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hopepetal · 11 months

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Part Eight!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

CW: broken bones and blood

Many thanks to Elle Periwinklemoonlight for giving me several ideas for this chapter, and Mochi for helping me with some of Mumbo's dialogue <3

Mumbo had always liked sunsets.

He'd never been that big a fan of sunrises. Don't get him wrong, they were pretty and all! But the only times he had been awake to see the sun rise at all was when he had been up all night working on some sort of contraption. The early morning light had forced its way through any crack it could find and pulled Mumbo's attention away from his work, alerting him to the fact that he'd lost track of time and was about to have a very bad day.

(Look, his stomach was sensitive! If he didn't get enough sleep, he'd get all nauseous and lose his appetite the next day. One would think that would be enough of a reason to not stay up all night, but there was a difference between being smart and making smart decisions.)

Anyway! Where was he? Oh, right. The sun. Fascinating thing, really. Some might even call it essential! Most people would, actually. Mumbo certainly did.

Sunrises had always been something Mumbo only saw every once in a while, and dreaded every time. The first rays of light peeking over the mountains were a taunting reminder of one's folly. And with the rise of the sun came the song of the birds, declaring in their high pitched tremolo that it was time to wake up and go about one's day.

Scar had asked Grian what the birds were saying once, over their lovely lunch which was actually just breakfast for the late risers. Grian had given him the most deadpan stare Mumbo had ever witnessed (and that was saying something– he'd known Doc, after all). “Just because I'm an avian doesn't mean I can understand the birds, Scar.”

Scar frowned, giving Grian a confused look. “You can't lie to me! I just heard you talking to the chickens, mister.”

Grian's look became much more pointed. “What chickens, Scar?” he asked sweetly, in the tone that held threats hidden under the surface.

Scar's eyes widened almost comically as he immediately tried to backtrack. “Oh! No! Nooo, no chickens here. None at all! What chickens? I've never seen a chicken. Ever.” He looked over at Mumbo, before leaning forward and stage-whispering to Grian, “I think I fooled him.”

Mumbo had chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Scar, I'm sitting right next to you,” he pointed out.

Scar blinked. “Oh. Well! Nonexistent chickens aside, Grian, you still haven't told us what the birds are saying.”

Grian had stared at Scar in silence for a full five seconds before sighing deeply. “They're laughing at me for not getting enough sleep to deal with this.”

“See!” Scar smiled triumphantly, looking over at Mumbo. “I told you he could talk to birds!”

“Pretty sure he's just lying, mate.”

Grian lazily waved his spoon in the air. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mumbo. I never lie.”

Scar's eyes shone. “Now, if my time as a businessman has taught me anything, it's to tell when someone is lying. And that, my dear Grian, was a big ol' lie.”

Grian's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. “I'm going to bite you.”

“That's a lie!”

Grian then lunged across the table and tackled Scar to the ground. Mumbo shrieked, nearly falling off the bench with them. “Oh, goodness, don’t break the man, G!”

Grian didn’t even have a chance– Scar pinned him to the ground with a triumphant whoop, laughing as Grian squawked and flapped his wings helplessly. “I win! Haha! You are not immune to the good times!”

“What does that even mean?” Grian shot back, unable to stop himself from laughing. “Scar, get off me!”

Scar stood, brushing the dirt off of his pants. “Aww, G, now I’m all dusty! Dusty and sweaty! Eugh!” He moved to take his shirt off, and Grian shrieked.

“Scar!” Grian shot up and smacked Scar’s hand. “Put your clothes back on!”

Scar whined, pouting slightly. “C’mon, G! I didn’t even take anything off”

Mumbo groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I miss Impulse and Pearl.”

Sunsets were different.

Mumbo… didn’t really know how to describe it. In the same kind of way people liked going to bed more than they liked waking up, Mumbo enjoyed sunsets far more than he did sunrises. Sunsets were calm, whereas sunrises were frantic, harried. They were a declaration of the day ending, and that rest would come soon. They were an end to the scorching hot temperatures of the summer and a prelude to the cool kiss of the night’s breeze against his face. Not to get all poetic and everything, but they just were nicer.

He enjoyed how the sky would be painted in oranges and pinks and purples, and how slowly the knights would gather together on the more clear nights to sit under the stars and talk. He enjoyed how in those moments they were all at peace and happy, and how they cared so deeply for each other it felt less like a group of friends and more like…

Family.

That’s what it was.

Sunsets reminded him of family.

Not this sunset, though.

As the sun slowly set, and shadows grew to cover the whole land, Mumbo felt… different. As he rode alongside his fellow knights (his friends, his family), he couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency that usually accompanied the rising of the sun, rather than the fall. This sunset was not something of love and rest.

This sunset felt like a warning.

They were running out of time. As the clock ticked, as the sand fell through the hourglass, a sense of impending doom settled over each one of the knights. Mumbo, in his often anxiety ridden state, was no stranger to the feeling that sat tight in his chest and caused his heart to race, tearing air from his lungs in sharp gasps.

Scar, riding near him, glanced over and saw the poorly concealed panic on the man’s face. Urging his horse closer, he got Mumbo’s attention with a soft ‘psst!’

Mumbo startled, torn from his thoughts as he so often was. He met Scar’s gaze and gave him a nervous, half-hearted smile. Scar could, most likely, see past any pretense he was putting up. The man was good at what he did– good at reading people, good at looking for certain nonverbal clues that cued him into what the person was actually thinking. “Hey, Scar.”

Scar reached out, holding the reins in one hand as he gave Mumbo a pat on the shoulder. “You doin’ good? You’re not looking so hot.”

Mumbo sighed, looking away. “I’m… I dunno, Scar. I just… goodness. This whole thing is so… it’s overwhelming, Scar. What are we even supposed to do?” He laughed, a tense sound. “It’s– it’s just… it’s not something we can just… it’s not simple, Scar. We can’t just solve it with some redstone, or some crazy invention– this is so big. And I don’t– I don’t know how to fix it.”

Scar pressed his lips together into a thin line. The setting sun cast long shadows over his face, the little light remaining creating dappled patterns on his skin as it filtered in through the trees. He thought for a moment before speaking. “Mumbo, you don’t have to know how to fix everything. You know that, right?”

Mumbo let out a strained laugh, his grip on the reins tightening slightly. “Well, Scar, mate, isn’t that kind of… my job? You know, brilliant redstone inventor over here, coming up with solutions is my whole thing. It’s not like I could… well, I have to make up for my lack of physical prowess somehow.”

Scar shook his head, chuckling softly. “Oh, Mumbo, Mumbo, Mumbo. I’ve been there! I get you, I really do. You know, back in the day, I had a bit of a job myself. I was a businessman, Mumbo Jumbo! And a very good one at that. And my job was to sell things to customers! And…” he frowned, cutting himself off sharply. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. Man, Cub’s so much better at this than me.”

Mumbo felt himself relaxing slightly, the tension slowly being let out of his body. He smiled, giving Scar a half-shrug. “Cub has a lot of skill, that’s for sure. Plenty of experience to go along with it, as well.”

Scar nodded, and let silence fall over them for a moment before taking in a deep breath. “So, Mumbo, what I was trying to say… I guess, you don’t need to solve everything? I mean, none of us have any clue what we’re doing. Kinda.” He thought for a moment. “That’s not it. What I’m really trying to say is that we’re all in this together? It’s not your job specifically to figure it out alone. Impulse is our friend, and… we all really care for him.” His voice trembled slightly as he finished, eyes darkening. “I hope he’s safe.”

Mumbo furrowed his brows, concern shining in his eyes as he looked over at Scar. “You doing alright, mate?” This whole thing had been hard on all of them, but something seemed… off… about Scar.

Scar blinked, and shook himself out of whatever sort of trance he had been in with a slight jerk of his head. “Oh! Yes, don’t you worry, mister. I’m doin’ just fine over here! Just thinking about the scolding I’m gonna give Impulse when we get back home.” He flashed Mumbo a bright smile, and Mumbo let it rest.

He knew that smile was forced. He knew when the cheerful persona of Scar’s came out to play. He knew, and yet… what could he do? Mumbo wasn’t good with words. He was probably the worst out of the knights when it came to social interaction, and that was saying something given they were practically hermits outside of the occasional job they’d pick up and shopping trips.

So Mumbo did what he did best.

He let his body go on autopilot, and got lost in his thoughts.

At the front of the group, Grian and Pearl were talking in hushed voices. Grian remained stubbornly in his watcher form, despite Pearl’s insistence on taking a break and letting his eyes rest. He’d given her a look, feathers rustling irritably as she spoke. “Stop nagging me, Pearl. Gosh, you’re starting to sound like Timmy.”

She let out an indignant sound, glaring at him. “I am not! And it’s not nagging, mate, you’re going to give yourself a headache with all that looking!”

Grian scoffed, looking away. “It’s called watching, thank you very much. And you’re the one who’s gonna give me a headache, with all your talking! I know what I’m doing Pearl, I’m not a baby.”

“Well, you’re acting like one,” Pearl shot back. “I’m right here, Griba. You don’t have to be hyper vigilant, or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“And what happens if I don’t?” Grian snapped, his voice dropping slightly. “What happens if I lose sight of the demon and Impulse, what if–?” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath, “Pearl, I need this,” he admitted, voice low. “If I don’t keep my focus on this, I think I’ll go crazy, Pearl. I’ll get all… you know me, Pearl.” Desperation seeped into his voice. “I don’t– it doesn’t matter if I get a headache or strain myself or, anything, really! But I can’t…”

Pearl sighed. “I know. I know, Griba. I’m just worried. About you, about Impulse, about this whole Watcher thing, about… well, everything. It’s just such a big mess, y’know? And we’re all tangled up in this big web and…” She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s pretty overwhelming. Just… we gotta also take care of ourselves, mate. We won’t be able to do anything if we run ourselves ragged before we even get to Impulse.”

