#{Only one soundtrack is FOREVER}

[teethands]

jsut finished season 3 of castlevania hector gets beat on by 4 beautiful women and all he does is complain. bitch that should be me in that cell wearing a dog collar. ungrateful ass

[giddlygoat]

my brother can make me laugh without moving at all. he can make me laugh on command, just by existing, and there is no physical tell or indication that it is about to happen. it’s like he can will me to laugh and i will. of course we’re not telepathic, but we do speak in unison sometimes. we improvise like no one’s business. we could fool anyone into believing we are psychically linked. when i try to explain it, i sound silly saying it out loud, but i really CAN tell what he’s thinking. we exchange so much information just with a look. he can make me cry laughing and he doesn’t even have to move

[agentmika]

2024

GO TO THE LIBRARY MORE.

SEE MOVIES YOU'VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE IN UNUSUAL AND UNIQUE WAYS WHENEVER AND WHEREVER POSSIBLE.

LEARN THE WORD BUTTERFLY IN AS MANY NEW LANGUAGES AS YOU CAN.

WRITE. EVEN IF IT'S BAD. ESPECIALLY IF IT'S BAD.

MAKE UP YOUR MIND. NO FEELING IS FOREVER.

LEARN HOW TO WIELD A BASTARD SWORD.

SEND MORE POSTCARDS.

BE KIND. DO IT WEIRD. DO IT SCARED. DO IT ALL.

[thedragonemperess]

I need the & Juliet soundtrack injected directly into my veins and if that doesn't work I need it lazered into the forefront of my brain

[sassypantsjaxon]

I... should really rewatch how to train your dragon. And also reread it.

[eric-the-bmo]

the only good thing tim burton's wonderland movie did was that one bit where the mad hatter walked across the table to get to alice

[holytrickster]

idk i think it's so funny I went down a survival horror game rabbit hole when a) I'm too freaking anxious for horror games I will make myself cry, b) it was all PS2 stuff which is extra funny bc I've never even played on someone else's playstation let alone had one, i was always a wii kid lol. but now my brain is like ah yes. time to consume everything I can about games I can't even play and that are stupid expensive/hard to get now

[bl00dw1tch]

watching that 8 hour video debunking every single shallow complaint/"criticism" people have abt avatar... ough. Delicious ❤

[mariocki]

Thirty Minute Theatre: Not Counting the Savages (BBC, 1972)

"I didn't look round, of course, but when I went round to tidy the other side of the grave, I... became aware of a man standing up against the wire fence. At first I thought that he'd caught his handkerchief or something white on it, and then I realised what it was."

"What?"

"He was exposing himself. Exposing himself to me."

"Well, you've seen one before."

"But I was... I was terribly upset. You can't know how distressed I was! I still am."

"Why? You're an old woman. Why should you be upset? It was play-acting. You're an old woman."

[icyfox17]

Speaking of guitar... This is like one of my end goal songs 🙂‍↕️💭🫶

[dust-of-embers]

Ember's SAF animatic ideas

these are just the more recent ones, if i actually listed all of them this post would be longer than the great wall of china

Would you be so kind? by dodie - curtwen, kinda duel sung, i feel like the lines work for both of them, but probably curt more, also the “do me a favour, can your heart-rate rise a little?” Is both of them using spy stuff to test if their heart beats increase while flirting, kinda like that scene in sherlock, but with less ace erasure. Maybe during the line “but that’s not enough” one of them wakes up from a nightmare of being sentenced to prison or death if anyone found out they were gay.

Poison from Hazbin Hotel - Owen Carvour while at chimera.

Loser, baby from Hazbin Hotel - Curt and Cynthia, cutting out the parts of “just like me”

Loser, baby (again) - curtwen after Curt messes something up and feels like shit, probably around the start of the partnership (i'm not to proud of this one but i think owen dancing around like husker while curt just sits there is hilarious)

Welcome to heaven whadda ya know, Hazbin Hotel - Owen and chimera if Owen took Curt back there, everything has very creepy imagery and while he talks about how perfect it all is each scene has something off about it.

You didn’t know also from Hazbin Hotel- curtwen, stops as soon as the hell is forever reprise starts, maybe continuing once Sara and Emily start fighting again, Curt as Charlie and Owen as Sara and Emily fighting with himself over wanting to go back to Curt and wanting to be angy, vaggie is Tatiana (i dont remember much about my brain story boards for this one, i might re-listen with the scene in mind, but idk)

Come with me by Chxrlotte (siri always pronounces it as "cuh-clot, its very fun) - curtwen, probably sung by Curt, and every time it goes to “the world ends eventually” the scene cuts to Owen falling backwards slowly after getting shot. The rest of the lyrics are their adventures and running from buildings and ppl with guns, laughing and having fun (granted they are running from bullets but hey, they pulled a fast one on an interrogator by Curt flirting and the guy passing out from poison… the reason the flirting happened was so the guy couldn’t shout for help while the poison took affect)

Poison from Hazbin Hotel, once more - Curt mega during the four years he thought Owen was dead (i know, i did a poison one for both of them!)

[azuremist]

“Unfinished Painting” — Keith Haring

This painting was left intentionally incomplete. Haring began it when he was dying due to complications from AIDS, and knew he didn’t have much time left. The piece represents the incomplete lives of him and many others, lost to AIDS during the crisis.

“AIDS Memorial Quilt” — Multiple

This quilt is over 50 tons heavy, and one of, if not the, largest pieces of community folk art. Many people who died of AIDS did not receive funerals, due to social stigma and many funeral homes refusing to handle the deceased’s remains, so this was one of the only ways their lives could be celebrated. Each panel was created in recognition of someone who died due to AIDS, typically by that person’s loved ones.

“Untitled” (Portrait of Ross in L.A.) — Felix Gonzalez-Torres

This pile of candy weighs the same amount as Gonzalez-Torres’ partner, Ross Laycock, did. Ross Laycock had died due to AIDS-related complications earlier that same year. Visitors who see this piece are encouraged to take some of the candy. As they do so, the pile of candy weighs less and less, like how AIDS had deteriorated the body of Ross Laycock.

The SF Gay Men's Chorus

This photo was taken in 1993. The men in white are the surviving original members. Every man in black is standing in for an original member who lost their lives to AIDS.

“Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers); Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate, 1997” — John Boskovich

After the death of his lover, Stephen Earabino, from AIDS, Boskovich discovered that his family had completely cleared his room, including Boskovich’s own possessions, save for this fan. An entire person, existence and relationship had been erased, just like so many lives during the AIDS crisis. Boskovich encased the fan in Plexiglass, but added cutouts so that its air may be felt by the viewer, almost like an exhalation. In a sense, restoring Earabino’s breath.

“Blue” — Derek Jarman

This was Jarman’s final feature film, released four months before his death from AIDS-related complications. These complications had left him visually impaired, able to only see in shades of blue. This film consists of a single shot of a saturated blue color, as the soundtrack to the film described Jarman’s life through narration, intercut with the adventures of Blue, a humanization of the color blue. The film's final moments consist of a set of repeated names: “John. Daniel. Howard. Graham. Terry. Paul". These are the names of former lovers and friends of Jarman who had died due to AIDS.

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) — Felix Gonzalez-Torres

Created by the same man who created the previous untitled piece, this piece was also inspired by his lover’s deterioration and death due to AIDS. This piece consists of two perfectly alike clocks. Over the course of time, one of the clocks will fall out of sync with the other.

