#i think this version of them also just works with stan and ford being completely platonic too

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

im in the boat that f*ddlest*n (and f*dda*thor, but this is about the first ship) is just like billf*rd— better with intense stan bro tension. and stancest. but not in a fiddleford and stan are both projecting ford onto the other kind of way. i mean, fiddleford definitely is, he can't NOT do that when the guy has ford's face even as much as he tries not to see him and see stan for himself. but going off with how much stan visibly dislikes fiddleford in the show, i love f*ddlest*n in a scenario where stan is crazy jealous and bitter about the relationship fiddleford had with ford.

not of their romantic relationship either, he couldn't care less about that, what he and ford had wasn't normal for brothers anyway, and in any other case stan would be glad both him and ford can move on (cough).

no, what stan hates about fiddleford is how for a long time stan wasn't ford's best friend. fiddleford was. fiddleford was there for ford in college. fiddleford was smart and matched fords genius. fiddleford didnt see ford at all for his sixth finger, he loved ford for ford just like stan did, but he didn't hold ford back or "rode on his coattails". and stan knowing all that while he had nothing and no one? while stan was living in his car yearning for ford to forgive him, call him, offer they sail away together again? when stan misses his brother and could think of nothing but him, and wanted nothing more than to just see him for even a minute, while fiddleford had four years of living in the same room, laughing at the same jokes, be the brother in fords arms instead of his actual brother?

that hurts.

and stan only feels this way about fiddleford. even after finding out about b*llf*rd, he doesnt view bill as some sort of a threat when bill had to copy stan's own mannerisms to get ford on his side. bill is a manipulator, a conman, just like stan— fiddleford is genuine. whatever ford loved and saw in him was real. and ford willingly gave him the time that couldve gone to stan if he hadnt broken fords machine.

that makes it worse.

so in some scenario he and fiddleford get to meet and get together... like fiddleford is one of his "clients" or an au where they work together to get ford back, or a mystery trio, and stan realizes fiddleford feels some sort of way about him?

stan jumps on it, not to project ford onto fiddleford or anything. but just to unload all his bitterness onto him. he's not even jealous of the guy— he's just such a stark reminder of how much stan fucked everything up. he hates himself, but if fiddleford likes it then he can fucking have it.

of course it doesnt work, he never gets over that bitterness. and when ford, who is jealous and possesive about stan as a lover finds out about it? yeah, best believe that poor little hillbilly is gonna need another wave of memory wipes

that's my f*ddlest*n tbh

[scurvyboy]

Not to beat a dead horse or whatever, but you don’t see fiddlestan being healthy at any point? I feel like your version of them would have most of their issues figured out by the time they’re old and stuff. Can you talk about their dynamic a bit more pretty please? (I know you just had an ask about this so sorry to keep bringing it up aha 🤪. I’m obsessed with them, and I love your art/au and want to understand them.)

the basis of why i like the fiddlestan ship is strictly because it doesn't work and is doomed to fail. it's a relationship between two extremely damaged people that are only together for transactional reasons.

the way i see it starting: fiddleford comes back to gravity falls after being kicked out by emma may in hopes that he can patch things up with ford. he finds stan there instead and decides to help him fix the portal despite his crushing anxiety about it because he has nowhere else to go. they're both stuck alone in this situation and urges become apparent. things are awkward for a while before they start banging fuck nasty brokeback mountain style.

fiddleford wants stan because he's delusional and still in love with ford. sure he grows to appreciate differences between them and has a separate chemistry with stan, but he is also completely out of touch with reality and rebounding off of his failed marriage with a man who looks just like the one he cheated on his wife with. working on the portal triggers intense panic attacks, which makes him use the memory gun more, which makes him less and less stable.

stan is working himself to death trying to get ford back and just needs affection. the sexual aspect of their relationship helps him blow off steam, but fiddleford also treats him like a person with a brain and allows him to be emotionally vulnerable for the first time in a long while. having someone finally break down his walls is equal parts frightening and addictive for him; he wants to be loved so badly but knows deep down that fiddleford doesn't actually love him, just the person he represents. he's just second best again.

things start to fall apart when it becomes clear that fixing the portal will be impossible without the other journals. fiddleford basically gives up trying to do the work in earnest and just lives in a domestic fantasy world. stan starts to get more and more impatient about the lack of work getting done and the stress makes him a lot more irritated and volatile. the two enter a vicious cycle of violent fights and honeymoon phases until things boil over: stan confronts fiddleford about the memory gun and kicks him out after he tries to use it on him.

post break up fiddleford, now with his cult and savior complex, murder suicides the portal and their affair from both of their memories. however, stan gets his portal memories back being at the shack and goes on to do what he does in canon.

the whole relationship takes place over the course of a few weeks and is as canon compliant as i could manage. i think it's a really fun concept and i think about it all the time.

to be real, i really dislike the idea that all relationships in media have to be healthy and resolved in order to be compelling. the idea that characters NEED to end the story happy and together is just plain unrealistic. i prefer when stories go outside of the limits of "and then they got together and everything was great after that", especially if being in a relationship isn't necessary to a characters arc.

i do think that them getting together when they're older could work and be very nice. however, i also don't think it's entirely necessary, especially since i did make their relationship rotted gutted awful bad. it is cute though, they can kiss and watch tv and marry for taxt purposes i guess.

[valhalla-calls]

Relativity Falls headcanons- My Version Pt.3

Making a part three because apparently, I wasn't done.

My Au isn't exactly one for one in terms who replaces who and what events happen. However, there are close to it.

Kind of off track, but Canon! Stan would cry if he saw any Relativity Falls AUs. The thought that any of the Pine twins going through at least half of what he did while he was homeless would destroy him. Doesn't matter if it's Dipper or Mabel, it would destroy him.

Back on track, I can see Mabel's scams sometimes consisted of match making and fake love potions. She got a lot of angry customers when the match wasn't good or the love potion surprisingly didn't work. It caused a few injuries along the way. A few times, she was stabbed and didn't have money to go to the doctor to get it stitched up. Good thing she knows how to sew thanks to her making sweaters.

After a particularly bad run in with some people she owed money to, Mabel had to rewrite a letter to Dipper, because blood smudges kept appearing on the letter. Eventually, after the hundredth time, she just covered those spots with glue and glitter. No, Dipper doesn't know that bit until probably much later.

Mabel does have the scar on the back of her shoulder like Stan did! How it happened was a little different, she had a stab wound she stitched up on her upper arm when Dipper sent a post card for her to come. In the middle of their "Concerned for each other" scuffle, he grabbed it by accident, Dipper let go when she screamed, which caused her to fall onto sigil.

Dipper's had his fair share of hurt here too. He had the whole bleeding eye issue that Ford did in canon. I imagine if he was possessed by the Axolotl, it would take a toll on his body too. A big entity like that, I don't think a human body could handle well. Then, there's the whole doing things to Dipper while being possessed thing. He has a few scars from those moments too.

Speaking of Axolotl, I feel like it would take Dipper a while to warm up to being friendly. Not that he wouldn't be fascinated and tricked at all. Because, we saw what happened with Bill doing the Sock Opera episode, he would. However, I think at first, he'd proceed with caution. He was only started to be mystified by the Axolotl when the Axolotl began to feed into his loneliness.

I'm cool with either Candy or Pacifica taking Fiddleford's place. It makes sense for either. If it's Pacifica, she could fund it and if's Candy, she could build it.

Mabel kept making the fake love potions to sell in the Mystery Shack. One of them fell on Stanley and it caused him to have a misunderstood panic attack when he saw Fiddleford and nothing happened. Not because he was worried he didn't like Fiddleford. No. He was told at one point, probably by his mom, that if a love potion didn't have any effect after seeing another person, it meant he was already in love with the person. After, what Stan thought were failed attempts to woo Fiddleford (Because, you know, he honestly believed the potion worked so, got commit to the bit.), Mabel cleared up the misunderstanding. Which she found hilarious.

Since Bill is in Pacifica's place, Stan, not only has a rivalry with Gideon, but he has a rivalry with Bill.

I can see Dipper and Mabel picking on the fact that Stanley is being abused by Filbrick at home. There are many routes like when it comes to this AU that people take with that issue. My favorites though are where they find out and don't let the boys go home at all and teach Stanley that Filbrick doesn't love him. Also, Ford finally understanding some things and is completely on board. They would not care who Filbrick is to them. They would risk it.

[stansthemans]

What do you think would happen in fem!Stan aus if their parents find out her and Ford are having sex?

whoa boy. I mean. it would be Bad. I'm in the camp of Filbrick was an abusive dad, far more so to Stan than to Ford. With Stan, I lean towards it was physical as well as emotional and verbal. Ford didn't exactly have it easy with the weight of all filbrick's expectations placed on his shoulders, feeling like he had to be extra perfect bc of his birth defect and his intelligence, and this sense of responsibility for Stan, like anything Stan did was a reflection on him. I'm also not very forgiving to Caryn. I see a lot of people saying things like "she loved her boy" and I'm just not so sure. Especially with fem Stan, I think Caryn was critical about her looks and would she ever find a husband, and she let those criticisms be known. Stan never had to wonder if her parents didn't like her. They were clear on that front. Last born, totally unexpected, another mouth to feed, and worst of all: a girl.

I typically also think that the entire family hides the severity of what happens to Stan from Ford. it's the one cause they're all united on. I think filbrick and Caryn keep it secret as a means to control ford, because they think (know for a complete fact) that if ford knew, he would flip his lid and they would lose that potential meal ticket. they know that ford is choosing Stan over everything. Stan keeps it a secret because she's terrified that if ford knew, not only wold it break his heart, but he might try to fight for her, and she's so scared that filbrick would start hitting him too.

as for getting caught. yikes. I think they would place all the blame on Stan and the beating would very nearly kill her. it would just be terrible. typically with my version of the fem!stan au, I keep a lot of things very close to canon. She's even still named Stanley rather than constance bc I think doing that shows how little filbrick regarded her when she was born. their life plan was two boys and that's it (I headcanon older shermie). not only does Stan show up unwanted, but she also has the gall to be a girl. I usually still go with fem Stan being thrown out after the science fair incident, rather than other things I've seen like her running away. but for this, for them getting caught, it's the late 60s-ish. I think they might bring her to an asylum. maybe if it was something slightly less, like if she got knocked up but they didn't know it was bc of ford, maybe they would try to marry her off or ship her away to distant relatives. but this is so huge, I really think they'd have her committed. and ford, oh man, if ford knows that's what's happening, he'd go ballistic. ford is far, far more protective (and consequently, far more hurt and angry when betrayed) of fem Stan. that's not just his twin, not just the person he's in love with, it's his little sister, and despite the romantic/sexual feelings, that's been drilled into him his entire life. big brothers are supposed to take care of their little sisters, and ford is the big brother that really matters when it comes to Stan. they've always been so close. two halves of a whole, it doesn't work if they aren't together

yeah, I think he'd just lose his mind. literally clawing thru the dry wall. I think if they got caught, there wouldn't be a chance for the science fair shit to go down. ford would blow up at his parents, blow up at Shermie, and he would leave fire and brimstone in his wake trying to rescue Stan and get them as far away as possible to restart their lives. in some ways it's a happier ending for them, but man is it rough

[andiv3r]

I'm curious, what is it about stancest that you like?

Ohhg okay, so there's A Lot. Click at your own risk, thoughts on the ship and many reasons I "like" it (find it useful as a narrative tool & fun to play with) under the cut.

I think the main appeal is that there is a formerly strained bond being repaired, and watching them grow close again in their old age is beautiful no matter how you view their relationship¹. I like to explore concepts with stancest that I can't explore with other ships², such as Bill's control and manipulation affecting what could have otherwise been a nice reunion, shared unrevealed feelings being why they both pushed one another away more than necessary in the time right before the portal incident ("for his own good," they both think), or just-through-the-portal Ford meeting a version of mullet Stan while in another dimension (also works for Portaled Stanley AUs meeting another version of Stanford), realising just how bad Stan had it, and (believing there is very little chance of him ever finding his way back home), deciding to take care of this version of his brother where he didn't for the one he knew.

If you're thinking, "Hey... some of those work just fine without making it stancest. You could keep their relationship platonic/familial and still use those concepts," then you're right! I could! Sometimes I even do! But...

I have no reason to restrict the sort of thing I write when the potential for a different dynamic between these characters, as well as being able to explore facets of my own identity through them, appeals to me³. I enjoy looking at the concept of an aromantic alloalterous demisexual and autosexual Ford and playing through how those identities would impact how he sees Stan⁴.

I am also fond of speculating about their time at sea, and what the healing of their relationship would entail. Stan's memory loss (which I think still affects him somewhat, in the form of gaps where certain memories haven't fully reformed or are hazy) would undoubtedly affect things, as would Ford's guilt for "causing" it. There's potential for Stan recovering traumatising memories and Ford both helping him work through that and learning about some of them for the first time - having to learn in the worst possible way that Stan has been through infinitely more than he thought. There is an extremely compelling dynamic here regardless of the nature of their relationship, but I'm a sucker for old queers and lifelong mutual pining that's finally come to a resolution, so putting that era of their life through a stancest filter was inevitable and brings me the most joy.

So, yeah. I dunno, there's just a lot you can do with it and a lot that's already there to build from.

¹Purely familial? Hell yeah, there's lots to work with there and that used to be my favourite way to see them! Romantic? Adds an extra layer to all the ways you could interpret their actions (and therefore all the ways you could add angst), love it lots. Secret third thing? I Am Gnawing At The Bars Of My Enclosure, You Have No Idea How Much I Love Viewing Them As Secret Third Thing. Secret Third Thing can mean so much, there is so much to work with there. It can mean "I love you more than anyone else but it's not romantic but I still feel guilty over how deeply I love you because I'm not supposed to feel like this, you're my brother." It can mean "Whenever I envisioned 'settling down' and 'starting a family' I couldn't make myself see a romantic partner... I could only ever see us out at sea." It can mean "You are my other half. I don't know what we are but I know that you complete me." It can mean so, so much.

²Fiddauthor or portalcule would suffice in some cases, but not all of them... and to be honest, I don't want to settle for something that would just suffice. If it would hit harder emotionally as stancest than it would as fiddauthor, then I'm making it a stancest and not fiddauthor.

³I like to explore ideas of gender/sexuality/romantic orientations as a way to work through how I view my own aromanticism. Stanford is a heavily aromantic-coded character, and Stanley can be viewed through an aromantic lens (which is a headcanon for him that I hold dear).

⁴How would his being autosexual affect the physical aspect of his attraction? How would being demisexual impact him, what with Stan being the person he's closest to and knows best out of anyone in the world? How would his lack of romantic attraction impact that relationship? Would it make him feel more or less guilty for his feelings? Would he even notice they weren't romantic, or would he assume romantic, sexual and alterous attraction were all the same? Would his guilt from his feelings (because god knows he'd have that guilt) stem from some place of societally ingrained morals, or would he, as he so often in canon does, shun society's ideas for how he should act... and in that case only feel guilty for having what he assumes is unwanted and unreciprocated attraction toward someone who would be disgusted at him for it? Or would he maybe ignore the guilt, his attention centred on the fact that this attraction, or these feelings, or this attachment, makes him an anomaly, a freak, just like he was always told he was for his physical differences?

[iluminated-goat]

Truly so sorry for the extreme late answer but AAAAAAAAAA THIS IS AMAZING!!!! 🩵

Morse code??? The codes???? Them representing both of their "gods" voices??? That is so smart i'm deciphering them N O W!!

Also omg, Stan's fez symbol being broken D"": oh lord, really shows Aster's descent in his grief and the fall out of their family (completely comprehensible, poor boy). Stan was the only thing keeping them from killing eachother, now that he's gone?? There's no reason to play civil or house anymore, the only reason Aster even let that man into live in the house is gone, there's nothing worth fighting for in his universe anymore.

