk his teeth into it.

           The Speaker screamed, physically, metaphysically, and collapsed as though suddenly boneless. His child screamed and went down with him, panic and terror readily apparent even if Dipper had been unable to see xir aura. The other children stumbled back, one twin tripping and scraping his palms against the ground, the eleven year old stepping in front of the seven year old with an angry snarl on her face. Dipper paid them no mind. He was too busy licking his fingers to catch any residual soul energy that had leaked out when he had bit down. After he had finished cleaning them off, he looked up to see that some of the summoners were making for the opposite door. He cocked his head. Energy thrummed through him. He laughed, high and maybe a little unhinged, before following.

           He had eight more souls to collect here before he could get to work, after all, and they’d gone to all the trouble of summoning him to fix their country in the first place! It would be—disrespectful, he considered as he tore open the ribcage of the closest summoner for no other reason than he could, if he wasn’t as diligent as possible.

________________________________________________________________

December 4th, 11:12 PM EST

           Dipper blipped into bed and shifted into elegant pajamas in one smooth motion, still a little buzzed from all the souls he had eaten and all the life debts he had collected over the past hour and a half. Finding the children suitable homes had been—difficult enough that he had burned off a lot of the energy gained from the deal, but he was still twitchy and half-guilty over how he had acted in the basement. Right after he had lectured Lata about acting out of anger! Lata was never finding out about what happened.

           Next to him, Bentley shifted from half-asleep to half-awake. “Huh? Dipper?”

           Dipper hummed. He wiggled so that he was curled up against Bentley, set a still-clawed hand against Bentley’s sleep sweater (he wore sleep sweaters now, it was terrifying that he kept being so cold even when he should be warm) and curled it so that the fabric was in his loose grasp. He had to fight to keep it loose. Everything was—too bright, too sharp, and he felt like he was balancing on the edge of that precipice again, that if he fell it would be too easy to go back to him half a century ago.

           “Dipper, you okay?”

           He felt an arm reach over him, a hand rub at his back. On Bentley’s other side, Torako snuffled in her sleep, snorted, but didn’t wake up. Dipper pressed his face into Bentley’s chest and nuzzled the fabric without giving a solid answer. The world dulled down to something almost manageable.  

           Bentley’s chest expanded and then contracted with a sigh. He wiggled down just enough that Dipper’s head fit under his chin. Something seemed—off, in that moment, because Dipper could swear that his feet should be below Bentley’s in this position, but when he reached out with his toes they brushed Bentley’s shins.

           “All right,” Bentley said, the sound of his voice reverberating against Dipper’s forehead. “All right, not tonight. It’s—it’s late anyways. You can tell me what happened tomorrow, okay?”

           Several moments passed before Dipper felt relaxed enough to nod. All the while, Bentley’s hand rubbed up and down his back.

           “Okay,” Bentley breathed out. Dipper didn’t want to see the relief in his aura, so he kept his eyes shut and just focused on the warmth surrounding him. Then, Bentley said, “You wanna sleep between me and Torako tonight? I can move you if it’s too much trouble.”

           There was something weird about that statement too, because Bentley was strong but it could be awkward for him to haul something larger over his own body, but Dipper thought about how nice it would be to be sandwiched between two souls he loved (one was his, the other may as well have been but he would never, ever, ever take it, because look at what happened to Henry even though he loved Henry?) and the weirdness of the situation melted away. He nodded again.

           “Right then,” Bentley murmured. Dipper felt him wriggle his left arm under Dipper’s chest to wrap around his back. There was a pressure at the spot right above the space between his wings, and then they were turning over, Dipper’s legs pinned lightly between Bentley’s. Seconds later, Dipper’s back was to Torako’s front, and his face was still smooshed up against Bentley’s chest. Dipper hadn’t even had to open his eyes. He let out a soft breath. His hand unclenched from Bentley’s sweater to curl up against it instead, knuckles brushing wool.

           “There we go,” Bentley said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dipper’s head. There was a rustle, Bentley’s body shifting against his, and then he heard Torako groan a little before she was flush up against his back, breath fanning the back of his head. She was snoring lightly, and Dipper couldn’t help but smile a little.