Whatever Grian was going to say in response was interrupted by the sound of rattling bones and an arrow flying right by his head, narrowly missing. He shrieked, wings flaring out as the horse beneath him startled. He grabbed the reins and pulled back, stopping the horse from bolting, though it still took a few steps forward.

“Skeleton!” Pearl called out, though the announcement was unneeded. “Stay on your guard!”

The undead’s bones creaked as it came into view, appearing from under the trees. Normally, along more well-traveled paths, the surrounding areas would be lit up enough to stop the mobs from spawning, and the frequent patrols would be enough to discourage them from wandering too close. Unfortunately for the knights, they were traveling through an uninhabited area with no path in sight. They could handle the mobs just fine, but it certainly made traveling a little more difficult.

Scar drew his crossbow, fingers brushing over the enchantments carved into the material, and nocked a bolt. “I got it!” He drew the bolt back and fired, the skeleton collapsing into a pile of bones with a rattling groan. “Yes! Hotguy strikes again!”

Grian would’ve rolled his eyes if he could. “You and that Hotguy thing, I swear…” His feathers began to settle back down, and he folded his wings behind his back. “Right, then. That’s probably our cue to stop for the night.”

“We’re stopping?” Mumbo asked, slightly confused. “Why?”

Pearl sighed, dismounting. She gently stroked her horse’s neck before answering Mumbo. “As much as we’d love to get to Impulse as soon as possible, we can’t be riding through the night. The horses are tired, and we need time to rest and recuperate as well. I…” She looked over at Grian, watching him dismount as well. “I don’t want to stop. I really don’t. But we have to.”

Scar nodded. “Makes sense! Gotta be our best selves if we’re gonna deal with that demon guy!” He dismounted, Mumbo following a moment later. “Mumbo and I can go light up some of the surrounding area while you two make a fire and deal with the horses?” he suggested.

“Good idea. You have those…” Pearl gestured vaguely with her hand, trying to think of the word. “...magic torches? The fancy ones, so ya don’t burn down the whole forest?”

“I never leave home without them!” Scar grabbed Mumbo’s arm. “Come on, Mumble Jumble, time to light up this forest!”

Mumbo yelped as he got dragged away, casting one last terrified glance at Grian and Pearl before disappearing into the woods with Scar.

“I swear,” Pearl chuckled as she dealt with the horses, “he never loses energy. I’ve rarely ever seen that man get tired.”

Grian busied himself with clearing a small area for a campfire, using his bird-like feet to help dig up the grass. “Scar’s… definitely something,” he agreed, shaking the dirt off his talons before hopping (not walking– hopping) awkwardly over to a tree, his wings flapping slightly to help balance him. He began to snap some smaller branches and twigs, gathering them in his arms. “Dunno what we’d do without him. Without any of them.”

Pearl smiled sadly, giving one of the horses a soft pat before walking over to help Grian with his task. “Barely feels like any time’s passed at all, yeah? Since we first met in that old town.”

Grian laughed at the memory, shaking his head. “You’d just crashed into the ground. Still had no clue how to use those wings of yours.” He glanced at the colourful moth wings that were folded delicately behind Pearl’s back.

She was scared, Grian could tell. Wide eyes that were the same blue of a storm-promising sky and filled with barely held back tears. She was scraped up and bruised from her fall, the wings trailing behind her seeming unnatural and unwieldy.

Grian didn’t ask questions. She needed help, and that was all he needed to know.

Later, he would hear stories of feathered golden wings, carrying Pearl through the sky alongside her flock. He would listen in from behind a door that hadn’t been completely shut as she told Jimmy what it was like to soar high above endless fields of sunflowers and wheat, racing her flockmates at speeds she would never again be able to achieve.

Grian and Jimmy had lost their flock when they were young. It was no wonder that Jimmy was interested in Pearl’s memories of her flock, who had treated her with kindness and love. Flockless avians were often unable to defend themselves and died without the protection a flock was supposed to provide.

Jimmy and Grian had been lucky enough to find an old town nearby, with inhabitants who were more than willing to let them in. They’d made a life for themselves there, when Pearl had come crashing into their lives.

“I broke my leg,” Pearl recalled, wincing slightly at the bittersweet memory. “And you and Tim helped patch me back up. And then I just never left.”

“I’ve cursed that day ever since,” Grian joked, yelping when Pearl elbowed him. “Hey! Not cool!” he squawked as Pearl giggled softly. “I wonder how Tim’s doing right now,” he added after a moment. “Do you think he misses us?”

Pearl raised her eyebrows. “Grian, we do visit him. He’s doing just fine, you saw for yourself. Got a whole new bunch of friends and everything!” She examined Grian’s face. “Oh, you’re not upset he didn’t join us, are you?” she teased lightly. “You know Jimmy would hate the outdoorsy life we’ve got going on. He’s perfectly comfortable where he is.”

Grian sighed, turning and hopping back to the area he’d prepared for their fire, beginning to place the sticks down. “Can you grab some rocks?” he asked, “I hate not being able to fly. Walking is so hard.”

Pearl laughed, setting her sticks down near Grian before starting to search for smaller rocks. “You do look cute though, hopping around like a little birdie. Oh, don’t give me that, you know it’s true!”

“It’s humiliating is what it is,” Grian muttered, “Mumbo and Scar are never gonna let me live it down.”

“Good!” Pearl chirped, bringing back the stones she had collected to make a circle. “You deserve it, honestly.”

Mumbo’s shriek rang out through the forest, startling the two. Grian nearly fell over from how much he jumped, eyes going wide from shock. What made the shriek more concerning was the explosion that followed soon after, and Pearl was about to charge off into the woods before Scar yelled, “Just a creeper! We’re good!” his voice tiny from the distance.

Pearl shook her head, sighing softly. “Those two are going to give me gray hairs early,” she murmured fondly.

“You’re not the only one,” Grian muttered, earning a laugh from Pearl. “What?”

“Maybe if you’d stop being such a scaredy cat–”

“I am not–!”

Despite their bickering, they were able to get the fire going before Scar and Mumbo came back, looking a tad singed but none the worse for the wear.

“Area is successfully lit up!” Scar proclaimed. “We should be safe from all the spooky things out there now. Should be.”

“We’ll set up a watch nonetheless. Better be safe than sorry,” Grian decided, as Mumbo and Scar joined him and Pearl at the campfire. “I’ll go first, because there is no way you’re waking me up once I’m out.”

“I’ll go second then,” Mumbo volunteered, “if no one else wants to,” he added after a moment.

Pearl shrugged. “I’ll take the third shift, then, and Scar can go last?”

“Sounds good to me!” Scar agreed, and the knights fell into silence.

As the makeshift campfire crackled softly, spitting sparks into the night sky, the knights lingered for a while around the small source of warmth and light. For a while, there was a somber sort of quiet hanging over the group– silence settling in the empty space that Impulse usually filled.

Grian, still in his watcher form, leaned forward to gaze into the fire, light reflecting off eyes as black as the night sky. Scar glanced over, and despite everything, had to suppress a giggle.

Clearly, he didn't do that very well, and Grian looked up at him with a slightly confused expression. “Are you alright, Scar?” he asked, and Scar couldn't hold it in anymore.

He giggled, reaching out and patting Grian's face. “You look like a kitty cat!” he exclaimed, “with your big ol' eyes and everything!”

Grian blinked. “I'm sorry, what–”

Pearl started laughing. “I guess we didn’t have to worry about them being scared by our other forms then, huh!”

Grian’s face flushed a light pink, and he shooed them all away. “Oh, go to bed! I’ll wake you for your shift, Mumbo!”

The other three dispersed, laying out the sleeping bags Pearl had thankfully thought to pack. Better to be over prepared than under, in her opinion.

Sleep came surprisingly quick, though it seemed like she had just closed her eyes when she felt Mumbo’s gentle hand on her shoulder, waking her for her shift. Pearl blinked away the sleep in her eyes and quietly thanked Mumbo, before taking a seat by the slowly dying campfire.

There wasn’t much to do during a night watch, other than to sit alone with her thoughts. And that’s exactly what Pearl did, until she thought of something too important to leave floating in her mind.

The plan was for Grian and her to expel the demon from Impulse using their own magic. But where would the demon go after, when it had been forced from its host?

Pearl quietly walked back to her sleeping bag, opening the small pack she had set beside it. She rifled through the contents for a moment before pulling out a small, clear cut crystal. She’d gotten it so long ago she’d forgotten how it came to be in her possession, but it would work just fine for what she was thinking of.

Walking back over to the campfire, Pearl shifted into her watcher form, holding the crystal in her hand. Sitting down, Pearl closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, feeling the magic of the world around her. Another breath, to feel the magic buzzing in her veins. In and out, once more, and she began to imbue the crystal with her magic.

It was a simple enough task. All Pearl needed to do was prepare the crystal to bind the demon to it with her magic. Once the demon was expelled, it would be a simple enough task to pull it into the crystal. And then, as long as she kept checking on it from time to time and strengthening the binding magic, the demon would remain sealed away.

Deep breaths. In, and out.