"They're still similars in different ways" AAAAAAAA EVEN IF HE HATES HIM HE'S STILL HIS FATHER'S SON. Omg the thought of having to accept that you and your piece of shit dad aren't that different. They both made deals, they both were willing to risk everything in order to gain (be it knowledge or vengeance, justice or "utopia", omfg both of them willing to lose their "humanity" if it meant for the "supposed better good". And Stan seeing them if he was alive MY GOD--). Also, Ford and Aster crying but both of them having different reasons??? Ford crying either for being possessed, regret, fear, or for Stan's death??? Aster grieving for his mother and father in one, the person who was always there for him, dying from a broken heart because of his father's ego. Thinking about him grieving for the father he never had - the same father who was their family's doomfall, I don't blame him one bit I would've crashed out too king.

I can't help but think, when he sees the other Stans and Fords, those who are happy and completely in love with eachother, with HIS counterparts in them, happy and secure, knowing that they're loved by their parents. Does he feel happy? Relieved? A bit envious because out of all these universes he was cursed to lose his family?? Does he think about his own Stan?? Does he think about the life his own Stan deserved and should have had?? Does he think about how Stan would've reacted/felt if he saw him now?? Does he think about how his mother would recognize him as his little boy or would he grieve him for what he's become?? Will he only get his happy ending after he dies (IF he dies)?? Does he ever reunite with his mama??

I can't help but feel so fucking sad for him bc omg, he just wanted his mom, he literally did everything that he did for him. He didn't even care about his dad or the portal, he did everything for his mother and he clearly misses Stan. Omg he just wanted his mama, he's travelling the multiverse to make sure his other versions are happy, he still wants his mama!!! ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡ (⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠෴⁠ ⁠༎ຶ⁠)

Incredible and beautiful work as always Angel :"") and so sorry for my ramblings but omg, Aster and his story are so well thought I can't help but feel so excited about it whenever I see him (I need to draw him someday omg) it's truly a delight and experience seeing your posts and I can't wait but to see more of them (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

My most normal reactions when I think too much about Aster:

"The final confrontation between son and father. Slaves to the celestial monsters. Regrets had been made, but blood has been split. Only one must triumph, and it is not the wicked deceiver."

I remember an ask that I have answered from @iluminated-goat and I want to show how the possessions of Ford and Aster would look like during Weirdmageddon.

As different as they claim to be, they are similar in different ways. I enjoy researching the secret codes and showing how they represent the voices that were locked away when Mama and Bill took over their bodies.

If Stan were to see them at this state, he'll never forgive himself and it'll end not in a good way for the entire family.

Try and decipher the hidden secrets within this picture! ;)

[portalford]

I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well.  That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right?  Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately.  He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now.  Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup.  No sense of fashion.  So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six.  Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find.  Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now.  Old-man glasses, at six.  But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up.  The twin thing sucks, sometimes.  

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now?  Is his hair going silver?  It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen?  Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been.  He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive?  Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him.  Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!”  Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph.  “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking.  “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old!  Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls.  He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit.  “Grunkle Stan?  Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says.  He smiles and ruffles her hair.  “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine.  That’s his name.  That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles.  Lays it on thick.  “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does.  His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say.  “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more.  Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst.  Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it.  They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words?  But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really?  What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response?  Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now.  He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned.  Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts.  “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes.  “Being me.”

Stan shrugs.  “Wasn’t hard.  We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts.  A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges.  “Very funny.  I saw your lease renewal.  You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap.  You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.”  Stan grimaces.  That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine.  “Yes, well.  That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut.  They’re both too comfortable to argue right now.  “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.”  Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going.  “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t.  I didn’t want to be.”  Stan shrugs.  “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him.  “I understand.  I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.”  Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair.  More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs.  “Yeah?  Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked.  “Fair enough.”  Ford stretches, rolls his neck again.  “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.”  A wry look.  “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch.  Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take.  “Yeah, yeah.  Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet.  “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open.  He didn’t realize he closed them.  “What, learnin’ physics?  Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes.  “For saving me.”

“Hm.”  Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one.  “I dunno.  Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right.  Thank you for saving me.  You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford.  He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.”  Stan’s eyes are closed again.  He figures he’ll just leave them closed.  “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

[youngdumbamericanteen]

Mabel bad?

Oof sorry for never answering you nonnie! I’ve been pretty busy lately haha. But the post you’re responding to is a bit...old. I now understand Mabel a bit more now as a person, however I do still dislike her as a character because her flaws I was talking about in that post are never meaningfully addressed. 

This might get a wee bit long, oops. Click for a big Gravity Falls writing analysis/essay/thingy.

It’s good for characters to have flaws. Flaws that actually affect them and have consequences. Otherwise you have something of a Mary Sue that isn’t relatable and has a story that’s too easy and boring for the audience. The narrative punishes or addresses those flaws and they present a challenge for the character.

But at the opposite end, you have characters who have flaws that the narrative never addresses, which means the characters never have to grow. There’s two reasons this is bad. One, that you can have the same issue where they don’t face any struggle or grow as characters and it’s a boring story, or two, people don’t generally like to root for characters who they’d want to punch if they ever met them irl. You can have a story with main characters who are bad people, but you have to either make the character likable in other ways, present the situation so that the audience can gather that they’re in the wrong and either be rooting for their downfall or their growth, or have their actual story be compelling enough that the need to know what happens next outweighs dislike for the character. (And all of these things often require the story to be told from said bad character’s point of view.) Gravity Falls doesn't really do any of these things. Or rather, it tries but is ineffective for around 50% of the viewers.

Mabel is often presented as a pure soul, good of heart and just overall a good person. But she’s got flaws. She’s selfish and a bit inconsiderate, which is normal and not an unforgivably terrible thing, especially for a 13 year old girl figuring out her place in the world. All the Pines are a bit selfish, I think it runs in their genes. But the thing is, the show will treat her selfishness as perfectly fair and normal, with anyone her selfishness affects being shown as in the wrong. She often guilts people, mainly Dipper, into sacrificing things for her while rarely making any sacrifices of her own. She does it to other characters as well, but here’s a brief list of times Dipper has sacrificed something for Mabel (which I compiled with the help of this post on Quora):

 Tourist Trapped: Dipper spends almost the entire time worried about Mabel’s safety and trying to protect her, while she just brushes him off and laughs at him.

The Hand that Rocks the Mabel: Dipper agrees to break up with Gideon for her.

Time Traveler’s Pig: Mabel insists that Dipper give up the reality that doesn't break his heart so that she can adopt Waddles, and when he initially refuses she purposely endangers the space-time continuum as retaliation. 

Little Dipper: Mabel is very angry about Dipper making himself taller, even though Dipper would not have resorted to it if now for her teasing. She immediately demands and fights for the magic flashlight, causing it to fall into Gideon’s hands.

Summerween: Mabel drags Dipper out to go trick-or-treating in a costume he dislikes because she’d planned on them having a duo costume.

Boss Mabel: I shouldn’t even really have to explain this one, the whole episode is about her going on a power trip.

The Deep End: Mabel embarks on a rescue mission for Mermando, doing and using things that would lead to Dipper being fired from the pool job he loves, without consulting him at all. She hears his concerns and instead of just explaining she’s saving Mermando the first time, she completely ignores him and speeds off, destroying more pool property and ensuring he’ll be fired.

Carpet Diem: Dipper informs her of the the issues he has with her roommate habits, and she completely denies any fault, even though she and her friends had legitimately destroyed the room and the mini-golf course the twins had built. The two of them both overreact, and act selfishly throughout the entire episode, but she absolutely refuses to listen to him.

Boyz Crazy: This one isn’t Dipper but I still wanted to mention it because she is so ridiculously selfish throughout the whole episode, to the point where it’s to her and the people she loves’ detriment.

Dreamscapers: Again not Dipper or a sacrifice, but her worst nightmare is apparently losing her cuteness and becoming ugly. I dunno if that’s exactly selfish or anything but God did it make me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

Sock Opera: After promising to help Dipper with the laptop, she almost immediately abandons him for her crush of the week, then proceeds to ignore him for, and inconvenience him with, her puppet show, taking his things without asking and expecting him to be completely cool with all her actions. Bill literally mentions her selfishness to manipulate Dipper and it completely works.

The Love God: Dipper leaves Wendy and her friends in chaos to help fix Mabel’s mess.

Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons: Mabel, her friends, and Stan all make fun of Dipper and Ford and insist they should have full use of the living room.

Dipper and Mable vs the Future: This is one of the big ones that people talk about. Mable finds out that Dipper might want to stay as Ford’s apprentice and becomes incredibly upset because she dreamed of the two of them having fun in high school together. She sees Dipper and immediately makes it about her and her feelings, treating something he’d been dreaming of all summer (being The Author’s apprentice) as some direct attack on her happiness. She proceeds to literally give Bill the ability to start the apocalypse to avoid being separated from Dipper, all without having any sort of meaningful conversation with Dipper or considering his feelings.

Weirdmageddon Part 2: Escape From Reality: Out of all of these, this might be the one that gets to me the most. Mabel, seemingly knowing full well that she’s trapped by Bill, creates an imaginary fantasy land and refuses to leave just to spite Dipper for considering taking the apprenticeship. And despite doing all this, and attempting to convince him to stay with her, she creates an alternate “better” version of Dipper who’s “cool” and supportive and very, very, different from the real Dipper.

And this isn’t even mentioning all the times she just assumed she was completely in the right about something or had the moral high ground. Mabel frequently makes rush decisions because she thinks everything should be her way or how she thinks is right. 

And I want to say again, none of these things are unforgivable. Honestly, a lot of the things on the list are pretty standard sibling things, and like she isn’t even always in the wrong. The issue is that I’m naming at least 15 times where Mabel has been selfish or forced someone to give something up for her, and she almost never learns her lesson or is punished by the narrative. There are also only 2 or 3 times I can think of where Mabel sacrificed anything for Dipper, and they were all times he was in actual danger or someone had to talk to her and say she messed up and needed to fix her mistake. 

Dipper, on the other hand, sacrifices things for Mabel, faces consequences for his mistakes and his flaws, learns substantial lessons, apologizes, and rarely, if ever, repeats said mistakes. Now, this doesn’t mean that Mabel is awful and Dipper isn’t. I mean, Dipper does some pretty crumby things and has to be told he’s in the wrong or to apologize. And Mabel isn’t a bad person. Like legitimately, that is not what I want anyone to take away from this. She does genuinely love her brother and care about his wellbeing. She’s just a little selfish and unthinking sometimes, like anyone else.

Like I said, my issue is that it goes unpunished, and she repeats the same type of offense wayyy more than any other character. She’ll disappoint Dipper enough that he’d make a deal with Bill and then everyone will still say she’s the best and most caring person ever. That’s just annoying, honestly, or it is to me at least.

This isn’t dunking on her, this is dunking on the writers. And they aren’t unforgivable either, I mean Gravity Falls was a masterful web of foreshadowing, character building, lore, plot work, and incredibly intelligent humor mixed with jokes kids would love too. I don’t blame them for dropping the ball on Mabel, and I don’t hate her or the show or anything because of it. I just want us to acknowledge this flaw of the show, and also have people get it when Mabel gets on my nerves a little bit.

[incomingalbatross]

So, I was wondering, when it comes to your Greg Pines AU do you have any thoughts on how Wirt would relate to his step-family?

Ooh, thank you! This is a very good ask, especially since I’ve been thinking more about my version of the Pines Family Tree lately. :)

So I actually have two answers to this, dependent on my two variant ideas for this step-family’s origins. I will talk about BOTH, because I can’t choose...although that also makes this pretty long. Sorry.

Background: my background is a little complicated, because for timeline purposes I decided Wirt had to be the baby in that one AToTS shot. THEREFORE, I have decided that Shermie met Wirt and Greg’s mom (her placeholder name is Rachel and they had related jobs in NYC) when she was pregnant with Wirt, but Wirt’s father was already out of the picture because he was Not Good Parent Material. Shermie, though, A) really liked Rachel and B) thought she deserved support regardless, and so he offered said support and also got his mom to befriend Rachel. So Ma Pines happened to be taking care of Baby Wirt temporarily the night Stan was disowned.

Two scenarios branching off from here:

Scenario 1: Things didn’t work out between Rachel and Shermie, they parted ways, and she raised Wirt on her own...only to reconnect some years later when Wirt was seven or eight.

In this scenario, Wirt was at first pretty resentful of Shermie’s presence in their lives, and while he eventually accepted him for his mom’s sake, he assumed that Shermie was only tolerating him for his mom’s sake as well. Greg’s birth also gave Wirt some additional insecurities about his place in their family. HOWEVER, I think the events of OTGW canon got Wirt past some of this and led to growth in their relationship.

He’s met Ma and Filbrick, and they visit Shermie’s family, though Ma maintains contact more than Filbrick does. She treats Wirt and Greg pretty much equally as her grandchildren, but Wirt’s never gotten to know her very well, and is one of those kids who sees family visits as being Awkward and Uncomfortable anyway--he doesn’t like strangers in his home! It’s nerve-wracking! So he doesn’t dislike his step-grandparents, but he doesn’t like them either.

Scenario 2 (which doesn’t line up as well with the apparent Creator’s Intent for OTGW, but I like it): Things DO work out between Shermie and Rachel, they get married while Wirt is still tiny, and he grows up with that arrangement. In fact, by the time he’s a teenager Wirt is completely unaware Shermie is not his birth dad, and finds this out very abruptly shortly before the events of OTGW. His parents swear he used to know this! They didn’t realize he forgot! Wirt, meanwhile, maintains that he NEVER knew this and his life is a LIE...

Basically, this reframes OTGW as Wirt’s extended “What Do You MEAN I’m Adopted?” identity crisis, which entertains me.

Anyway, in this scenario Wirt loves Shermie as his dad and values his good opinion immensely, although he still sometimes feels his dad doesn’t Understand him (because, y’know, Wirt is highly self-conscious and Shermie doesn’t naturally talk about things like poetry and teen angst). After the Shocking Revelation, the “he can’t relate to me” angst is dialed up to about fifteen, along with a sizable helping of Betrayal and insecurity, and leads Wirt to decide that actually they don’t have a real relationship. Shermie is just trying to wait this storm out, basically...and then OTGW happens. Which actually helps a LOT, because A) Wirt acquires some perspective and B) again, Shermie is horrified to have nearly lost BOTH his sons and he shows it.

In this world Wirt knows the Pines parents as his grandparents all along. Ma still has more contact with the family (and Filbrick does not give Wirt and Greg equal treatment, but he’s a jerk all-round so Wirt just registers that as general disapproval of himself), and Wirt is still Awkward and Uncomfortable around them, but I think he’s more at ease with Ma in this one? Probably.

In either case, I’ve decided that Shermie reconnects with Stan not long after OTGW, in fall/winter of ‘83. Prior to this, Wirt was only vaguely aware that Shermie had siblings (Ford wasn’t in touch, Stan obviously wasn’t, and Shermie doesn’t know how to talk about them given all that baggage) and after...I think he eventually learns that there was another brother who died and that it’s too painful to ask anyone about, but that’s it.

After this, Stan doesn’t visit much, for Secret Portal Reasons, but he is happy to meet both boys and occasionally send them presents. Wirt is put off by his loudness and tendency to willfully embarrass others *coughWIRTcough*, so they have a rocky start, but things improve.

(When Wirt was a baby, Teen Stan ADORED him. He was the first baby he’d ever known personally and Stan thought he was just the greatest. He and Ford--who also thought Baby Wirt was amazing--babysat sometimes. There was some casual child endangerment but also Ford would tell him science facts in a Very Serious Voice and Stan would let the baby “punch” him and then dramatically reel back.

Eventually Stan will actually tell Wirt enough of this to get them past the aforementioned rocky start.)

In the end, Wirt probably thinks of Stan as the eccentric relative (which takes doing in this family, admittedly!) whose life was marred by tragedy but who’s still family. They’re not in close contact once Wirt’s an adult but if he ever heard Stan was in trouble, I think he’d step up.