In a letter written to his lover about the piece, before his lover’s passing, Gonzalez-Tourres wrote, “Don't be afraid of the clocks, they are our time, the time has been so generous to us. We imprinted time with the sweet taste of victory. We conquered fate by meeting at a certain time in a certain space. We are a product of the time, therefore we give back credit were it is due: time. We are synchronized, now forever. I love you.”

Please feel free to reblog with more additions

[minisugakoobies]

two am | yjh

Pairing: Jeonghan x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, angst, porn with the barest of plot, exes to lovers, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: late night texting, excessive use of the pet name 'baby,' fighting as foreplay, dirty talk, multiple references to reader's pussy, implied/referenced cheating, references to oral sex (reader receiving), slight exhibitionism, riding/grinding, nipple play (licking/biting/sucking), p in v protected sex, Jeonghan is bad for reader but they can't stay away

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: It's two am and your ex is texting you again.

Text Prompts: Both are in italicized pink font in the story.

A/N: I'm back with another installment in my SVT texts series. This one is dedicated to @minttangerines. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUCE!! 🎉🎉 I brought you some toxic Jeonghan, hope you like him. 💜 Thank you for being such an amazing friend, tour guide, driver, and partner in crime. 😘

Soundtrack: 2AM by SZA; Sleazy Bed Track by the Bluetones

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s nearly two in the morning when the warning pops up on your phone:

Cover your phone, explicit material coming your way

You barely have the time to excuse yourself from the table, heading in a panic towards the bathroom, before the next text from your ex arrives.

Jeonghan never includes his full face in his photos. It’s always just that maddening smirk of his, catching your eye first before it’s drawn down to the main focus - thin fingers wrapped around an obscene bulge, a darkened tip poking above the waistband of his boxers. 

You lock yourself in a stall and fire back.

You: You have to stop sending me these photos

Satan: That’s a rude way to say thank you

You: I’m serious, Jeonghan. We’re done

He doesn’t reply. You know better than to think he’s accepted your response. He’s refused to accept it for the last three months. 

Your phone chimes. Another photo. The boxers have been pulled down. You bite your lip, then catch yourself, snarling at your reflection on your screen.

You: I said stop!

Satan: That’s what you say now, but we both know that’s not what you’ll be saying later

You: There won’t be a later

You: Not this time

Satan: Really? You gonna tell me you don’t miss this cock?

Satan: That your pussy’s not already dripping imagining it inside you?

It’s the anger his words stir in you that’s making your pulse pound right now, you tell yourself.

You almost believe it. 

Satan: Come over, baby. Wanna make a mess of you like I did last time

You: Not. Happening.

Satan: You out with your friends again tonight? 

Of course he knows where you are. You’ve been going out with your friends every week since the breakup. Tonight’s the first night in a while that you’re sober, not in the mood to drink. This conversation is making you regret that. 

You: What does it matter if I am?

Satan: It’s almost closing time. Think you can find someone to take home?

Satan: Someone to make you forget about me? About how I fuck you?

Satan: You know no one can make you cum like me

To think his confidence is what once drew you to him. Now it repulses you, almost as much as your thighs suddenly clenching together does. 

You: You’re unreal

Satan: That’s right

You: That’s not a compliment

Satan: I know what you want

You: What I want is for you to fuck off forever

Satan: Baby please. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy this

Satan: You can block me anytime you want. But you don’t

Satan: Why do you think that is?

You could answer him. Argue for a while, like you always do. Like you always did. It was the thing that the two of you did best - second only to fucking. You scroll upthread, looking at the last time you fought, reminding yourself how it ended:

Satan: Don’t tell me what to do

You: Eat me out

Satan: Okay tell me what to do

It’s not in your phone what happened next, but it’s seared into your memory, replaying behind your eyelids - lying on Jeonghan’s bed, legs splayed while he puts his wicked mouth to its best use. 

But you also remember the come down. The anger at your weakness. The shame. Knowing nothing has changed. That he hasn’t changed.  

You keep scrolling back, seeing the same thing over and over, watching the pattern repeat. You could stop it right now - end the conversation, delete him from your phone, and go rejoin your friends. That would be the smart thing to do. 

Satan: It’s okay, baby, you don’t have to admit it

Satan: Just come over and show me

If only you were smart.

“Mmmphm!”

The hem of your shirt makes a terrible gag, doing nothing to keep your volume down. Jeonghan’s head snaps up, gaze torn away from where he was watching himself disappear into you.

“Quiet, baby. Do you want them to hear you?” 

The “them” in question are his roommates, Joshua and Seungcheol, who are both sleeping on the other sides of the walls. Jeonghan would be sleeping in one of those bedrooms, too, if he wasn’t out here fucking you on the couch. Or, rather, sitting back and looking smug while you ride him on the couch. 

He knows you don’t want anyone to hear you, so you don’t bother to answer him, just glare while stuffing more of the already spit-soaked material into your mouth. His roommates would judge you for being here. Just like your friends did earlier, when you told them you were leaving. You said you were tired, but they’ve noticed your pattern too. And they’ve stopped trying to get you to break it, unwilling to expend their energy on such an impossible task. 

That’s fine. You don’t need to drag anyone else down to the bottom with you.

Jeonghan runs his fingertips over the exposed skin of your stomach, chuckling when you shiver. 

“Always so sensitive,” he tuts, shaking his head. 

He cups your breasts with his warm hands, pushing your shirt up further until the chilly night air hits your nipples, then bends his head down enough to lightly graze one with his teeth. You gasp, nearly dropping your impromptu gag, and Jeonghan pauses with his lips near your other tit, looking up at you, saying nothing, but his eyes communicate so clearly what he’s thinking - Be good, baby. 

If your relationship was a song, that was his refrain:

Be good, baby, I have to work late this weekend.

Be good, baby, I’m going out for drinks with some coworkers.

Baby, she’s just a friend. Don’t worry. Be good for me.

Despite everything, a part of you still yearns to be good for him. So you bite down harder. 

Jeonghan hums in approval. His mouth latches onto your other nipple, sucking lewdly, not much quieter than your whining has been. Hypocrite. You close your eyes, trying to shut out your loud as fuck thoughts and focus on the wet warmth of his tongue as it laves over and around your nipple a few times, in broad, messy strokes.

You arch into him, lacing your fingers through his hair to try to hold him in place. But like always, he can’t be tamed, lifting his head to smirk at you. You whimper, and he smiles harder, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you to his hungry mouth. You eagerly lean forward as your shirt falls from your jaw. 

Jeonghan’s kisses overwhelm your senses until you’re drowning in him. His tongue glides like honey, thick and slow, melting over yours, and you groan, grinding on him slowly.

This is what you needed. Even after all that went down, all the lies, all the tears, you still crave him, body and soul. If this is the only way that you can have him, this two a.m. interlude, then you’ll take every second you can, ignoring the little voice whispering that you’ll regret them all.

“That’s it, just like that.” Jeonghan looks down again, mesmerized by the smooth roll of your hips. His fingers sink into the flesh of your ass, hard enough that you know you’ll still feel his touch tomorrow. “Fuck yes, baby, ride it.” 

He guides you up and down his shaft, the wet sounds of your cunt sliding over him embarrassingly loud in the still room, and you let him control the pace, all your concentration on his lips - kissing them, nibbling them, sucking on them one by one. Trying desperately to get your fill of them, of him, because this is it. This is the last time. You swear it. 

Maybe this time, it will stick.

