#pad for writing

[tobeholyistobeempty]

the thought of price being all cocky and smug with you during foreplay because he’s got you a cumming mess. dirty talking right up to the moment he sinks into your cunt then suddenly doesn’t know how to talk at all.

“How’s that— (jaw clenching) fuck.”

“Take me so— (head falling onto your shoulder) yeah.”

[piyushflip]

Laptop with writing pad

Erase Button :  Digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the Push of a button. button erases notes instantly (Please make-Sure Screen mode Unlocked From Back Side of the Product)

Pressure-sensitive : screen lets you create thick and thin lines. Durable case and recessed screen are safe for school, travel and home use.

Reusable, Paperless, Environmental-Friendly :  digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the touch of a button, One-touch button erases notes instantly.

[heyimkana]

S-Rank Hunter ❌

S-Rank Husband ✅

"S-so, umm..." The cashier begins awkwardly as she spreads a selection of pads on the counter. "We have reusable pads, regular pads, ultra-thin pads, maxi pads, overnight pads. These ones are scented, these are not. Oh, these ones are exceptionally soft, but they can be a bit expensive. And these ones..." Jinwoo stares blankly at the items, listening but not digesting her explanation. The introduction seems endless, and he’s losing it. “Why, uhh, why are there so many different types? Don't they have the same purpose?” “Why, yes, Sir, but every woman has their own preferences. Some may want to wear the scented ones to mask the natural odor of menstrual blood, while some people prefer to…” She begins rambling again, and his brain is turning into mush. "All right... Which one is the best?" “Like I said, Sir, it depends on what you need.” “Which one do you use?” “Eh?!” She blushes and he’s so out of it right now to notice that he just asked something terribly personal. “T-This one, Sir.” She pushes forward a pack of pads with quivering fingers, unable to meet his eyes. When she woke up this morning, she did not think the handsome S-Rank Hunter, Sung Jinwoo, would bless her eyes with his presence and ask her about her pads. “They’re made from cotton, so they’re more, umm, breathable.” “Okay,” he nods. “I’ll take that one.”

“Right. What size do you—I mean, uhh, your wife usually use?" He stops and stares. Of course, they come in different sizes, too.  Seeing his soul leaving his body, she suggests, “You might want to give her a call." "Give me a sec." With his head throbbing, Jinwoo closes his eyes, speaking telepathically. Beru. The shadow soldier's response is immediate. Yes, my liege. What pad size does my wife usually use? She usually uses the overnight pads that claim to be for 'heavy flow', my liege. Jinwoo opens his eyes, relaying the information to the cashier. "Uhh... Can you give me the overnight pads, please?" "With or without wings?" He stops and stares. Again. "O-one moment." Beru. With or without wings? She has mentioned that she prefers the ones with wings, my liege. "With wings, please." "Scented or unscented?" Fucking hell. He tosses his head back, refraining himself from swearing—or contemplating suicide. Beru. The scented ones can cause skin irritation, my liege, so I suggest— “Unscented, thanks.” Please, no more questions.

READ THE FULL FIC HERE.

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of riz gukgak from fantasy high. in the front is a relatively small drawing of riz juggling books that are falling out of his hand and a phonecall, and he has a huge backpack on. he looks a bit overwhelmed, hair flying in all directions, and has a nervous smile on. in the background is a large shadow of riz, only one glowing eye and a shining gun visible. the background is red, giving an eerie feel. End ID]

Kill your best friend

Cheat your way to your rogue teacher

Announce your presidential campaign

Don't let them know how angry you are

LEARN TO RECOGNIZE A MONSTER

[shotosjupiter]

DOWN THE HALL — R. ZORO

𖤐 y/n’s hoolingans

next | masterlist

𖤐 y/n - you live on the fifth floor of a ten-story apartment building in the city along with your lovely black cat of a year - kuro. you love him dearly and spoil him... does your cat like you back? to be determined.

𖤐 nami - you met her in one of your lecture classes and bonded over your mutual hatred of the professor. through her you met some of the other strawhats.

𖤐 sanji - he saw you hanging out with nami one day and you could never get rid of him since. he is the glue of your little friend group and on occasion brings you dinner to your apartment because he does not approve of your meals.

𖤐 robin - also someone you saw in your uni lectures often and met through nami. she's the calm one of the group, always balances the loud energy of the group. she's dating franky, one of the top engineering students of grand-line university.

pairing — roronoa zoro x fem! reader

synopsis — when your cat suddenly disappears from your apartment, you go crazy trying to find him. only to find your beloved cat, kuro, in the arms of your hot neighbor, roronoa zoro. trying to get your cat and the heart of your neighbor proves to be a difficult mission to say the least. genre/tags — social media!au, neighbor!zoro, modern!au, crack, fluff! not much angst tbh.