...I feel like there’s a lot more that could be said about Wirt’s relationships here, and I’m not 100% sure of all my conclusions, but it’s what I’ve got tonight. Thank you for asking! Although this may be More Words than you signed up for. :P

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

Ford getting jealous of his younger counterparts part getting horny over Stan kills me. Like, wdy mean man, he’s YOU!!!!

GOD YEAH i have the conclusions that ALL fords are ridiculously possesive over their stans while also completely delusional enough to believe they deserve to have every single stan out there. you put one ford in a room full of stans (across all ages mind you) and he'll be all well clearly i have a duty to take care of every single one of you

OH AND A BIT OF A TANGENT BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I HAVENT SEEN YET BUT WOULD BE FUNNY AF? a 2Fords that takes place in the present day PRE weirdmageddon. due to some rift or bottomless pitt bullshit it spits out a young teen ford randomly right infront of the shack. a young teen ford BEFORE stan broke his machine and even got offered a spot in WCT. they take him in, and to prevent fucking up the timelines they have to keep details of how the mystery shack became the mystery shack shut and spin a lie about how stan just found his calling and ford works downstairs.

teen!ford latches onto older version of his brother IMMEDIATELY— with no decades of resentment and "you made a MOCKERY of my lifes work" angst attached, he would actually be SO proud of Stan for finding his niche, when everyone told him his brother would be a failure, here stan is a thriving business man! him and his brother get to work together! ford is probably kinda famous and praised around these parts too if he's allowing stan to use his discoveries like that! and sure theyre not sailing around, but in his perspective this is a really good life for the both of them, especially when he hears ford went to college and got a bunch of phds. its not like ford ever let himself dream of anything besides stanley (because this is before the wct offer).

with this life its almost like theyre married, and ford with his still huge and untainted feelings on his brother is kind of giddy about it.

old ford is ofc an asshole who wants to burst his bubble so bad but cant do that so is pushing him away instead by locking himself down at the basement to send a way to send his younger self back. this ends up being so great for teen!ford and for stan tho. teen!ford gets to hang out with stanley— and moses stanley grew up incredibly well. all chiseled and huge and looking INCREDIBLY good in and out of the suit. especially out when he realizes stanley turned out to be an incredibly hot bear when he sees his belly out and hes just. not normal about it. hed be on stans side like glue and is just ENAMOURED by him.

and stan LOVES this ford, he loves him. this ford is, while still a nerdy brainiac know it all, is the ford he knew and loved before everything turned bad. they have a fucking blast together, this ford makes him feel young again and looks at him like hes begging to be pounced on all the time. he wont because he cant taint the kid like that but! who knows! he thinks the best part is lowkey how much it pisses off HIS ford too. Ford would be glaring at the way stan has his arms around teen ford across the room while hes yapping and teen ford is looking at him all heart eyes, or how stan has him close all the time and how his younger self is such a clueless .selfish brother stealing bitch as if his hands are completely tied.

the eventual climax being that hes gonna catch them making out (initiated by ford ofc) and either doing the correct thing to do (telling teen ford the whole truth) or the smart thing (fuck stanley right infront of his teen self and claim that it doesnt matter what happens, stan you only belong to ONE ford at a fucking time and in THIS time itd me and istg i will travel back in time to fuck you in the past for revenge for this while teen ford is both mad cockblocked and super into it)

sorry again for the tangent but this 2fords au kinda grabbed my brmy the throat while i was answrring dhdbdhdb

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[frost-flame]

Stan’s Ford plushie

A fic based on my post. This is also a practice to write more Stancest in the future. (It’s more of plot though)

His brother is such an ungrateful bastard! Why did he expect a "Thank you" from his brother? Right, he was hopeful. He should've learn to stop being so hopeful. Life in the streets taught him that. He'd gone soft.

He sighed sadly as he removed his fez and sat on his bed. He put the fez and his glasses on the nightstand and lied down the bed, staring at the ceiling with nothing in his mind. But sleep still hadn't come to him. He had gotten used to working on the portal every night. For 30 years that's what he did. Now... He feels incomplete without that on his routine.

All he wanted was a "Thank you" (and maybe even a hug) from his brother. Their reunion was completely different than what he thought it would be and yet... That was actually one of the possibilities he thought of. Ford punching him on the face. He remained positive and hoped that maybe one good thing would come to his life. He should've known no good things happen to him, except the kids. Them coming here is the best thing that happened to him.

Stan chuckled. He may not get the love he wanted from his brother. But he has the kids now. They love him. They made it obvious to him every day. With that thought, he fell asleep.

~~~~~

Next morning Mabel can't help but feel a bit down after remembering what happened yesterday. Her grunkle Stan seemed so sad. Then again, if she was in Stan's case, she would be too. Getting punched at the face by your twin brother whom you haven't seen for 30 years isn't really a reunion anyone would be expecting.

Mabel had made a decision. She wants to make her grunkle happy, but how? She could make something for him. But would that be enough? No. What would cheer up Stan? Money? Stan already gets that through the mystery shack. A date? Stan didn't seem to show any interest to anyone else in the Falls. Getting a tourist to go on a date may be a solution, but the shack is close. A plush? Now what would Stan need a plush for?

Wait a moment...

Remembering the wax figure that she made before (that unfortunately melted), Stan treated it like a person... Like his brother.

"Like Great Uncle Ford!" Mabel said out loud. "What about Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked with interest and a sparkle in his eyes. "Nothing, Dipper. I just want to cheer Grunkle Stan up. He seemed so sad yesterday" said Mabel as she sat cross-legged on her bed and hugged Waddles and played with his little pig arms.

"I know. I never saw how fake his smile was until that moment when he smiled at us before we went to bed" Dipper replied as he put his book on the nightstand. As much as Dipper wanted to ask the author a billion questions about Gravity Falls, the man had just got back last night and is probably adjusting. He needs to give the man a bit of space before asking him what he needed to know.

"What do you mean like Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked. "What?" Mabel replied confused. "You said "Like Great Uncle Ford" suddenly. What do you mean by that?" Dipper asked again.

"Oh right! Remember the wax figure that I made of Stan? He treated it like a person. And then we discovered Grunkle Stan has a twin and the wax figure look like him! It all come together Dipper. He treated the wax figure like his brother!" Mabel exclaimed.

"I never thought of that. No wonder why he was so sad when the wax figure "died" said Dipper thoughtfully. "But what's the point in all of this, Mabel?" Dipper asked in interest.

"Well, I want to cheer Grunkle Stan up! You saw how he looked last night. I want to make him happy" said Mabel with a happy smile. "How are we going to do that? Bring him out fishing?" Dipper asked with teasing tone to his voice. "Nope! I'll make a replacement Ford" Mabel exclaimed.

"A what?" Dipper asked, shocked at Mabel's statement. "You know, a substitute. A replacement for the wax figure I made so he could get the love he wants from his brother" replied Mabel with a big grin.

"And what exactly would this "substitute" be? Another wax figure?" Dipper asked.

Mabel hummed in thought and then snapped her fingers as an idea popped into her head.

"A plush! Everyone loves plushies! I think" said Mabel but mumbled the last part. "What about a plush of Great Uncle Ford?" Mabel asked with a big grin.

"That can be a good idea" said Dipper thoughtfully, putting a hand on his chin. "But you need to ask for Great Uncle Ford's permission first" he added. Mabel's smile slowly turned into a frown as that idea came into mind.

"You're right. How am I suppose to ask Great Uncle Ford that?" Mabel asked. "I don't know. That idea was great and all but if The Author didn't approve of a plush toy of him, it will be pointless" Dipper stated rather than reply.

"It's not a question of yes or no. It's a question of when I can ask him" said Mabel confidently. "What made you certain Great Uncle Ford will say yes?" Dipper asked with a raised brow. "That's on me, Dipper" said Mabel.

She jumped from her bed and ran downstairs excitedly. "Wait! Mabel!" Dipper left his bed and grabbed the 2nd Journal to continue reading for later and ran after his twin.

.

Reaching down the stairs, Dipper hurried to the gift shop and saw his sister standing in front of the vending machine with a little reluctance etched on her face. She gave Dipper a grin and was about to reach to type in the code. But then the vending machine opened and out came their great uncle Ford. He seemed surprise to see them as well.

“Kids! What are you doing up so late?” Ford asked surprise. “It’s already morning, great uncle Ford” Mabel replied with a smile while Dipper nodded in awe at seeing their great uncle or the author again.

“It’s morning? I didn’t notice. Is there any breakfast?” Ford asked looking around. Only then did he notice that indeed it is morning, the light outside the shack making it obvious.

“Yes! There are pancakes in the kitchen for you” Dipper replied. Mabel noticed Dipper sweating a little bit. Mabel snickered at that.

So far so good.

They followed Ford onto the kitchen and watched him grabbed a fork, seeming to inspect it for a second and sat at the table. The pancakes were neatly stacked along with maple syrup and butter on top. A note was written Ford on top of it all.

“Do you kids want some?” Ford asked nudging the plate of stacked pancakes towards them. Both twins shook their heads no. Now’s the moment, Mabel thought.

“Great Uncle Ford, do you mind if we make a plush toy version of you?” Mabel asked quickly but shyly. Despite being a relative, the man is still a bit foreign to them (or to her). But she does want to make something for the man. How about finger puppets? He could be the master of finger puppets with his six fingers. She'll do that later.

Ford seemed to enjoy the food he was eating as he looked slightly blissful and happy as he ate the pancake. “Hmm? Oh yes, of course” said the author with a dismissive wave of hand. Mabel cheered and ran off, Dipper following suit.

“By the way, Grunkle Stan made those pancakes! it’s good right, Great Uncle Ford? So much better than the Diner's!” Mabel added happily. Both twins didn’t notice the surprise look of the author and the phantom smile that came after it.

.

Mabel and Dipper walked around town wondering where they can find a tailor to sew a plush toy of Ford and wondering how much it would cost. if it’s too expensive, Mabel would have no choice but to make it herself, whether or not it would look like Great Uncle Ford or not.

"Now where can we find a tailor that sews custom plushies?" Mabel asked to herself. "We should ask someone we know for a trustable source" Dipper commented. Mabel nodded her head in agreement. That would be preferable. If the price for customized plush would be too expensive, Mabel would have to buy all the materials needed and she has to learn how to make one too. But as much as possible she preferred to have it be created by a professional.

"Heya, dudes!" A familiar voice greeted. "Soos!" The twins greeted back in unison. Because of the events last night, the shack is once again in repair, being managed by Stan while his only two staff had the day-off. It seemed the town is also in the same condition.

"Soos, thank goodness you're here" said Mabel in relief. "Soos, you're just the guy we need" Dipper added. "Really? What for?" Soos asked curiously.

"We're looking for a tailor. Someone who is willing to make a customized plush toy of someone" Dipper replied. "We want to make a plush toy version of Great Uncle Ford for Grunkle Stan" Mabel explained. "To make him happy."

"For Mr. Pines, anything. Follow me, dudes. I know a tailor that might do your request" Soos said waving his hand to follow him. Mabel cheered then the twins followed Soos to the location of the tailor.

.

It took a lot of bargaining but since the tailor knew Soos, they were finally able to make the tailor agree with the price. It's a reasonable price but still a bit high. Soos decided to pitch in too. Mabel disagreed but Soos insisted because "It's for Mr. Pines" he said. Fortunately, they'll only pay once the product has been made.

"I'm glad that's over" said Mabel as she happily skipped back to the shack. "Yeah but we're going to wait a week to get it." Dipper complained. "For Grunkle Stan? I'm willing to wait" Mabel said.

Dipper shook his head but with a smile at his sister's determination or stubbornness.

~~~~~

A week passed and what happened yesterday still amuses Mabel. The fact that she went on an "epic magical quest" to save her brother was fun. She'd also been making finger puppets for her great uncle but he doesn't want to do it. Oh well, maybe next time. It seemed she's forgetting something. What could it be? What could it be?

Mabel looked at her surroundings and saw Waddles only lying down on the carpet. Her grunkle Stan is nowhere to be found because he's managing the shack again. Great Uncle Ford is still down at the basement as usual. Maybe that's where Dipper is.

Wait...

Ford... The Ford plush! "Oh that's what I forgot!" Mabel muttered, mentally smacking herself. She ran to the attic, grabbed the money and ran to where the tailor is.

Reaching the tailor, Mabel went inside and the owner of the little shop greeted her not so warmly.

"Took you long enough, kid. I was expecting earlier than this" said the tailor. Grabbing a box and giving it to Mabel. "Go ahead and check it kiddo, I did my best to make it adorable but detailed like those "chibi" things you showed me." The tailor made a circling motion with her wrist while rolling her eyes.

Mabel opened the box and took the plush. The fabric was nice to feel. There are exactly six fingers on each hand. And the plush is so soft. The hair had stuffing too. It seemed the glasses are removable. The jacket isn't though. That's fine.

"This is beautiful" said Mabel in awe. Someday she will make plush toys just as great as this, but nicer towards customers.

"Well, honey, of course it is! I made it!" said the tailor proudly with a smug look.

Mabel took the money from her backpack and paid the tailor. She put the plush back in the box and took the receipt and ran back to the shack with a big smile.

.

When Mabel reached the shack, she ran to her room and found Dipper there. Whatever he and Ford had been doing, it's done now.

"It's finished, Dippingsauce!" Mabel exclaimed showing the box where the plush is. "Really? What's it look like? Is that woman really great like she said?" Dipper asked with obvious curiosity. He would totally hate it if his sister wasted her money for nothing.

"Yes!" Mabel replied opening the box and showing the plush. "Wow, she is good" said Dipper. "I guess now we know why the price is like that"

"Worth it!" Mabel exclaimed with a huge grin. "I'm going to give this to Grunkle Stan later"

 ~~~~

Stan doesn’t know what he was staring at. Well he knows but he can’t believe what he was seeing. Mabel was holding a Ford looking plush right in front of him. It was pretty big. Maybe it’s about 40 centimeters? It looks expensive. Mabel was grinning at him with pure happiness and excitement. Is this for him?

“Grunkle Stan, what do you think? I had this made for you!” said Mabel with a big grin. Stan doesn’t know what to say really. He had no idea why Mabel would do this… and seriously that thing looks expensive.

“I- I don’t know what to say” he replied. Mabel took it as a compliment, fortunately. “I had this made for you” Mabel exclaimed and pushed the plush towards him. “Mabel, sweetie, how much did you pay for this?” Stan asked. “Doesn’t matter, Grunkle Stan” Mabel replied dismissively.

“Mabel if you spent a lot of money for this-“

“If I spent a lot of money for it and you decided to throw it away, then that would be wasting money”  Mabel cut off with a hint of embarrassment in her voice.. That’s logical. But the tone… is she embarrass that he got this for him? It would be a waste of money to throw it because he didn’t like it. But he didn’t ask for this. But Mabel bought it for him (which is also embarrassing) because she was thinking of him.

“Why exactly did you bought this?” Stan asked unconsciously hugging the plush tighter.  “Grunkle Stan, you were sadder – or grunklier – than usual again and I thought it was because of your brother. So I thought of getting you that so at least you can give as many hug as you can from your brother… like how you treated the wax figure before” Mabel replied while twiddling her fingers and face red. She is really that embarrass? Well, it is understandable now. An old man isn’t usually seen with a plush toy that is usually for children.

“Now I really think I wasted my money” Mabel muttered, embarrassed. That look doesn’t suit Mabel, not at all.

“Well, I kind of like it” Stan replied. “Mabel’s face looked surprise. “Really?” Mabel asked with her face starting to brighten. “Yeah! This is a lot better than the wax one. I like it. Thank you, Mabel” said Stan with a grin and playfully messing up her hair.

“Ack! Grunkle Stan”!” Mabel said removing the hand from her hair. She giggled and then gave him a hug, which caught Stan off guard. She skipped happily away with the knowledge of cheering up her Grunkle Stan.

The next day, Stan seemed to get attached to the plush quickly. Dipper and Mabel were proud of themselves. Stan’s mood lighten and he doesn’t glance at the vending machine nor hang at the gift shop often anymore. But he also doesn’t talk to the plush like a person unlike the wax figure. This is better. It benefited everyone! Stan’s happy with the plush and their Great Uncle Ford doesn’t need to be disturbed. It’s a great idea!