Jeonghan’s thumb rolls over your clit, making you gasp into his mouth. He does it again, and again, and just like that you’re falling apart, body singing electric as he lights up your nervous system with his touch. He keeps thrusting up into you, taking control again as you tremble above him, and you know he’s reaching his crest, the familiar signs too obvious to miss. He drops his head, muttering an endless stream of ‘fuck’s and ‘baby’s in that choked voice of his, and then his hands lock your hips in place, as deep as he can get as he fills the condom he wears.

It’s always intense, this moment, when it comes. The two of you, breathing heavy and spent, clinging to each other as you ride out the waves, like you’re hanging on for dear life. Or maybe that’s just you. Because you know that once the high is gone…

“Knew this pussy missed me.”

…the lows return.

Jeonghan laughs when you push yourself off his chest. He pinches your ass cheek for good measure, and you scowl, scrambling to climb out of his lap as quickly as you can, which is pretty difficult given your loose limbs. 

“Don’t say that.” 

Jeonghan watches with simmering amusement as you dress hastily, fumbling with your bra to the point that you nearly decide to leave it. “But it’s true.” 

“No, it’s not, and besides, it’s fucking gross when you talk like that. Like I’m not a person or something.” 

“Whatever.” He’s already losing interest, reaching for his phone. No need to argue anymore. He got his. 

You can’t get your clothes on fast enough. “Stop sending me photos. Don’t text me again.” 

You might as well be talking to the couch. He hums mechanically, scrolling away. “Lock the door on your way out.”

In the elevator, your finger hovers in its usual spot over the delete button. 

A chime. Jeonghan’s mouth, tongue extending between the peace sign he’s flashing, followed by four words: Sweet dreams, baby. 

You slip your phone back into your pocket as you descend.

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[ckret2]

Chapter 57 of human Bill Cipher is no longer the Mystery Shack's prisoner—but at what cost:

The execution of Bill Cipher.

Saturday, 6:30 a.m.

Ford hadn't slept well.

He'd elected to spend the night on his cot down in his study. Even though he had no proof and a solid metal barrier in his head, there was an irrational part of him that feared Bill might be able to read his mind and predict his plans if he was too close to him. He'd decided it was easier to just sleep somewhere "safe" than spend all night trying to argue his own brain out of its paranoia.

The safety hadn't been much of a comfort. Every time he opened his eyes, he was sure he could see the outline of the Quantum Destabilizer laying on the worktable across the room.

He gave up and got up for breakfast an hour after sunup.

When he exited the vending machine, the first thing he heard was muffled pop music and laughter from the living room. He pushed open the door; Bill and Mabel were up with the sun as well and had apparently elected to throw a spontaneous dance party. Mabel had set her boombox on the TV, was blasting the soundtrack from one of her cartoons—"Let's tag along, with Cinnamon, 'cause all you have to do is believe!"—and was unsuccessfully attempting to teach Bill a dance move.

"You have to do it like this," Mabel said, pointing at her legs, which were crossed at the knees with her left foot crossed over her right foot.

"That is what I'm doing." Bill's left foot was positioned straight in front of his right foot.

"No it's not! Look, you've got to move your left foot further to the right!"

Bill looked at his feet, looked at Mabel's dubiously, and looked back at his own; and then hesitantly scooted his left foot a few inches to the right.

"Yes," Mabel sighed. "That's step one, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now step two!" Mabel swung out her right foot and crossed it over her left ankle.

Bill swung out his right foot and placed it down directly in front of his left foot.

"Bill!"

"What!"

Mabel cracked up and leaned against Bill's side, hugging him, while he protested, "I'm doing the same thing you are! It looks exactly the same! Don't play mind games with me, Shooting Star."

Curious. Was this a second dimensional thing—did crossing his legs over each other not come naturally to Bill? But Ford had seen him cross his legs while seated plenty of times. Maybe it was only when he was trying to dance? Ford had been taking notes on Bill's body language in human form; maybe he should make a note of this—

Why bother? What value did the information have? When Bill would be gone forever in a few hours.

Bill had coaxed Mabel into giving up the dance lesson and switching to something more freeform, grabbing her hands and spinning around the room with her to a far goofier song with annoying sound effects. His gaze glanced over Ford, glanced away; and then he stopped and did a double take, almost throwing Mabel off-balance. "What's with the sour face?" he demanded, breathing heavily from exertion. "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" Mabel glanced back at Ford.

Ford just shook his head dismissively and hurried through the living room, heading to the kitchen. He had the unsettling feeing that Bill had seen more than he let on in Ford's face. He told himself, again, that Bill couldn't read his mind. Not like this, anyway.

####

6:35 a.m.

Ford was making breakfast when Dipper came downstairs. Dipper glanced into the living room, then lowered his eyes and hurried past without greeting Mabel. He couldn't meet Ford's eyes, either.

That was kind of how Ford felt, too. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Just eggs."

"Scrambled?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He added a couple of eggs, and a couple more for Mabel.

"Good morning!" Stan's greeting made both Ford and Dipper flinch; it was far too boisterous for the somber room. It almost sounded forced. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Ford glanced toward the window. The sky was gray and overcast. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Yeap, thanks."

He added more to the skillet. "You're cheerful this morning."

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, a shade defensively. "Aren't you?"

Ford offered him a wan smile. "Of course."

Dipper just stared at the table, looking slightly sick to his stomach.

####

6:40 a.m.

The only ones who seemed to be in a genuinely good mood were Mabel and Bill, bounding into the kitchen, still breathing heavily from their exercise. Mabel moonwalked across the kitchen until she bumped backwards into a chair. She sat and flopped over the kitchen table, arms stretched out across the tabletop, and only sat up when Ford sat a plate in front of her. Bill looked at the filled chairs, the four Pines with their four plates of food, and the empty skillet, and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. "No, that's fine," he said, still catching his breath, "I didn't want breakfast anyway. Thanks for asking."

"Bill! Ask nicely," Mabel said.

"Please don't make me starve, while I watch you eat, because you've magically ensured I can't feed myself."

Mabel pushed her chair out to stand, but said, "I don't think that was nice."

But Ford sighed and stood first. "I'll deal with it." Maybe providing the death row inmate his last meal would help assuage Ford's misguided conscience. When Bill saw Ford get out the eggs and bacon again, he frowned and looked almost ready to say something; but he just shrugged moodily and looked away.

For a few minutes, an awkward silence reigned over the room as Ford cooked Bill's breakfast. Stan cleared his throat and said, "So, uh—hey, Mabel. What're you up to today?" As if he didn't know full well. Ford had told him last night why they'd scheduled Bill's execution for Saturday.

"Thanks for asking," Mabel said, like she'd been just waiting for someone to bring it up. "I'm going out with Candy and Grenda! Grenda's mom's picking me up at seven." No wonder she was up so early.

"At seven?" Stan repeated, checking his watch. "That's less than twenty minutes, isn't it?"

Mabel processed that. She looked out the window. It wasn't light yet; but then that was only because of the cloud cover. "Oh." She started shoveling eggs into her mouth.

"You're ditching me today?" Bill groaned in exaggerated irritation. "I don't believe it. I'll be bored out of my mind."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "You'll live!" (Ford winced.)

"At least leave me with the Color Critter tapes so I can entertain myself."

"No! We have to watch those together! Especially the two-parter, that's up next."

Bill let out the loudest, longest sigh. "Fine. Leave me to suffer."

"You big baby."

Ford offered Bill a plate of eggs and floppy bacon. Bill took it without saying anything; but he looked at his plate with three strips of bacon, Ford's as yet untouched plate with two, and his eye flicked to Ford's face. Ford's breath froze; for a moment his panicked mind was sure his pity offering had given him away.

