#and with that i may never write again

[marimbles]

a little R&R (redecorating and resentment) between escape attempts

[deerspherestudios]

Hi! I just wanted to know if in the following days to come if mychael would follow more intense Yandere traits or instead mellow more out?

Hello! I feel like I ramble a bit here for such a simple question, but for those interested, spoilers under cut!

I've teased in asks before he will get intense as the story progresses, though for the sake of managing expectations, don't expect him to go all out just because it's Day 4.

Initially, I've considered multiple routes and endings for the next update, and by endings I mean True Bad Endings, but I might push them back so the pacing of the story doesn't feel jarring. Plus it lightens my load of writing multiple branches, something I always wanna avoid so I don't complicate things for myself.

I just feel that between the five sundowns after they separated at the end of Day 3 it'd be enough time for him to sort through his thoughts and come to a conclusion on how he feels. Nothing drastic, but there's definitely something that changed in him if that makes sense.

So while he's not fully unhinged (the door still functions so to speak), he's definitely growing loose,,,, I started out with the intent of writing a slow burn and I'd be remiss if I mess that up!

[anbaisai]

Happy New Year!! 🎉🐍

It's the year of the snake, so who better to celebrate it with than our resident snake boy?

I may not be the best with words, but I really appreciate everyone that has showed me support in the past year. You guys have been amazing, and I hope to see you around in the new year too ❤

Thank you for an incredible 2024, and wishing everyone a wonderful 2025!

[stump-not-found]

hrgh rambled on vc about theraprism bill for hours and i woulda kept doing it . will tuck it safely under the read more

institutes are banal in their cruelty . agency is a complicated subject . bill is a cornered rat who's always been a cornered rat . what does he look like in a scenario where he's back at square one ?

i think he'd lock tf in honestly . tbob wasn't a bad attempt . like the book was a mess of him oversharing, but he managed to get something out the door that wasn't meant to . high security facility for tyrants and he still slipped something thru the cracks -- that's interesting ! i wanna play in that space which takes into account bill cipher is competent and more than willing to rip his fate out of the jaws of whatever sick punchline the universe is setting up for him

i think bill cipher can have his moments of patheticness . he's fun to put in the blender for a lil bit i also enjoy a bill cipher jamba juice from time to time

i just also think he got where he was in life for a reason . he's charismatic . he's funny . people genuinely like him, a natural born cult leader . he's extremely smart, and knowledgeable . he's willing to do a lotta shit most people wouldn't which already puts him ahead of the game

i think the thing that's the most fun about bill being in the theraprism is when you acknowledge he's a person . he's been put in a place where he no longer has any agency . his entire life has been chasing any scrap of agency he can get, and never feeling like he's got it . i love that thread, because this wouldn't be anything new for him -- bill's never had agency as far as he's concerned . always clawing his way for the right to exist

he's a cornered rat, he's always been a cornered rat, and he's gotten pretty god damn good at clawing his way back to the top . i think it's fun being able to explore what that looks like, how that power struggle would function in a place where he is pretty well and truly powerless

then if you throw ford into the mix, now he's got a wedge . and it's fun playing with bill trying to reconcile the ways he wants to use ford as leverage, with the reality that ford is his weakness . that doesn't change just because bill beefed it big time . the fact he won't acknowledge that just about dooms him to it, and that's awesome . i love cycles man. keep pretending that love did not undo you in a mind-bogglingly brief amount of time, i'm clapping and cheering about it yippeeeeee

ohhh it's just so fun . take my man and have him lock tf in . i wanna see him clawing at those walls and being a genuine threat to the system, while coming to terms with the fact that reincarnation is just about inevitable

it's such a weird fucking situation . you can talk so much about personhood, and agency, and how he took those things from others, but like . dude you still deserve to be a person . you still deserve to be treated well . so did all the people you hurt . theraprism presents such a good pressure chamber to have a narrative exploring how someone like bill reconciles those facts, if ever