[sualne]

i'll try to host them in the weekends next times so ppl can join/stay longer <3 thanks a lot for you time!! i totally forgot to ask/keep track but here's every usernames i remember, pls tell me if you've drawn with us!!

twt: sleepybaimu

tumblr: @wormzandgutz, @mothzan, @aholepeach, @nibblemon(i remember saying hi but...? ○|￣|_ )

[butchreg]

cg ! ambessa medarda with an infant regressor headcanons !!

requested by anon ! i don't tend to have cg ambessa thoughts like i said in my last ambessa post but i've gotten a bunch of requests for her so i will be giving the people what they want ! (*-`ω´- )人 again i did my best to write her in character but apologies if she strays ooc. anon brought up an infant regressor as a chance for her to heal and redo motherhood and i found that a touching thought. thanks for the idea nonnie , i hope these are satisfactory ! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) ack i got a bit carried away , once i got going the thoughts overflowed. arcane masterlist here , upcoming masterlist here

mentioned it in my last ambessa post but ambessa calls you "my kit" or "my cub" to your face and refers to you simply as "the kit / cub" to her servants. "be a dear and get the kit a bottle" versus , "ah ah , drink slowly , my cub."

ambessa who holds you very gently in her lap while you drink your bottles , patting your tummy when you get full. one large hand guides the bottle while the other arm keeps your head upright what with you being so tiny.

she often tickles your tummy , kissing it and blowing raspberries. she chuckles , a deep rich chortle of delight as you blush and giggle , kicking your feet happily.

she always dresses you up nicely in the colors of the medarda crest so everybody will know you're her baby. she'll coo at you in your little outfits , quite satisfied with herself for dressing you up so well. she'll carry you over to a mirror , pointing at your reflection. "that's you , my kit. don't you look dashing , i've done quite the job , don't you think ?" she'll chuck your chin as you giggle and clap enthusiastically.

your regression is healing not only for you but also for ambessa. she freezes the first time you call her "mama" or something in that vein , thoroughly shocked and not quite sure how to feel at first. the ever stoic ambessa finds herself tearing up for the first time in God knows how long , a smile pulling at her full lips as tears of joy and of pride threaten to fall.

ambessa finds herself comforted by how clingy you are , how much you need her. it's a big job to take care of an infant yet she welcomes your regression , scooping you into her big strong arms and cradling you ever so gently , hugging you tightly as if to reassure herself that you're really there.

ambessa takes no nonsense , holding you to her high standards. of course with your being so tiny she doesn't have too many rules in place but she does not take kindly to tantrums or needless fussing.

ambessa practices her tone when she's alone , careful to be sure never to snap or speak too sharply to you. it takes work and rehearsal ; admittedly she's a bit rough around the edges in the early stages of your regression.

ambessa loves to hold you whenever possible. she's strong enough to pick you up with little effort , keeping you on her hip as she tends to her smaller duties , bouncing you when you start to fuss. "oh hush now pet ," she'll soothe , reaching into a pocket before coming up with a red and black teether.

ambessa spoils her baby rotten , often pretending to be shocked when more parcels with your name on them arrive. she has them addressed to "the kit" as mentioned in the last post , picking up the tag on an item and tutting approvingly. she has to help you open the items with your being just so itty bitty. she'll brandish that plushie you were eyeing , a wide smile spreading across her face as your eyes widen and you babble excitedly , squirming on her hip as you reach for it.

ambessa who is initially a bit squeamish at the thought of changing diapers , something she often left for the servants when her biological children were small. although she's anxious in the beginning she is so very gentle with you , using just enough powder and kissing your tummy when you wriggle or squirm. "ah ," she'll sigh with satisfaction when you're all finished. "there we go , nice and clean." she'll nod approvingly. "you did well , my darling ," she'll add , kissing you softly on the head.

ambessa who will sing to you to get you to sleep , holding you in her arms , rocking you gently. her singing voice is a bit rusty , hasn't had much use since mel was small , but she sings you soft lullabies , spinning the mobile above your crib for you to watch.

ambessa who can be a bit of a snob , only buying the best for her baby. she will only buy items of the utmost quality , saying no if she feels something you want is cheaply or shoddily made. she often has toys or other items commissioned to be specially made so that they will be just perfect.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

looking around my bedroom like "damn i really did manage to cram books into every spare inch of this space, huh"

[gaytobymeres]

My essentials for a solo day out

[kacchans-cradle]

jesus christ i wouldn't wish writing a padded agere fic on my worst enemy. the way im having to double triple check to make sure what im writing doesnt sound fetishy or weird is making me want to pull my hair out GOD

[piyushflip]

digital writing pad for laptop

Erase Button :  Digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the Push of a button. button erases notes instantly (Please make-Sure Screen mode Unlocked From Back Side of the Product)

Pressure-sensitive : screen lets you create thick and thin lines. Durable case and recessed screen are safe for school, travel and home use.

Reusable, Paperless, Environmental-Friendly :  digital writing Tablet displays your notes until you erase them with the touch of a button, One-touch button erases notes instantly.