But then Bill looked away with a deliberate air of indifference. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and started shoveling eggs in his mouth like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. (When had he last had a decent meal?)

As Ford sat again, Mabel asked, "Grunkle Ford! Do you want me to pick up one of Phrancisco's solo albums? He only went solo after you got stuck in space, right?"

He tried not to think about Mabel bringing him home a gift just to discover that he'd executed her friend while she was out. (Would she ever speak to him again after this?) "N—no thanks, Mabel, that's fine. You should buy something for yourself."

Bill groaned. "You two and your terrible taste in synth pop." He slurped down half a strip of bacon. "Hey, if he isn't getting anything, pick me up a CD by Mysterious Mo's Average Joes, would you? They should be in the rock section."

Mabel laughed. "Who? They're not gonna have that!"

"Why not! They were really popular. In the 1960s. For seven weeks. Any decent record store oughta have them."

(What kind of music did Bill like, Ford wondered desperately. He knew what songs Bill had referenced, he knew what songs Bill taunted him with—Bill's soundtrack was as carefully curated as his dreams were choreographed, designed to evoke a specific effect—but what did he like? It was too late for Ford to learn.)

"I'm not going to a record store," Mabel said. "I'm going to a Phrancisco concert."

"What?! Since when!"

"Since I won tickets like, two weeks ago! I told you!"

"No you didn't."

There was an unexpectedly vicious edge to Bill's voice that made Ford tense up. He met Stan's gaze; he'd clearly noticed it too.

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. I'm going to a concert. That's what Candy and Grenda are coming over for."

"Huh." Bill leaned back against the counter, nibbling at his second strip of bacon. There was something darkly calculating in his eye as he stared at Mabel. "So that talentless hack is in town? Where's he playing? He can't be at the convention center, no way he could pull a crowd that size."

"He's not in Gravity Falls, he's in Portland."

"You're going all the way to Portland?!"

Mabel leaned slightly away from Bill. "Yeah?" She sounded wary now. Ford didn't blame her; he'd never seen Bill snap at her like this before. 

"W—Pff!—It might have been nice to know earlier!"

Mabel shrugged helplessly. "Well... sorry! Now you know!"

"Fine." Bill sighed angrily. "You're going all the way to Portland for a show—so you're not getting back til, what, dinner time?"

Mabel sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Actuallyyy, we're staying in town overnight and coming back tomorrow."

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, it's a late show. And Grenda's mom has some kind of reward thingy at a hotel she wants to use—"

"And you DIDN'T ASK ME?!"

The entire room fell silent, staring at Bill. Dipper's gaze darted between Mabel and Bill, bewildered. Stan put a protective hand on Mabel's shoulder.

Face strangely neutral—controlled, Ford thought—Bill said, "I meant. You didn't... tell me?"

Stan growled, "Not an improvement, Cipher."

"Warn, didn't warn me."

With a chill Ford hadn't known she possessed, Mabel said, "Excuse me? Was I supposed to?" Ford didn't know a lot about adolescents, but he recognized that voice. That was the quiet rage of the teenage girl offended. That was the voice that got fruit punch poured in your hair.

Bill stammered, "I mean— That— Well—!" He paused, ate a large mouthful of eggs to give himself time to regroup, and said, "Through no fault of my own, I'm completely dependent on you for any kind of mental stimulation, kid. You don't think maybe a 'hey Bill, would it bother you if I'm gone all weekend' would be polite?"

"So what if it does bother you!" Mabel's outburst was so vehement that Bill flinched in surprise. "I'm just one kid, you're a—an ancient psychic ghost triangle thing! You can't depend on me for everything, that's insane, I don't even know how to be whatever you need! Do you think I'm gonna stay inside the shack all summer just because you want me to?!"

Bill's mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds, grappling for words. Voice strained, he said, "I mean... not 24/7, but..."

"Unbelievable." Mabel shoved her chair back. "I'm gonna pack. If you'll permit me, Mr. Bossy." She stormed from the room.

"Hey, hold on—!" Bill started to follow, but stopped in the doorway—glancing back over his shoulder, worriedly, as if searching for something—and looked directly at Ford, for just a moment. And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs trying to catch up with Mabel.

Bill knew. Ford was sure of it. He could tell the future, even as a human, they were aware of that. He couldn't see very far, from what Ford could tell; but this was a strange, powerful weapon, perhaps its beam was visible from chronologically farther away. Or maybe Ford himself had betrayed it somehow—in his face, in his body language—he remembered the way Bill had stopped dancing to stare at his face. Or maybe it was just intuition. But whatever the case, Bill could tell something was coming.

He wasn't trying to get Mabel to stay because he was worried about getting bored; he knew she was probably the only thing that might shield him from execution.

He knew that if she was out of town, he'd be defenseless.

####

6:50 a.m.

Their voices rose until they were audible from downstairs: "—But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

"Ridiculous to WHO! Ridiculous to you?! If you think you can just—just—manipulate me into staying here forever—"

"Manipulate?! Oh, all right, is that what you think of me! You've got some nerve, Shooting Star—"

Ford looked at Stan. "We should—"

"Yeah."

They hurried upstairs, Dipper close behind.

"Wait—" Dipper caught Ford's coat and tugged him back before he reached the bedroom door. "Don't, we should let them work this out."

"Are you serious?"

Dipper lowered his voice. "She's... been under a lot of pressure because of Bill. She's been acting like it's her job to save him. Maybe it'd be good if she... sorta figures out..." He screwed up his face. "Okay, I just want her to start hating him again, is that so bad?"

Well. At least it was honest. "If he gets angry enough to hurt her—"

"Then she'll flip him on his head and break his arm. I'm really not worried about her safety, Bill's pathetic," Dipper said. "Really, really... really pathetic."

Stan said, "Yeah, she'll be fine, she's a baby tiger. And maybe this'll be good for her! She won't... you know. Miss him as much. Silver lining."

Ford was worried about how bad she'd feel once she learned the last conversation she ever had with Bill was a fight; but maybe Stan was right. If Bill had died the day after Ford had discovered his true plans for the portal, would Ford have regretted that their last conversation was a fight—or would he just have been relieved that Bill was gone? Ford hadn't regretted that fight a single day since then.

He hoped Mabel would feel the same about it.

####

7:00 a.m.

There were no sounds of violence through the bedroom door—just stomping and thudding as Mabel packed. And the argument, which only seemed to be getting worse, Bill's strident voice drowning out most other sounds: "—and on top of that, you won't even give me the stupid cartoon tapes so I can at LEAST entertain myself while you're gone?!"

"AaaAAARGH THAT'S ALL I'M GOOD FOR TO YOU, ISN'T IT? I'M JUST YOUR ENTERTAINMENT!"

"Well—! Well SO WHAT! Like YOU'D spend any time with ME if you didn't think I was fun! What ELSE am I to you if not just your FUN SUMMER FIX-IT PROJECT?!"

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!" 

All three eavesdroppers cringed.

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

"OH YEAH, WELL—YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!"

"OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Shrilly, Mabel shouted, "SHUT UP!"

"All right," Stan muttered, "This is just getting petty, I'm breaking this up."

Dipper moved like he was considering getting in the way. "But Grunkle Stan—"

"I think we're way past the point of your sister hating that demon." Stan opened the door a crack. "Hey—!"

Bill and Mabel rounded on Stan, faces red, tears pricking at the corners of Mabel's eyes. They both shouted, "STAY OUT OF IT!"

Stan quickly shut the door. A sweater gently thudded against the other side. Stan said, "Maybe we oughta let 'em work it out."

"It isn't getting violent, is it?" Ford asked.