rooting for you man . i think your success is more narratively interesting than failure

oh goddd and don't get me started on the meta implications of reincarnation as a narrative representation of how so frequently "character redemption" equals the death of the original character, replacing them with someone completely different, usually "good" and "domestic" hhhhhhh

turn him into a moth . turn him into a human . at the end of the day his personality has been so twisted and warped it's not even the same person anyways

my tuoyyyyys

[egophiliac]

so on the subject of the "Crowley is secretly Revaan/Laverne/Levin/please Twst give us his name" theory, I think my feelings are best summed up as "I don't really buy it, but it's funny". like, in all seriousness, I'm not opposed to it; I have enjoyed the writing in Twst so far and I'm willing to trust that whatever happens will, you know, make sense and not be terrible. but I'm just not really convinced by the current evidence! maybe that'll change once we learn more, we'll see!

with that said, may I propose a few alternate theories about the possible Crowley/Revaan connection:

[slushfaerie]

༘⋆ CRUMBS — prelude.

childhood friend!art donaldson x reader

word count & warnings – 1k. sfw. notes – inspired by an old friendship & the way it can feel when you make eye contact with someone you haven't met, but it feels like your heart recognizes.

it's the first day of high school and you're finishing your PB&J as you hustle up the stairs and slip through the door to Mr. Hu's classroom. Geometry right after lunch was diabolical – something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.

Mr. Hu's class was open seating, the room filled with the sound of comfortable, easy chatter. you opt for the fourth seat from the front, nearer to the wall without windows. you didn't want to give your mind too many chances to wander off. it would probably run away if it could.

the snap of gum popping rings out in the room amidst the din of your classmates following Mr. Hu’s beginning-of-semester spiel. you hear a snicker and something murmured you can't quite make out. another bubble pops as the semester's syllabi get passed down each of the narrow rows. you turn to pass the stack to the person behind you, taking the opportunity to get a glance at the source of the noise.

Arthur Donaldson - or "just Art. please." as you'd learned from roll call - takes that exact moment to glance in your direction. a little smile creeps up the side of his face as he chews his gum, listening to whatever was being said by the person beside him. a beanie on his head unsuccessfully attempts to tame unruly curls spilling out of it. you turn away swiftly, feeling an uninvited warmth kiss your cheeks.

was that crooked smile was meant for you? you'll never know.

but something about that dimple on his cheek and the way he lights up the back corner of the room kind of makes you wish it was.

your neighborhood was textbook suburbia: a smattering of young families still with a semblance of that spark of hope in their eyes balancing out the sleepier majority, mostly nosy retirees-turned busybodies and gossips.

and Art Donaldson's grandmother, the sweet lady she was, fell into the latter category.

Mrs. Donaldson had moved in with Art and his parents when he was just a sniffly little mess of golden curls. sat under an umbrella one fated summer at the community recreation center where Art picked up a tennis racket for the first time. overly enthusiastic cheers for every point he scored were met with a dimpled smile and wave from her grandson.

now, Art was in high school. still playing tennis. and still a mess of golden curls.

high school was a different beast, consolidating the town’s two junior highs and throwing all of the students into one big pot of teenage hormones and anticipatory stress for the future.

you and Art weren't new neighbors, funny enough. you'd become neighbors in the 6th grade, when your family moved across town and left behind the first place you'd called home.

~~

Art could hazily recall the night his folks had told him a kid his age was moving into the neighborhood - they both happened to be home between business trips. admittedly, he wasn't too invested in the development at the time. was too busy thinking about his backhand or the show he was watching on TV.