Pearl let the magic flow through her and into the crystal, caught up in the feeling of casting. She didn’t do it often, not like this. It was nice to finally use her magic again. She didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and Scar’s quiet voice in her ear. She opened her eyes to look at him, continuing to cast as she did. “Oh! Scar!” She kept her voice down, aware of how close they were to the two who were still asleep. “You good, mate?”

Scar nodded. “I think it’s time for my shift,” he explained, glancing toward the sky, “and also, I felt your magic. Whatcha doin’, Pearl?”

Ah. She had lost track of time, then.

Pearl finished casting, tucking the crystal into her pocket. “Just makin’ a lil magic crystal thing. For later,” she explained. “Sorry for not waking you up. Or… kinda waking you up? Since you sensed my magic and all? I guess?”

Scar shrugged, smiling slightly. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I got plenty of rest. Which you should probably try to do as well. Big day tomorrow.”

Pearl stood, shifting out of her watcher form. “Right, then. Have fun with your watch shift, Scar. And I’ll do my best. G’night, Scar.”

“Good night, Pearl.”

The morning came too quickly, and not quick enough at the same time. There were few attempts at conversation as the knights began to break down camp, kicking dirt over their small fire and packing up what little they had taken out. Grian, who had shifted into his “normal” form to sleep, shifted back into his watcher form and took a minute to relocate Impulse and the demon.

“I can’t see him, exactly,” Grian explained to Scar and Mumbo. “It’s a bit blurry, I guess. I know where he is, I can see the magic around him, but I can’t really make out small details like his face. I don’t really know why, but that’s just how it works.”

“Sooo… like looking through a really bad spyglass, then,” Scar concluded, earning a sigh from Grian. “What? I’m right!”

“I guess,” Grian admitted as they mounted their horses, “but that’s kinda like comparing a bow to Mumbo’s rocket launcher. They do kinda the same thing, but one’s a lot more complicated and powerful.”

Scar hummed thoughtfully. “I see… well, as long as it works!”

Grian remained in his watcher form as he led the tense ride through the forest. The sky above was streaked with clouds that occasionally would cover the sun and cast the land below into shadow. As the knights got closer to their destination, the trees began to thin out, promising open fields up ahead.

“You’d think he wouldn’t have gotten this far,” Grian muttered to Pearl, “but humans have so much endurance. It’s fascinating. And somewhat annoying.”

Pearl hummed softly, her gaze fixed straight ahead. “I’m worried for his health. I’m honestly doubting the demon cares too much for Impulse’s well-being, and I don’t think it has to deal with the negative effects of what it’s putting Impulse’s body through. If that makes sense.”

Grian nodded, his eyes focused not on what was in front of him but on something– someone– far away. “Demons don’t feel exhaustion or hunger, do they?” he asked, speaking mostly to himself.

“I think some do,” Pearl answered, “but not this one. Since it’s only in the blood, y’know? And it’s only borrowing… Impulse… so that’s not it’s… well. Body, I guess.”

Grian suddenly stopped, causing Pearl’s horse to almost run into his. “We’re dismounting here,” he called back to the other three. “Impulse is just up ahead, in the fields beyond the treeline.” He dismounted carefully, tying the reins to a sturdy branch. “Right. Let’s go over the plan one more time. We’ll find Impulse and confront the demon. Pearl and I will begin casting while Mumbo and Scar keep the demon busy and stop it from running off. Once Pearl and I start casting, we won’t be able to stop until the spell is over. So if something happens– if one or both of you gets injured, let’s say– we won’t be able to help.”

The others dismounted with serious looks on their faces, tension hanging in the air so thick one could almost cut it with a knife. Scar glanced over at Mumbo, who looked several shades paler than usual. “I’m the best at physical combat,” he began slowly, “when I go vex, at least. I’ll do my best to keep it from attacking you or running away, without hurting Impulse too badly.”

“The demon will be attacking to kill though, won’t it?” Mumbo asked, wringing his hands together as he looked between the other knights. “It won’t fight fair just because we are.”

Scar laughed sardonically. “Oh, I’m not gonna be fightin’ fair, mister. I’m just not gonna strike lethally, is all. But you’re right,” he added after a moment, “the demon is gonna try to kill us. And it’s– it’s strong. We know this. But the other option is letting Impulse die, or lettin’ someone else die in his place.”

“Impulse would never forgive us if that happened,” Mumbo pointed out, “and, well, given the other option is his death…”

“We can’t give up,” Scar finished, earning nods from the rest of the group. “We’ll get Impulse back. We have to.”

Pearl looked over at Grian, shifting into her watcher form as she did so. “Right, then. Time to head out?”

Grian nodded, clenching his hands into fists. “Time to head out. Let’s go save Impulse, guys.”

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds as the knights made their way out of the forest and into the wide open field. The wind rustled the grass around them and blew through their hair, and carried with it the promise of a fight.

Grian had shifted out of his watcher form if only for a moment, just to make travel on foot easier. He was, after all, not suited for walking with those bird feet of his in his watcher form. He carefully ran his hand over his wings and plucked three loose feathers, silently handing one to each of the knights. A promise. No matter which way this went, he’d be with them.

The knights each tucked their feathers away, Pearl reaching out to take Grian’s hand in one of her own and giving it a light squeeze. We’ll be okay, the action said, I’m here.

The knights continued to walk through the field, walking over a small hill when Grian suddenly stopped, his wings extending slightly so as to stop the knights who were walking behind him. “...I see him.”

And there he was.

Impulse stood in the field, facing away from the knights, slightly below them where the ground evened out after the hill. He seemed unsteady on his feet, the sword in his hand dragging against the ground as if he had unsheathed it only to forget why he had done so, and lacked the strength to fully pick the weapon back up.

And his hands… even from a distance, Grian could tell that Impulse’s hands were covered in blood– some dried, some freshly spilt. He… couldn’t think about that. They didn’t have the time to. Not now.

“Impulse!” Pearl called, her voice strong and steady. Grian wished he had the strength to do what she did. “Impulse, we’re here. It’s okay.”

Impulse startled, nearly dropping his sword as he turned around sharply. And finally, after so long of trying to find him, the knights were able to see his face.

He looked gaunt, scared. The bags beneath his eyes were a testament to the exhaustion that plagued his body, and the shake in his hands matched the fear in his eyes. That wasn’t the worst of it– twin horns poked up from his hair, unnatural and out of place. Mumbo sucked in a horrified breath at the sight, paling and covering his mouth with one hand.

“What–” Impulse’s voice sounded strained, raspy– “what are you doing here?” Tears filled his exhausted, scared eyes. “Why did you follow me? I could– I could hurt you!” And suddenly, it wasn’t Impulse anymore, but red eyes and a straightened back and steady hands that belonged to the demon. “Yes… why did you follow him? Don’t you know?” it mocked in Impulse’s voice, smiling. “He can hurt you pitiful little things.”

Scar’s eyes shone a brilliant blue, the colour fleeing from his hair as he glared at the demon that wore Impulse’s face. “What have you done?!” he yelled, his hands clenching into fists. Sharpened claws pricked into skin, drawing small beads of blood, but Scar didn’t even feel the pain. That was Impulse. Impulse was hurting and it was all because of that demon, the demon that stood in front of him and smiled at Scar with a face that wasn’t its own, that it had no right to use.

“Oh!” The demon tilted its head to the side. “Oh, nothing he didn’t ask for.”

Eyes filled with rage, Grian shifted back into his watcher form. “Scar! Mumbo!” he called, and the fight began.

Scar held himself back from going full vex at first, throwing himself at the demon. It hadn’t been expecting the initial attack, stumbling back several steps before pulling itself together. The shock didn’t last long, and the demon was soon fighting back with a fierceness that Scar did his best to match.

Grian looked over at Pearl, meeting her eyes. “Right then. Let’s end this.”

Standing side by side, the two siblings fixed their gaze on the demon in their friend’s body. The magic that swirled around him was wrong, unnatural, evil– and it was their job to fix it. Pearl reached out and took Grian’s hand in one of her own, giving him a nod. They both stretched out their free arms, and called upon their magic.

The clouds darkened as the very magic that flowed through the air began to change, as if even the sky stopped to focus its attention on the two Watchers. The ambient magic flowed around them like a gust of air, rustling through Grian’s feathers and Pearl’s hair.

Grian's wings extended to their full span, and Pearl's followed suit, snapping open as a glowing purple eye appeared behind them. The wind picked up as the grass around the two began to glow as well, the broken portal symbol of the ancient Evolutionists appearing at their feet.

Faces set with determination, the two began to cast.

Scar did his best to keep the demon’s attention on him as he fought. It was much different than normal fights– his goal was to keep the demon from running off, all while trying to dodge the blows that were aimed to take his very life. Scar felt the vex magic inside him boiling in his veins, begging to be let free, to run wild and take over his mind. He stubbornly fought it back down– he was in control, not the vex. He wasn’t ready to go full vex again. Not yet.

Unfortunately for him, the universe didn’t care if he wasn’t ready.

The demon, by possessing Impulse, had gained every bit of the man’s strength and skill. And given the strength-enhancing magic it likely held, it was no wonder that Scar was struggling. The demon attacked again, and Scar wasn’t able to get out of the way in time. He took a heavy blow to the side and stumbled back, losing his footing on the uneven terrain and falling to the ground hard.

Mumbo stumbled back as the demon suddenly turned toward him, fumbling to quickly draw his sword in order to block the sudden attack. He strained under the pressure of the demon bringing Impulse’s full strength to bear, his arms shaking as he tried to push back. “Scar!” he yelped, “Scar, I can’t–”

The demon brought the sword down, and it was only Mumbo’s quick thinking of jumping to the side that kept him from dying instantly. The blade still sliced into his arm, and Mumbo let out a frantic scream that made whatever restraints Scar had holding him back shatter. Mumbo dropped to the ground, blood flowing freely from the wound, and Scar…

Scar snapped.