"Only verbally."

Ford hesitated; but then nodded uneasily.

####

7:05 a.m.

Mabel said, "Grenda's mom's outside, I'm LEAVING."

"FINE! GO! Who needs you?! I could DIE and you wouldn't care!" Bill's voice cracked on the word. 

Ford was sure he knew.

"MAYBE I WOULDN'T!" (All three eavesdroppers cringed harder still. Ford hoped she wouldn't remember saying that tomorrow.) "Get out of my room!"

"No, YOU get out! I'm staying right here!"

"Fine!! Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

There was some final angry rustling and the zip of a backpack; and then Mabel was storming out of the bedroom. She slammed the door, rubbed her eyes, and glared at the guys.

They tried to look like they hadn't been listening.

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

Ford and Stan nodded. Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..."

Mabel glared into his eyes.

Dipper raise his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine."

As Mabel stomped downstairs, Ford nudged Dipper and whispered, "It's fine. He won't be there very long."

The reassurance made Dipper look faintly sick. "Yeah."

####

7:07 a.m.

Candy and Grenda grinned as Mabel burst out of the shack, ran to the car, pulled open the back door, and slid in. Grenda cheered, "Mabel!"

"Are you ready to board the Party Bus?" Candy asked.

Grenda whispered loudly, "That's the new name of the car."

Instead of answering, Mabel slammed the door, fastened her seatbelt, and hugged her backpack to her chest.

Grenda and her mom turned around to stare at Mabel from the front seats. Grenda's mom asked, "Is everything alright, sweetie?"

"'M fine, Mrs. Grendinator," Mabel said, staring at her knees. "I just... fought with a friend this morning."

"Oh, honey..."

Voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Her hands were trembling.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window; but no one looked back.

####

7:10 a.m.

Candy reached over to rub Mabel's upper arm. "Who did you fight with?"

Grenda asked, "Was it Pacifica?" Both of them had a lot of thoughts about Mabel's deal to help at Pacifica's alpaca ranch, which they were politely swallowing down until and unless Mabel and Pacifica had a falling out and it became acceptable to be mean about Pacifica again.

Mabel shook her head. "No, it's... You don't know him. The new guy staying at the shack."

Grenda and Candy exchanged a glance. They didn't know very much about the "new guy" at the shack, except that he was the reason they couldn't have sleepovers at Mabel's place this summer; but Mabel insisted he was actually really fun; but also she couldn't tell them his name or anything about him. They already didn't think too highly of this mysterious new guy.

Warily, Candy said, "The new guy who you said is like a cool big brother-slash-sister?"

Mabel winced. "I... don't remember saying that."

"You said that."

Grenda threw in, "Like three days ago! When we were jumping off Candy's roof and you said he could probably do all kinds of cool low gravity tricks if he was there! Remember?"

Mabel groaned and thudded her head against the window.

Grenda said, "He sounds like an uncool big jerk-slash-loser if he made you upset." Candy nodded emphatically.

Mabel didn't answer for a moment. "I used to think he was," she said. "Now I just... think he needs friendship. More than I can give him by myself."

It was a miserable grey morning as they got on the road.

####

7:25 a.m.

They'd left Gravity Falls, passed beneath the defunct railroad track, and were almost to the highway when the Triple Digit Truck Stop's lumberjack statue appeared between the trees. That was the place where the Pines and Bill had negotiated the terms of his captivity. Mabel and Bill had traded pancakes there.

Quickly, voice tight, Mabel said, "I forgot to use the bathroom at home. Can we pull over?"

"Sure, Mabel."

"Sorry."

Before Mrs. Grendinator had turned the car off, Mabel had already opened the car door and was sprinting for the truck stop's attached convenience store, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she went.

"Mabel, wait!" Candy unfastened her seatbelt as fast as she could and ran after her.

Mrs. Grendinator put her hand on Grenda's before she could get out of the car. "Who is this friend of Mabel's?"

"We don't know," Grenda said. "She won't say a lot about him. Candy and I think he's some kind of werewolf catboy they have to keep hidden from the public. You know what the Mystery Shack's like."

"Hmm." Mrs. Grendinator watched Mabel, lips pressed together in worry.

When Grenda caught up with Candy inside the convenience store, Candy pointed toward the restrooms. "Mabel went into the unisex restroom," she said ominously.

Grenda winced. The one restroom with a real door. It was the only one you could cry in with total privacy. "So it was a fight fight, huh?"

"We should grab her extra road trip snacks." Candy eyed an aisle filled with various forms of jerky.

Grenda nodded, "Definitely extra snacks."

####

7:35 a.m.

Candy and Grenda were admiring a souvenir plastic skull painted with a patriotic stars and stripes pattern when Mabel finally emerge from the restroom, face freshly washed, eyes scrubbed, looking significantly more cheerful. "Hey guys! Are we looking at cheap souvenirs?"

"Yeah, check out this cool skull!" Grenda said.

"And it has babies." Candy held up two miniature starred-and-striped skulls.

Grenda held out a plastic bag. "Hey—while you were busy, we got a bunch of snacks: Nyumalums, Gummy Koalas, Cheese Boodles..."

"Ooh!" Mabel rummaged through the bag. "And... plastic dinosaurs?"

"So we can make Mabel Juice at the hotel!"

"Aww, guys! That's—really thoughtful, thank you."

"Of course, any time," Grenda said.

Candy said, "We know you don't want to talk about your other friend, but... we want you to know you can if you ever want to."

"And if you don't, we're here for you anyway!"

Mabel gave them both a watery smile. Without a word, she pulled them into a tight hug.

They hugged her back; Grenda squeezed them both and lifted them into the air for a second.

Mabel said, "You're the two best friends I could ever ask for, you know that?" She pulled back, put her hands on their shoulders, and said, "I'm putting the whole thing at the shack out of my head! I'm not letting it ruin our trip to Portland! We're going to have fun and watch some old guy play a synthesizer!"

"Yes!" "LET'S GO!"

They left the convenience store together, chanting, "Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er!"

####

7:50 a.m.

Dipper, Ford, and Stan had kicked aside Bill's sofa cushion bed and taken over the attic window seat so the could uneasily hover near the attic bedroom and listen for anything inside.

Bill was completely silent.

"Probably meditating or something," Stan said. "Spitefully meditating. I keep catching him meditating on the downstairs toilet. Usually in the middle of the night."

"I've seen him in the living room," Dipper said. He remembered coming downstairs when he was out of his body and catching Bill watching Dr. Calligraphy—the radiant golden aura that had surrounded Bill on all sides until Dipper broke his concentration.

Ford muttered, "As long as he isn't breaking anything."

The Quantum Destabilizer was a powerful weapon; its beam could be seen from miles away. Ford had never seen it at work fully unobstructed on Earth, but in the Nightmare Realm any missed shot had still been visible, a bright streak in the roiling dark, long after any other beam of light would have faded to invisibility.

At least Gravity Falls was in a valley, hidden from the rest of the world by mountains and trees; but it was an overcast day and only getting darker. They wanted to make sure Mabel was far out of visual range before they fired the quantum destabilizer.

They decided to execute Bill at noon.

It was a long wait.

####

11:55 a.m.

Ford went down to the gift shop; waited five minutes for the tourists to empty out as Soos escorted them into the museum for the noon tour; and slipped behind the vending machine. When he came back up with the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case, Melody stared for a moment from the cash register, then quickly averted her gaze.