"Arthur, are you even listening?" his Mother had asked, moving to grab the remote and turn the TV off herself. he never did get to see how that episode ended.

and that was the first impression you'd made on him.

beyond that, for years you'd remained siloed in the routine established by your family as long as you could remember.

you’d be dropped off by your parents on their way into work and driven home after school ended. as you sat in your Dad’s car, you’d often drive by other kids walking to the closer school nearby. but your parents decided they couldn’t have their baby walking to school. that's too dangerous.

while Art had attended Westshore for junior high, your parents had opted to keep you at Shoreside, where the kids you'd known from your younger years had all gone.

you didn't argue too much. it was easier that way.

keeping your head down and in the comfortable monotony of routine meant that you hadn't managed to see Art before. you'd remember a face like that, you think.

but he had seen you.

~~

Art had been helping his Grandmother care for her rose bushes - the way he did every Sunday morning after she’d take him to church with her - when he'd witnessed what seemed to be one of the few instances you'd be allowed out on your own.

on your own, accompanied by your family's dog, more exactly. he saw the way you walked your dog around the block, letting her choose the route you traversed like her own adventure.

and before he knew it, Art found himself beginning to hope he'd see you every time he helped his grandmother or ventured out into the neighborhood.

he’d see how you’d sometimes end your walks sitting with your dog on the grassy hill at the far end of the park nestled in the heart of your neighborhood, just visible from his front yard. you’d look up at the trees or the sky and look like you were thinking too hard about something. occasionally, you'd bring a book with you.

sometimes he’d see a flash of your laugh in the front seat of your Dad’s car driving by on your way home from school. it was like you were in your own orbit, in your own world – a world he had the privilege of occasionally getting a little glimpse of.

~~

even if Art didn't want to think too hard about it, something about the way you looked at him had his heart doing a funny dance.

Art had tried to play it cool, even pretending to care so fucking much about what Mitchell had just said to him. but he couldn't help the grin on his face.

because there you were, four seats in front and one row over to the left, turning to pass the stack of papers back. you’d held his gaze for a breath that felt like it got stuck in his chest before turning to face back front. a few stray crumbs of something on your face.

you'd finally seen him too.

thanks for reading 🤍🪽let me know what you thought if you feel moved to do so.

[chickensauras]

I never know the 'best' way to post these, but: 5 page comic. Thorfinn 'no you!'-ing his way into a regular gig

Vaguely a stream of consciousness and tonally inconsistent continuation off this other comic

[choccy-milky]

the place me and my roommate were supposed to move into today was so disgusting and uninhabitable we just took our stuff and left and now we're gonna be staying at airbnbs and hotels until further notice/until we can find a new place hopefully quickly...........im in my homeless drifter era y'all!!!😍😍so if im not as active then thats why LMFAO

1 like = 1 prayer

[altaiiriss]

(tw suicidal thoughts)

thinking about dazai and chuuya slowly doing better together.

they're gradually healing, thanks to therapy. they're happier, thanks to their little domestic life. they are each other's comfort person, the family they never had, the crying shoulder they always had to be to protect others, never allowing themselves to break. they learn how to live together, to open up, to trust the other with vulnerability.

everything's going rather smoothly, you know?

until dazai suddenly relapses.

there's no particular reason. your brain just does it, sometimes.

one day you open your eyes and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore.

he does his best to hide it, because chuuya is actually smiling now—he rarely saw him wearing a genuine smile on his face back in the mafia—and he wants to protect the sweet sound of his laughter.

dazai osamu wants to protect nakahara chuuya from the neverending darkness that claws at his soul and melts on his skin until he's one with it.

until you can't tell dazai osamu apart from the parasite that infests his brain and slowly devours the remnants of fond memories.

so he gradually distances himself from chuuya (and everyone else, really).

he stays at the agency after work hours, his body becoming one with the rough edges of the couch while his thoughts echo in the empty room.

he goes to bar lupin, sharing drinks with the ghost of odasaku until he's coming home so late that chuuya has already left for his night shift.

he starts turning down his coworkers' offers to eat lunch at the restaurant together, preferring to sit alone in the darkness of his dorm room and ignore the way his body is begging for food.

until one night he's coming home half drunk—whisky is way more alluring when it tastes like self-destruction—and he finds chuuya standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