           “There we go,” Bentley said again, a little quieter. He rubbed his hand up and down Dipper’s back for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

           Dipper listened to them. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and let himself be home.

[nyroom]

The Ghosts of Childhood - Chapter 1

After a fight with his brother, Stan heads out and is consequentially de-aged back into a child. Now Ford is going to have to confront the emotional baggage he's been avoiding, all while trying to manage three children and a business. What could go wrong?

This fic is based on the One And A Half Stans AU from disappearedsock and thesnadger over on Tumblr. I stumbled across it and the idea was too cute to leave alone.

This is my first Gravity Falls fic so, if characters are ooc, that's why.

[AO3 Link] [Part 2]

The days since the Author had come out of the portal were almost suffocatingly tense. Don’t get him wrong - Dipper was positively thrilled to be meeting the object of his obsession fascination - but after the initial high wore off, the tension was starting to bother even him.

It was clear that Grunkle Stan and Great Uncle Ford still had some animosity towards each other, soured even more over the 30-year absence. They didn’t appear to be in any rush to start making amends either. It was as if they were pretending the other didn’t exist, that if they ignored the problem strongly enough, it would eventually go away. Luckily, they mostly avoided each other, so the tension was at least bearable. It was a different story when they were both in the same room together, which was usually around dinner time.

A selfish part of Dipper resented Grunkle Stan, just a little. The Author LITERALLY lived in their basement, yet Dipper couldn’t even talk to him! He still had so many questions to ask him, but Grunkle Stan was firm in Dipper steering clear of him. “My brother’s a dangerous know-it-all, and the stuff he’s messing with is even worse.” He had said, brown eyes dark. “Do yourself a favour and stay away from him.”

Mabel didn’t seem to be handling the tension very well, though she was doing her best to be her usual peppy self. It just didn’t compute to her that siblings could hate each other so much. Why couldn’t they hug and just say sorry? Why wasn’t that good enough? Dipper had caught her shooting him sad looks when she thought he wasn’t looking, as if she were afraid they’d end up that way too. Dipper did his best to assure her otherwise.

Tonight had been a particularly bad one. Dipper and Mabel had huddled in their shared room, listening to the faint sounds of shouting coming from somewhere downstairs. It looked like the elder twins had finally stopped tip-toeing around each other. Dipper couldn’t make out exactly what was being said, but the venom in each of their voices was practically palpable.

Thankfully, as if a trade-off for its intensity, the fight had been over as quickly as it started, ending with a slammed door and the sound of tires screeching in the dirt. Most likely Grunkle Stan; Great Uncle Ford didn’t seem much for driving. Dipper had just winced and put the incident out of his mind. There wasn’t much he could do for them, and Mabel hadn’t exactly taken the fight well. He had more important things to worry about right now.

Now five hours later, the sun was starting to set and there was still no sign of Stan. That couldn’t be good.

“Maybe he just got caught up in a really good game of bingo?” Mabel suggested, ever the optimist. “You know, old people things.”

Dipper frowned, considering the thought. “There’s no way Grunkle Stan would have lasted this long without getting thrown out for cheating.”

Try as Dipper may, he couldn’t exactly think of anything that could occupy their Grunkle for this long. The townspeople weren’t exactly his greatest fans, and Stan had always seemed more content to sit in his armchair and watch television than go out anywhere. So what could it be? What could possibly be taking him so long? Had the fight really been that bad?

… Well, their last big fight had landed Great Uncle Ford on the other side of an interdimensional portal so, yeah, maybe. But Grunkle Stan wouldn’t just leave them, would he?

“Maybe we should go out and find him,” Mabel piped up, interrupting Dipper’s train of thought. “He might just have fallen asleep somewhere! It’s getting close to his bedtime.”

Dipper knew that she was just trying to lighten the mood, but it did nothing to soothe the sinking feeling he was starting to get.

No big deal. You just have to find Stan and bring him back. Piece of cake.