~~~~

Mabel and Dipper didn’t expect this…

Their Great uncle Ford obviously did not like it. He had been glaring at the plush whgenever he sees it for 2 days now, which was weird because he seemed to be okay with the plush at first. That was only three days ago. Does that mean it only took a day for Great Uncle Ford to hate it? Is it because they did it without his permission? That can’t be right. They asked permission and he said “yes”. Albeit dismissively, he still said yes!

…Then why? Why would he hate it? What if it’s because it is possessed…? No it can’t be possess. If it is, with or without permission from Stan, Ford would have destroyed it and explained to them why he had to do it. Then why? It’s an innocent plush.

Unless… is Great uncle Ford jealous of the plush, specifically the attention it keeps receiving from Grunkle Stan?

If that is the conclusion, Dipper would be doubtful… at first. It’s proof now. Stan just gave the plush a quick peck on the cheek and Great Uncle Ford seemed ready to commit murder. A few hours later, Stan did it again and Great Uncle Ford almost stormed to the living room if it weren’t for the fact that Mabel and him held Ford back.

Great Uncle Ford is jealous of the plush… This is going to be chaotic…

[thelastspeecher]

Stanuary ‘20 - Week Three: AUs

I’ve been busy working on my Master’s thesis and thus haven’t been able to do any Stanuary yet.  But now that I’m basically done (just gotta drop my thesis off at the thesis library Friday) I’m hoping to do all four weeks.  Just....not in chronological order.  Anyways, the prompt for week three was practically MADE for me.  Not to brag or anything, but I’m basically the non-binary ruler of AUs.

So, to really go whole hog with the AU prompt, I went with a crossover between two of my favorite AUs: the MerGucket AU and the Stay-at-Home Stan AU.  I’ve written something for this particular crossover before, so this is a follow-up to that.  Basically, Ford does research at sea, and when he has his big blow-up with Bill, jumps overboard, only to be rescued by Stan, who has somehow become a merman during their time apart.  Not just a merman, but a father, too.  Here’s Stan explaining how that came about.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

              Ford stared intently at the multicolored cuttlefish idly swimming by.

              It looks similar to the kraken I saw last month.  Do kraken crossbreed?  Or do juvenile kraken resemble cuttlefish?

              “Uh, Ford?” Stan asked, startling Ford free from his thoughts.  Ford looked over.

              “Yes?”

              “We’re here,” Stan said.  He jerked a thumb behind him.

              “You live in a cliff?” Ford asked.

              “Yeah.”  Stan looked over at the cliff.  “The door’s hidden, though.  Gotta make sure scuba divers or submarines or whatever don’t find us.”  Promptly after offering for Ford to stay at his place temporarily, Stan had led Ford into a partially submerged hidden cave, walked into the water, and transformed into a merman.  The casual nature of the act was off-putting to Ford, but not as much as the mumbled charm Stan had then cast on Ford to allow him to breathe underwater.

              Stan knows spells.  Well, at least one spell.  How is this reality?  How is my high school dropout twin brother a merman with a capacity for magic? Stan’s daughter, Molly, still nestled in his arms, snored loudly.  Stan looked down at her with a fond, loving expression.  Ford’s stomach turned over.  Stan’s not just a merman now.  He’s also a father, and a doting one at that.  Stan whispered something to Molly in a different language.

              “So, um, the door is hidden,” Ford said.  “Where is it?”  Stan looked up.

              “I’ll show you, but I need to get Angie’s brother outta the house, first.”

              “Pardon?”

              “We can’t just leave the eggs unsupervised,” Stan said.

              That’s right.  Stan mentioned something about eggs.

              “Angie’s older brother offered to watch ‘em while we went on our walk. Swim.  Whatever.  But he had a bad experience with a human not too long ago, so I don’t think he’d wanna see you.  Just hide behind that rock or something.”  Stan nodded at a large boulder near Ford.  “Once he’s gone, I’ll let you in.”

              “Okay, but-” Ford started.  Stan ignored him and swam over to the cliff.  Ford let out a sigh.  He ducked behind the boulder and pulled out his journal, flicking through the pages idly. He landed on the page where he had started a drawing of Stan, before he’d recognized the merman he was observing.

              At least I’ll be able to finish this sketch.  I wonder if I can get Stan to sit in this pose again.

----- 

              After about fifteen minutes, which Ford spent writing about this latest development, the sound of voices carried to where Ford was hiding.  Stan said something in the same foreign language he’d spoken in before.  A second voice, which sounded very familiar to Ford, responded in the same tongue. Ford closed his journal and held it close to his chest.  He could make out a flick of a green tail with light yellow fins as Angie’s brother passed the boulder.  The merman disappeared quickly into the distance.

              “All right, you can come in now,” Stan said, appearing next to Ford so suddenly it startled him.  Instead of being carried in Stan’s arms, Molly was now nestled in a sling draped across Stan’s chest.  Ford stared. “C’mon, Sixer.  I gotta put Molly in her actual bed or she’s not gonna sleep well.  She wakes up way too often as it is.”  Ford nodded silently.  He followed Stan to the cliff face, where Stan, with a practiced motion, slipped his fingers into a crack in the rock and pulled.  A portion of rock the size of a door swung open.  

              “Slick,” Ford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Shut up and get inside.”  Ford hurriedly swam in.  Stan followed, closing the door behind him.  Ford looked around in interest.

              “How is it so light in here?  Do merfolk have lamps?”

              “Uh, sorta,” Stan said, already heading off, deeper into the house.  “They use, um…I don’t know the English word for it.  They grow stuff that glows.”

              “Bioluminescent?” Ford suggested.  Stan shrugged.

              “You can ask Angie.  She might not know the English word, but she can explain it better than I can. Anyways, we have some lamps, but we don’t need them right now.  Enough light gets through the windows.”

              “Windows?”  Ford spun in a circle.  His eyes widened at the sight of a window above a couch.  “I didn’t see this from the outside.  Are they specially designed?”

              “Nah, stole ‘em from sunken ships,” Stan called from wherever he was. “You can’t see ‘em from the outside ‘cause of an optical illusion thing.  If you get close to the cliff, they’re more obvious, but not from a distance.”

              “Remarkable,” Ford muttered.

              “Ford.”  Ford turned around again.  Stan’s head was sticking out of a room down the hall.  “You’ll wanna see this.”

              “Not that I doubt you, but why?”

              “Don’t you wanna check out a mer egg?”

              “A- yes!”  Ford swam over.  When he entered the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to the large basket leaning against one wall.  The basket held two things: Molly, fast asleep and curled up into a ball, and one large, red fish egg.  Ford frowned. “You said eggs.  Plural.”

              “Slip of the tongue.  We haven’t been down to one egg for very long.”

              “Why is the basket so large?”

              “It’s called a guppy basket,” Stan said.  “It’s where eggs go and the baby mers sleep until they outgrow it. Normally, mers have a bare minimum of ten kids at once.  But when one of the parents used to be human…”  Stan trailed off.  Ford looked over at him.  Disappointment had settled on Stan’s face.  Stan noticed Ford looking and cleared his throat hurriedly, wiping away his saddened expression.  “When that happens, there aren’t as many kids.  Angie laid fifteen eggs.  Usually a clutch has at least twenty.  And of those fifteen Angie laid, only two are gonna hatch.”

              “What happened to the other eggs?”

              “Duds,” Stan said flatly.  “Clutches have a lot of duds.  That’s why mers have so many eggs at once.”  He sighed. “It’s fine, though.  I can handle two kids a lot better than I could handle ten.”

              “This is…I’m completely astounded,” Ford said, shaking his head. “You- how-”

              “They taught me a lot,” Stan said with a shrug.  “Even taught me their language, Mermish.”

              Oh, that must be the language he was speaking earlier.

              “Kinda had to,” Stan continued, “since I was born human, not mer.”

              “Yes.  You were.” Ford looked at Stan inquisitorially. “How did you become mer?”

              “I told you.  I fell in love with a mermaid and ate a magic plant.”

              “Give me the unabridged version.  I feel I’m owed that much.”

              “Fine.”  Stan looked over at Molly and the last egg.  “Let’s talk in the living room.  Molly’s a pretty heavy sleeper, but I don’t wanna roll those dice.  Babies are the complete monsters when they get woken up.”

----- 

              Ford settled himself on the couch, attempting to ignore the way his clothes floated upwards, tugging on his skin.  Stan sat across from him in an armchair.  He snickered.

              “What?” Ford asked.

              “You’ve got a cape on, like you’re Super Nerd or somethin’.  Why did you bother wearing that underwater?”

              “I-”  Ford looked back.  Sure enough, his trench coat was spread out behind him like a wedding train.  He scowled and tucked it under him.  “Don’t tease me, Stanley.  I’ve been too shell-shocked by all of this to act upset with you, but by no means am I going to brush what happened ten years ago under the rug.”

              “You’re in no position to make any threats towards me,” Stan said.  “I’m the one who cast the spell so you could breathe underwater.  I can remove it any time I want.”  Ford swallowed.  “Anyways, you wanted to know how I turned into a merman.”

              “…Yes,” Ford said softly.  Stan ignored his brother’s obvious unease.

              If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have threatened me first.  So what if what I said had a bit more of a bite than he probably expected?  That’s what happens when you mess with merfolk. Stan sighed and settled into his armchair.  

              “All right.  Well, when Pops kicked me out, I took the Stan O’War out to sea.  Not my smartest idea.  Prob’ly shoulda taken the Stanleymobile.  I mean, I sailed into a storm pretty much right away.  I kept trying to bail her out, but it was raining buckets.  I went overboard.  Next thing I knew, I woke up on a beach.  My clothes were soaked, I had no idea where I was, but I wasn’t too worried.”

              “…Why not?”

              “‘Cause one of the prettiest chicks I’ve ever seen had my head in her lap.” Stan grinned at the memory, clear enough to have happened yesterday.  “And I just…I just stared at her.”

----- 

              Stan stared up at the young woman with his head in her lap.  She seemed like a personification of the sea, with eyes as blue as the ocean and hair the color of the beach he used to play on with Ford.  Faint freckles spilled across her nose and cheeks like she had spilled cinnamon but not bothered to wipe it off.  The young woman stared back at him, smiling like she had a secret as she stroked Stan’s hair.

              “Hi,” Stan finally croaked.  The young woman’s smile broadened.

              “Hello.  You almost drowned, do you realize that?”  Her voice was sweet and melodious, comforting like waves crashing onto the shore.

              “Figured.  Since I went overboard and woke up on a beach.  Did- did you save me?”

              “Yep.”

              “H-how?”

              “I’m a good swimmer.”

              “What’s your name?”

              “My full name’s awfully long and I ain’t too fond of it.  But I go by Angie.”

              “Angie.  I’m Stan.”

              “It’s a pleasure to meet ya, Stan.”

              “Your accent…are you from the south?” Stan asked.  A twinkle entered Angie’s eye.

              “One could say I’m from the deep south, yes.”

              “Kinda weird way to say it, but whatever.”  Stan began to slowly get up.  Angie stopped stroking his hair and scooched to the side, allowing him to sit up on his own. He looked over at her.  “So where…”  He trailed off, catching side of Angie’s bottom half.  Instead of legs, she had a large, ostentatious yellow tail with pink fins. His jaw dropped.  “You- you’re-”

              “A mermaid, yes,” Angie said softly.  Stan continued to gape at her.  “I- technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to let you see me, but I wanted to make sure you woke up.” She looked away.  “Even more technically, I wasn’t s’pposed to save you in the first place.”

              “Then- then why did you?” Stan asked, still trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.  Angie looked at him, her eyes soft and compassionate.

              “I couldn’t let you just drown when I saw ya go overboard.  I mean, yer only my age.  Yer fam’ly must be worried sick about you.”

              “Not really,” Stan mumbled, looking down at the ground.  He idly flicked away a seashell.  “They couldn’t care less about me.”

              “…Really?” Angie asked.  Stan nodded. “What makes you say that?”

              “For one thing, they kicked me outta the house.”  Angie was silent for a moment.

              “They shouldn’t have done that,” she said finally.  Stan snorted.

              “Yeah.  I fucking agree.”  He sighed. “Whatever.  Uh, thanks for rescuing me, I guess.”  He got to his feet and looked around.  “Do you have any idea where we are?”

              “I don’t know the human name for it.”

              Of course she doesn’t.

              “But it’s uninhabited.”

              “It’s-”  Stan stared at the mermaid.  “You- this is a desert island?”

              “No.  It’s got a tropical forest.  It’s not a desert.”

              “No, not- a desert island is an island that doesn’t have people on it.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Shit!”

              “Look, it’ll be fine.”

              “How?” Stan demanded.  “I’m not some survivalist nutjob.  I don’t know how to build shelter or kill squirrels or whatever.  I can’t-”

              “I can help with that,” Angie said, standing up as well.  Stan huffed.

              “Yeah, right.  Like you can help me make a little hut outta sticks.  You don’t even…have…legs…”  Stan stared at her.  Angie grinned cheekily.  “Wh-” He looked down.  Her tail had been replaced by two slender, pale legs.  Stan looked away immediately upon realizing that she was completely nude from the waist down.  “How-”

              “It’s a long story.  But merfolk can shift into a human form if need be.”  Angie looked down at the sand and wiggled her toes.  “I don’t take a human form often.  Don’t really feel the desire to.  But I want to help you out.”

              “The best way you could help me out would be to…”  Stan trailed off.  Angie looked at him curiously.

              “What?”

              “No, that’s stupid.”

              “Tell me.”

              “Do you- if you can turn human, can I turn into a merman?” Stan asked. Angie eyed him.  “I- honestly, I don’t really see a reason to stay on land. I don’t have anyone who cares about me, I don’t have any plans, there’s nothin’ tying me to staying human.”  Stan could feel dread and sadness sinking heavily onto his shoulders.

              Pops wouldn’t ever let me back, even if I did make a million dollars. And why would I go back anyways? Ford?  He’s never gonna forgive me.  Shermie and Mom?  Mom let Pops kick me out, and the age gap with Shermie was too big for us to get close. I don’t have anyone.  I don’t have anywhere.

              “It- it might be kinda nice to start over.  Somewhere else,” Stan continued.  Angie pursed her lips.

              “You should sleep on it,” she said finally.  Stan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his drenched pants.

              “That’s a no, then?”

              “Not necessarily.  I know there’re ways fer humans to become mer.  I don’t know the details, though.  I’d have to ask my parents.  And I’ll have to explain why I’m asking.”  Angie chewed on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.  “It’s- it’s possible.  But you’d have to prove yer worthy of becomin’ mer first.”

              “How do I do that?” Stan asked.  Angie shrugged.  “You can’t give me any details?  Really?”

              “Look, I- yer the first human I’ve ever talked to fer this long.  Even if I knew everything about the process of turnin’ humans mer, I’d have a moral obligation to be quiet until you’ve earned our trust.”  She looked out to sea.  “And like I said, you should sleep on it, first.  Givin’ up bein’ human to become mer is not somethin’ you should take lightly. And it’s not somethin’ you should do just ‘cause ya have no other options.  You should want to do it fer a stronger reason than that.”

              “Like what?”

              “Well, my ma did it fer love.”

              “Your mom used to be human?” Stan asked, aghast.  Angie nodded.