Mrs. Ramirez had been watching television in the living room since she'd finished breakfast around ten. As Ford passed through again, he paused awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of the destabilizer's carrying case. "Mrs. Ramirez," he said. "We're, ah... going to make a bit of noise upstairs. Just—don't worry when you hear it, it's all under control." She'd gone to bed before he'd given Soos the news and woken up after the shack had opened; he didn't know whether Soos had had a chance to tell her.

Mrs. Ramirez took in Ford's nervous expression, his stiff posture, and his mysterious black case, and quietly asked, "It is time?"

Ford nodded solemnly.

She merely nodded back, her expression placid and unreadable. "Okay," she said. "Before you go, please turn up the volume for me. The remote is missing."

"Of course." Ford knelt down to turn the volume knob. When she said it was high enough, it was almost twice as loud.

Dipper and Stan were both standing right outside the attic door when Ford came back upstairs. Dipper looked like he was about to be eaten alive by anxiety. He flinched when Ford put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't look away from the door.

Voice low, Stan asked Ford, "You sure you don't want me to do it? I know this isn't the first time you've shot at him, but it's, uh... it's a lot easier to shoot in self-defense than it is to execute a helpless prisoner."

Ford elected not to ask questions. "No, it should be me. I designed this weapon, I know how to handle it." He gave Stan a wan smile. "Besides—it's high time I shoot Bill without your head in the way."

Stan laughed wryly.

Dipper sat on the floor and put his head in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Ford knelt next to Dipper.

"Yeah." Dipper waved Ford off. "Just... didn't get much sleep. Little dizzy."

No stomach for murder. Ford had been preparing for this for over thirty years; Dipper hadn't. And that was a good thing. "You can go downstairs if you..."

"No no, I'm fine, I..." Dipper took a deep breath and lifted his head. "I'll face it."

Stan nodded. "Good man."

Ford should have made it an order—he could have told Dipper to keep Mrs. Ramirez company—but he just nodded.

He stood, took a deep breath, and gripped the door knob. Time to face it.

####

12:05 p.m.

The room was still; the only light came indirectly from the window. There was no sign of Bill.

Ford frowned.

Moving as quietly as he could, keeping his back to the wall, Ford crept around the perimeter of the room, checking the closet by the door, Dipper's bed, Mabel's bed.

On the nightstand by Mabel's bed was a disheveled stack of papers; Ford recognized them as her crayon drawings from yesterday's lesson. In the top picture, Mabel had drawn Bill in his true triangular form alongside a pink heart-shaped Flatworlder shooting magic rainbows and blue fire. "FIGHTING EVIL WITH RAINBOWS! (BILL'S ON PAROLE TO HELP.)"

He picked it up to study the pink Flatworlder—Mabel?—and saw another picture underneath: Bill floating in the sky, blue flames again hovering over his raised hands, staring out of the paper as if he could see Ford; beneath Bill, Mabel had written, "I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!"

Ford's stomach turned. He grabbed and stuffed the second drawing in his pocket—he couldn't stand to look at it—and turned away from the others, trying not to think of Mabel, trying not to think of Bill standing on top of the TV excitedly lecturing about two-dimensional genetics and driving to the moon.

It wasn't until then that he saw the sign.

A bent pink posterboard read "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" in Mabel's round handwriting. The I's were dotted with hearts and the rest of the poster was covered in stickers of triangle-shaped objects. It had been angrily, crookedly affixed to the ladder up to the loft over the bedroom with too much duct tape, half warning, half flimsy barrier.

When Ford backed up to the window to try to see further up onto the loft, he could just see Bill, laying on his side, hood up and shoulders hunched, back to the room. No wonder he was so quiet. His tantrum must have exhausted him—and he certainly hadn't gotten enough sleep over the past week; he'd climbed to the highest point he could find and went to sleep.

Ford could shoot Bill in the back without ever waking him.

He carefully unpeeled enough duct tape to bend the posterboard to the side, made sure the Quantum Destabilizer's strap was slung securely over his chest, and climbed as quietly as he could.

Bill lay curled up in a ball, as small as Ford had ever seen him, beneath the round golden yellow and sky blue stained glass window on the far end of the loft; as though waiting for a sunbeam through the window that would never reach him.

####

12:08 p.m.

The longer Ford was in the room, the more queasy Dipper looked. When Stan was worried he was about to get the kid's half-digested eggs on his shoes, he hissed, "What's taking him so long?" (Dipper started.) "Did he lose his nerve—?"

####

12:09 p.m.

The atmosphere abruptly grew eerily quiet and still. There was a shrill, whistling shriek and a blast of blue-white light so brilliant it pierced the cracks of the wooden boards in the attic bedroom's walls.

Every light in the house went out. The air conditioning was silent. The television in the living room turned off. Abuelita waited in the dark, staring at the screen, her expression calm and unconcerned, her hands in her lap laced so tightly that her knuckles were white, until the whine upstairs faded and the TV flickered back on.

####

Soos and his current tour group fell silent, staring at the ceiling as the strange blue lights between the boards faded and the electric lights turned back on. A mom gripping her two children's hands demanded, "What was that?" A few other tourists started murmuring.

"Oh, that?" Soos laughed nervously. "Probably just our resident mad scientist, testing out death lasers from space again, heh."

There was a pause, and then the tour group chuckled appreciatively.

"Haha, right? Hey, speaking of mad scientists—if any of you guys are hungry, stick around after the tour, I'll give you directions to Greasy's Diner. Sometimes Fiddleford McGucket gets coffee there—you know, the famous inventor guy?" Soos pointed over the crowd. "But first, let's go this way to see the invisible man. Or—heh—not see him. You dudes know what I mean!"

As the tour group moved on to the next exhibit, Soos paused to flip up his costume eyepatch and frown at the ceiling.

####

Stan and Dipper rushed into the bedroom. The air was hot, stagnant, and stuffy. Dipper was the first to spot Ford in the loft. "Great Uncle Ford?" He rushed up the ladder, Stan following as fast as his bad back would allow.

Ford was kneeling on the floor, the Quantum Destabilizer dropped across his thighs. There was a hole through the wall straight in front of him, and a pile of ashes three feet in front of his knees. The destabilizer's beam had clipped the loft's stained glass window and shattered it. 

All the tension had drained from his face. All the skin sagged into a deep frown.

"Grunkle Ford...?"

"It's done."

Dipper swallowed hard. "So... Bill is...?"

Ford turned to look him in the eyes. "Yes, he's dead."

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know what the other was thinking. They just shared a look—the two most miserable co-conspirators in Gravity Falls.

Stan, unenthusiastic, said, "Great. Let's go downstairs and celebrate."

####

12:20 p.m.

They got soda and pie, sat in the kitchen, stared into space, and didn't eat.

####

1:00 p.m.

The streak of empty sky opened up by the Quantum Destabilizer's beam had sealed shut again.

It began to drizzle over Gravity Falls.

####

During Soos's lunch break, he went upstairs to quickly patch the hole in the wall before the rain could intensify enough to flood the attic. Everyone downstairs pretended not to hear the hammering.

Stan crossed paths with him when he came downstairs to grab a few more supplies. "Soos? Why are you going upstairs with a broom, a dust pan, and a flower vase?"

Soos said, "Well, I was gonna clean the attic, but it seemed kind of disrespectful to vacuum Bill up, so..."

Stan grimaced. "I'm sorry I asked."

Before the next tour started, Soos brought the sofa cushions downstairs and finally returned them to the folding sofa bed.

####

Dipper went down to the cellar to play video games on the old TV. Abuelita was still in the living room, and Dipper didn't want to use the TV he and Mabel had set up in the attic nook last summer. He didn't want to be anywhere near that bedroom.