"i'm not leaving for work until you tell me why the fuck you've been avoiding me for weeks." he says, voice rough.

dazai chuckles. thank god there's plenty of alcohol in his system right now. he wouldn't be able to deal with this while completely sober.

except the alcohol makes him say stuff he doesn't mean, and it doesn't protect him from the harshness of chuuya's words. they're scarring dazai's flesh, cutting through that thick black layer that became his second skin and his first home. chuuya's voice reaches the most sensitive parts of dazai where not even the alcohol is allowed to go.

but it's all going according to plan. chuuya is angry—no, he's furious at him, and dazai can tell he's about to be kicked out of his apartment.

until chuuya breaks down.

"i don't know what to do with you," he says, and the desperation in his voice hits dazai all at once. "you're killing me, dazai."

no, no. this—this isn't part of the plan. why is chuuya hurting this much? why is he cradling dazai's cold cheeks with trembling hands? why is he holding on to him instead of letting him go?

"i never meant anything to you, did i?" he mutters, and dazai feels something in his throat snap.

"chuuya," he breathes, and his name tastes like a curse on his tongue, "i want to die. i want to die."

he frames chuuya's freckled face with his bare hands, holding him so tightly that the redhead's bones might shatter at any time.

because that's dazai osamu—when he finally stumbles upon something he likes, he holds on to it tightly with bruising force because violence is the only form of love he's ever known, until he swallows the object of his desire whole, until it becomes black, until he turns to nothing, just like him.

"i can't die knowing that'll hurt you. i need you to want me dead."

which is ironic, isn't it? they've been bragging about hating and killing each other since they were fifteen, and yet now that they can feel the weight of their words on their hands, it feels inexplicably wrong.

they can't dance around the truth anymore.

"i'm already hurting," chuuya whispers, and he makes sure that the resentment in his words is heard loud and clear, "you're hurting me so much."

dazai's breath gets stuck in his throat. "what can i do to make it stop?" he asks, and he hasn't heard that hopeless tone coming from himself since he held odasaku's dying body close to his chest. "i really want to go, chuuya."

"stay," chuuya pleads, hands shaking as he grips dazai's shirt as if that could prevent him from disappearing, "stop hiding—stay with me."

"to stay is to be hurt," he tries to offer a defeated smile, "i think one of us is destined to hurt."

and i wish it weren't me, dazai thinks.

and i wish it didn't always have to be me, chuuya thinks.

"stay," chuuya says again, as if the world alone could make dazai truly stay, "stay. fucking stay."

"i ca—"

"stay."

ah, it's been a long time since chuuya felt the animalistic urge to claim someone as his.

"i'm not letting go until you change your mind. stay." he says.

"you can't change my mind on this, chuuya."

"stay," he pleads, "stay, stay, stay! don't—" his voice breaks, and dazai knows they've hit the point of no return, "don't leave me."

there's something interesting about the way chuuya remarks the word 'me' rather than 'leave', dazai thinks.

"don't you dare leave me." chuuya says through gritted teeth. he cannot pinpoint the exact moment desperation turned into anger.

"i have to go," dazai mutters firmly, removing chuuya's hand from his crumpled shirt, "let me go, chuuya."

"i—"

the words die in his throat, stabbing his insides like a thousand tiny needles.

his eyes fall to the floor, and in the blink of an eye he's surrounded by darkness.

"you make me want to die." the redhead mumbles, and suddenly his skin is coated in black, and dazai isn't in his grip anymore.

he's been swallowed, hasn't he? at least that implies he's not alone.

how relieving.

[daemon-in-my-head]

At last, here it is. A while ago, I had the pleasure of commissioning the wonderful @lokorum to portray my beloved idiots in all of their tragic glory.

So without further ado, after months, here's the first chapter of my durgetash-centred, possibly very long, post-canon Genfic (cuz even if he's not featured in the picture, he's very much the one behind it, and yes, I said genfic but they do fuck, there's just also other themes that are more important than whatever it is those guys got going on).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63147115

Rated M; further elaboration, summary etc behind the cut.