Not in the same way he had before, not at all. He was in control, and could feel the power of the vex flowing through his body as natural as the blood in his veins. Power buzzed behind his eyes as shining vex wings appeared behind him, and he shot up, taking a few steps forward before attacking the demon, the overwhelming need to get it away from Mumbo singing in his movements.

The demon turned to attack Scar, and he dug his claws into its chest and pushed it back as hard as he could, almost throwing it with how hard he shoved. He’d clearly underestimated his strength, as the demon flew back and landed hard on its arm, the sickening gunshot snap of a bone breaking making Scar wince.

And for a moment, the scream that tore its way out in response was purely Impulse, his voice unchanged by the timbre of the demon’s. For a moment, it was just Impulse, only Impulse, and guilt swept through him like a torrent.

But then it was the demon again, pushing itself back up and switching the sword over to its left hand, shining red eyes glaring at Scar as it shifted into a fighting stance once more. “Well? Fight me, then. See how long it takes for your precious friend’s body to break down and give up.”

Scar’s eyes narrowed. He glanced over to where Mumbo was, clutching his arm close and watching the fight with wide eyes. He’d be alright, and that was what was important. Lifting his gaze once more, Scar met the demon’s gaze. “Impulse is stronger than you’ll ever be. You’ll be long gone before he ever breaks down,” he spat.

The fight didn’t get a chance to continue– with a shout, Grian drew Scar’s attention back to him and Pearl. The magic around the two siblings had become wisps of purple light, swirling around the two as they casted. Scar knew with uncanny certainty that the spell was almost complete.

The demon did as well, judging by its roar of anger. “No! I will not be defeated by pathetic little mortals–!”

Scar saw it attempt to go for Grian and Pearl and dashed forward, throwing himself at the demon and bringing it and himself crashing to the ground. He winced at the impact, mentally making a note to apologize to Impulse later, when they were all safe.

“Scar!” Pearl yelled, and Scar took that as his cue to get the heck away from there.

He jumped up and scrambled away, uncaring if he looked a little undignified in the movement. He made it to Mumbo and collapsed by the man, bleeding and gasping, and turned just in time to see the spell hit its mark.

The demon screamed, an awful sound that tore into Scar’s heart, because it was Impulse, it was Impulse’s voice and Impulse’s face and Impulse’s body but it wasn’t Impulse at the same time. It wasn’t Impulse, and the eyes that bore into Scar while it tried to stand and was inevitably forced to its knees were not Impulse’s.

And then they were.

And then it was over.

Pearl pulled out the crystal from her pocket, drawing the demon’s essence toward her and binding it into the crystal. The once clear gem turned a scarlet red, and once she was certain it was sealed away, she slipped the gem back into her pocket.

A weak sob tore its way from Impulse’s lips as he gingerly held his broken arm in his other. He squeezed his eyes shut, shrinking in on himself, and for the first time since Grian had met him, Impulse seemed so small.

Scar stood shakily, helping Mumbo to his feet as well. “Okay… okay, okay,” he breathed out, making sure Mumbo was really alright before turning back and forcing himself to walk– walk, not run, he’s scared and hurt right now– to Impulse, kneeling by him. “Hey, Impulse.” He could see the other knights approaching in his peripherals, but for now he stayed focused on the injured man in front of him. “Hey.”

Pearl settled in the grass a little bit away, still leaving enough room to give Impulse space as she shifted back into her normal form. Grian followed suit, tucking colourful wings behind his back and sitting next to his sister. “Hey, mate,” Pearl started gently. “Can ya hear us? We’re here.”

Impulse let out a broken sob, shrinking in even further on himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the words were so quiet they were barely audible. “I’m so, so, sorry.” Hot tears slipped down his cheeks, mixing with blood and dirt.

Scar shared a look with Mumbo, before turning back to Impulse. He tried to keep his eyes from drifting to the horns that stuck up from the man’s head, and focused more on his face. “Impulse… Impulse, it’s okay. We’re okay. Can I touch you?” he asked, waiting for confirmation before reaching forward and carefully, as though Impulse were made of glass and would shatter at the slightest touch, drew him into a hug.

Impulse began to weep freely then, and Scar felt himself slowly relax out of his vex form, the colour seeping back into his hair and skin. He kept his arms around Impulse, murmuring soft comforts that had once been said to him.

It wasn’t long before Impulse passed out, from the exhaustion and exertion combined with the sheer pain and shock of the day’s events– of the weeks he had been dealing with the demon inside of his head alone. It had been exhausting, overwhelming, and Scar didn’t blame him in the slightest.

The journey home would be a long one, and the road to healing stretched out seemingly for an eternity. But the knights were no stranger to traveling, and this was just another path they would have to walk down.

Together.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic

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Triangulum - Chapter 5 - Fake Fights and Failed Flights

— — — — — — —

“I still don’t know what you’re making over there, but if I could toss out a suggestion: you can’t go wrong with copious amounts of glitter~! Ooh, or flames spray-painted on the side! Makes for a great accent to any art project!”

Bill’s remark didn’t even earn so much as a glance from Ford, his gaze fixed solely on the desk before him as he continued to work on his mysterious project.

A project which Bill had continued to try and get a glimpse of every time Ford stepped away from his desk to fetch more—just as mysterious—supplies. But much like the first time, any attempt to stretch or crane his neck for a peek at the desk’s contents only ended in failure.

And at one point, resulted in Ford’s only acknowledgment of him throughout the entire process—in the form of propping one of his books upright on the desk, to further block his line of sight. An action that had earned a drawn-out eye roll on Bill’s end; somebody was being dramatic for the sake of dramatics.

Eventually, however, Ford rose from his chair a final time and reached for the mysterious whatever that waited on the desk before him. And it was only once he turned back towards the far side of the study and reapproached the rope circle that Bill finally got a clear look at the fruits of the man’s labor.

“…A sock puppet. Adorable.”

Sure enough, Ford had haphazardly sewn googly eyes and little pipe cleaner arms to a worn sock, one that Bill assumed had come from the emergency stash of clothes he kept up in the bathroom. It was a rush job, far more amateur than the work he would normally put into an artisanal project. But even a clueless idiot could take one look at his creation and coin it as a puppet of sorts.

After a double-check of the stitching to make sure the various parts would stay connected to the sock, Ford knelt down just outside of the rope circle before setting the crude little puppet down at his feet—

—and he waited.

Bill watched him for a few minutes, eyebrow raised, before—

Ah.

Okay, he knew what was happening now.

“Trying to contact the poor sucker whose body I’m playing puppetmaster with?” he guessed aloud. “Come on, Sixer, you can’t pretend you aren’t~!”

“They’re likely to give me more answers than you ever will.”

Both of Bill’s eyebrows shot further up his forehead. After the many times Ford had ignored him throughout the past day, it was truly a surprise to get an actual response out of him!

Both a surprise and an annoyance, one that earned him a hard raspberry from Bill—which was immediately followed by the loud sound of him smacking his lips with discomfort. Eugh—it just felt so wrong to have a tongue that wasn’t tenderly and carefully tucked beneath his eyeball. Or rows of teeth that pressed uncomfortably against each other, as opposed to retracting into slots around his eyeball when not in use.

Oh, right, he was mocking Ford—“I mean, you say that, but out of the two of us, which one was refusing to talk all night?” he taunted. “I mean, I tried and tried to have a nice chat—ask about what you’ve been up to for the past few months, how the family’s been—but you were being just as stubborn as ever.”

Ford didn’t respond, his gaze fixed solely on the puppet as he waited for something to happen. And Bill couldn’t help but let his own eyes fall to the crude little sock creation as well, while he also waited in just-as-curious silence.

Sure, Birdbrain had plunked him back down in a human body, but they hadn’t elaborated on where they’d be getting that body in the first place. Heck, they’d been downright sneaky about what body they’d planned on sticking him into, deliberately avoiding any specifies right up until the second before they zapped him outta their mindscape.

But unless they somehow possessed the ability to create a brand new body from nothing, they would’ve had to get his vessel from somewhere.

And if they'd actually resorted to pulling out the soul of some unlucky chump and recycling the leftovers for him to use as his own, then Bill couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t the tiniest bit curious about what said chump was like in the personality department.

…Of course if they were hoping to get their body back from him, then they were straight-up outta luck in that regard. Finders keepers, pal!

But hey, no harm in being a little curious about his vessel's origins. Curiosity killed the cat, after all—and a dead animal here and there always added a delightful splash of color to the room.

The two of them waited a minute, two minutes, five minutes—

But the puppet remained an immobile lump on the hard, wooden floor.

“Now, I might be wrong,” Bill finally spoke up after their waiting period hit the seven-minute mark. “But I feel like something should’ve happened by this point. Just a guess, though!”

Ford remained silent, eyes still fixed on the puppet—

—before he too decided to call it quits, and rose to his feet. “Well, I suppose that answers a few questions,” he muttered to himself. “Alright, on to the next step…”

Bill bit back the urge to pester Ford with an inquiry of: “Oh, and what’s the next step, Smart Guy?” and instead kept his attention on the sock puppet as Ford headed back to the desk. Even if nothing had actually happened, it had still given him a few more hints about the kind of body possession he was dealing with at the moment.

If Birdbrain had done some soul switcharoo-ing to free up a body, the original soul would’ve likely pulled a Pine Tree and used whatever other vessel they could get their hands on—in order to communicate as much to anyone willing to listen.