"You sure you don't wanna play pinball?" asked Tumbleweed Terror, for the fourth time.

Dipper lost another life. He sighed irritably. "No, man. You tried to kill us last summer, remember?"

"Only on account of your cheatin'," Tumbleweed said. "If'n you don't cheat, I reckon we could get along just fine."

"No. I don't even like pinball."

There was a chilly silence. "Now, them's fighting words." It shot off threatening green sparks.

Dipper scooped Rocky the geodite out of his lap, stood, turned the TV at an angle, and sat down farther away from the pinball machine.

It gave up sparking and sighed. "Hey—whatever happened to that blonde prisoner?"

Dipper flinched and looked at the pinball machine. "What? Who?"

"The one y'all kept locked down here for a day sometime last month. Golden-haired gal with jaundice dressed like a Roman emperor. She, uh... mighta sweet-talked me into letting her play a few rounds for free. Didn't make no difference—terrible reflexes like hers, she weren't no high score candidate anyway." It sounded really defensive about having given someone free balls. "Said her name was 'Goldilocks'. I didn't buy it—but she seemed like a real desperado type, figured it weren't none of my business if she wanted to keep her name secret."

Dipper frowned. He turned away from Tumbleweed Terror. "You won't see her again."

"You sure? She said she might come back, I've been keepin' track of her last score—"

"She's gone. Just—stop talking about her." Dipper lost his last life. He groaned in frustration, and started the level over again for the fifth time. None of it was familiar. He wasn't thinking about the game.

####

"Fishing," Stan said, calling through the open guest room door as he finished another lap of the hallway. He'd taken advantage of Bill's absence by flinging open every door that had remained shut all summer.

"Hm?" Ford was seated at the guest room desk, consumed with writing in his journal like a possessed man trying to exorcise his demon through ink.

"We oughta go fishing," Stan said. He'd been wandering around the shack like a restless ghost since the rain started, loudly making plans now that the rest of summer was freed up. "Fishing season's been open a month and we haven't gone yet! You're gonna love it—the kids and Soos are great fishing buddies."

"Great," Ford said distractedly.

"I bet the guys at the Mackerel lodge think I haven't been out there because I'm embarrassed they kicked me out," Stan muttered. "It's not like I can tell 'em why I couldn't get out of the house..." He trailed off, looking at the ring on his left pinky with the symbol of the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel—the one Bill had shoplifted at the mall.

He crossed his arms, pinning his left hand against his ribs. "My boat might be a little too small for all five of us, though," Stan said. "I wonder if Soos has repaired his since last summer?"

"Yes, yes," Ford mumbled.

Stan frowned. "Hey, Poindexter." He leaned on the desk to peer over Ford's shoulder. "Whatcha writing?" Ford hadn't seen anything that interesting lately, had he?

Ford froze, shoulders tensing, one hand sliding under the cover like he was about to slam it shut. A page and a half were completely packed with words, crammed together without any of Ford's usual headers or esoteric margin doodles, the only illustration a small diagram of a planet encircled by a ring, a moon, and what looked like a sea serpent.

Guiltily, Ford said, "As much as I can remember."

Stanford skimmed the page. The writing was too cramped for him to read most of it, he could only pick out a few phrases that Ford had capitalized in lieu of properly sectioning off his thoughts—"POLYGONAL GENETICS," "SPHERICAL GEOMETRY," "BISHOP BISHOP," "WHAT IS 'EYM'???" Stan pressed his lips together and nodded. Fine. However Ford got it out of his system, as long as it was out.

Stan pushed off the desk and wandered from the room. "We could get fishing gear tomorrow," he said, knowing in his heart no one would be in the mood for it once Mabel got home. "Drizzly, cloudy weather is great for fishing. This is the perfect time to go out on the lake."

Ford had already buried himself back in his journal, writing as fast as he could.

####

Abuelita had dozed off in her seat with the TV still playing soaps.

She was the only person in the house whose conscience felt clean.

####

7:00 p.m.

For the first time since the beginning of summer, Melody stayed over for dinner. 

It was a very quiet dinner.

####

10:30 p.m.

"I don't... wanna sleep in the attic tonight." Dipper hovered awkwardly in the guest room's doorway. "You know. With... Mabel gone and all."

"How come," Stan said, "you scared of ghosts?"

Ford shot him a look. "Stan."

"What!" Stan shrugged. "There shouldn't be a ghost anyway, right? That's what your fancy gun is for? It destroyed his... soul or whatever he's got?"

Guilt briefly flashed across Ford's face. He nodded sharply. "Dipper—I'll be sleeping down in my study tonight. You can sleep in my bed if you'd like."

Stan almost asked why Ford was still sleeping downstairs, with the demon out of the picture; but he figured it was for the same reason Dipper wanted to stay out of the attic. Scared of ghosts. Not necessarily literal ones.

"Hey," Stan said to Dipper, when Ford had left and the door was shut. "It's—fine if you want to stay down here. Really. Spending the night in the same room as a dead body's no joke."

Dipper opened his mouth, decided he didn't want to know, and shut it. "Thanks."

Stan was settling into bed and about to take off his glasses when he glanced around the room, flinched, and swore under his breath.

"What?" Dipper glanced across the room. He cringed.

Soos had placed the flower vase on the guest room's fireplace mantle.

####

10:32 p.m.

Dipper carried the vase into the living room, set it on the table, and ran back to the guest room.

The axolotl in the fish tank studied it curiously.

####

11:59 p.m.

In a hotel room in Portland—the Grendinators sharing one bed, Candy and Mabel sharing the other—Mabel waited silent and still for Candy to fall asleep. When Mabel was sure Candy was out, she took her phone off the bedside stand, hid under the covers, and turned the phone's volume down to the smallest sliver of sound possible. She looked up the song "We'll Meet Again," pressed play, and held the speaker up to her ear.

She wiped her tears with the bed sheet.

####

Sunday, 10:15 a.m.

The rain was coming down even more heavily than yesterday.

Soos had been reminded of a broken umbrella Ford had given him a couple weeks ago, and gone looking for it to fix it. He'd now been searching for it for over half an hour.

"I'm sure I left it in the office," Soos said, checking the coat rack in the entryway again to see if he'd hung it up there and forgot.

Stan grunted. "Everything's going missing. The remote's been missing for days." He, Ford, and Dipper were sitting in the living room watching some feel-good Sunday morning news story about a performance troupe that did interpretive dance to bird song. No one was enjoying it. "I don't think I've seen the remote since before the whole eclipse-or-whatever."

"Oh, I found it," Soos said.

"You did? Where?"

"Yeah, it was in my Monster-Mon backpack for some reason? It was pretty waterlogged though. I've been trying to dry it out in the office."

They processed that. Then Ford let out a bark of laughter. "Did Bill bring it along when we went camping just so no one could use it?" He sat up and sucked in a deep breath to shout the question to Bill—and then remembered. The air whooshed out of him in a long sigh. He slouched back onto the sofa.

They heard a car pulling around the house.

Every head turned toward the door.

Outside, Mabel's muffled voice said goodbye to her friends.

There was a moment of dreadful hesitation; and then Dipper, Stan, and Ford were on their feet and moving to the entryway.

Stan opened the door before Mabel could reached the doorknob. "Hey, sweetheart! How was the show?"

Mabel started. "Oh! Great! Hi guys!" She looked between their faces warily. "Whaaat are you all doing here?"

They all avoided meeting her eyes in different directions. Stan said, "We were just—watching the TV and heard you pull up."