As per usual, please mind the tags. This is rated mature and may turn explicit depending on—let's be so fr—nothing but my mood. It IS a tragedy. I know how it ends. Trust me when I stress the tragedy part. I'm writing this story through tears at times. There's fluff, there is hurt comfort, there is true old man yaoi but there is just as much 'doves that aren't simply dead but rotten' and pain.

So to everyone who's not scared shitless yet (which is very valid), here's a summary:

The year is around 1530 DR. The once-revered and reformed Bhaalspawn returns to the city he had both saved and nearly doomed, emerging from his exile in the Underdark. Though he claims to seek only rest, the city's de facto ruler, Archduke Gortash, sees through the monster’s carefully crafted facade. Perhaps if the elf had never saved the Banite all those years ago—when he was little more than a blurred and distant memory—his own fate might have unfolded differently, perhaps even more mercifully. But regrets have long since lost their weight. The past is immutable, and all that remains—all that truly matters to him now—is the purpose that once again draws him into this treacherous den.

And on a personal note; I'm still squealing and shoving this artwork into the face of everyone I meet irl. I absolutely adore it. I'm not sure I'll be stopping with that soon. You will see reblogs.

Again. Tragedy. I mean it. There's fluffy moments, but I will absolutely exploit them to enhance the pain. I'm dead serious about Bhaal being able to learn from me. I caused his kid more agony than he could ever dream of delivering. And I haven't even shared the worst parts yet.

Edit: I also mean the psychological warfare tag. It's my guilty pleasure. And whatever over one year of obsession amounts to.

[performing-personhood]

Just came across this passage and what the fcuk (affectionate) who describes shit this way (awe-struck)(positive)

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

do you think it's weird or unfounded to not want to use chat gpt due to the environmental cost? i feel really strongly that i want to completely avoid it (and, like, recreational/work related ai in general) for that reason, but people seem to think this is really weird when i express that as a reason. but i feel like i should be able to make this call if i want to and that's a good reason to not use it. i don't know?!?!?! i don't get anything anymore?!?!?!

[sunnymainecoonx]

How many people witnessed softie food addict horror who needed something in his mouth or he would actively kill and turn to cannibalism 🧍‍♀️ or was that just me.... anyways honestly it was silly.. he'd maybe get along with cook horror... I just like fanon crossovers guys*sadge

Anyways canon horror is also silly(really silly. What an asshole, man)(no seriously he's actually such an asshole.. I might love him for that but-) I don't think he would get along with the others(loser)

[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!

[bunny-jpeg]

hey bunnies! happy june! it's been a while since i've posted!

i was lucky enough to spend almost two weeks with my boyfriend before he is deployed for the next six months. he won't be coming back home any time between now and the end of the year. i'm thankful that i got to make memories with him and do a lot of fun things. basically we combined six months worth of dates into two weeks. i've been gifted some of his old army patches, so they've been with me for the past couple of days as a reminder of him. it's not going to be easy and i'll spare you the details - but i'm really going to miss him.

i am hoping to start posting again up until the 18th where i'll be having my surgery and then we'll be back in hiatus until i recover around mid-july. thank you to everyone who has wished me the best with this period of time and i hope that the break has allowed me to get even better with fan fic writing! ilysm

(please send well wishes to cottontail, he's been really stressed about leaving again and as have i - the good vibes are really well needed for the next few months) <3

[javierduffy]

ch2 javi gives boaz a chili pepper leaf once as a treat (because javier himself loves chili peppers) and the capsaicin gives him a tummy ache but javi doesn’t know that capsaicin is bad for horses so he has no idea what the problem is and is freaking out a bit so he very incredibly begrudgingly drags himself to kieran, whom he knows probably will have an answer, and kieran is like “he just has a tummy ache, he’s okay :)” and javi is so unbelievably embarrassed but kieran was so nice to him that he’s also a little … charmed ?