Minds made up, they grabbed their bags and headed down to the door, swiping the keys to the golf cart from the tray in the Gift Shop. While they could easily walk to town, they decided that it would be quicker to take the cart. Gravity Falls covered a pretty expansive area, and Stan could be anywhere.

They briefly hesitated by the vending machine, exchanging an uneasy glance. Did they tell Great Uncle Ford where they were going? Did they invite him along? … No, he likely wouldn’t come anyways. Besides, maybe he needed some time alone too, and it’d likely not be a good idea to drag him along on a trip to find the person he was fighting in the first place.

It was decided that they head into town first. Though it was no longer a secret that Grunkle Stan believed in and had experience with the supernatural, it seemed unlikely for him to journey into the woods. At best, he was disinterested in that whole business. Besides, he was driving, and the woods weren’t very car-friendly.

“We should have made posters before we left.” Mabel thought aloud as they parked the cart, tapping her chin. “How can you hunt for someone if you don’t even have a picture of them?”

Dipper rolled his eyes fondly, knowing she just wanted to stretch her creativity - and maybe put a dent in her glitter stockpile. “This town is pretty small, Mabel, and Grunkle Stan isn’t exactly a shut-in. I’m pretty sure everyone has at least heard of him.”

Mabel blew a raspberry, clearly disliking his answer, but not having a good enough rebuttal.

Though Dipper had felt pretty positive they would find Stan somewhere in town, his confidence began to wane with each area searched. Every street and building they checked turned up no trace of him and the townspeople seemed too disinterested to provide anything useful. It was starting to make that sinking feeling intensify, twisting in Dipper’s gut. If Grunkle Stan wasn’t in town, where was he?

A familiar red car caught Dipper’s attention as they rounded a corner, parked in the parking lot of the grocery store. Hope blossomed in his chest as he grabbed his sister’s arm, pointing over to it. “Mabel, look! It’s Grunkle Stan’s car!”

The two rushed over to it, but their faces fell when they discovered it empty. The only thing inside was a bag of groceries, sitting innocently in the passenger seat. Dipper frowned, mindlessly putting a hand on the door handle and pulling, though he knew very well Stan would never leave his precious car unloc--

It was unlocked.

That didn’t make sense. Grunkle Stan’s pastime was stealing and scamming, so he always made sure to keep careful track of his possessions; his car especially. Anytime they went out anywhere, he’d always triple check to make sure the doors were locked and the windows were rolled up. “A beauty like this, anyone’d steal her if they got the chance!” He had explained once. Dipper hadn’t had the heart to tell him he really didn’t think anyone would care enough to steal an old, beat-up car like this.

Mabel reached into the bag of groceries, taking out a carton of milk. “It’s warm.” She murmured, eyes taking on a fearful and distant quality. If the milk was warm, that meant Grunkle Stan hadn’t been here in some time, but where could he have gone without his car?

Dipper looked up towards the forest, looming a few feet away from the edge of the parking lot. Maybe he had…? No, why would Grunkle Stan head into the woods, especially when he had groceries? Something wasn’t adding up here, and that sinking feeling returned with a vengeance.

They decided to do one last sweep of the town, just in case. It couldn’t hurt, could it? They made sure to check in with the store as well, just in case he had gone back for something. As expected, the cashier merely shook her head and said he had only been there the one time, and that was hours ago to boot.

Eventually, the two decided to take a break on a bench, wearing identical frowns as they tried to think of their next move. If he wasn’t in town, then that meant he had most likely gone into the forest. The question still remained: why? Had something lured him in?

...Maybe Great Uncle Ford had something that could help. Surely he didn’t hate Stan that much that he would refuse to help if he had gone missing, right? They should go and talk to him.

“Hey Dipper, do you hear that?” Mabel piped up, straightening from her slouched posture, squinting into the distance.

Dipper blinked out of his thoughts and focused. Sure enough, he could faintly hear something coming from somewhere nearby. It almost sounded like… Crying? He straightened too now, probing his surroundings for the source. The few townspeople he saw milling about all seemed fine.

Then he spied a bundle of brown, white and red, tucked in an alleyway behind some garbage bins. As Dipper looked closer, he realized that it wasn’t just any bundle: it was a boy, roughly around their age. He had his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden, shoulders silently trembling. Dipper winced in sympathy. He must be lost.