So if they hadn’t been tempted by the puppet equivalent of the bargain bin—nobody’s first choice but it would do in a desperate pinch—then there were a few possibilities.

One: they had already found a vessel somewhere else to claim as their own. An unlikely guess if his theory of Ford finding him close to the Shack turned out to be correct—a soul whose body was being temporarily borrowed by someone would ideally stick as close to the body as possible. Or at least, if someone else had found a way to parade Bill’s body around as their own, he knew for a fact that he’d personally be hovering around it at all times and annoying the thief into giving it back.

Two: Birdbrain had thought ahead and decided to keep a tight leash on the soul, to prevent it from trying to take its body back. A possibility more likely than the first, although Bill had no way of clarifying this fact without finding some way to contact Tangy at all.

His brow furrowed as his thoughts switched gears to that smug, feathered jerk. He still had plans to play their dumb game, but he’d already wasted most of the past day being tied to a chair. How was he supposed to track down the stupid little bricks to their stupid little charm if he couldn’t even move from this stupid little chair?

Concerns to gripe about later—Right now, he was on to possibility number three; the body had no former host, and Birdbrain has just crafted him a new body from scratch.

Making something from nothing was a task only the most powerful of entities could perform. Bill would know from experience—he’d been able to do it once he’d escaped from the Nightmare Realm and ventured into this dimension, crafting a beautiful, three-dimensional pyramid body for himself.

How he missed that body dearly—he had even sprung for a square base over a triangular one, just to mix things up a little bit. Sure, it’d mostly been a spur-of-the-moment idea, but settling his consciousness into such a form had just felt so right for him. A rightness that he would probably unpack at some point in the future, when he no longer had to focus on the task at hand.

But creating an entirely new, physical vessel from within the mindscape itself, all without a rift to the dimension where it would be used?

That was something that even he hadn’t been able to accomplish. If he had, he wouldn’t have needed the help from mortals with crafting a portal in the first place—he could’ve simply cut out the middle man, poofed a ready-made vessel into existence, and used that to build the portal himself.

If Birdbrain possessed that much power, then—

“A-ha! Found it!”

Bill was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of Ford’s voice, and he looked up to see him approaching the circle again. “Yeesh, took you long enough,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to bore me to death with all your dull research and secret art projects~!”

“I do have my reasons for both,” Ford admitted as he drew closer. “That much I am willing to disclose to you.”

“Oh~?” Bill perked up with curiosity. “And what reasons are those?”

As Ford finally came to a stop outside the circle and knelt down to pick up the sock puppet, Bill could see something cradled in one of his hands.

A small burlap sack, hardly bigger than his palm.

“I needed to determine the proper dosage to knock someone of your stature out cold.”

—oh, he was not serious!

The puppet was dropped inside the rope circle near his feet, and before Bill could finish his irate warning of: “Stanford, don’t you dare—”, Ford was already tossing the bag’s contents at his face.

Bill sputtered as a pink burst of fairy dust hit him square in the mouth, yanking his arms desperately against his restraints in the hopes of freeing one so he could wipe his face clean.

But it was only a matter of seconds later that the sleep effects start to overtake his vessel’s fragile immune system, and his body drooped forward with exhaustion.

He saw Ford step into the circle and continue towards him, reaching a hand into his pocket—

—and Bill managed one feeble kick of his leg before he once again slipped into unconsciousness.

— — — — — — —

“Okay, get a load of this~!”

After a quick glance back at the younger teens to make sure she had their attention, Wendy pulled a flashlight from her belt loop and took aim at the nearby half-pipe. One press of the button later and the ramp had been shrunken down to a size more suitable for skateboarding ants, rather than people or Abominable Bro-men.

With a pleased grin, Wendy strolled over to scoop it up off the ground. “You guys have no idea what kind of geniuses you were to put this thing together,” she said, giving it a light shake to clear away the miniscule soda cans. “It makes cleaning up the exhibits soooo much easier!”

“I just can’t believe I never thought to use it for cleaning before,” Dipper said from where the two of them were seated. “Do you know how easy it’d be to clean under my bed if I could just shrink it first? Or how much time I could save on washing clothes if they were half-an-inch tall?”

“Sounds like you’ve got a possible patent on your hands,” Wendy said, setting the shrunken half-pipe into a storage box. “But I came up with the cleaning idea, so I want at least seventy percent of the cut.”

“Aww, what? I’m the one who invented the thing,” Dipper pointed out. “Forty-sixty split where I’m getting the sixty, or no deal.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Ugh, fine, what if we make it fifty-fifty but I get to pick the name?”

“No way! I made it, I should get to name it!”

“Oh, yeah?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “So what did you name it?”

At this question, Dipper suddenly became very interested in the dirt beneath his shoes. “...I mean, I said I should get to name it, not that I’ve actually named it yet,” he muttered weakly. “But you know, if you happen to have a name already picked out, I’m open to suggestions or whatever…”

With a laugh, Wendy lightly tapped the flashlight against her leg as she pondered ideas. “What about…the Shrink-and-Scrub?” she suggested. “The main words start with the same letter, it’s catchy…would probably snag the attention of overworked parents or something.”

“Not bad, not bad,” Dipper mused thoughtfully. “But you’re not really scrubbing with it, are you? We could get slapped with a false advertising charge.”

“Ooh, good call! Whaddaya think, Mabel, you got any good name ideas?”

Dipper turned to face his sister, seated on the ground next to him with her attention on her phone. At Wendy’s question, however, she lowered the screen with a contemplative look. “The…Shrink-and-Span? Like spick-and-span, but there’s shrinking? And it still sounds all clean-y and stuff?”

She placed her phone on the ground next to her so she could make a growing-shrinking motion with her hands. “Also Span, like Ex-span…d? It’s almost a pun and people love puns!”

Her arms were thrown into the air with bright enthusiasm, but it was only seconds later before both her posture and expression sank again. “I dunno…”

While she slipped her chin back into one hand and her phone back into the other, Dipper and Wendy exchanged a knowing look. “Man, even when you’re down in the dumps, you’re still better at this than both of us,” Wendy said.

Mabel’s response was a sad hum, and Dipper scooted closer to place a hand on her shoulder. “Still worried, huh?” he asked. “I thought the streamer thing would’ve made you at least a little bit excited.”

“I can’t work my Mabel Magic on the shack until everything’s all cleaned up,” Mabel explained. “Which means I gotta sit and think about Bill and Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford and everything else we had to worry about last year!”

Her hands once against returned to the air as she continued to speak: “We were gonna spend so much time with both Stan and Ford this summer! But now that big, dumb, pointy, jerky…jerkface is back and they’re fighting because of him, and—and—”

Rather than finish her sentence, she reached to her sweater collar and pulled it up over her face with a groan—an action that earned a comforting shoulder pat from her brother. “Come on, Mabel, you’re not really gonna believe what Bill said about Stan and Ford fighting, are you?”

“Yeah,” Wendy added. “Isn’t the guy, like, a notorious liar or something? Who cares if he says they’re fighting?”

“It’s not what he said,” Mabel explained, pulling the collar back down past her mouth. “It’s what they’re doing! I mean, you and Grunkle Stan went to give Ford his breakfast, right?”

She directed this question at Dipper, who nodded in response. “Yeah, so?”

“Well, what happened when you did?”

“Not a whole lot,” Dipper said, and began to tick off his fingers. “We went to Abuelita’s bedroom, Bill was trying to be as creepy as possible, we went out into the hallway to talk about Ford’s plan—”

His hand sank a bit. “—Stan started getting upset because Ford wasn’t letting him help,” he finished defeatedly. “And then I…left to go up to the bedroom.”

Mabel pointed to Wendy, who had occupied herself by taking aim at another exhibit. “And what happened after that?”

“Well…Stan came storming up the hallway,” Wendy began, placing the newly-shrunken exhibit into the box with the others. “And then he—”

She hesitated to reply for a few seconds, before pressing a hand to the back of her neck. “—he punched the wall and went out to the boat.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re fighting, though!” Dipper added quickly. “It could mean anything! Maybe Bill was getting on Grunkle Stan’s nerves, and he got frustrated before he…stormed away and punched a wall about it?”

A pause. “…Even though he already punched Bill in the face last night and probably wouldn’t have to just punch a wall if Bill was getting on his nerves again?”

Mabel flumped over her knees with another groan. “You see? They are fighting! And now Grunkle Ford’s down in his lab doing lots of secret sciencey stuff, while Grunkle Stan’s over on the boat, doing secret boaty stuff—”

They all turned their heads in the direction of the Stan-O’-War 2 before she continued: “They’re doing stuff by themselves instead of together, like last year!”

She pulled her collar back over her face. “I don’t want things to be like last year…”

While Dipper gave her shoulder another comforting pat, Wendy kept her attention fixed on the Stan-O’-War 2 for a bit longer, before letting it travel across the yard towards the waiting Manotaur stage at the edge of the woods.

A stage which she eyed for a second, then the flashlight in her hand for another, before turning back to the twins with a wink. “Hey, you know, we never got around to having that fight yesterday,” she said. “You dorks up for—oh, wait, lemme just—”

She held up the Shrink Ray and fired it at the stage, quickly rushing to shake it clean of any debris left from the previous day’s performance. And once it was properly cleared and regrown to its original size, she spun around to face them again. “Alright, so now that we don’t have to worry about stepping on broken glass and wood, you dorks up for a little random gratuitous violence to get out some of those bad Bill feelings?”