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. The concert was amazing! I got an autograph!" She pulled up her sweater (which today had what looked like two kissing parrots with her sleeves serving as their wings), to reveal she was wearing a pale blue t-shirt of Phrancisco's first album cover, signed in black marker. "Yesterday we went to a cool bookstore, and we got those fancy donuts this morning! Grunkle Ford, we got a lot of pictures of that weird crystal shop sign on the way home!"

"Ah," Ford said. "Good."

She swung around her backpack on one strap to unzip it. "I got two CDs—one of Phrancisco's new stuff and one with acoustic covers of his greatest hits! Except I don't think he had any hits? So I guess they're just his favorite songs." She pulled out the acoustic album. "I... got this one for Bill. I'm gonna ease him into liking synth pop by taking the synth out first." She looked between the guys. "Where is he?"

They winced in three different ways.

Cautiously, Mabel asked, "Is he still in the attic?"

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan lost the silent argument. He looked at the weathered porch between the door and Mabel's shoes and mumbled, "Weshotim."

"Say wha?"

Stan cleared his throat. "We got that—space gun of Ford's working. We shot him. He's... I'm sorry, sweetie."

Mabel stared at Stan. She dragged her gaze from his face to Dipper's. Dipper bit his lips, staring at his feet. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She looked from Dipper to Ford. "Grunkle Ford?" Her voice was small. "Is it true?"

For a long moment, Ford said nothing. He dragged his eyes up to meet her stare, took a deep breath, and nodded. "He's dead."

Mabel's eyes widened.

She backed out of the doorway, face blank with shock. Stan reached for her, "Sweetie—" but she jerked her arm away before he could touch her. She turned, leaped off the porch, and ran around the shack toward the main road, her sweater making her look like a colorful bird fluttering away into the gray rain.

"Mabel—Mabel!" Stan stepped out onto the porch. "It's pouring out there, you can't go out!"

Dipper ran several steps after her; then stopped and glanced back at Ford, searching his face for a cue—now what?

Slowly, Ford put a hand on Dipper's shoulder, holding him back. "She... probably doesn't want us to follow."

Dipper's shoulders sagged, but he nodded.

"She'll be fine," Stan said worriedly, "right? She just—needs time. Gotta grieve in her own way. She'll be back later."

"Yeah," Dipper said, voice thin. "She'll be fine."

Stan stared into the rain a moment longer; then nodded sharply, turned, and shuffled back inside.

Quietly, Dipper asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

Ford didn't know. His stomach had been twisting with guilt and doubt since yesterday. His conscience had kept him up half the night. "I hope so." He feared they'd have second-guessed themselves no matter what.

Ford looked at the Hand Witch's ring; but its cabochon remained a steady, deep blue.

####

8:00 p.m.

Mabel returned to the Mystery Shack when dinner was almost over, shoes and knees muddy, hair hanging in wet tangles around her shoulders.  Stan sent her upstairs to change into something dry before she ate; she obeyed without saying anything.

Soos quietly hustled into the living room to grab the flower vase and hide it back in the guest room.

By the time she came back downstairs, everyone had finished eating and Abuelita was washing the dishes. Mabel was wearing a sunny yellow t-shirt. Nobody said anything.

Abuelita had set out a plate for Mabel; she ate alone in the kitchen. Nobody disturbed her.

####

8:45 p.m.

Mabel stopped in front of the living room on her way to the stairs, looked in at her family—Stan, Ford, Dipper, Soos—like she wanted to say something; but she changed her mind and headed up. After a few minutes, Dipper quietly slid off his seat, said goodnight, and followed Mabel upstairs.

"Whaddaya bet that poor kid's in the doghouse now?" Stan muttered. "Bet he'll be back down here in a few minutes."

Ford shook his head. "She—probably needs her brother right now."

Dipper didn't return.

####

Monday, 1:00 a.m.

Stan had said that now that they finally had the house to themselves again, he was gonna enjoy one of the privileges of being an adult he'd missed all summer: staying up to watch boring late night movies. Ford and Soos sat up with him.

None of them cared about the movies. They just couldn't think of sleeping.

During a commercial break between movies, Soos said, "So... I figure we can put the door back up on the downstairs bathroom, huh?"

Stan gave him a tired look.

There was a knock on the back door.

All three of them whipped around to face it.

"Dude," Soos whispered. "It's like, one."

Stan said, "Who the heck...?" He glanced at Ford.

Ford was just staring at the door, eyes wide and mouth turned down, face sick with dread, like he was sure he was about to get arrested for murder.

Stan slowly stood, looked around for a potential weapon, remembered that any potential weapons had been cleared out of the common areas, and cautiously went to open the door.

Standing outside, pants soaked up to the knees, one ankle hooked over the other, hand on hip, using a broken umbrella like a cane, wearing top hat and black gloves and a sequined gold tailcoat—

"Hiya, Stan!" Bill Cipher beamed brilliantly. His gold tooth matched his new coat. "Didja miss me yet?"

Stan punched Bill in the nose.

####

I considered ending the chapter right after the execution when they were eating pie lol.

Comments? Questions? Theories? Thoughts? Questions? Emotions? More questions? I have been DYING to hear what y'all think of this one!

[esouliie]

୧ 🍰‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆ strawberry thief ୧ 🍰‧₊˚ 🍓 ⋅ ☆

Mornings in the suburbs were something of fiction. Being a city dweller your whole life, you’d only ever seen the morning light shrouded in shadows of buildings too large. Mornings now were full of gentle warmth cascading through opens window, casting a warm glow on your face. The symphony of birdsong and distant laughter of children heading to school had become the soundtrack of your new morning routine, a welcome departure from the urban cacophony you once knew.

You’d never appreciated morning such as this one since moving in with Wanda.

Everyday, she ensures you start your day right, with a small bowl of cereal accompanied by a generous serving of your favourite fruit – strawberries. She insists it's for your health, a gesture of love and concern that never fails to warm your heart, alongside a gentle reminder that your body is a temple and “you’re not gonna stay this young forever.”

But you’re not one to complain, you love strawberries. They are your favourite fruit after all. If you could eat only strawberries for the rest of your life, you would.

You can't help but smile at the memory as you reach for the cereal box, adding just a little extra cornflakes, knowing your girlfriend won’t be able to tell the difference.

A soft click resonates followed by the sound of the patio door closing, meaning Wanda’s back from watering her flowers, “Morning, dear.”

“Morning,” You reply, mouth half full of cereal goodness you had just added.

You notice a mischievous glint in her eye as she reaches across the table and steals a strawberry from your bowl. "Mine now," she teases, popping it into her mouth with a grin.

“Hey! Not my strawberries.” You protest, fingers cupping the bowl protectively. “Get your own!”

“Excuse you, I bought those strawberries.” She laughs as she reaches for another.

You playfully swat her hand away, but she's too quick, managing to grab another one before you can stop her.

“Thief…”You mumble under your breath but don’t move to take the bowl out of her reach.

She fake coos at you, rounding the large island to drop multiple kisses on your pouting lips. “Cheer up baby. There’s plenty more.”

You can’t help the smile breaking out from her affection, “You’re lucky you’re so cute in the morning.”

Wanda leans in closer, her breath warm against your cheek. "And you're lucky you're mine," she whispers, her voice soft and full of love.

Soft lips press against your forehead before she moves away, with a few extra strawberries in her hand, and the most breathtaking smile on her face.

And you know what… you don’t mind sharing your breakfast with her. In fact, you don’t mind sharing anything with her, if it meant you’d get to see her smile like that everyday.

Even if it meant losing a few of your favourite strawberries.