Replaceable Battery : The battery compartment is secured with screw for more safety.

Educational Gift : Best Birthday Gift For Kids. writing pad  Avoid the frustration of communication barrier for deaf and mute by this light weight easy to carry paper thin LCD board and communicate with ease. Easy and Fun way to leave family messages, notes, sketching ideas, or just doodling.

Easy Electronic Writing

Environment Friendly

Single-Tap Erase

Long Battery Life

[occasionalsnippets]

Important follow up for fd!mc

Do the public and criminals notice there's a new female Nightwing or does she have the suit (skin tight and only a domino mask) made to hide it?

What kind of rumors would she start?

I can't help but feel thay fd!mc Nightwing is full of malicious compliance and pettiness

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations, @roseapov, @alittletiredcry

---

MC as Nightwing wears padding to fill out the areas where their frame doesn't match. It's not perfect and there are some rumours like "Hey, has Nightwing's waist gotten smaller?" and "Am I crazy or has Nightwing's face gotten prettier" but no one thinks there's a new person behind Nightwing.

They can't mimic Dick's voice that well yet so they're quiet the first couple weeks which accidentally scares a couple of criminals because Nightwing??? Not cracking jokes and bantering???? Something's wrong. After they manage to get his voice down though, they're able to act as Nightwing pretty well though. Still, whenever MC fills in, they're a bit off. Something's just scarier about Nightwing recently...

Because they've been acting as Robin for a really long time, a lot of those "Robin-like" traits come through when they're filling in as Nightwing. They're very snarky. Something about wearing the costume just inspires it in them.

At least once, they go on patrol without the extra padding, does not elaborate, and the public just has to accept there was female Nightwing one night for some reason.

[walkingnearfoxes]

Sympathy Pains (Soldier Boy x Reader)

You have PMDD. Soldier Boy doesn’t get it.

Warnings for Soldier Boy being who he is, explicit language and smutty implications, depressive/suicidal thoughts (none go past ideation), and period cramps. Ow.

Ben’s bored. Legend threatens to cut the weed supply if Ben keeps fucking the maids, and Soldier Boy finds himself favoring the high of reefer over pussy these days. He’s sure it’s the Russians’ fault with their toxins for that hit to his sex drive. Unfortunately, Legend’s off doing whatever Vought has an old bastard like him producing these days. It leaves Ben without weed or an easy fuck, and leaves him with Butcher and the kids. 

The kids. You and Hughe. The nickname stuck once Ben realized how much it irritated you both. In his eyes, it was a well-deserved title. You and Hughie have the same naive view of the world, like bunnies surrounded by the carnage of wolves. To his credit, Hughie has the balls to stick up to him. That already put him higher in Ben’s book that any of the fuckers on Payback. And then there was you. Kind, smart, ferocious little you. Maybe he would have been more annoyed by your radical dreams to change the world if he didn’t want to fuck you so badly. 

That was what he could do today. Finally fuck you. It would cure the boredom better than the maids could and likely get you to treat him a little nicer. In his experience, women were a lot less likely to talk back after he left them a drooling mess. Nothing like a good orgasm to send someone’s thinking back a century. He was so busy deciding what position to put you in that he didn’t notice you weren’t where he thought you would be. You and the boys tended to stick to the main room of Legend’s penthouse, as if worried the stench of illicit drugs would ruin you. Ben found Butcher and Hughie there, Hughie on his cell phone and Butcher on his computer. Technology these days. Ben couldn’t fucking stand it.

“Where’s the kid?” 

Hughie jumps from his seat. “Jesus fucking…” He turns around to look at Ben, and Ben has to bite back a smirk. Many people believed he wasn't light on his feet because he was the strongest supe alive. They were wrong.

“Resting,” Butcher answers without looking up from his screen.

Ben arches a brow. “Resting? From what?”

As far as he knew, you hadn’t gone anywhere in the last few days. And he better be right. Thinking of you wandering around alone stirs an irritating fury in him.

Butcher glances over at Hughie. “You fucking explain it.”

Hughie looks ready to curse the Brit, then settles himself. He turns to Ben with a hand waving stupidly in the air. “She’s having a, um…a flareup.”

Ben sighed. Why the fuck were they talking in riddles? “A flareup of what?”

Hughie hesitates again. Ben starts to wonder if he’s going to have to interrogate the little shit when he finally speaks. “She has PMDD,” Hughie says.

“Fucking Christ,” Ben rolls his neck back. “What’s with these new generations shortening everything? What does that mean?”

“It’s like…PMS on steroids,” Hughie explains. The flush to his cheeks suggests he’d rather have any other conversation than this, but he carries on anyway. “She needs time alone.”

Ben rolls his eyes so hard he fears for a brief moment they will stick that way. “That’s it? Jesus. I’m talking to her.”