Mabel followed his gaze, silently gasping at the sight. Without bothering to wait for Dipper’s input, she hopped over the back of the bench and carefully approached the boy. Dipper scrambled a little less gracefully, but nonetheless fell into step beside her.

As they got closer to the boy, Dipper noticed the twigs in his hair and the dirt on his clothes. They looked a little torn too, ripped at the edges. Had he run into one of the supernatural creatures in the woods? Dipper thought the townspeople usually avoided venturing too far from civilization, but that was usually the adults.

He had been trying to think of a good opener so they didn’t needlessly scare him more, but it seemed like the boy was more perceptive than Dipper thought. As soon as they got closer, his head shot up, bloodshot eyes darting around wildly. When he saw them, he hastily scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand, trying to hide the tears.

“Are you lost?” Mabel asked, stooping down to be level with the boy. Her expression was soft and open, trying to make herself as non-threatening as possible. Really, she didn’t need to try. Though Mabel was certainly no pushover, she looked about as threatening as a puppy. The puppy knitted into her sweater didn’t help that, either.

“I’m fine!” The boy said almost immediately, his accent immediately sticking out as something not local. He must be touring with his family and had gotten lost; now his possible forest excursion made a lot more sense. The boy sniffed again, hunching his shoulders as if he wanted to appear bigger, but made no move to get off the pavement. “I’m just… Taking a detour.”

“Detour?” Mabel asked conversationally, her head tilting. “Where are you going? Maybe we can help!”

The boy squinted at Mabel reproachfully, sizing her up. “...The beach.” He eventually said, huffing out a sigh. At least the tears had dried up, though he still looked uneasy in their presence. “I was s’posed to meet my brother there after I got us some candy, but…” He trailed off, squinting. “...I think I fell asleep.”  

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a look. There were no beaches anywhere near Gravity Falls, unless you counted the vaguely sandy shores of the lake. Maybe it was something in the forest? Though it definitely felt like he and Mabel had been over every inch of those woods, they had never come out the other side. But what were the chances of a child - possibly two children - braving the woods and finding something Dipper and Mabel hadn’t yet?

The boy continued on unperturbed by the exchange, seeming to gain enough confidence to show vulnerability in front of the twins. “An’ I don’t really know where I am! One minute I’m walkin’ the boardwalk, then pow! I’m on the ground eatin’ grass! It took me forever to get back here, but I’ve never been in this part of town before!” He took a deep, shuddering breath, fingers tightening in the fabric of his pants. “I’ve been gone for a real long time, he’s probably worried sick now. An’ if Pa finds out…”

Okay. Something supernatural was at foot here, no question about it. Had it wiped the boy’s memories, maybe? That would explain the sudden shift in location, but not where he had been originally. There were no beaches or boardwalks anywhere in Gravity Falls, and the accent was a sticking point. It sounded like he came from a whole other state. So had he been teleported?

And then, of course, there was still the mystery of their missing Grunkle. As alluring as this particular mystery was, Dipper kept thinking back to the abandoned car and the warm groceries. If something had happened to Stan, especially so soon after those agents had been by… He didn’t want to think about that.

The boy suddenly jumped to his feet, startling Dipper out of his thoughts as the boy’s eyes darted wildly around the alley. “Oh no, my brother’s alone! What if Crampelter gets him? I need to be there!”

Crampelter sounded… Familiar, but Dipper couldn’t place where. Still, speculations could wait. For now, they needed to keep him calm. If he really had been teleported from another state, the explanation that something supernatural had done this to him would likely freak him out more.

“Whoa there, calm down. We’ll help you find him.” Dipper said without thinking, raising his hands placatingly. Of course, he didn’t know how they were going to do that, but he felt like the boy would just rush off no matter what they said. At least this way, they could keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t get more lost.

“Yeah!” Mabel chimed in, luckily following his lead without argument. That didn’t surprise him; she was always trying to keep spirits up, no matter whose they were. “We’re missing someone too, so maybe we can all help each other!”