Dipper’s mouth curled into a small smile as he gave his sister’s shoulder a light nudge. “Whaddaya think, Mabel? Would punching out some of those feelings about the jerky jerkface make you feel better?”

There was a pause, before Mabel pulled the collar back down again with a curious peek. “Can I pretend you’re Bill while we fight?”

After another wink in her direction, Wendy slapped a hand over one eye. “Come on, Falling Star!” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Betcha wanna punch me real hard in my stupid, triangle face!”

With a grin, Mabel bounded to her feet with delight. “Actually, he calls me ‘Shooting Star’,” she corrected. “But if you do that funny voice again, I’m so in!”

“Atta girl,” Wendy said, the hand over her eye shifting into a thumbs up before she broke into a sprint toward the stage steps. “Come on, let’s get our swings in before Soos and Melody notice that I’m taking my break!”

— — — — — — —

“Massive Maude? Nah, nah, that wouldn’t work—little jerk can’t leave town. Ahab’s Harpoon through the chest? Nope, can’t kill him—”

Stan flipped to the next page with a huff, his fingertip trailing down past every little location, creature, and discovery Ford had listed during their oversea adventures.

And as he’d initially suspected, most of the potential ways to rid themselves of a pesky triangle demon involved killing Bill outright—deeming themselves a no-go, according to Ford’s previously-established mumbo-jumbo about how they couldn’t kill the body.

Stan let out another gruff sigh as he slammed the journal shut. Yeesh, his only lead and so far it was proving to be completely useless. Too bad Ford had made the choice to chuck all the other journals down into the Bottomless Pit. It had probably been really cathartic for him, but in hindsight, they would’ve really come in handy at a time like this—

“Wait a sec—”

He pressed a hand to his chin, the metaphorical ding of a lightbulb almost audible as an idea began to form. It was a longshot after what happened last year—so much was scattered after the kids turned the Shack into a massive fighting robot that he wasn’t sure if there would be anything left to find.

But on the other hand, the only thing that had managed to pry open his safe in the past had been straight up dynamite. Meaning anything that had been locked away during last summer’s rigamarole had a fifty-fifty chance at still being there to this day.

Moving the hand to his hair, he turned his gaze to the door. The idea also required him to venture back into the house, which came with the risk of running into Ford again.

And the last thing Stan wanted or needed was to get into another row with him, especially not in front of everyone else.

Not that he wouldn’t deserve getting an earful from Ford after what he’d said earlier, but—

After letting the hand drag back down his face as slowly as possible, he exhaled a groan and made his way across the room to the door. Heck with it—even if Ford still wanted to handle all of this alone, at least Stan could try to be of some use to him and get all his research together in one place. Whether or not he wanted to use it was up to Ford himself, but at least he’d have the option if Stan’s intuition turned out to be correct.

Plus even if it was a longshot, could he really call himself a true gambler if he cowered away from risky odds?

…Not to mention his office was pretty close to the stairs and he could always make a mad dash back to the boat if Ford came up the hall.

— — — — — — —

“Alright, squirts, let’s see who can knock me down!”

Wendy raised her fists with a determined look. “Come on, who wants to go first?”

From the opposite end of the stage, Mabel pressed her own hands to her mouth in a giggle. “Hey, I thought you said you were gonna act like Bill while we fought?”

“Yeah, no sense in getting out these bad Bill feelings without the Bill part, right?” Dipper added.

With a nod of agreement, Wendy’s hand returned to her eye as a wide, devious smile spread across her face. “Hahahaha, look at me!” she said in that same high-pitched voice from before. “I’m a stupid triangle who throws bad parties and wears a dumb hat!”

While the twins dissolved in a fit of laughter, she stomped around the stage in an exaggerated fashion. “I think I’m the coolest and most powerful guy in the world, but I was defeated by an old man punching me in my stupid, dumb face!”

“Don’t forget kittens and tickles!” Mabel jeered in delight.

“I was defeated by kittens, tickles, and an old man punching me in my stupid, dumb face! Do-do-dodo, I’m so stupid and terrible!”

She stuck her tongue out for an extended raspberry—an action that only earned more laughter—and made a beckoning motion towards Dipper with her hand. “Come on, Pine Tree!” she taunted. “Betcha can’t knock me on my sorry, triangle butt!”

After a few deep breaths to compose himself, Dipper raised his fists. “Betcha I can!”

“Aww, wait, why’s he get to go first?” Mabel whined. “Didn’t we come over here so I could get out some of my bad Bill feelings?”

“Well, yeah,” Dipper said. “But I mean, I’ve got beef with Bill too. And throwing a couple of punches about it would probably be fun.”

“Rock-paper-scissors to see who goes first?” Wendy suggested.

The twins exchanged another look—and after a quick three rounds, Mabel was left disappointed while Dipper took his spot on the stage near Wendy. However, her sour mood was quickly replaced with a fistpump and several supportive cheers of: “Go, Dipper! Play dirty if you gotta!”

Dipper chuckled. “Mabel, come on, I’m not gonna—”

Without warning, he rushed at Wendy with a charging fury and threw as much of his weight against her body as he could muster. Despite the unexpected attack, Wendy managed to stay solid on her feet—

—until Dipper’s arms were suddenly wrapped around her lower legs and he gave a sharp yank towards his own body, causing her to stumble and fall hard to the stage from a lack of balance.

Still clutching her legs, Dipper stared with a look of complete bewilderment on his face—as if his own successful attempt to bring her down had surprised even himself. “Haha, woah—I can’t believe that worked!” he said with a shaky laugh. “I’ve never actually tried that with anyone but Waddles before!”

“Woo! Go Dipper!” Mabel called, clapping her hands with proud enthusiasm. “I’ll bet if you’d done that to the real Bill, he would’ve been soooooo embarrassed!”

From the stage, Wendy let out a laugh of her own. “She’s not wrong. Also, you can let go of me now.”

With a yelp of surprise, Dipper dropped her legs in an instant. “Ah—sorry!”

Despite the hard thump of her legs against the stage, Wendy was quick to pull herself up into a proper kneeling position. “No worries, dude,” she reassured him with a grin. “Pretty sweet trick, though. Where’d you learn that?”

“A few months back, Waddles found the secret stash of snacks I hid under my bed and kept being real determined to get to them,” he explained. “It was either establish dominance and learn how to drag him out from under the bed by his lower half, or admit defeat to a pig.”

He flexed his arm with a smile. “And guess who didn’t have to admit defeat to a pig~?”

“And now you know how to knock down Wendy!” Mabel called from her spot. “Sounds like someone needs to give Waddles a well-earned thank you later.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just move your snack haul somewhere else?”

“Closet’s too full of Mabel’s sweaters and the dresser makes everything taste like lint,” Dipper said matter-of-factly.

“Well, either way, color me impressed,” Wendy said, before looking to where Mabel was situated. “Alright, Mabel, you’re up next~!”

Dipper approached her, holding his hand out for a hi-five. “Go get ‘em!”

Mabel slapped his hand with gusto as they passed each other and bounded over to where Wendy waited for her. “Okay, ‘Bill’,” she said, raising her fists. “Put ‘em up!”

Winking in return, Wendy slapped a hand back over her eye and thumbed the other across her nose. “Alright, Shooting Star,” she said with a fake sneer. “Let’s see what you got!”

“Woo! Go Mabel!” Dipper cheered from the side.

With a laugh, Mabel took a fighting stance of her own—

—only for her attention to shift towards something else at the far end of the yard.

The other two followed her gaze over to the Stan-O’-War 2, where Stan could be seen exiting the cabin and making his way across the deck towards the ladder. With a smile, Mabel cupped her hands around her mouth and called loudly: “Hey, Grunkle Stan, over here!”

While his body language was low as his feet touched the ground, Stan perked up at the sound of Mabel’s voice—and his mouth spread into a smile when he turned around to see the rest of the kids gathered with her.

He moved towards them with quick, determined steps—or at quickly and determined as a man his age could move—before he eventually slowed to a stop near the stage. “Whatcha gremlins gremlinin’ about out here?” he asked, propping his arms over the edge.

“They’re wrestling me while I pretend to be Bill,” Wendy explained. “Since they can’t exactly punch the real thing right now, I thought maybe getting a few swings in at someone pretending to be him would do the trick.”

Mabel hurried to Stan and seated herself near him, legs dangling down over the side. “Dipper won his fight!” she said excitedly. “And I was about to fight her next!”

“I pulled her legs out from under her,” Dipper elaborated, as he followed in his sister’s steps and seated himself on Stan’s opposite side.

Stan raised an eyebrow at Dipper. “Wo-ow, first the body hair and now you’re actually winning fights? You really are growin’ into a tried-and-true Pines, ain’tcha, kid?”

He reached up to plap a hand against the top of his hat. “You didn’t hear that from me, though, so don’t go gettin’ a big head about it.”

While Dipper beamed with pride, Wendy shot him a finger gun. “What about you, Mr. Pines?” she asked. “You up for getting a little of that Bill aggression outta your system?”

“Like you gotta ask,” Stan said. “Don’t think I should be wrestlin’ any of you about it, though. Not unless you’re lookin’ to get snapped in half.”

“I take offense at the implication that you could snap me in half,” Wendy said, although her grin implied otherwise.

“I take offense at the implication that I couldn’t.”

He let out a chuckle at that, one that slowly petered out into a halfhearted grumble. A sound that made the twins exchange a look of curiosity before Mabel asked: “So what’ve you been doing out here, Grunkle Stan?”

“Wendy said you went outside to the boat,” Dipper explained. “But she didn’t say why.”

Stan looked to Wendy with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, she did, did she?”