“I really don’t think you should-” Hughie stands off the couch in a worried flourish, but Ben pushes him back down with a single finger. As he leaves the room, his powerful hearing that everyone seems to forget about catches Hughie’s bitching. “Should we stop him?”

“Eh, let the old man find out,” Butcher murmurs. “Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two.”

Ben doesn’t think about what that means. He’s too busy storming down to your designated room in this maze of a penthouse, throwing the door open without even thinking of a knock. His steps must have been loud; you don’t move an inch at his intrusion. You’re lying like a starfish across the bed, eyes shut. It would be a more tempting position if he weren’t annoyed.

“Damn it, kid,” Ben mutters, walking in and shutting the door behind him. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

You don’t open your eyes, and he watches as you press your hand to your lower belly. “Hughie told you,” You reply in a tired murmur. “PMDD.”

Ben steps closer with a huff. He folds his arms across his chest as he stares down at you, torn between annoyance and confusion. “Women have had this shit since the dawn of time. It ain’t a good excuse to laze around doing nothing.”

Your head slowly turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

He scoffs and waves a hand in the air. “You heard me. This bullshit of PM-whatever the fuck. Women didn’t complain about it in my day. You don’t need a damn break just because you’ve got a cramp-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

It isn’t easy to make Ben speechless. Your reply does it. His hand pauses midair, his green eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

“Your hearing going, old man?” You sit up, then stand up, your eyes blazing with a fury he’s never been privy to. “I said shut the fuck up.”

Ben doesn’t have time to think of a response before you’re raging on in a fury. “Women didn’t complain in your day because they’d get a fucking lobotomy if they did. And it’s not just a cramp, you patronizing ass. It feels like a little gremlin is chopping its way through my uterus with an axe and I’m resisting every fucking hormone in my brain telling me to throw myself out the window. So for once in your goddamn life, shut the fuck up.”

A long silence takes the room. Ben is staring at you, and you slowly realize you just spat at a man capable of juggling monster trucks. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops, and you slowly sit down on the edge of the bed. “Shit. I…I’m sorry.” You drop your face into your hands and shake your head. “I’m so sorry.”

Ben hears your breathing hitch. He says nothing for a long moment, his eyes torn between you and the door. When he hears a sound suspiciously like a sob choke in your throat, he sighs. “Scoot.”

You slowly look up from your hands, your eyes slightly red, and your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Scoot, sweetheart,” He grunts. “I need more room.”

You’re adorably puzzled, but slowly squirm yourself to the side of the bed. When you’re settled, Ben sits beside you with his hands on top of his thighs. He observes you from head to toe, and then reaches out to you. You flinch, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. Hold still.”

Slowly, he places his hand in the same place on your lower belly you’d be holding before. He carefully presses in, providing warmth and pressure like a living heating pad. You suck in a breath, and he glances up at you with an arched brow. “Good?”

“Uh…good?” You say, clearly befuddled. “But you don’t have to-”

“Shut up. You want more pressure or less?”

“...a little more?”

Ben hums in acknowledgement and presses just the slightest bit more. Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a relieved sigh. He can’t help a smirk. “Vocal, huh? And that’s just a preview of what these hands can do.”

“Shut up,” You reply, but there’s a ghost of a laugh on your tongue this time - not the frightening rage that had taken you moments before.

He huffs a laugh, then moves his gaze to the television. A movie is playing, and he can tell from a glance that he’ll hate it. It doesn’t matter. “What’re we watching?”

His hand is still on your stomach. You open your eyes to look at him, a question obvious on your brow. “Are you being nice to me because I yelled at you?”

Ben shrugs. “Was kinda sexy.”

You snort, but don’t question him further. You may not have known him for very long, but you already know Ben won’t provide an answer to something if he doesn’t want to. You both stay comfortably quiet briefly, his hand still on your stomach.

“You weren’t serious about the window thing, were you?” Ben asks quietly.

You hesitate, but the comfort of his hand over your stomach pushes you forward. “I’m not actually going to…but my hormones sure want me to.”

Ben grunts under his breath. “That sounds like hell.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“You want chocolate?”

The sporadic question forces a questioning laugh out of you. “What?”

His brow furrows. “Women want chocolate and shit when this happens, right?”

“Oh. Uh…yeah, I guess we do?”

“One sec,” Ben reaches down with one hand, his other still busy relieving your cramps, and takes off one boot. He then chucks it with enough force to burst the door open.

“What the fuck?!” Hughie’s startled voice calls from the hall.

“Put your shoes on, kid!” Ben yells back. “You’re going on a snack run!”

You burst into giggles, so distracted by the situation’s absurdity you don’t notice Ben’s crinkling smile at your laughter. When you look back at him, he’s disguised the softness behind a smirk. “Problem, sweetheart?”

“You can’t just send him on snack runs,” You argue playfully around another chuckle.

“I sure as hell can,” Ben argues right back, and his thumb brushes gently over your ribcage. “Besides, I have the more important job here. I ain’t going anywhere.”