The boy hesitated, clearly not completely trusting them just yet, but there was a flicker of something hopeful in his eyes. Eventually, he nodded, sticking out his hand. “Okay, you guys got a deal. But we need to find my brother first, okay? Trust me, if anyone can find your guys’ missing guy, it’s him. He’s got like…” He paused, counting on his fingers. “A billion smarts in his head!”

Dipper wanted to argue with that. Stan could be in serious danger, maybe hurt somewhere. Why else would he take so long getting back? Yet Mabel cut him off, taking the boy’s hand and shaking it. “Deal!”

Seeming to ignore Dipper’s hissed ‘Mabel’, Mabel threw her arm around her brother and pulled him into a side-hug. “I’m Mabel, and this is my twin brother Dipper! What’s your name?”

That seemed to get the boy’s attention, his eyes widening as he looked a little in awe at the two. “You’re twins? Me an’ my brother are twins too!” Whatever misgivings the boy had left seemed to vanish and he fully grinned this time. Dipper could see that one of his teeth was missing. “My name’s Stan!”

“That’s the same name as our Grunkle!” Mabel chimed, eyes widening. She quickly dug into her bag, taking out a photo from their Summerween that she hadn’t found a place for in her scrapbook just yet. She pointed to him in the picture. “You see someone like that before?”

Stan squinted at the picture, thinking carefully. “Hmmm. I dunno what a “grunkle” is, but I’ve never seen him before.” He paused, tilting his head. “He kinda looks like my Pa, but… Really really old.”

Dipper was starting to get a sense of deja vu. The chances that this boy had the same name as Stan and had a twin brother had already seemed a little too convenient in Dipper’s mind, but now Grunkle Stan looked like this boy’s dad? Something was weird here. Was he some kind of distant relative? A cousin, maybe?

Mabel, meanwhile, looked a little dejected as she put the photo back into her bag, but was still smiling through it. “That’s okay. At least you know what he looks like now! Maybe we’ll run into him while we search for your bro, or maybe they’re even together!”

As the trio journeyed out of the alleyway into the dying sunlight, Stan began to look around at their surroundings. That same uneasy expression flickered across his face before he schooled it into one of determination, hitting his fist into his open palm as he spoke. “Alright. We need to get to the beach first and make sure he isn’t still there. If he’s not, then we’ll go to my Pa’s pawnshop next.”

Pawnshop? Grunkle Stan’s life story came to mind once again, specifically his childhood. Hadn’t he said his family lived above their own pawn shop? These similarities were starting to get creepy, and Dipper found his mind beginning to wander.

Was it really possible that Grunkle Stan was…?

“Hey, uh… What did you say your last name was?” He asked hesitantly, stopping to turn and face Stan again. It probably came across as a silly question, but Dipper needed to know for sure. Stan blinked at him, looking confused now.

“Um, Pines? But my last name isn’t gonna help us find Ford!” Stan made to move past the twins, only faltering when he must have realized he didn’t exactly know where to go. He turned back to them, impatient. “C’mon, we’re wasting time!”

Darn. Looks like Dipper’s hunch had been right.

The twins exchanged an alarmed glance, Mabel sputtering in her surprise. “W-Wait, Grunkle Stan? Is that you?”

Stan blinked once again, caught off guard by the sudden question. “What? I’m not that old! I’m ten and that guy looked like… 100.” He reached up to squish his own cheeks, digging his fingers into the flesh. “I don’t even have wrinkles.”

So not only had their Grunkle been turned back into a 10-year-old, but he hadn’t retained any memories of his older self. Dipper awkwardly tugged at the collar of his shirt at the revelation, going quiet. How were they supposed to explain this to him? He wouldn’t understand. Not to mention, Stan was starting to get that cagey look in his eye as the moment dragged. They didn’t need Stan running off on them.

But that left them with an uncomfortable problem. Sure, Dipper felt pretty confident in his own skills with the weird and paranormal creatures and items in the forest - the answer to turning Grunkle Stan back to his proper age likely lurked there - but what were they supposed to do with Stan in the meantime? Dipper doubted he’d be up for a forest trek.