“What, was I not allowed to tell your beloved great-niece-and-nephew where their great-uncle had gone?” Wendy asked innocently, and leaned over to place a hand atop each of the twin’s heads. “They were just worried about how you missed breakfast.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Stan!” Mabel added, before her expression fell. “Plus Grunkle Ford was heading down to the basement with Bill, and he said that the two of you were fighting…”

At the mention of Ford, the gruffness in Stan’s expression shifted. “Ford said we were fighting?”

“Nah, Bill did,” Dipper corrected. “Probably to try and get a rise out of us.”

He cast a look beyond Stan over to Mabel. “Which is why Grunkle Ford told us not to listen to anything he says.”

“I’m not listening to him,” Mabel insisted. “Plus, weren’t you were the one who said they seemed really tense in the hallway earlier!”

“All I said was that if Grunkle Stan really needed to punch Bill again, he would’ve done it instead of just punching a wall,” Dipper said, then glanced hesitantly at Stan. “But, uh—is everything okay between you two? You seemed really stressed earlier, and y’know…you didn’t go down with Ford to take care of Bill.”

Stan looked between them, the uncertainty in their features near identical to the faintest hints of concern threatening to peek their way through his own. And with a strained inhale to force it all back down again, he stood up straight and pointed a finger at them. “Ford’s absolutely right, you shouldn’t trust a word outta that jerk’s mouth,” he said. “Whatever’s goin’ on with the two of us, it ain’t any of Bill’s business and it definitely ain’t a fight.”

“But it’s something?” Wendy chimed in.

“It’s somethin’ that ain’t any business a’yours either,” Stan said firmly, giving her a wave of his hand before pointing it back at the younger twins. “And that goes double for you two. Like I told you last night, you’re here to have fun for the summer. Don’t go gettin' yourselves all worked up over all this Bill stuff or the stuff with me and Ford, alright?”

Mabel let her body flump forward until her forehead was gently pressed against the tip of his finger. ““But we wanted to have fun over the summer with both you and Grunkle Ford,” she pointed out. “How can we do that if he’s too busy dealing with Bill? Or if you two are fighting?”

His expression softened at this motion and he let his hand fall. “Well, now, I can’t give an answer to that first question—lean back again for a sec, Pumpkin—”

While she obliged, Stan rotated himself around to lean his back against the stage. “Like I was sayin’, I can’t give an answer to that first one,” he continued, draping one arm around her body. “But as for the second—just because the two of us are buttin’ heads about all of this doesn’t—”

He hesitated for a millisecond, before continuing: “—it doesn’t mean we’re fighting. And it doesn’t mean that the rest of the summer’s gonna be a bust, alright? Just means that we’re gonna have to deal with some rough patches first.”

He turned to Dipper, slinking his other arm around his shoulders. “And as for you, you little knucklehead—you heard Ford earlier; he’s got himself a plan to deal with our little yellow headache down in his lab. And if he needs help, he’ll ask for it!”

“Maybe…” Dipper agreed halfheartedly. “Still, I hate to agree with Bill about anything, but he did have a point about Grunkle Ford’s ideas not exactly being the best ones out there after a full night with no sleep…”

“Ugh, he said that?” Mabel asked with a sneer.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, disgust painting his own expression. “He was practically rubbing it in Ford’s face.”

“Hey, hey, what did I say?” Stan said. “Don’t believe a word outta that little creep's mouth! You know he’s just tryin’ to get under your skin, so he ain’t worth the time of day.”

With a sense that the fight was going to be paused for a bit, Wendy hopped down from the stage and aimed the shrink ray towards the mermaid tank. “You know, Dr. Pines probably would get rid of Bill much quicker if he had someone helping him down there.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at her. “Hey, come on, don’t you start now.”

“I’m just saying,” Wendy continued, before pressing the shrink button. “I mean, I’m sure he’s got his reasons for going at it alone—

Once the tank was shrunk, she strolled over to scoop it up from the ground. “—but working together took the little fucker down last time, didn’t it?”

She tilted the small tank forward and let the water—the volume now barely enough to fill a teacup—spill out over the grass. After giving it a few additional shakes for good measure, she spun on her heels back to face the others—

—only to be greeted by mirrored looks of shock on all three of their faces. “...What?”

More surprised blinking followed as they stared at her with mouths agape, before Stan finally slapped a hand to his forehead. “Are you kidding me, Wendy?! I worked so hard not to swear in front of these kids last year and you go and throw all of it out the window in a single, goddamn sentence!”

“I’m just more surprised that you swore at all,” Mabel said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before!”

“Come to think of it, I actually don’t remember hearing anyone swear around here last summer,” Dipper said thoughtfully. “Which is such an oddly specific thing to…I dunno, not hear? Kids swear all the time at school, Mom and Dad swear at home sometimes—”

“I know you let out a very hearty f-word the other day when you bumped your toe on the coffee table,” Mabel added.

“It was the left pinky, I was completely justified and will not apologize.”

“It is weird!” Wendy agreed, before tucking the mermaid tank into the storage box. “Actually, I got this totally wild story to go with it—one I was trying to tell Stan yesterday before all this dumb Bill stuff started.”

After tucking the flashlight back into her belt loop, she raised her hands for emphasis. “Okay, so you remember how the couch we found in the woods last year was like, mega-infested with rats?”

“Dipper screamed so loud when one tried to crawl up his legs!” Mabel said with a grin.

“Once again; moment of weakness, it could’ve easily happened to anyone.”

“So anyway, Soos, Melody and I managed to get most of ‘em out of the house,” Wendy continued. “But after that, something felt different about the town. Not bad different, just…different.”

“Elaborate,” Stan said.

“Well, there was the time when Nate and Lee got together and have kinda been having an on-off thing going on since,” she said, and began to tick off her fingers. “Then at some point, one of the Manotaurs decided that she felt more comfortable being called Womanotaur instead—all the boys came together and collectively punched a piece of metal until it was dented into the right shape for a celebratory carabiner—”

“Ooh, ooh, and at another point your dad and Mayor Tyler started dating?” Mabel guessed.

“Yeah, yeah, something like that,” Wendy said, looking mildly annoyed for a second. “Couple of folks also started realizing some things about themselves in a similar way, people started swearing a lot more than they did last year—

She tossed her hands in the air. “—and all of that only started happening after the rats were gone!”

“That sounds like a load of stupid fresh from the stupid factory,” Stan said. “But also I wouldn’t put it past this town to have some weird rats be the source of everyone’s inability to swear or for two men to start mackin’ on each other or something.”

“Everything going alright out here?”

Everyone turned to see Soos and Melody approaching from the shack, clipboards and a large box of party decorations in hand. “We figured Wendy would probably be done with cleanup by now,” Melody explained. “So we thought we’d start bringing out the decorations.”

“Did we give you enough time for amusing and exposition-y conversations that would be stimulating enough to get you through the work quicker?” Soos asked..

“Yeah, yeah, just one sec—” Wendy said, and turned back to the Manotaur stage. “Alright, everybody clear outta the way.”

Mabel’s lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Aww, we’ve gotta finish cleaning up? But we didn’t get to have our fight! Again!”

“Maybe not, but it did distract you long enough to get to the decorating part, right?” Dipper pointed out, and hopped down from the stage. “Wasn’t that the point in the first place?”

“Mmm, I guess,” Mabel said sadly as she hopped down after him. “Still, would’ve been fun to fight Wendy while she’s pretending to be Bill.”

Soos raised an eyebrow at Wendy, who shrugged in response. “We were working out our feelings,” she explained. “But since we’re moving on to the actual decorating part, how’s about we put a pin in that fight for now and work on drowning this place in decorations?”

She raised the flashlight and took aim for the stage. “Also again, step outta the way or you’re gonna get caught in the crossfire.”

Once the three of them had cleared away from the stage, Wendy once again shrank it to a more manageable size. While she stored it away with the other exhibits, Soos reached a hand into the box of decorations. “Like I said earlier, we’ve got just about every color of streamer under the sun! Plus some colors under the moon, too!”

He pulled out a few rolls of streamers and waved it in front of Mabel. “Who wants to toss a bunch of them up onto the roof like they’re TP-ing the Shack, but with color~?”

Despite Mabel’s initial disappointment towards another postponement of the fight, a smile began to creep its way through her features at Soos’ suggestion. “Oh, like you’ve gotta ask~!”

She reached for one of the rolls before casting a look at Stan. “You wanna help us decorate for the party, Grunkle Stan?”

“Nah, I actually came out here for a reason,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Gotta go fetch somethin’ from my office.”

He gave her a thumbs up as he started making his way towards the porch. “You kids have fun, though, and no more stressin’ about all this Bill stuff, okay?” he said, then looked over to Wendy. “Also lemme take a look at that shrink-thing later, Wendy! You could make a fortune with a doo-dad like that!”

“We’re already workshopping names,” Wendy called in return.

A second thumbs up was his response as he headed up the porch steps and disappeared out of sight. Mabel continued to stare at the porch, optimistic expression sinking back into a look of sadness until Soos gave the streamer bag another shake. “Check it out, Mabel! The lady at the store even said she named one of the shades of pinkish-purple after you! She calls it ‘Pink-Mab-urple!”

After staring for a few more seconds, she finally turned to Soos with a grin. “Uh, why didn’t you start with that, Soos? Slap a roll of Pink-Mab-urple in my hand and let’s get this streamer train rolling!”

— — — — — — — —

With all the stress of the past twenty-four hours, Ford had almost forgotten what it was like to feel relaxed.