              “Yes.  She fell in love with my pa and became a mer so they could be together.”  Angie looked at Stan.  “I ain’t sayin’ ya need to fall in love with a mer, but ya need a reason just as strong.”  She shrugged. “Anyways.  First things first.  I’ll help ya make some shelter, maybe even help ya do some foraging.  And tomorrow, I can come back with my folks. They’ll help figure this thing out.”

              “Sounds good,” Stan said with a nod, his heart racing.

              I can’t believe a mermaid rescued me and might make me a merman. What the actual hell is going on right now?  A small smile tugged the corners of Angie’s mouth.

              “What?” Stan asked.  Angie shook her head.

              “Oh, nothin’.  Just thinkin’ ‘bout how odd you are.”

              “Really?  You think I’m odd?”

              “You asked to be turned mer within five minutes of meetin’ me.” Angie grinned.  “That’s odd.”  Stan managed a smile back.

              “Fair.”

----- 

              “That’s how you met your wife?” Ford asked.

              “Yeah.  But, technically, she’s not my wife.  Merfolk don’t really have marriage.  Angie and I are mated.”

              “Does being mates still involve a union ceremony of some sort?”

              “Yes.”

              “Well, as far as Mom would be concerned, then, you’re married,” Ford said with a small smile.  Stan chuckled.  “Stanley, I’m honestly flabbergasted by all of this.  It seems…”

              “Impossible?” Stan suggested.  Ford nodded.  “I feel the same way.”  He leaned forward and clasped his hands.  He saw Ford immediately zero in on the red webbing between his fingers.  “Some days I wake up and I can’t believe where I am. I’ve got the most amazing person in the world as my mate, I’ve got a daughter, and I’m gonna have another kid any day now.”

              “Also, you’re a merman.”

              “That, too.”  Stan eyed Ford.  “And now, you’re gonna be sleeping on my couch until we figure out how to get Bill off your back.”

              “Yes.”  Ford paused. “Thank you, by the way.”

              “No problem.  I’ll take any chance I can get to stick it to a mer hunter.  Angie lost one of her aunts to a mer hunter.  And I damn near got killed, too.”

              “Wait, really?” Ford asked.  Stan nodded. He laughed, but it was clearly forced.

              “Turns out Carla McCorkle went into that business.  My own ex-girlfriend was about to kill me and sell my scales to the highest bidder.  Good thing Angie intervened.  If she hadn’t threatened to down Carla’s ship, I’d, well.  You can figure it out.”

              “Sorry, did you say that Angie is capable of sinking an entire ship?” Ford asked, holding up a finger.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “She’s a siren, Sixer.  That’s what they do.”

              “Are you a-”

              “Oh, hell no.”  Stan tilted his head.  “Well, technically, I’m a siren.  That’s the kinda mer I am.  But that’s not my job.  Sinking ships requires singing, and even magic can’t fix a voice like mine.  It made me extra persuasive when I talk, but if I try to sing, I still sound like a frog in a bucket.”

              “Siren is both a type of mer and a career?” Ford asked.  Stan nodded.  “Hmm. Interesting.  If you don’t sink ships, then what do you do?  Do merfolk need to have jobs?”

              “Usually, yeah.  Mine is taking care of Molly.  And when the other egg hatches, taking care of Stanley Jr.”  Stan grinned.  “It’s gonna be a boy, I can tell.”

              “You-”  Ford stared at Stan.  Stan stared back.

              “What?”

              “You’re a stay-at-home dad?”

              “Yep.”  Stan stretched languidly.  “Best job in the world.”  Ford shook his head, trying to hide his astonishment.  The front door opened.  Stan looked over.  “Hey, babe.”

              “Hello, darlin’,” Angie crooned, swimming over and kissing the top of his head. Stan grinned up at her.  “I stopped by Fidds’ place to check on him and his clutch.  He said the egg was movin’ ‘round a lot today?”

              “Yep.  Stanley Jr. is gonna hatch any day now.”

              “Oh, hon.  We aren’t namin’-”  A small squeak came from the couch.  Stan and Angie looked over.  Ford was as pale as a sheet.  “We have a visitor,” Angie said mildly.

              “Yeah, Ford got on the bad side of someone pretty nasty, so he’s gonna stay here for a bit,” Stan said.

              “Understood.  I’ll go check on Miss Molly.  She’s prob’ly hungry.”  As if on cue, crying sounded through the house.  Angie chuckled.  “Speak of the devil.”  She nodded politely at Ford.  “Pleasure to meet you, Stanford.  We’ll have to have a proper introduction once I take care of Molly.”

              “Yes,” Ford mumbled.  Angie left. Stan looked at Ford, concerned.

              “What’s wrong, Sixer?  You look like you saw a ghost.”

              “I-”  Ford took a steadying breath.  “Angie is very similar in appearance to my former first mate, who disappeared from my ship a month ago.  While we were in the middle of the ocean.”

              “Okay…” Stan said slowly.

              “He- Angie mentioned someone named ‘Fidds’.  My former first mate, he sometimes went by that nickname,” Ford continued.  Dread began to build in Stan’s gut.  “Angie’s last name wouldn’t happen to be ‘McGucket’, would it?”

              “No,” Stan said.  Relief broke across Ford’s face.  “It’s MerGucket.  But when her older brother pretended to be human to work for some researcher, he used McGucket instead.”  Ford groaned loudly.  He put his head in his hands.

              “Oh, no.”

              “Took the words right outta my mouth.”

[anistarrose]

Fateful Detours - Ch. 3 (Gravity Falls x Infinity Train)

Summary: Memories are relived, conversations are had, and two journeys come to an end.

Warnings: flashbacks to Filbrick being an abusive father, non-graphic descriptions of pain/injury

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331070/chapters/48205837

(The Beginning) (The Middle)

Here we are at the final chapter! This has been a very fun crossover to write, and this chapter is easily my favorite in the whole fic.

(Do note that the content warnings have gotten a little heavier for this chapter, but it’s no darker than the Gravity Falls canon.)

***

Stan wasn’t sure what to expect when he looked at the TV. The Cat had said it contained everything that made Ford Ford, so some part of his mind couldn’t help but imagine a swirling vortex of sketch-filled journals and science textbooks, of broken inventions and bitter parting words.

But instead, he found himself standing in a plain white hallway, staticked-out silhouettes flickering on every wall. Some were abstract, like random interference, but others felt more familiar, like compasses or bags of snack food. Or like a ship’s mast with two makeshift flags hung from it.

Stan checked his hand, and saw that his number was still there.

81

“Ford?” he called out. “Are you in here?”

Not only was there no response, but the sound of the static grew a little louder, as if trying to drown out his voice.

“Couldn’t be that easy, huh,” he muttered as he set off down the hallway. “I’ll just have to find him myself, then.”

At the end of the room was a wall of pure static, crackling and roaring incomprehensibly. But for a moment, Stan could swear he heard familiar voices conversing on the other side, and as they faded out, he put his ear up to the wall to listen more closely —

His hand ever so slightly brushed the surface, and it immediately collapsed under the pressure, its strange gravity dragging him through the ripples of static and into a bright, colorful scene. Stan’s head spun, and it took him a moment to get his bearings — but there Ford was, he realized, just down the stairs and in front of him with his back turned. Safe and sound, and rubbing his chin like he was conscious and alert.

Just as Stan was about to speak up, two hushed voices beat him to the punch. They came from a pair of familiar figures just a few feet in front of Ford…

It was Stan and Ford themselves, aged eleven, standing in front of their middle school lockers.

“C’mon, Sixer! No one will notice, I guarantee it!”

“But if we do get caught, they’ll give us failing grades for sure! It’s a big risk to take…”

Young Stan made pleading eyes. “Please? I’m going to fail math anyway if we don’t try something…”

“Alright,” young Ford agreed reluctantly, taking his glasses off and handing them over to Stanley. “I’ll take your math test.”

Stan suppressed a chuckle as he watched the younger version of his brother squint awkwardly as he adjusted to the lack of glasses, but the real Ford just shook his head with a sigh.

“Selfish as always,” he muttered, and the scene changed.

Stan and Ford, aged fifteen, stood outside the local movie theater. Both of them were sorting through their pockets for change, and neither was coming up with much of anything.

“I’ve only got enough for one ticket.”

“Same here.”

“And you want to waste it on some raunchy comedy we’d have to lie about our ages to even get into?”

“If the only other option is some over-the-top sci-fi flick, then yeah! I do!”

“Stan, I have been waiting the better part of three years for this movie! I’ve been theorizing about the plot for three years, and if you think I’m not going to see it opening night —”

Stan threw an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be packed opening night, Ford. You really want to see the first screening, where all the other rabid fans are there and talking so loud that you can hardly hear the actors?”

Ford frowned. “I don’t know…”

“And what did we end up doing?” the real Ford asked, shaking his head. “Seeing his choice of movie! Because he only ever cared about himself, and I just went along with it!”

As Ford waved his hands in the air, Stan caught a glimpse of his number shooting up:

225

257

288

340

…

“I went along with it,” Ford repeated, “until…”

Their surroundings wavered, sidewalk morphing into carpet as street lights flickered and turned into familiar lamps from the Pines family household.

“No.” Ford shook his head. “Not this, not again…”

361

In a burst of static, the scene shifted once again, this time to a high school hallway.

“...Sixer? You okay?” Stan choked out.

Ford didn’t even look away from the memory.

Skipping class, getting caught sneaking out of the school, being sent to detention.

“He always just dragged me down,” Ford growled.

381

Working on the boat instead of studying for an upcoming chemistry exam.

“I should’ve cut him off a long time ago.”

415

Two science fair projects sitting side by side — one, a non-functional robot, the other, an invention that should’ve revolutionized the world.

“I always knew that I’d be better off without him.”

472

491

518

“So that’s really what you think about me,” Stan whispered. Ford gave no sign of having heard him.

He reached for Ford’s hand, but without even turning around, Ford swatted him away.

550

And Stan…

Stan had been prepared for Ford not to forgive him. Stan had been prepared to drag Ford out kicking and screaming.

He hadn’t been prepared to hear that Ford had never wanted him around in the first place.

“You know what?” he shouted. “FINE!!”

It wasn’t fine, no matter how loud he screamed that it was.

“You can be better off without me right here, in this fucked up horror movie television, for the rest of all eternity! See if I care!!”

Ford didn’t flinch.

“SEE IF I CARE!” Stan repeated, whirling around and storming off towards the edge of the memory.

He didn’t look at his hands, but if he had, he would’ve seen his number jumping up:

106

160

195

He didn’t look back at Ford either, but if he had, he would’ve seen that Ford’s number was no longer visible, because his hands and arms had become obscured by a shifting pattern of static.

“I never needed him,” Ford mumbled, his voice crackling with interference. “I never needed anyone.”

Everything was white, and everything was blurry. It was white because Stan had at some point, without realizing it, made his way back to that first empty hallway he’d found himself in, and it was blurry because he had long since given up on trying not to sob.

He knew, instinctively, that from this room he could leave whenever he wanted simply by willing it to happen, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He may have been a liar through and through, sometimes out of selfishness and sometimes out of necessity, but he’d told the Cat the truth. If he left Ford here, he’d never forgive himself.

He slumped to the ground, pulling his knees close to his chest. Years ago, his mother had told him that dwelling on an issue would always be more painful, in the long run, than any choice you could make to try and change the situation — and after he’d gotten kicked out, he’d tried his best to take that advice to heart, and focus on things he could do to turn his life around.

But now, he wasn’t so sure her advice rang true. He only had two choices — trying to find Ford again and save him, or abandoning him for good, and he knew both of them would just hurt him more than he could ever possibly bear.

Everything hurt. Every happy memory he’d once desperately longed to relive just hurt now, corrupted by the knowledge that Ford had never really been happy in them. That Ford had never truly wanted him around.

Even back during the happiest summer of their lives, when they’d discovered —

Stan covered his ears as a burst of static rang through the room like a clap of thunder. Still sitting on the ground, he turned to face the wall he’d previously had his back to…

And there it was again — the silhouette of a ship’s mast that he’d glimpsed on the way in, two children’s t-shirts flying from it like flags. But this time, the whole ship below it was visible too, bobbing up and down as choppy waves of static battered its hull.

Stan outstretched a hand towards it, his number obscured beneath his palm, and a blast of salty ocean air struck him in the face as the world exploded into color.

He stood on the bow of the Stan O’ War — the completely repaired, seaworthy Stan O’ War, its deck polished and cabin furnished — and faced a tropical coastline, dotted with emerald palm trees and surrounded by vivid pink coral reefs. A colossal volcano rose above the horizon, with a plume of smoke and ash lazily drifting away from the crater at the top, and beneath the crystal-clear waves Stan could spot a pair of sea turtles following the ship, keeping their distance but eyeing it curiously.

Which was all very confusing, because Stan couldn’t remember visiting a place like this and was fairly certain Ford hadn’t either…

The moment that thought popped into his head, his surrounding began to change. Colors grew less vivid, his depth perception failed him, and shadows vanished altogether as the scene reverted to a cartoonish state, complete with dialogue bubbles and sound-effects written out in familiar handwriting.

Stan stood in the pages of a comic book he’d drawn eight long years ago, currently held by the memory of a ten-year-old Ford.

“You really think we’ll get to go on adventures like this one day?” Ford asked, but he didn’t sound skeptical. If anything, he sounded wistful, like he wanted to believe it.

The young Stan from the memory watched with a satisfied smile as Ford flipped through the comic. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

The scene shifted, and Stan found himself kneeling on the beach, watching his younger self hammer nails into a plank on the boat while Ford held it in place. Both of them looked sweaty and exhausted, yet also… so, so happy.

“Wherever we go,” the young Ford declared like a mantra, “we go together.”

From somewhere not quite within the memory, Stan heard the sound of a distorted gasp.

Kneeling on the opposite side of their younger selves and watching them intently was the real Ford — except now, only his face was visible, while the rest of his body was awash with static. The pattern flickered erratically, branched and jagged patterns of lightning bolts crackling within it, but Ford seemed oblivious to everything except the events playing out in the memory in front of him.

“We were both so happy,” he whispered, eyes flickering between the two younger twins as they pressed their hands together in a high-six. “What changed?”

“Stanford, we — we’ve gotta get you out of here,” Stan choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening to you, but it —”

Ford’s head snapped up to look at Stan, to really look at him for the first time since they’d entered his memories, with a incredulity in his eyes that suggested he was only just now realizing that the real Stan was in there with him.

“This isn’t right,” Ford mumbled — and initially, Stan flinched, assuming the words were directed at him. But a moment later, the speed of the memory accelerated to a dizzying blur, fast-forwarding to more scenes familiar to both twins.

Stan going to Ford’s gym class while Ford took his math test, and coming home with a black eye but also a smile on his face, because he’d given a couple of Ford’s bullies the kicks in the shins that they’d deserved.

Stan and Ford staying in the theater after watching Stan’s choice of comedy flick, and sneaking into the second showing of the sci-fi movie Ford had been anticipating for so long. Dodging the worst of the crowds, and having a great time in both with the theaters practically all to themselves.

Making the most of detention together, passing notes behind the teacher’s back.

With each memory, the static covering Ford receded further, first leaving his hair and then his shoulders and arms. He stared down at his hand, waiting for it too to become clear again and reveal the number on his palm —

Just as the receding line of static reached his wrist, the scene shifted one more time. They stood in a familiar living room, lit only by the pale blue light of a television…

“The argument,” Ford whispered.

Stan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as the static shot back up to Ford’s shoulders.

In the memory, Ford stormed into the room, waving a crumpled bag of toffee peanuts in the air as he stared daggers at Stan. “Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!”

And Stan sneered back at him, throwing his paddleball to the ground where it snapped in two. “College dreams are ruined, huh? Guess you’ve got no choice but to go sailing now!”

The TV behind Ford exploded, glass shattering as bolts of blue electricity arced from wall to wall. The whole room trembled as sparks and smoke filled the air, and both the Ford from the memory and the Ford cloaked in static stumbled as they tried to step away from the searing rays of plasma —

“Sixer!” Stan grabbed Ford’s hand, and a jolt of electricity ran up his arm, sending black and white pixels flickering across his vision. “Ford, are you the one doing this?!”