[fishareglorious]

whatever’s going on with prismagreen and hissabeth is a category five exes thing huh

girliepop what

[deerspherestudios]

Hiiii, I'm sorry if I'm gonna seem mean but I just need to get this out of my head

Why do you always answer coldly to your fans? Like not coldly but dry..I don't know why but every time you respond your fans it just seem like you're annoyed. Like yes I get it a lot of people answer things you already answered before and it's annoying to say the same things over and over, but at the same time they're your fans, someone who loves what you did and someone who appreciates you and your creations. I'm sorry if I may seem mean but it really makes me sad when I see you responding like "if this wasn't obvious enough" or "stop asking me things I've already responded to". Maybe also I'm just really paranoid but I don't know

Hello! I debated answering this privately but I feel like I should address it publicly in case you're not the only one who feels that way.

I'll keep things short above the cut (I address the whole thing below but beware it's a ramble) but just know I will always appreciate people who enjoy my work and give me support regardless; if that wasn't obvious enough <3 /pos /aff /lh

I'm genuinely sorry if it comes off as cold; I didn't even realize my tone could be interpreted in such a way. If it seemed cold, perhaps it was more of me being direct? (I worry that even now I'm coming off as cold when I'm trying to be direct and straightforward!)

I don't wanna get personal but if for whatever reason it did, I never meant my words to hurt people.

As for the phrase, I don't think I say "if this wasn't obvious" that often, but when I do it's more of a "you got it!!" tone rather than,,, sarcasm? But I understand why it might've been interpreted that way.

As for asking people to stop sending questions I've answered, I've made QnA masterlists for this exact reason. I'd just appreciate it if people go through them! Plus an FAQ is an FAQ for a reason.

Understandably people don't have the time to explore through everything on the masterlists, and just want an answer to a quick question. I can't really help with that! If something's been answered it'll be there, and if it's not, I'll add it in.

That's just how I manage my blog and I respectfully ask people to check the FAQs and such before sending me questions I've already talked about, some of them extensively.

At the end of the day, answering questions take time and energy, as silly as that sounds. It's just a Tumblr blog after all, but at least in my case, it takes a lot out of me. But whichever question I choose to respond to I do my best to give my all, including this one.

[senipsenipsenip]

Stan shook his head, chuckling as he hung up the phone. Geez, if he hadn't put a stop to that he was pretty sure his nephew was going to overheat and explode like one of Ford's old computers. Speaking of, he should probably make sure the fire extinguisher down in the lab wasn't expired if Ford and Dipper were gonna be messing around down there the rest of the summer.

Eh, that was a tomorrow problem. Dipper was still up in the attic with Mabel unpacking for another summer in Gravity Falls. Hopefully that meant Stan had at least twenty-four hours until the nerds started blowing stuff up. Mabel and Dipper's parents had seemed surprised the twins wanted another summer with their Grunkle Stan. After all, they were teenagers now, Stan couldn't blame their parents for expecting the two of them to want to spend a summer with kids their own age in California rather than an old fart in the middle of the woods. Well, two old farts, but their parents didn't know about the second one. Besides, Ford would probably object to being called a fart. He'd probably complain that's not the proper term Stanley, if anything I'm an old flatulence.

Stan shuddered. Man, he musta been on that boat with his brother for too long.

"GRUNKLE STAAAAAAAAAN!"

Speaking of the kids. Stan grunted as he hefted himself out of his armchair and made his way up the stairs toward the attic. There hadn't been any sound of breaking glass before Mabel's call, so he figured he could take his time getting up there. He heard a loud thump, a groan from Dipper, and a loud giggle from Mabel. Okay, maybe he should walk a little faster.

"There you are!" Mabel called. Stan stood in the doorway, staring at both of his niblings sprawled out on the floor, a half-rolled poster laying between them and a hammer still clutched in Mabel's hands.

"Dipper's trying to hang up this poster, but he's still not tall enough. I tried climbing on his back, but I guess he still hasn't gotten his puberty muscles yet." Mabel scrambled up and ran to Stan, holding out the hammer in front of her. "Can you do it?"

"I do too have muscles," Dipper grumbled, sitting up. "But no one can expect to hold up the forty pounds of sequins on your sweater and your giant head!"

Mabel stuck her tongue out at her brother. Stan laughed and took the hammer from her, ruffling her hair.

"No sweat, Pumpkin. Let a real man take over." He couldn't ignore the way Mabel's smile grew wider at the nickname. It had been almost a year since Stan got his memories back, but it seemed any little reminder that he was recovering still made his family happy. It was weird, in a good way, to see people care about him so much. And if he made sure to call Mabel by her nicknames even more than her real name, well sue him.

"You could just get me a stepladder," Dipper grumbled, shuffling to his feet.

"Ugh, then I gotta walk all the way back downstairs," Stan picked up a bent nail off the floor. "I'll just get it over with now. Besides, then Mabel can whip us up some lemonade while I work."