...Nevermind that, what were they going to tell Great Uncle Ford? After that fight, how would he react to his brother like this? They couldn’t exactly hide Stan from him.

Well, Great Uncle Ford or not, they needed the journal to begin trying to straighten out this mess. That was back in their room, which meant they needed to convince Stan to come back with them. How were they going to manage that?

“Yeah, you’re definitely not our Stan,” Dipper cut in quickly as Stan opened his mouth, likely to protest some more. “That’s okay, we can worry about that later. You said your brother was your twin, right? So that means you look like each other?”

Stan squinted suspiciously at Dipper, but nodded all the same. “Yeah, but he has big glasses.” He held his hands up, cupping his fingers around his eyes. “And he don’t got as many band-aids as me. Oh, and he wears this nerdy jacket.”

Dipper nodded along with the description, conspiratorially rubbing his chin in thought. “Yeah, I think I’ve actually seen someone like that today. He wasn’t at the beach, though.”

Mabel seemed to be clueing in to Dipper’s ploy now and she gasped, putting her hands to her face. “Hey, yeah! I remember that now. He was back at... the Mystery Shack, wasn’t he?”

The suspicion melted off Stan’s face all too easily. Grunkle Stan would be disappointed in himself. “Really? Did he look okay?”

“Uhhh… Yeah!” Mabel answered, having to think. “He looked kind of worried though, I think he was looking for you.”

Apparently, that was all the convincing Stan needed. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

---

Though it had been a few days since he had returned to his home dimension, Ford still found himself struggling to adjust to this new modern era. In the 30 years since Ford had gone through the portal, the world had moved on without him, oblivious that he was even missing in the first place. Of course, part of that had been Stan’s fault, but Stan hadn’t brought about 30 years of technological development on his own.

Nonetheless, if Stan had just listened to him for once in his godforsaken life, Ford wouldn’t have missed those developments in the first place. Now he was practically a prisoner in his own home, forced to hide out in the basement while his brother masqueraded as him. It was an affront to Ford’s pride and life’s work, having his identity stolen and turned around like that. Really, what had Stan been thinking?

The rational part of Ford reminded him that his precious “life’s work” had nearly brought about the end of the universe. If he hadn’t trusted Bill in the first place, been as smart as he liked to believe he was, then there wouldn’t have been a portal to go through. Fiddleford would certainly be the better for it - God, was he still alive? Ford needed to check on him.

Yet the stubborn part of Ford wanted to hold tight to his anger. It was easier to just blame Stan for everything. Stan was the one who broke his project, crushed his dreams, and pushed him through an interdimensional portal. Perhaps it was irrational, but Ford felt comfortable with this anger. These weren’t petty incidents: they were life-altering. He was completely justified in feeling the way he felt right now.

That had partially been what their fight earlier in the day had been about. After he had sealed the Rift and dismantled the portal, Ford had decided to do a basic search on his name to see if he could track down his brother’s movements. It was then that he discovered the rather extensive criminal record now attached to his name. Ford hadn’t realized there were even official names for half of these crimes.

So angry, he had promptly gone upstairs to find his brother and give him a piece of his mind. Hadn’t he realized what a mess this would be to sort out when he was able to exist under his own name again? Had he thought through anything in the time Ford had been gone?

“Why do you always have to ruin my life?!”

Ford remembered the momentary look of hurt in his brother’s eyes as he hurled that accusation at him and, briefly, felt bad. Stan had shored up that vulnerability pretty fast, spouting the same excuse he had stuck by ever since Ford got back: “I was doing it for you!” His sympathy dried up almost immediately.

For Ford. As if making Ford a criminal would do him ANY good. Stan hadn’t bothered to stick around to hear Ford’s rebuttal, saying something about how he didn’t need to take this kind of shit before storming off outside. A snide voice in Ford’s head pointed out that Stan was just running away from the consequences of his own actions, just as he had done for the entirety of his life. Nothing was ever his fault.

That had been hours ago now. When he checked his watch, he could see that it was well past the time Stan normally cooked dinner for them. Usually, he would call Ford up to join them (most likely out of obligation, or maybe for the kids’ sakes), but he hadn’t heard anything yet.