Ford hung limp in the air, suspended in place where Stan had caught him halfway through a fall. The spot where their hands met burned like nothing Stan had ever felt before, like the static was trying to creep up his own veins and into his own body, to unmake him and rewrite him and embitter him from the inside out — but all Stan could bring himself to do was tighten his grip, as he watched a crack snake through the floor beneath Ford’s feet.

“You’ve got to stop this, Ford! This isn’t what happened!”

The whole room shuddered as the crack split open, revealing a massive chasm of static with no bottom in sight. Ford staggered backwards, the ground beneath him crumbling as more and more glowing white cracks zigzagged through it — but before he could topple backwards and fall, Stan used his free hand to grab him by the collar of his staticked-out shirt.

It felt less like he was grabbing something material and more like he was sticking his hand in a fire, but he still pulled Ford closer, until he could wrap an arm around Ford’s back.

“And what really happened wasn’t great, either — it was awful — but I never wanted it to happen, I swear! I’m so sorry, Ford — I never wanted to ruin your dreams, and I don’t want to lose you in here, either! These aren’t your real memories, and — and I know how lying to yourself feels like it’ll hurt less, but in the long run, it… it doesn’t. I promise!”

His arms went numb, and his vision began to fade as something wet sizzled and evaporated on his cheek.

“And if you still want to be mad at me, I — I can’t blame you. But be mad at me for what I really did! Be mad at me when you’re safe at home, or at college, or wherever you end up in life — not in here! Please, Ford, let me help you get out of this place…”

He heard a voice, close to his ear but garbled by static.

“Ford? You with me?”

Ford tried again, and though it was quieter this time, it came out comprehensible.

“Was it me who changed?”

“Ford, we… we both fucked up. I should’ve just told you about breaking the machine as soon as it happened — then you might’ve been able to fix it…”

The burning feeling began to subside, and the crumbling living room reassembled itself as the scene playing out inside started over.

“I might’ve accidentally been… horsing around…”

“This was no accident, Stan! You did this!”

“I still should’ve believed you,” Ford mumbled, stepping back from Stan as he stared at the memory. The static dropped below his collar, then below his shoulders.

“Maybe there's a silver lining, huh? Treasure hunting?”

“Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!”

“And I shouldn’t have brought up the boat like that!” Stan told him. “I shouldn’t have joked about it! I didn’t realize how — how important that school on the other side of the country was to you, but now I do…”

Both twins flinched as they watched Filbrick enter the memory, grabbing Stan by his shirt.

“I should’ve stood up to Dad!” Ford went on, his head in his hands. “I never should’ve let him kick you out —”

“You know you wouldn’t have been able to change his mind.” Stan stared at the ground. “I should’ve known that, instead of blaming you for not taking my side…”

“I never wanted to cut ties with you, Stan.” The static receded even further as Ford spoke, dropping down to the level of his belt. “Not when I wanted to go to West Coast Tech, and not even after the argument — but when Dad threw you out, I convinced myself that I never wanted to see you again. That you’d always just been dragging me down — because it was easier to believe that.”

He took a deep breath. “Being angry at someone you hate… it’s so much easier than being angry at someone you love, even if you really do love that person. Without that contradiction making you second-guess every feeling you have, it’s so much simpler, so much easier to bear…”

The scene flickered, changing to a memory that Stan had never seen before. It was from after he’d gotten kicked out, he realized.

Ford sat on the stairs of Pines Pawns, slouching and glowering at the floor as he listened to Filbrick and Caryn arguing.

“He’s seventeen! Teenagers ruin things, it’s what they do! You didn’t have to ruin his whole life to punish him!” Caryn shouted.

“That freeloader has been ruining the smart one for years!” Filbrick shot back. “Done nothing but drag his brother down their whole lives, and it’s about time we cut him off!”

He whirled around, and noticed Ford watching them. “Right, Stanford? Weren’t you tired of going along with every harebrained scheme that popped into his head? Of doing all his math homework? Of humoring him, when he said he wanted to sail around the world? Wasn’t it suffocating?!”

Ford didn’t say anything, but he gave a half-hearted nod before trudging back up to his room.

Outside of the memory, the real Ford spoke up. “No, Dad. It wasn’t.”

As the last few pixels of static covering his feet disappeared, he turned to Stan and outstretched his arms for a embrace. “I missed you, Stanley.”

Stan accepted the hug without a second thought. “I missed you too, Sixer,” he whispered.

Waves of static washed over the room for one last time, and when they subsided, Stan was once again kneeling on the floor of the Cat’s car. The Cat herself still stood on the other end of the room, hissing quietly when she noticed Stan awaken.

“Ford, are you okay?” Stan stood up and turned around, and to his relief, Ford was sitting up straight — and staring at his hand, as it shone a brighter green than it ever had before.

And so was Stan’s hand, as it whirled through number after number far too quickly to read. For the first time, it felt warm — not warm like the burn from the static, but warm like hot chocolate and lazy summers and companionship, warm in a way Stan hadn’t felt in months.

0Two beams of light shot up from Stan and Ford’s hands in unison, and on each side of the room, one half of a door appeared, outlined in green and slowly sliding together. When they met, a familiar golden vortex appeared and two columns of light sprouted from it, coiling around each other like a double helix as they stretched upwards and out of the train.

And visible inside the door, clear as day, was the Stan O’ War — right where they’d left it, filthy from months of neglect but still salvageable. Still not that far from seaworthy, in the grand scheme of things.

“Oh,” Ford mumbled. “Of course. That’s really far more simple than anything I theorized about the numbers…”

He turned to Stan. “Are… are you ready to leave?”

Stan gave him a thumbs up. “Wherever we go, we go together.”

As he followed Ford towards the exit, he turned around one last time. “Hey, Cat? We won’t miss you.”

Ford didn’t bother to turn around, but he did wave a double middle finger in the Cat’s direction, which Stan chuckled at. The two of them stood side by side at the door for a moment, both in the awkward position of waiting for the other to go first.

Then Ford smiled. “High six?” he asked, raising his palm with the zero on it.

“High six,” Stan agreed, and they stepped though the portal with their hands pressed together.

***

“You know, this is a little ironic,” Ford commented shortly after removing himself from the sand dune he’d faceplanted in. “Just before the exit showed up, I was thinking about how I was actually looking to exploring more of the train, since I’d have you by my side.”

“Oh, good. We both remember it,” Stan replied, spitting out sand. “I was always kind of wondering in the back of my mind if it was a hallucination. Also, that’s the sappiest thing I’ve heard all day, and I said some really sappy stuff back there.”

Ford ignored the second half of his remark. “Well, even if our memories failed us, we’ve also got physical proof backing up the experience…”

He pulled out the device he’d stolen from the Cat, which was still glowing and reacting to both their voices and the ambient sounds of the beach. “I need to thank you for that time you tried to teach me to pickpocket, by the way. The train had a lot of advanced technology that I want to try and replicate, and it’s going to be a lot easier with an actual example to take apart.”

“Oh shit, you stole something? Ford, I have never been a prouder brother in my life.”

Ford chuckled. “It might be a tad unethical, but after some basic study I could probably claim to have ‘invented’ this, and use the funds from selling the patent to afford the tuition to a nicer college than Backupsmore. I do still want to spend some years studying and working on a higher education, but… I hope you’ll keep in touch when I do. It’ll be a lot less fun without you around.”

He rested a hand on the Stan O’ War. “And in the meantime, while I work on reverse engineering this technology… I think there’ll definitely be some time for some boat repair and treasure hunting.”

“Poindexter, your hand is in seagull shit. Better add ‘boat cleaning’ to that list.”

“Ugh, you’re right. At least it’s dry.” Ford carefully moved his hand to a less dirty spot on the boat. “So, that’s a yes to the treasure hunting?”

“Oh, you know it.”

***

Afterword:

Using the sensor stolen from the Cat, Ford invents a new type of sonar that’s significantly more effective than the current versions. With that technology, the boys track down a bunch of shipwrecks, and start getting famous for their discoveries and “invention.”

When Filbrick hears about this and realizes that his sons are on a track to fame and fortune and not sharing any of it with him, he’s initially furious but then tries to approach them and ask them to let him back into their lives, which they refuse. (Caryn divorces him soon after, and Shermie cuts ties around the same time. None of them ever send him money.)

Thanks to his work, Ford wins a scholarship to a well-respected university — it’s not quite West Coast Tech, but it’s also a lot nicer than Backupsmore. He opts not to take classes in summer even though they’d help him graduate faster, and spends all his breaks sailing with Stan.

Stan does get a little bored during the school year when Ford is busy, but Ford notices and suggests he start drawing comics again. Stan is hesitant and a little insecure at first but eventually starts honing his art more and brainstorming plotlines with occasional input from Ford. Using some connections he made in treasure hunting press interviews, he eventually gets a deal to have a short comic series published — then it turns into a huge success, and his comics (loosely based of his and Ford’s childhood) get picked up for many more issues.

Somewhere along the line they become friends with Fidds, probably thanks to some inter-school technology fair where he and Ford both competed, and eventually the gang heads to Oregon to investigate the anomalies concentrated in a town called Gravity Falls. Bill shows up at some point and tries to pull some characteristically Bill bullshit, but he’s no match for a pair of twins that have actually developed some half-decent communication skills. Many more years down the line, Dipper and Mabel’s childhood is full of visits from their famous scientist/explorer/artist grunkles.

***

Thank you for joining me on this crazy train ride! All your responses have meant a lot to me, and I know I’ll look back on this experience fondly (even if it was a lot shorter than my multichapter fics tend to be).

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 18)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19

Length: ~6000 words

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/13715520/chapters/50183618

If it hadn’t been for those cracked ribs that made moving around more annoying than usual, Dipper might have been pacing the living room right now. As it was, he was seated in his grunkle’s TV chair with a stack of books and notebooks around him, chewing on the end of a battered ballpoint pen.

Grunkle Stan and uncle Ford should have been back hours ago, and yes, Stan had called Soos and said they’d be late, but that was also hours ago, and Soos hadn’t even thought to ask what had happened, and sure, Dipper could technically just pick up his phone and call right now and ask what took them so long, but if it was nothing grunkle Stan would just laugh at him and if it was something maybe no one would answer, or—

It was really, really hard not to think about Bill.

“You okay, dood?”

Dipper started, biting down on the pen, then winced from the jolt of pain from his ribs. He hadn’t even noticed Soos coming in.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He dropped the pen and tried to smile.

“Hmm.” Soos said. “That’s what you want me to believe.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I can’t think of anything more to do today. Still waiting for those cement guys to come fix the foundation tomorrow, but otherwise we’d be ready to open up the Mystery Shack again.” He paused. “Once Mr Pines has gotten things sorted out with his brother, I suppose.”

“Are you going home?” For some reason, the thought made Dipper uncomfortable. It was nice to at least have Soos tinkering around the house when grunkle Stan was away and Dipper himself couldn’t go anywhere.

“Nah. Think I’ll stay and wait for Mr Pines.”

“Oh, good. I mean, sure.”

Soos put a couple of books down on Dipper’s lap so he could sit on the dinosaur skull, then turned on the TV to some local news station. “So, tomorrow is the finale of Ducktective, huh?” he said conversationally.

“Yes!” Mabel shouted from the kitchen before Dipper could reply. “It’s finally time to find out who’s been outsmarting Ducktective all through the season! I think it’s that suspicious-looking cat – either that or it’s Ducktective’s own secret twin brother.”

“I have questions about the dog, though.”

“Look at this!” Mabel came rushing from the kitchen and twirled, showing off the duck portrait on her new sweater. “I finished my Ducktective sweater, and these hats, too. Now we can all be Ducktectives!”

Mabel, of course, would always be Mabel. Today she’d been so relentlessly enthusiastic that Dipper simply had to admire it. If she were worrying about anything, she definitely didn’t show it.

And really, Dipper hadn’t had a bad day himself. It had even been nice to spend some time indoors for a change. And completely regardless of any bad dreams or worries about demonic possession, he’d gotten a promise from the actual author of the Journals to play DDD with him later—just thinking about it made him giddy. Except that was assuming Stan and Ford would come back okay. And that he wouldn’t go back on the promise because he was— Well, Ford being too skittish and paranoid and tired to play games wasn’t totally unrealistic. Especially if something had happened.

Dipper realized to his own dismay that he was already chewing on another pen.

At first, when he’d thought grunkle Stan and uncle Ford would be back soon-ish, he’d spent a lot of time making DDD characters. First he made fantasy versions of himself and Ford, then he kept going with other people too just because he could. After adding Mabel, Stan, Soos, Wendy, Grenda and Candy, and even Li’l Gideon for good measure, he went on to make up game stats for Gravity Falls gnomes, and finally, with some input from Mabel, unicorns. Then, while Mabel biked down to town to buy more craft supplies and snacks, he’d spent some time catching up on the mystery novels he’d brought from home but hadn’t had time to read before. He’d wanted to take a look at uncle Ford’s other two journals, but Mabel told him Ford had put all three of them away in a locked cabinet, so that was out. He’d have to ask Ford about it once they came back. Which they still hadn’t.

“Can I be Ducktective?” Soos asked, bringing Dipper back to the present.

Mabel promptly put one of the hats on Soos’ head. “Of course you can! Dipper, you want one too?”

Dipper shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.” He was not in a Ducktective mood.

“Okay.” Mabel pushed a book aside and squeezed herself down on the chair next to Dipper. “But stop worrying, bro-bro.” She might have been reading his mind. “Grunkle Stan and uncle Ford are fine. Grunkle Stan can punch out bears, zombies, gremloblins…” She counted on her fingers.

Dipper grimaced. “I know, but...”

Mabel pressed her shoulder against Dipper’s in lieu of a hug. “It’ll be fine,” she said, softer.

“Hey, doods,” Soos interrupted, pointing at the TV. “I think someone died.”

Both twins tensed for a moment, focusing on the screen.

No, of course it wasn’t about Stan.

“Heh.” Dipper released the breath he’d caught in his throat. “That old mayor… Yeah.”

“Mayor Befufflefumpter was an old and esteemed man,” Soos said solemnly, removing his Ducktective hat in respect.

“He did look kinda dying back at the Northwest party,” Mabel said with a small grin that turned into a grimace. “I mean, more than the rest of us.”

Dipper nodded. “And that was… was that just three days ago?”

“Yeah. Feels like longer.” Mabel frowned. “But at least grunkle Stan isn’t that old! I think.”

“No, he’s got to be—”

Dipper completely forgot what he was about to say when the front door to their left flew open with a bang.

For a moment, Stanford was silhouetted against the low-hanging sun, coat billowing around him and clutching Stan’s duffelbag his arms. The next moment he was gone down the hallway without a word, slamming the door shut behind him again.

No one moved for several moments.

“Where’s Mr Pines?” Soos asked slowly.

Dipper shivered. Uncle Ford, alone, rushing by without a word and without— This was too familiar. Too much like the worst case scenarios he’d been trying not to think about. He licked his lips. “Did anyone see if uncle Ford was…?” The words got stuck in his throat.

“I couldn’t see,” Mabel said quietly. Soos shook his head, too. And if they hadn’t seen his eyes either, then Dipper had to assume the worst.

His hand found Mabel’s, holding it tight. “We need to find out.” He forced himself to slip out of the chair, not sure if he was pulling Mabel along or she was pulling him.

“I’ll protect you!” Soos promised, getting in front of them. “But, uh, where did he go?”

“Maybe to the museum?” Mabel suggested, warily starting to move down the hallway Ford had disappeared into.