"Ooooo can I make Mabel-ade?"

Stan shrugged. "Sure, knock yourself out."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mabel was squealing and running down the stairs. In the silence, Stan shifted on his feet, giving Dipper an awkward sideways glance.

"I haven't...had Mabel-ade before, have I?" he whispered.

Dipper smiled. "Nah, don't worry. That's a whole new horror you get to experience first hand."

Stan chuckled. "Right." He made his way to the wall, squinting at the wooden beams to try and figure out where he could safely sink a nail in. It's not like the place was structurally unsound, but he also hadn't had any sort of building inspection in uh...ever.

"So," Dipper started. "Why'd you want Mabel out of the room?"

Stan smiled. "Perceptive. Good job, kid." He lined up the nail on the beam that had the least amount of termite holes. "You're not in trouble, just wanted to warn ya. Speaking of 'puberty muscles', your Pops called. Apparently he thinks you still haven't had The Talk yet. He told me to keep an eye on ya and that he'd explain everything when you get home."

Stan slipped the edge of the poster under the nail, resting his elbow against the poster to hold it in place while he started hammering.

"Had himself all worked up over it. 'Oh Uncle Stanford, Dipper's a teenager now, he might start to get ideas'," Stan laughed as he finished hammering. "So just, ya know, when you see him pretend I didn't tell ya about the birds and the bees already or anything. Some dads get weird about that. Apparently, he wants to be the one to tell you himself." Stan put his hands on his hips and admired his handy-work. A little crooked, but what wasn't in this place? He nodded and turned to Dipper, who was looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

"But...Grunkle Stan, you didn't have that talk with me," he murmured.

"Ha! There ya go," Stan grinned, punching Dipper on the shoulder. "You're gettin' better at lyin' kid."

"But I'm not lying."

"Wow, I almost believed you that time!"

"No, Grunkle Stan," Dipper grabbed Stan's hand before he could leave the room. Stan looked down at Dipper and realized the boy's face had turned from confusion to distress. "You really didn't."

Stan frowned. "Whaddya mean I didn't? Don't tell me you forgot. I still remember having that talk with my old man." He shuddered. "Not the sorta thing you forget."

Dipper gripped his arm tighter. "How well do you remember having that conversation with me?

"Kid, you were making a face like I was about to pull your teeth out the whole time and you screamed, like, a lot. You couldn't even look at the diagrams in my Why Am I Sweaty? book."

"Grunkle Stan...none of that happened."

Stan froze. "But I remember it."

Dipper gently pulled the hammer out of Stan's hand and set it on the ground before grasping his other hand. "Have you...has this happened before?"

"Has what?" Stan could feel his heart rate picking up.

"Remembering things that aren't real."

"Alright kid, whatever joke this is, it isn't funny." Stan ripped his hands from Dipper's hold, rubbing them against his pants as his eyes darted around the room. An old habit. Looking for an exit.

Dipper held up his hands as if approaching a wild animal. "Stay calm. I can get Ford, maybe he can help figure this out. Maybe the memory gun just...um..."

"Just what?" Stan could feel his voice going shrill. "That gun was supposed to take stuff out of my head, not put stuff in!"

Dipper was beginning to look as panicked as Stan felt.

"Oh God," Stan muttered. "What else did it put in there. Dipper? What else isn't real?"

"This is the first time!" Dipper began to pace. "Unless...has Great Uncle Ford said anything? On the boat, did anything like this happen? This conversation?"

Stan shook his head, his breathing starting to feel funny. "No. But apparently asking me to remember stuff isn't exactly trustworthy - "

"He would have told me," Dipper said with certainty. "Great Uncle Ford would have told me if something happened. So it didn't. So this is the first time and, and, and, we can fix it! Right?"

Stan just stared at Dipper. They shared the same frightened eyes. For Dipper's sake, Stan nodded.

"MABEL-ADE IS READY! YOU WERE OUT OF CHERRIES, SO I USED MARBLES!"

Dipper and Stan glanced towards the stairs.

"Let's get you something to drink first," Dipper muttered, walking slowly towards Stan to take his hand again. "Then we can figure everything out."

"Sure, kid," Stan whispered. He didn't let go of Dipper's hand until they reached the kitchen.

***

They decided it was best not to tell Mabel. After all, it didn't seem like the sort of problem that the scrapbook could solve, and it wasn't worth causing her distress until they knew what they were dealing with. Instead, Dipper had been tasked with distracting Mabel while Ford and Stan commiserated in the kitchen. Stan really wasn't sure how good of a job they were doing of fooling Mabel. She had given him a weird look when he gave the kids money to go get ice cream in town. He couldn't blame her. He'd even thrown in a couple quarters so she could get sprinkles.

"Didn't Dipper mention some sort of brain scanner?" Stan offered. "I don't really like the idea of you poking around in there, but would it help?"