Ford couldn’t say he was surprised. After that fight, it wasn’t a stretch to assume Stan decided he didn’t want to see his brother so soon. Ford couldn’t say he wanted to see Stan so soon either, so he didn’t really begrudge being left out. If he was quiet enough, he might be able to sneak some food for himself without alerting the family.

As he did his best to close the vending machine as silently as he could and entered the house portion of the Mystery Shack (Moses, what a terrible name), he noticed just how quiet everything was. Ford even stood still and listened, trying to pick up any sounds that could be coming from upstairs. There was nothing.

Odd, but hardly Ford’s concern. All three of the house residents were plenty capable of handling themselves from what he could tell, and it wasn’t exactly his job to babysit them. Well, babysit Stan, at least.

So he shrugged the oddity off and continued to the kitchen, rooting around for something to eat. Since he had the house to himself, perhaps he would actually cook himself something for once. Sure, when he was last in this dimension, he typically subsisted off ready-made food, but having something warm and fresh was a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford in the multiverse.

Soon enough, he had two eggs simmering happily in the pan. The mundaneness was a nice break from the 30 years of hell he had been through, and Ford relished in it. For once, everything was fine.

His thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of a door opening. Ford assumed it to be the front door at first, but soon realized it had come from the wrong end of the house. The only other door that lead outside was the Gift Shop door, but that was supposed to be closed for the public. Perhaps one of the family had decided to use that door out of convenience?

It could also be someone - or something - breaking in. The vending machine was in the Gift Shop. Bill was still at large. The Rift was in his lab. That wasn’t good.

Shutting the stove off, Ford quickly but quietly sprinted towards the Gift Shop. The chances of Bill retaliating were slim, but slim wasn’t nothing. Ford couldn’t afford to be lenient, not when the universe was at stake.

Once he got to the door that separated the shop from the house, he could pick up on three voices. Two he recognized as Dipper and Mabel, but the third was unfamiliar. While the presence of the youngest twins was a mild relief, the unfamiliar voice did nothing to tamp down his panic. What if Bill had possessed someone and had tricked the children? It wouldn’t be beneath him.

Ford considered opening the door a crack to see if he could catch sight of the stranger’s eyes, but thought better of it. If anyone saw him, it’d be over. Bill was all too familiar with him and had two easy bargaining chips should Ford try and block their path. Instead, he pressed his ear to the door and tried to listen to their conversation.

“... And you’re totally sure he was still here when you guys left?” The unfamiliar voice said. Now what he was thinking of it, Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that he had heard that voice somewhere before. At least it wasn’t Bill’s voice, though that didn’t eliminate the possibility of the demon’s involvement.

“Sure was!” That was Mabel, that much was obvious. “He was showing off this picture he had to everyone.”

“A picture?” The unfamiliar voice echoed. “Huh. I wonder why.”

“While we’re here, we need to pick something up.” And there was Dipper. “Can you wait here? We won’t be long.”

What? They were leaving a stranger alone near the vending machine? Even if they weren’t a stranger to them, that was still dangerous! Ford was going to need to sit them down and have a word with them about how important it was to keep the vending machine away from prying eyes.

No time for that now as he heard footsteps start approaching the door Ford had pressed himself against. Thinking quickly, he ducked into hiding right as the twins came into the house. He held his breath as they passed him by, heading upstairs to their shared room. It didn’t seem like they had seen him.

With them gone, he could now check on this stranger without any collateral.

Not bothering to be subtle, Ford pushed the Gift Shop’s door open. Playing cat and mouse with Bill was a pointless endeavor; it was best to face him head-on. However, what he saw inside made his blood run cold.

There in the Gift Shop stood a child that looked strikingly similar to Stan when he was a child, right down to the face, hair, and clothes. He was holding a Stan bobblehead in his hands, turning it over and over, watching the head jiggle with a fascinated stare. His eyes, Ford noted dimly, were brown.

The child looked up at Ford’s entrance, tilting his head curiously at him. He only looked at him a moment before he cupped his free hand around his mouth, shouting: “Dipper! Mabel! I found your missing Grunkle!”