Dipper nodded. That was as good a guess as any. He could also have gone to Stan’s workshop, or to the bathroom, or—well, to Ford’s warded study. But if it was Bill, he wouldn’t be able to enter that room, and if it wasn’t Bill, why would he have come alone and ran off without showing his eyes? It was up to the three of them to find him and stop him from whatever he was doing and find out what had happened to—

A new sound behind them made them all jump. Dipper’s heart had already been trying to beat its way out of his chest, and now it seemed to stop completely. Somehow he’d turned around, instinctively clinging to Mabel, and with Soos’ arm lodged between them and the new threat, when he realized what the sound had been. The front door had opened again, less violently this time, and someone else was standing in the doorframe.

“Grunkle Stan!” He and Mabel both ducked under Soos’ arm and threw themselves at him.

“Whoa,” Stan said, awkwardly returning the hug. “Kids, take it easy, I’m—”

“Mr Pines!” Soos threw his arms up. “You’re okay!”

“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Stan pushed the twins away a bit from himself, then cleared his throat. “Did Ford— I mean, he did get in here, didn’t he? Where did he go?”

Dipper and Mabel pointed down the hall. “He ran past without even looking at us!” Mabel said.

“And we couldn’t see his eyes,” Dipper added.

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, looking tired. “Of course. He couldn’t have—” He chuckled slightly. “That’s why you look so spooked?”

Dipper and Mabel glanced at each other, then spoke at the same time.

“You’re saying he’s not—”

“Does that mean he’s—”

“Why did you—”

Stan waved them to silence. The way he seemed more exasperated than alarmed about this was strangely reassuring. “That was Ford, kids.”

“Are you sure?” Dipper’s shoulders might be relaxing a bit, but he still couldn’t help having some doubts.

“Uh-huh.” Stan finally entered the house and closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he scratched the side of his head. “He was pretty distracted – probably didn’t even realize he was scaring you. I bet he went straight for the barrier.”

Dipper could still feel his heart beating too fast, but Stan wouldn’t lie about that. Probably. And if Ford was inside the barrier, then all would be fine.

“See?” Mabel said, maybe to Dipper and maybe to herself. “Everything’s fine.” She started to smile, but then she stopped and stared at Stan. “Wait. Grunkle Stan, you’re bleeding.”

Dipper took a closer look at Stan, and Mabel was right. There was a large matted red-brown stain in his grey hair, like he’d hit his head a while ago. Besides, he realized, Stan’s hawaii shirt was torn at the shoulder and there were several ugly, new-looking bruises on his exposed arms and legs. It looked like he’d been fighting, and without having seen the other guy Dipper wasn’t sure if he’d won or not. Unless the other guy was Ford, and then—

Stan hmphed and picked up his fez from the coat hanger, putting it on his head and hiding the blood. “I knew nothing good could come from leaving the fez at home.”

Mabel took Stan’s arm – putting a hand over a large red bruise – and cradled it. “Did you get into a fight?” she asked. “With uncle Ford? Is that—Is that why you didn’t come back together?”

“What? No, sweetie, we—” Stan stopped with a sigh. “Heck, that’s what it looks like, isn’t it? No, really, Ford is not possessed and we didn’t fight. We actually got along pretty great.” He smiled tiredly.

“But something happened.” Dipper crossed his arms.

Stan shrugged. “Yeah. Most importantly, the demon didn’t destroy the world, the rift is sealed in a superglued briefcase and—” He flashed a grin “—Ford and I still make a pretty good team.” He pulled his arm back from Mabel. “Come on, let’s go see how he’s doing.”

 * * *

Ford locked the door behind him on sheer panicked fumes, the need to hide the rift away overriding all other concerns. There were too many unlocked doors in this house. The front door was unlocked – he didn’t even have the key to the front door. Was it ever locked or could anyone just go inside? What was Stanley thinking?

The liquor cabinet was the only additional lockable space in the room. He had to take the journals out to make the sealed briefcase fit inside, and after relocking the cabinet he ended up sitting on the floor before it, clutching three hand-bound volumes of his own hubris close to his stinging chest.

Trying to breathe. Trying to think.

The light from the stained-glass window above the couch taunted him. He’d boarded that window up – 30 years ago – for a reason. It wasn’t safe.

Someone pulled at the door, and Ford flinched. But it was locked, and no one entered.

“Stanford?”

“Stanley.” Ford let his forehead fall forward against the books he was holding. There were goosebumps running up and down his arms, but at least his voice wasn’t shaking. “Did he follow you?”

“Who?” Dipper’s voice interrupted, and Ford realized with a start that Stanley wasn’t alone. There was a family there, and it wasn’t that he minded their presence necessarily, but their very existence reminded him again of how little control he had of anything. It wasn’t his house. It wasn’t his family. As much as he’d managed to slip back into some kind of comfort zone with Stanley – he wasn’t even sure the 60-year-old man could count as his twin. Nevertheless, the threat to the world was still his responsibility.

“He didn’t follow,” Stanley said. “And if he had, it would have been because he was concerned that you took off like a loon, not because he would actually rob us.”

“How can you be so sure?” Dan hadn’t tried anything, no, but— “He was in contact with Bill!”

“For one dream. He was gonna laugh it off! And then you practically screamed at him that something suspicious is going on!”

Ford snapped his jaws shut at Stanley’s exasperated tone. There was some sense in his brother’s point of view, but only if Dan really had been harmless. But if Ford was right, his reaction had been the only reasonable one. “You can’t know that he would have laughed it off. And even if he would, Bill might contact him again. Or anyone else. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yeah.” Stanley’s voice softened. “Can I—Can we come in?”

Ford stiffened automatically. “Why?”

Because—” Stanley seemed to hesitate. “Please,” he said finally.

Ford couldn’t help a weak smile at that. “You used to hate that word.”

“Still do. But, you know. Could you open the door? Please.”

If Stanley was doing Bill’s bidding, he this would be exactly the kind of manipulation that—

No.

No, Stanley wouldn’t. And Ford knew that perfectly well, especially after everything that had happened today. There was no good reason not to open the door. It was just Stanley and his family. They’d probably go away if he told them to, but that would leave him alone to stew in his own thoughts again, and—did he want that?

He’d been so used to being alone. But everything was different now. He was safe from Bill’s reach in this room. The children had fought for him. And Stanley was—Stanley was back at his side, despite everything, and today they’d been a team again.

He should let them in.

Ford shook his head, squeezed the journals one last time before hiding them under the pile of blankets on the floor next to the couch, then going to open the door.

Stanley was leaning against the doorframe on the other side. He was wearing their father’s fez again, but his expression was one their father would never wear. “Thanks,” he said.

Behind him were Mabel, Dipper and Soos, looking at him with varying degrees of relief. Ford could see all of their eyes, all of them human, though of course that didn’t have to mean anything when Bill could manipulate without possessing. Still. They wouldn’t.

His old twin went past him with a pat on his arm and went to sit on the couch, followed by the others. Ford remained standing, even when Stanley beckoned for him to sit down. No. He needed to explain himself, first.

“Listen, Stanley,” he said, closing the door behind them. “All I’m saying is that you can’t be sure that he was harmless. It would have been easy for him, and he obviously didn’t understand the stakes. You’re not a mind reader – you don’t know how tempted he was to try!”

“True,” Stanley admitted with a small shrug.

“And even if there was no harm done, we shouldn’t have risked accepting that ride.” He gestured with both hands for emphasis. “Anyone could be manipulated by Bill, enough to—”

“Enough to break and enter into an old tourist trap for no reason?” Stanley shook his head. “Because most people wouldn’t. And—” He leaned forward, “—if someone does, we’ll deal with it.”

“But we don’t—”

“Anyway, you scared the kids half to death when you rushed through the door just now,” Stanley interrupted, straightening his back. “They were convinced you were Bill until I showed up.”

Ford blinked, thrown by the sudden information. “Oh.” He’d been focused on getting the rift out of danger – had there been people in the living room? Had they seen him? “I didn’t mean to—I mean—That’s unfortunate.”

“It’s fine, uncle Ford,” Dipper said. He was, indeed, looking rather warily at Ford, but he also had a wry look like he was ashamed of being scared. Like there was no reason to be afraid, when in fact there was every reason.

“No, I—” Ford ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll try to do better.” It could have been Bill. He needed to make sure it was clear that it wasn’t, next time. Alternatively, just stay in this room. That would be the safer option.

“Hey,” Mabel said. “Can you tell us now what happened to you guys today?”

“Well.” Stanley glanced her, then at Ford. “We ran into Manly Dan on the way back. Turns out he’d just had some kinda dream about Ford’s demon friend.”

Ford flinched. “Don’t call him that.”

“What? Manly Dan?”

Stanley was being flippant, playing stupid, and that was so achingly familiar that Ford had a weird urge to grab the old man before him and give him a noogie. He didn’t. Instead he said, back straight and both hands behind his back, “Bill is not my friend.”

“I know that, Poindexter.”

“But,” Dipper said, “Manly Dan didn’t attack you, right?” His eyes went from Stanley’s obvious bruises to Ford’s tattered clothing and badly hidden bandages.

“Nah, that was something else. Had a run-in with some local weirdness.” To Ford’s great relief, Stanley seemed ready to leave it at that, though the children didn’t appreciate it as much.

“Hey! You promised no more secrets!”

Stanley looked at Ford, raising his eyebrows as if asking permission.

Ford took a deep breath. “Not now,” he said. “Perhaps later.” Perhaps when his mind wasn’t reeling quite so much. Seating himself carefully on Stanley’s other side, he changed the subject to the most important facts. “In any case, I sealed the rift in a sturdier container that will make it more difficult to break. It still exists, and is still a danger if stolen, but it’s—safer than before.”

He swallowed down another unhelpful measure of fear. “But the fact remains that Bill wants it. And you would do well to remember that he could appear in anyone’s dream, trying to deceive or tempt.” He paused, looking at the Dipper, Mabel and Soos. “Have any of you had any strange dreams, or—”

“It’s been my policy since preschool never to listen to the advice of a triangle,” Soos said solemnly. Ford glared at him. This was no joking matter, and it was especially concerning that the young man seemed completely sincere.

Dipper grimaced. “I have bad dreams about Bill all the time,” he admitted, looking very small. Ford lifted a hand to console him, but put it down again. He had no idea how to even start. The boy might even have mundane nightmares about Bill, some of which were now Ford’s fault.

“We all know about Bill.” Mabel said confidently, putting an arm around Dipper’s shoulders. “We’re not going to listen to him, especially not in a dream.”

“Yes.” Ford found himself relaxing slightly. “I know you won’t.” He did know that – and the fact that he was sure about it made it slightly easier to breathe. “But it’s not just you. You see, even if Dan Corduroy didn’t decide to rob us, Bill could—Bill could appear in anyone’s dreams. And if he decides to work on tricking someone—” He stopped, unable to bring himself to say ‘like he worked on me’.

The kids looked reasonably worried at that, but Stanley crossed his arms. “Yeah,” he said. “But hey. It still has to be someone willing to do a robbery, and I’m the closest this town’s got to a professional burglar.” Ford raised his eyebrows at that, making Stanley grin. “And even thirty years ago,” he continued, “I would’ve been kinda put off by the idea of stealing an unopenable briefcase just because some triangular guy in a dream told me to.”

Ford nodded slowly. “That might be true, but—” He hesitated. It might be true for Stanley, but he knew from experience that he couldn’t have said the same for himself. “Someone else may welcome the challenge. Or be convinced that the briefcase contains something they desperately need. Or—I don’t know—have a particular grudge against you and your Mystery Hut!”

“Mystery Shack,” Stanley corrected, completely missing the point. He added, “If it happens, we’ll handle it. I promise you that.”

“There’d be no need to handle it if you’d used the—” Ford mumbled between his teeth, but Stanley heard and interrupted him.

“Don’t.” The word hung in the air for a moment until Ford relented with a sigh, leaning back and turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Stanley gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Just—” Ford took a deep breath. “Just be careful. We don’t know who Bill might try to manipulate.”

“Yes, young-Mr-Pines, Sir!” Soos said with a clumsy salute, still looking completely serious. Ford tried not to scowl. The young man whose relationship to Stanley still hadn’t been properly explained to him seemed simple, but might easily be the weakest link in their defenses.

Dipper chose this moment to square his shoulders and straighten his back. “Uncle Ford!” he said. “Do you want to play Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons with me?”

Ford blinked as he switched gears, as he admitted to himself that yes, he wanted to. The very mention of the game made the corners of his mouth want to curl into a smile, and after a moment he gave in to it. He’d been looking forward to it. He was still alive, still somewhat sane, and—this place was as safe as it was going to be. There was still danger, and playing a game was selfish and irresponsible in the face of that, but—

But he wanted more than anything to allow himself to get lost in a harmless, nostalgic fantasy world with neat statistical values. And he could. “I would love to.”

Stanley whistled. “There’s hope for you yet, ya big nerd,” he said fondly.

Dipper made a little excited jump in the couch, marred by small wince and touching his ribs, but his smile didn’t falter. “I’ll go get the books!” He hurriedly left the room, returning quickly with a set of rulebooks, character sheets, graph paper, DM screens, dice and other game pieces that he set down in Ford’s lap.

“Look, here, I made a bunch of characters that are kind of based on us, and some monsters here, and I’ve been thinking about what kind of dungeon we should play, and I was hoping you could be the DM, but—”

Ford flipped through the core rulebook while listening to Dipper’s thoughts about the game. Dipper might be a child, but he certainly knew his way around Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons. There was something so normal about his excitement, about the idea of running a dungeon for him, something that felt like a breeze of fresh air across Ford’s murky mind.

It was okay. Bill could not and would not reach him right now.

Soos departed for wherever it was he lived before long, and Stanley said something about food and disappeared for the kitchen. Mabel was on her way to leave the room, too, but Dipper just looked silently at her – and then she stayed, settling by the desk and starting to draw some kind of bird on a piece of paper.

Something clenched inside Ford when he realized that Dipper’s rulebook didn’t actually have the same rules he knew. Even DDD was different from his game. He pushed the stinging feeling away – he could handle this – this was what he had to work with if he wanted to play with Dipper. The new rules mostly made sense and were in some ways actually more efficient than the ones Ford knew. In fact, if he’d stopped to think about it, using his mind for something as completely frivolous as memorizing new game mechanics was like a palate cleanser. An easy and thoroughly accomplishable task, for once. He was still tired, and hurt, but all of that was shuffled off to the back of his mind as he started to focus on the fantasy.

Dipper assured him that he knew the rule book well enough that Ford could always ask him about the specifics, so it took no more than ten or fifteen minutes for Ford to feel confident enough to run a basic dungeon. The boy had been making characters, so he already had a halfling ranger ready for himself, and an elven wizard NPC that he’d made for Ford. In fact, he had made a whole stack of character sheets, but one PC and one NPC for support was enough to run a simple adventure. This would be a test run.

Stanley interrupted them with “food for the nerds” – some macaroni and cheese for the children and another canned soup for Ford – but after eating, they were ready to start. Ford sat down straight-backed on the floor, closed his eyes for a moment and tried to recall how to set a scene. The traditional taverna. Rowdy NPCs imparting information. A kidnapped princess and directions to the evil mage’s lair.

Ford had expected himself to be rusty at first, but somehow, the game flowed.

Dipper was a bright player, using his character’s abilities to the best effect, and always willing to be thorough in his exploration. He did indeed have a good grasp of the minutiae of the rules, but he avoided exploiting them in ways that didn’t make sense. It was a joy to see him think and fight his way past the monsters and traps, and Ford could keep his wizard NPC mostly to support spells, discussion of worldbuilding details, and kindly mentor advise.

When Dipper at one point was stumped by a trap, his sister unexpectedly appeared from the sidelines and pointed out a solution Ford hadn’t even thought about.

“I didn’t think you wanted to play!” Dipper said, surprised.

“Nah, I’m not playing, just helping you out!” she said. “By the way,” she added, “You should try to use that magic mirror you found upside down. See what happens!”