Ford shook his head. He was pacing the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. "No. Project Mentem is broken. And even if I were to fix it, all I could do with it is see and or encrypt your memories. There would be no way for me to discern what's true and what's false since your mind interprets all of them as true." He stopped his pacing to take another swig of his Mabel-ade. Stan liked to give Ford grief about his coffee intake, but at this rate he'd be willing to let Ford have a couple cups of Joe if it meant he'd stop ingesting whatever sour, spicy, glittery drink Mabel was trying to pass off as lemonade. He was pretty sure Ford's eyes were starting to shake.

"So, you had no memory of this talk with Dipper until your phone call with his father?"

"Right."

"And when the memory returned, did it feel like the rest of them? Think hard, was there any difference in sensation?"

Stan shook his head. "Nope. The same sort of itch I always get."

Ford hummed. "Fiddleford told me once that some of his returning memories would get scrambled. Two puzzle pieces fitting together that shouldn't. For example, he swore there was a Christmas that I spent with him and Emma Mae, but it turned out he was combining his memories of Christmas with her with our own holiday celebration in the lab. Can you think of any other conversation with Dipper you could be mixing up? Anyone else you would have been having that conversation with other than Dipper? Perhaps your mind replaced your real conversation partner with Dipper?"

Stan frowned. "You think I just go talkin' about the birds and the bees with everybody?"

"Stan, just think."

He shrugged. "The only people I talk to who would even be young enough for that would be Soos or Wendy. There's no way I woulda given that talk to a girl, and I'm pretty sure Soos's abuelita woulda ripped me a new one if I had done anything to take away Soos's 'innocence'. I have enough self-preservation not to do that."

Ford nodded. "Alright. I feel comfortable with that reasoning." He took another swig of Mabel-ade. "However, then we're dealing with the more uncomfortable reality of the memory being completely fabricated."

"If you keep drinking that stuff, you're gonna start hallucinating too."

Ford's glass slammed down onto the table. "You've been having hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, not that I know of at least. Have I been?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Alright, then no."

Ford sighed and sat down in the chair across from Stan. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table and hands clasped together.

"I don't like hearing you do that," Ford murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Doubting your mind." Ford looked up to Stan, his eyes that horrible mix of calculating and pitiful that tended to appear these days.

Stan shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? We know I'm just making stuff up now. Heck, if Mabel didn't have pictures of all the crazy stuff we got up to last summer I'd probably think that was made up too."

Ford's eyes narrowed. "Hm. That might work."

"The scrapbook?"

"No, physical stimulus." Ford stood from the table again. "You said that when you had this conversation with Dipper you used a book to show him diagrams and such, correct?"

"Yeah. Why Am I Sweaty?"

Ford blinked. "You still have that thing?"

"Ma mailed it up back when she was cleaning out the house. She said she had a whole bunch of 'old science books' she thought her 'little scientist' might want before she donated 'em. I said I'd take 'em 'cause I was hoping some of them would be able to help with the portal. Turns out it was just a bunch of textbooks I stole from the high school and that thing. Came in handy though." Stan shrugged. "Maybe."

"Where is it?"

"If it wasn't destroyed it's probably still in my office. Why?"

Ford left the room without a word, coat billowing behind him. Stan took the opportunity to dump the rest of Ford's drink down the sink. He had a hunch he was about to have the full attention of a scientist on him for awhile and he'd prefer if that scientist wasn't vibrating like a beehive.

"Here we are!" Ford announced as he entered the room. "As I was saying, a physical stimulus might -" he stopped, staring at his glass. "My drink."

Stan shrugged. "I got thirsty."

Ford squinted at him. "Hm. Try looking through the pages of this. Maybe it will help ground you."

"But, won't that just make the fake memory more real?" Stan asked, flipping through the pages. The Pituitary Gland.

"That!" Stan shouted, pointing at the diagram. "Dipper screamed at that!"

Ford frowned. "That seems unlike him."

Stan groaned, dropping the book and putting his head in his hands. "I know but...I swear I can see it Ford. It feels so real."

Stan could hear the sound of Ford getting out of his chair, and there was suddenly a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out, Stanley," he said softly.

"I just don't get why my brain would choose that memory to make," Stan mumbled through his hands. "Not that I want a buncha fake memories, but I could have at least come up with something cooler. Like winning a prize fight or kissing a mermaid or something."

Ford chuckled. "Well, I - " he was interrupted by the sound of the Shack door slamming open, frantic footsteps racing toward the kitchen. Stan lifted his head from his hands, leaning back to adopt a more nonchalant position in his chair. Ford gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel burst into the kitchen, two small paper cups in her hands. "The ice cream lady said I could have two free samples, so I got two old people flavors! They're melted, but you can drink them. Who wants Butter Pecan and who wants Rum Raisin?"

Dipper shuffled in behind her, Mabel's enthusiasm waning as she took in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you guys not like those flavors?"