With a face to put to the voice, the realization of why he sounded so familiar hit him like a truck. This wasn’t just someone who looked like Stanley, this was Stanley.

The shock must have shown on his face as Stan was looking at him again, this time with a little concern and a bit of apprehension. “You okay there mister? You look kinda sick.”

Ford took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to the back of his head. Obviously something supernatural had gotten to him, though he couldn’t remember encountering anything that could do this. That wasn’t a good sign, he was going to need to refresh himself with his journals to double-check.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine.” He finally said, pushing a hand through his hair. Stan’s gaze was immediately drawn to the motion, and Ford realized his mistake as soon as he saw those eyes widen.

“Whoa, you got six fingers! My brother’s got six fingers too!” He exclaimed, reaching out to grab Ford’s free hand. Ford had to resist the instinct to yank his hand back and shove it out of sight. Stan continued, “People are always sayin’ he’s a freak, but wait till I show him this! He can’t be a freak if there’s other people like him! He’s gonna be so happy!”

Ford felt himself wince. Back then, there were no shortage of people who were uncomfortable with his extra fingers. Abnormalities weren’t (aren’t?) something the public took kindly too and chose to distance themselves from Ford accordingly. Others had mocked him for it, helpfully reminding him that there was nowhere freaks like him would belong.

Stan had been the only one to tell him that his extra fingers made him special, not a freak, and that they were just jealous. If Stan was there, which was common back then, he had always stood up for Ford and told the bullies straight to their face how wrong they were. Seeing Stan so awed now and immediately thinking of how Ford would feel made his heart clench uncomfortably.

Stan’s loyalty had always been unwavering, his conscience reminded him. No matter how stupid and reckless it was, Stan was always there. It was why Ford was standing here in the first place.

Luckily, Ford didn’t need to think of a comeback as he heard the door open behind him. He turned to see the twins had returned, Dipper holding one of his journals. They were staring at him with shock.

“See? I found your Grunkle!” Stan piped up, letting go of Ford’s hand to gesture dramatically at him. “Now we can go back to finding Ford! Oh, wait-” He turned back to face Ford, looking serious now. “Have you seen him? He looks like me, but with glasses.”

Ah. He was looking for Ford. That caused another uncomfortable heart clench.

“Um… Gr-- I mean, Stan…” Mabel started, helplessly trailing off. It was then that Ford knew what he needed to do.

He crouched down so he was eye level with Stan, gently placing his hands on his shoulders. “I’m right here, Stanley.”

Stan stiffened under his hands, looking up at Ford with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. Even in their youth, Stan hadn’t been the type to easily buy into what people told him. While Ford admittedly found himself falling for the lies his classmates would tell, desperate for admiration and acceptance, Stan was always the first to call a bluff. He had written it off as mere gut instinct - Ford was the one with the smarts to see through the lies later in life, after all.  

Oh, how wrong Stan had been.

“Last I checked, my brother wasn’t a dinosaur.” Stan shot back, though his tone lacked conviction. His brows were furrowed as he stubbornly looked down at his shoe, refusing to meet Ford’s gaze. It was an expression of Stan’s that Ford could still read even after all these years: fear.

“If I wasn’t your brother, I wouldn’t know about that time you and I thought we killed the Sibling Brothers and stole their clothes,” Ford said gently, watching Stan’s eyes snap up to meet his own. “I wouldn’t know that the real reason you lost that tooth there is because you fell out of a tree, not because you were fighting bullies. I wouldn’t know that you’re afraid of heights, or that you once called Mr. Kord ‘Pa’ in 3rd grade, or that you lost a fight to a crab in 4th.”  

He punctuated his explanation with a squeeze of his brother’s shoulders, hoping to be reassuring. “I promise you, Stanley. It’s really me.”

Stan was now staring at him with open shock, eyes blown wide. When he finally spoke, his voice was small and hesitant. “S-Sixer? But… What?”

For the first time in 40 years, Ford gave his brother a bittersweet smile.

“I’ll explain in the house.”