Clever. Judging by Dipper’s frown that variation wasn’t in the rulebook, but Ford could see how it would make a difference. And even more interestingly – in order to have made such an observation, she must have been following the game rather closely for a while.

Dipper didn’t seem to mind his sister’s input as they went on. On the contrary, they made a good team. If DDD had even existed when Stanford and Stanley were their age, Ford could easily imagine Stanley refusing to play but then jumping in like this – a painful thought in all its warmth. The game had been published only after Stanley had been gone. And he seriously doubted—well, the present-day Stanley would surely not even consider it.

In any case, Mabel was creative, and Ford saw no reason why she shouldn’t be a player.

The short dungeon he’d set out to run for Dipper was almost over, but Ford felt inspired to continue, so he turned to the girl and asked her if she wanted to be the princess.

“Wasn’t the princess kidnapped?”

“She might have already escaped. If you want to play her, that is.”

“Well…” She frowned. “I don’t want to do any math homework! I’m just here to help Dipper’s character out of trouble. Or into trouble!”

“Then do that as your own character,” Ford encouraged her. “I’m sure Dipper can handle all your dice rolls and calculations”

“Yes, of course!” Dipper agreed. “Come on, Mabel! I have a character here for you and everything!” He pulled out a halfling bard from the pile of character sheets. “I didn’t know she was a princess, but I suppose—”

Mabel pursed her mouth. “Can I have purple hair and gemstones in my eyes?”

“Uh.” That sounded painful. “You can, if you want to.”

“Okay!”

Ford told her that the princess had been able to escape on her own, but she’d overheard the evil mage talking about his plans to lure adventurers into a trap and use their brains for a nefarious potion to give himself the power to conquer the world. She was now running through the dungeon when she stumbled upon Dipper’s character.

Mabel obviously had the ability to get massively in character if she wanted to. She told the story of the mage’s evil plan in a lot more detail than Ford had, gesturing wildly for emphasis. “This means we gotta stop that evil wizard guy and save all the people he’s already captured!” She physically pulled at Dipper’s vest. “Come on, we have to hurry before he eats their brains!”

Ford improvised a second dungeon on top of the first one, this one being the mage’s actual castle. The enemies here were stronger and the layout more convoluted, but with Mabel as an active player, the adventurer party was also stronger and more unpredictable.

The first time he made a zombie come lumbering towards them, Dipper immediately took on a fighting stance, but Mabel looked excited.

“I’m a princess bard, right? So I’ll sing at it! If it doesn’t work, you two will have to sing with me!”

Ford raised his eyebrows. He’d seen real life zombies defeated by song, but in the context of the game, he’d never heard of it. “Are there any zombie-defeating bard songs in this version of the game?” he asked Dipper. “Or should we—”

“We’ll make one up,” Dipper decided. “What do you call it, Mabel?”

“The Song of Triple Rainbow Light,” she replied with a zombie-killing grin.

Ford and Dipper quickly agreed on some spell stats and added it to her character sheet while Mabel described colorfully how it looked and sounded. Rolling the die, the song didn’t defeat the zombie on its own, but it weakened it enough that Dipper could vanquish it the next round. The kids hi-fived.

“Way easier than real zombies,” Dipper said, but before Ford could think to ask him about it, Mabel pulled their adventuring party along, wanting to know what was ahead.

What was ahead was the literal dungeon, a row of prison cells. The first one was ominously empty.

Ford looked up for a moment, and Stanley unexpectedly met his eyes from the couch. How long had he been sitting there? A small shiver ran over Ford as he realized that he was so caught up in the game that he hadn’t even noticed his brother’s presence. And if he didn’t notice what was going on around him, how could he be ready if—

“Hey, Ford?” Stanley said.

“Yes?”

“Think there’s any other prisoners in any of those cells?”

Ford blinked. Had Stanley been paying attention? “Well, the players haven’t checked yet, so—” He’d been thinking about adding a cleric to the party before the confrontation with the evil mage, but it wasn’t absolutely necessary. “Why do you ask?”

Stanley’s eyes flicked to the side. “No reason.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Only. Maybe there’s some big strong fighter type who ended up in wizard jail through no fault of his own and would be willing to help a couple of kids out with the monster punching business. And gathering pretend treasure. Hypothetically.”

Ford stared at him.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper squeaked. “Are you going to join us?”

“Yeah, well, can’t let you pipsqueaks have all the fun without me, can I?” He grimaced. “And you can stop staring, Sixer. This doesn’t mean I’m a nerd, just that I’m willing to try it out. Ok?”

Ford might possibly have been literally beaming. “Of course,” he said weakly. There was something suspiciously like real happiness surging through him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. “Dipper, you had a fighter character based on Stanley ready, didn’t you?”

Adding Stanley to the party made it easier for the adventurers to take on multiple enemies at once, which was good, because Stanley tended to favor a brute force solution to every situation, being loud and boisterous and more than a little bit reckless. Sometimes it didn’t work, but Ford was rather certain he chose to play this way on purpose. At one point he ended up in a trap and made the kids laugh with his daring playing-with-death slapstick antics.

It was fun.

It took all of his focus away from everything else to the point where he didn’t even remember to question it, and it was fun.

The final confrontation with the evil mage became tense – a few unfortunate dice rolls disabled Mabel’s and Ford’s characters and severely wounded Dipper’s – and Ford was already thinking of ways to salvage this in case it ended in a TPK. At that point Stanley announced that he’d put his character’s every point into an insanely risky move that would involve channeling power that he really wasn’t made to channel. The chances of succes would be abysmal, but if successful, Ford conceded it might be their only chance to take the mage down once and for all before the whole party was vanquished.

Afterwards, Ford suspected Stanley might have cheated on the die roll. It didn’t matter. He saw it roll, and he saw it land on a perfect natural 38, saving the day and the game, and all he could do was laugh.

It was hours past midnight when they stopped playing, but for once Ford was just comfortably tired rather than exhausted. The kids were yawning but happy. Stanley decided without objections from anyone to bring a few raggedy old mattresses and bedclothes down and let all of them sleep right here in Ford’s room.

Ford fell asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, and slept until noon. If he dreamt, he had no memories of it.

[fereality-indy]

The Kids Are All Right Ch3 Revelations

“Ok, so you’re saying this show is a sequel to one from when your parents were kids that may or may not be an alternate reality.” Melody asked after she brought some drinks and chips into the Shack’s TV room hoping to help calm down Debbie.

 “Yeah, Mrs. Ramirez. Mewni was apparently one of the dimensions that Great Grunkle Ford passed through while he was gone. And Mom and Dad know stuff about this show that some of the most obsessive fans don’t even know about.” Debbie said as she her friends watched Nova and Connor at their respective houses, both fretting over a school dance. Connor was being told by Jack that He should just ask Nova to go and Nova was being teased by her brother Sol that she should ask Connor to go before Missy does. “There’s even a Jason and Linda Conifer that shows up once in awhile. Though they only have one child, a boy named Tyrone. And he looks nothing like Ran.”

Mentioning the son of a possible alternate version of her parents reminded Debbie that her parents were out looking for her brother. They’ve been gone now for, she looked at her phone, ok only fifteen minutes but it felt like forever. They’ll call if they find him right.

 “Of course they will honey,” Melody said as she saw that Debbie didn’t realize she had said that last one out loud. Too much like her father there.

 Outside

 “What do you mean sir?” Meaghan asked from Antonio’s arms as she saw Ran’s mother tighten her grip on the weapon she had readied.

 Ran jumped in between his parents and Meaghan. "Whoa, Mom. Dad. Calm down, what’s going on with you two?”

 “She may be dangerous Ran, come to us.” Wendy said motioning her son to come to her side.

 “Sorry mom, but she needs help and I promised to help her. I told her we would help her.” Ran said staying put.

 “Step away Ran, she’s not what she seems.” Dipper said as he tried to aim his taser for a better shot at the girl.

 “Not gonna happen, dad.” Ran said as he kept himself between the taser and Meaghan. “She needs help and I promised her that I would do just that. So what if she is different, so’s Harry and MB. But that doesn’t matter. She trusts me to help her, so now I need you two to trust me.”

 At the mention of trust, Dipper flashed back to his own childhood and how he learned despite initially being told to ‘trust no one’ that he had to trust family and friends. He tried to instill that in his own kids and he would be a hypocrite if he didn’t trust in his son now.

 He lowered his taser and motioned for Wendy to stand down. “Alright Ran, we’ll trust your judgement for now.”

 “Thank you dad, you won’t regret it.” Ran said as he ran over and hugged his dad after he had put away the taser.

 “Well I still have a question about that whole marriage deal,” Wendy added as she joined in on the hug.

 “Oh, it is simple. Where I come from there are many stories of our people being tricked into marriages by your kind.” Meaghan replied from where Antonio was still holding her.

 "Dood, that’s messed up. Forced marriages are illegal.” Antonio said as he started heading towards the Shack now that things had de-escalated. “Where exactly do you come from that you are hearing this type of information?”

 “That’s barbaric.” Wendy agreed as the rest of the group joined up with them.

 “Well I personally haven’t heard of any stories happening in my lifetime, but there are many legends of it happening in the past.” Meaghan answered in a way. “But as I said, Ran would hear nothing of it.”

 “Of course he wouldn’t, the lil Dood is a great guy. And besides that, he’s too young to get married anyways.” Antonio said as they finally cleared the woods and made it to the grass pasture. “If you want I can let you down to walk or I can still carry you up to the Shack, it’s up to you. It sucks that whoever stole your clothes took your shoes also.”

 “Well I have no problems walking barefoot in grass,” Said to the gentle giant who was carrying her.

 As soon as he let her down Ran was at her side. “I’m pretty sure Uncle Soos has some sandals or something in the Shack that you can have. I’ll pay for them if need be.”    

 “When has my dad ever charged you guys for anything.” Antonio said with a playful slug to Ran’s shoulder.  

 “I know, but I didn’t want to assume anything.” Ran replied as he rubbed his shoulder, not noticing the look of concern from Meaghan. But it wasn’t missed by his mother.

 “Yeah, cause when you assume something, you make an…” Antonio replied before Wendy stopped him.

 “Stop right there. It’s bad enough that Stan taught you kids that, you don’t need to repeat it. No matter how good of advice it is.” She said shaking her head as they made it to the  grounds just outside the Shack.

 Dipper had been quiet and observing things during the entire walk back to the Shack. And now the test to see if his son was right to trust the ‘girl’, the barrier around the Shack will prove if she has any harmful intentions. As they passed through the perimeter of the barrier, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The ‘girl’ seems to be fine for now.

Meanwhile Across Town

 “Thanks for watching our little Genie for us, Stacey.” Pacifica Northwest-Pines said as her daughter ran up and hugged her.

 “Oh, it was no problem, Mrs. NP.  She was an angel as always.” Stacey said as she made it to the mother and daughter.

 “That sounds like my girl,” Mabel Northwest-Pines said as she came out of the kitchen with a bag of popcorn.

 Leaving Pacifica’s embrace, Genie made a bee line for her other mother. Mabel held out her arms only for Genie to snag the bag of popcorn instead.

 “Yep, that’s my baby girl.” Mabel said as Genie popped some popcorn in her mouth before finally hugging for her.

 “So Stacey, do you have any plans for the evening?” Pacifica asked as she joined her family. She then leaned over and gave her wife a kiss.

 “Well mom and I are supposed to be having dinner with the other half of the Pines family, you know their bi-weekly get together, where me and the kids watch a movie while they go ‘play cards’ afterwards.” Stacey replied with air quotes, a habit she had picked up from her ‘Uncle Soos’.

 “What’s with the air quotes?” Mabel asked genuinely perplexed.

 Stacey gave a questioning look towards Genie before a nod from Pacifica got her to answer, “Well every one has heard the rumors. How when they’re out together the three of them are inseparable. I mean, I get asked how my Dad is and they’re not talking about the one I’m named after.”

“Well he and Wen-Wen did practically help raise you.” Mabel said with a smile, remembering the first time she saw Dipper holding baby Stacey.

 “I know. And I’m not saying I would be against it, if it is true.” Stacey said as she began to pick at a piece of lint she seemed to suddenly find interesting. “I guess I just wish they wouldn’t try to hide it.“

 “Well you guys are already family either way. I mean, you’re there for all the big holidays and the family vacations.” Mabel added as she knelt down and hugged her daughter, stealing her bag of popcorn back in the process. Then she continued as she looked between Stacey and her wife, “Besides, if there was something going on there Dip would tell me about it. Wouldn’t he?”

 Pacifica shrugged as she thought about all that had been said here.

 Back At The Mystery Shack

 Ran was coming down from his dad’s work room in the attic. The whole family keeps a couple of spare outfits in the rooms closet and after assuring his sister that he was alright and apologizing for the fairy mouse incident he had went up to grab a new Hawaiian shirt. As he reached the bottom of the stairs Aunt Melody and his mom were coming out of the break room wit the newly dressed Meaghan. Uncle Soos and Aunt Melody had insisted that she could grab whatever clothes she wanted, she had on one of the question mark shirts, a pair of shorts that Uncle Soos on hand for one of the displays, and a pair of sandals. She was carrying his folded up shirt close to her chest.

 “Sorry we didn’t have any thing else for you to wear dearie.” Melody said as they were coming closer to Ran. She seems to have slipped into a protective momma bear mode as she added, “To think that someone would steal your cloths like that. Is there anything else we could do for you? Call your parents maybe? Are they staying at motel?”

 “Oh, no. My parents are at home. And there’s no need to bother them.” Meaghan said with a start as she shook her head. She quickly broke away from the older ladies and made a beeline for Ran.

 Holding out his shirt she said, “Thank you again for helping me.”

 “Oh it was no problem.” Ran said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Looking at the proffered shirt he added, “Why don’t you keep it for now.”

 “You mean it?”, Meaghan replied as her face brightened and she hugged the shirt tight to her chest.

 “Yeah, can’t have you judging Gravity Falls based only on someone stealing your clothes.” He replied with a smile. He then began to blush as he realized everyone was watching the two of them.  

 “Oh, there’s no worry about that. I already know there are good people here.” Meaghan said as she started putting Ran’s old shirt back on with a smile. Once she had it on she took one of his hands as she added, “I’m actually in town to find two of them, maybe you can help me.”

 Ran was about to respond when Debbie appeared at his side as if by magic. With her hands on her hips she looked at Meaghan and asked,  “So you met my little brother while out in the woods while completely naked, what are you some kind of nymph or maybe a rusalka?“

 “Debbie!” Melody called

 "Sis!” Ran said as he elbowed his rude sister.

 “Well she may need to work on her delivery, but I have to admit I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Dipper said as he entered the room. After ha look from his wife he added, “But we can worry about that later, you said something about my son helping you to find a couple of people in town, Why don’t you give us the names and we can all help you?”

 Meaghan looked around at the people gathered in the room. She really didn’t like so many people knowing what she is doing, but if Ran and his family trusted them. With a sigh she started, “Well I have been sent to speak to Lady Gwendolyn and S...”

 “Stoneworker!?” all four Pines kids called out at once.

 “Well no.” Meaghan continued with a shake of her head, “Not Stoneworker. I’m looking for Lady Gwendolyn and Sir Mason of Gravity Falls.”

 “Isn’t that you two doods?” Soos asked while looking at a slightly shocked Wendy and Dipper.

 “Well yeah, it’s been a few years since we used those titles.” Wendy said as she finished processing that her son’s new friend was looking for her and her husband to begin with.

 “Oh My Gosh, a mason is another term for a stoneworker. How did I not see this before now. Our parents are Lady Gwendolyn and the Stoneworker.” Debbie said as she seemed to completely forget about her worries from just moments ago.

 “Told you they were in love.” Ed said to his brother with a playful shove.

 “And I never really denied it.” Ricky replied as he grabbed Ed in a headlock.

 Meaghan walked up to Wendy and Dipper then dropped down onto one knee. “As an emissary of King Mermando, I offer my life up in service. Please accept me as a squire.”