Stan turned to look at Ford, who had that pinched look around his eyes again.

"Mabel," Ford said gently. "Maybe you should sit down. We have something to -"

He was interrupted by a scream. Mabel had dropped the ice cream cups on the floor, leaving two splats that Waddles wasted no time in beginning to lick up. Stan sat up quickly in his chair.

"Sweetie, what - " before he could complete his sentence, Mabel had grabbed Why Am I Sweaty? and hurled it through the open kitchen window.

"Die childhood killer, die!" she shrieked. She stood huffing for a few more moments, eyes slightly crazed, before straightening up and looking towards the floor.

"Awwww piggy cream!" she cooed, squatting down to pat Waddles' head.

Dipper was the first to break the silence. "Mabel...what was that?"

She glared at Stan from the floor. "An evil book. Is that why you wanted us out of the house? So you could trap us with that horrible book when we got back?"

"You know that book?" Ford asked.

Mabel shuddered. "Ugh, unfortunately. Why do you even wanna read that thing again? It's not like it's hard to forget. Unless..." she frowned. "Were you...showing it to Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford, do you not know where babies come from?"

"No, I am well acquainted with a variety of human and alien reproductive systems." This time it was Stan's turn to shudder.

Ford reddened. "Not like that!"

"Wait, Mabel, you read Why Am I Sweaty?" Dipper asked. He looked to Stan, who was beginning to look green around the gills.

"You're the one I read that to?" Stan asked hoarsely. "But that's...that's not for you! I thought I read that to Dipper, you're telling me that I read that to...What?!"

Mabel slowed her petting of Waddles, beginning to look sheepish. "Well...you didn't know it was me. You thought I was Dipper."

Stan's mouth hung open. "Are you telling me my brain was swiss cheese before the memory gun?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," Dipper groaned, slapping his hand against his head. "That was during the whole carpet thing wasn't it."

Mabel nodded.

"Carpet thing?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," Mabel began to scritch under Waddles' chin. "That carpet from your secret room. It made everybody switch bodies. I was Dipper for awhile and he was me. Soos was Waddles and Waddles was Soos!" Mabel grinned, holding up Waddles to stand on two legs. "Just look at this adorable little former handyman!"

"I was also Waddles," Dipper admitted. "A lot of people were a lot of people. McGucket tried to eat Soos."

Ford frowned. "Soos as Waddles?"

Dipper and Mabel shared a look.

"Never mind all that," Mabel offered, smiling tightly. "Let's talk about why Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were talking about puberty. Do old people do it twice or something?"

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "We weren't talking about puberty, we were talking about a memory Stanley had of discussing puberty with Dipper. Which Dipper thought wasn't real. Now we know why."

Stan raised his hand. "I would now like to pivot the discussion to Ford not leaving his experiments lying around where small children can find them."

"Wait!" Mabel gasped. "Does this mean that Dipper hasn't had the talk yet?" She leapt to her feet. "Because Mom gave me the girl one when we got home last summer! Does this mean I know the girl one and the boy one and Dipper knows none of them?"

Dipper sighed. "Mabel, I've seen nature documentaries."

Mabel whooped. "I know more about something than Dipper! Like, an actual science thing!"

"Mabel, I still know about - "

"Oh yeah?" Mabel reached into her skirt pocket. "Then what's this then?" With a wicked grin she slapped a bright pink wrapper covered in stars onto the kitchen table. Stan slapped his hands over his eyes. Ford's face went slack. Dipper grimaced.

"Mabel...I share a bathroom with you, I know what a pad is."

Ford cleared his throat. "They certainly," he coughed. "They certainly have changed a lot in the past thirty years."

Mabel frowned. "Were the old ones in black and white?"

Stan groaned. "Can we skip ahead to the part where Sixer burns that carpet and we all celebrate that I'm not actually losing my mind?"

Mabel wrapped her arms around Stan, pulling him into a big hug. "Of course! I'll go grab the lighter fluid!" And with that she fled from the room, snatching the pad off the table as she went. Stan lifted his head from his hands and the three Pines men stared at each other awkwardly.

"Well," Ford clapped his hand back on Stan's shoulder. "Another mystery solved."

Dipper nodded. "Sorry to freak you guys out like that. I don't know how I didn't think about the whole 'body swap' thing earlier."

Stan hefted himself up from the table. "No sweat, kid. Er." The three of them turned to the window where Gompers could be seen chomping away at the pages of Why Am I Sweaty?

They turned to each other. A silent agreement was made. Stan grabbed the popsicles out of the freezer and they began to file out of the kitchen, ready to meet Mabel at the fire pit to send that carpet back to Hell where it belonged. If there was anything they'd learned from last summer, it was that some knowledge was best left hidden.

AN: Sequel to this and this! I may or may not manage to get another one done by the end of Stanuary tomorrow (probably not), but either way, thanks for joining me!

EDIT: Pt 4 is here on AO3