Granted, he hadn’t felt truly relaxed since his early childhood. But the past nine months up until Bill’s return had been the closest he’d gotten to recapturing that ease of his adolescence.

And for the fleeting moment before the fairy dust made impact with Bill’s face, a surge of anxiety rushed through him as the possibility of the dust losing its potency after decades of disuse reared its ugly head. That by some cruel twist of fate, it simply wouldn’t work against Bill at all.

But within seconds, Bill slumped like a lifeless ragdoll against the chair’s restraints and Ford could physically feel some of the stress melt away from his being.

Not all of it; there was always a chance that the fairy dust hadn’t worked and that Bill was simply pretending to be knocked unconscious. But the sight alone was enough to grant him the smallest sense of comfort.

Still—

He finally pulled out the hand he had slipped into his picket after tossing the dust, a small pocketknife clutched tightly in his grasp. After a few more seconds, he flicked open the main blade and knelt in front of Bill’s body.

He hesitated—hand trembling around the weapon as the temptation to do more than a simple act of research examination bubbled up inside his chest. But with a shake of his head, he reached for one of Bill’s restrained hands and lightly pressed the tip of the knife into his palm.

Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt if he was truly faking his unconscious state. And after a few seconds passed with no vocal complaints from Bill, Ford let out an exhale of relief.

He wasn’t faking. At least there was that fact.

But Ford also knew not to let his guard down completely, nor was he foolish enough to think that the fairy dust’s effects would last forever. He had to move quickly.

Reassured that Bill was properly unconscious, Ford moved to the binds that kept Bill tied to the chair. It was a risk to free Bill completely, but his plan wouldn’t work if the body was still bound by the unicorn spell.

He pressed the blade against one rope and inhaled slowly, before bringing it upwards in a clean cut—

—and quickly backed up as the tiny body slacked to the floor in a crumpled heap.

His grip on the knife tightened as he stepped back out of the circle, as if he still expected Bill to drop his facade and finally take advantage of his chance at freedom. But when the fairy dust continued to prove effective, he returned to Bill's side to cut his wrist binds.

Once Bill was completely unbound from all angles, Ford looked to the puppet he had tossed at his feet. Sure, it had been a five-minute effort but Bill was far from picky when it came to his vessels of choice. And if he suddenly decided to start being picky once he’d reawakened—

—well, too bad, Cipher.

His gaze moved back to the unconscious body again, eyes landing on his face. Naturally he’d written down the research he’d gathered, and he hadn’t been lying to Bill when he said it was to figure out the proper dosage of fairy dust to knock him unconscious. The stuff was powerful enough to put a full-grown unicorn to sleep; too much on a body Bill’s size could potentially have disastrous effects.

And even if Ford’s attempt to contact the body’s original owner had failed, his main concerns still lingered—he still had no way of knowing how harming the physical body would affect Bill himself.

That being said, his quick and simple research had provided Ford with a few interesting discoveries.

As he’d initially hypothesized, every studied part of Bill’s vessel really did scream teenager. A lack of wisdom teeth pinpointed the body as younger than twenty, and his quick count of almost-thirty teeth settled his guess between the ages of about thirteen and fifteen.

General appearance seemed to back up that fact; limbs were gangly and awkward—even moreso than what would normally be expected from Bill in a human body—those yellow, catlike eyes sat large on his face, larger than they would on the face of an adult—

It was so odd. Of all the vessels to possess, why would Bill choose that of a human teenager? It certainly added credence to the theory that he hadn’t possessed a choice in the matter, but it also added credence to the theory that he had specifically sought out such a body as a way to purposefully mess with Ford and the rest of his family.

Once again, more theories without a clear answer.

With a huff, Ford set the knife near his boot that was furthest away from Bill—putting down his weapon was another risk, but at least he’d had the advantage if he needed to grab it in a hurry—and reached into his pocket again.

This time his efforts rewarded him with a worn scrap of paper, one he unfolded with both hands and set to the ground in front of him. He might’ve tossed the journals down into the Bottomless Pit, but a proper scientist always had backup options when it came to his research.

…Granted, the backup in question was an old spell he had hidden away during one of those sleep-deprived days between Bill’s betrayal and the portal incident, but it would still prove effective nonetheless.

Thank goodness he had possessed enough foresight to keep it out of the journals and tucked safely between the edge of his desk and the wall, somewhere Bill had clearly not thought to look during the brief periods when his body had succumbed to sleep.

His gaze narrowed with determination at the body again. Omniscient abilities or not, even Bill Cipher possessed blindspots. A piece of paper tucked between the wall and desk. A lack of knowledge on how to collapse the weirdness barrier that surrounded the town.

An extra finger on a hand where it shouldn’t be, or vice versa.

Shaking his head, Ford turned back to the paper. A wiser man might’ve tried to actually use the spell back when he originally discovered it. But a number of variables—no additional person to read the spell while Bill was in his body, no knowledge on whether or not it would actually work as intended, a general lack of sleep across those several days—had prevented Ford from attempting such a method at the time.

And once he’d properly returned home after the portal incident, the metal place in his head had already been installed—rendering such a spell mostly pointless.

Until now.

After scribbling down a few additions, he cleared his throat and began to recite aloud: “Aufero, delego. Amoveo, inflecto—”

He paused, looking to the puppet and body for a moment before continuing with a bit more confidence: “Aufero, delego. Amoveo, inflecto…Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum—”

— — — — — — —

Whenever Bill lounged around in the space between the Nightmare Realm and the mortal world, there was always a clear lack of color.

Whether he was situated inside a dark room, outside over a summoning circle or inside the bedroom closet of an easily-frightened child—always watching, but never seen—the scenery of the mindscape was always draped in a monochromatic curtain of black and white.

Here, however—the warm browns of the study had only dulled the slightest amount while still maintaining their general color. Heck, Bill might not have even noticed the difference at first, had it not been for Ford.

Rather than be subjected to more violence at the man’s hand, it was as if time had completely frozen for him. The arm that had tossed the fairy dust into Bill’s face was still outstretched, but remained still and unmoving in the air.

Bill’s mouth curled into a smirk, and he made no effort to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at him. “Hehe, what’s wrong, Fordsy~?” he asked, leaning forward. “Can’t access the mindsca—ACK!”

He leaned forward too far and hit the hard ground with a thud and an irritable yelp, face once again squished against the floor. Unlike the other times he’d fallen throughout the past day, however—his body felt noticeably lighter and chair-free.

Grin widening further, he pulled himself off the ground until he was standing up proper. Once on his feet, he took a step to grow more accustomed to using legs again. One step, then two more—before he simply launched his body up into the air to hover in place.

Oh, how he loved the Mindscape to pieces~! Possessing people was fun and all, but it came with the unfortunate side effect of not being able to use his powers.

Not in the Mindscape, though~! Here he could do just about anything he wanted!

Speaking of which—

He cast another look in the inanimate Ford’s direction, while a wicked grin spread across his face. Sure, any harm caused to his body in the mindscape wouldn’t carry over to the real world.

But at the same time, fireball or two to the chin would probably get rid of that stupid beard for a few glorious minutes, right? Perhaps a fireball full of spiders?

Why not? The past twelve hours had been so frustrating dull for Bill, and he deserved a nice little treat for himself.

He raised his hand into the air with a giddy little laugh, as he waited for the familiar blue flames to blossom from his palm—

—hey, wait.

Bill snapped his attention to what should’ve been a pitch-black hand engulfed in flames. And while the flames had indeed begun to spread out from his palm and up towards his fingertips, the hand itself was still clearly one made of flesh and blood. Just as flesh and blood as the legs he had wobbled on mere seconds ago as he took a few steps.

Legs that his gaze quickly fell to, realization beginning to take hold of him as his concerns were reaffirmed; black, panted legs attached to a body that was clearly still humanoid.

His hands instinctively moved to touch the opposite arms—as if touching them would somehow transform them back into the twig-thin limbs he was used to having—and then to his chest and stomach—as if touching them would somehow transform him back into his familiar, triangle shape.

When neither attempt bore any results, he blinked a few times in sheer confusion. Okay, so something was clearly wrong. Jumping out of a body into the mindscape should’ve at least reverted his soul back to its usual shape and form. So why was he still stuck in a useless flesh-suit?

He moved his gaze around the study before his attention fell back on Project Mentem, eyes once again locking with one of the unbroken screens. He hadn’t gotten a proper glimpse at his vessel’s face the first time around, but if he was currently situated in the mindscape and able to move freely—

Just before he could make out the shape of his face in the monitor’s reflection, however, the dull colors around it began to distort and—

—well, there was no better term for it than ‘melt’.

Every color in the room—from the warm browns of the nearby shelves and desk, to the dull grays of Ford’s entire being—started to melt towards the floor, leaving behind the usual, monochromatic palette of the Mindscape.

And once all the colors reached the floor, they slowly converged into a muddy blob in the very center of the room. Converge, then shift into a single tint of orange.

Or if Bill wanted to get specific with it—tangerine.

Oh.

Great.

Sure enough, the blob of tangerine began to twist and morph into a clear silhouette of the shelduck, a loud, giddy laugh echoing through the study even before their beak had fully taken form. “Wow, it looks like someone’s had a busy first day, huh?” they said, placing their hands on their hips once both appeared. “Not even back in town for a full twenty-four hours and they’ve already brought you down to the study for research.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed in their direction. Oh, contract or not, he was going to pluck every single one of their feathers out with the Multiverse’s rustiest pair of tweezers once this was all over!

For the time being, he simply folded his arms across his chest with an unimpressed huff. “Yeesh, took you long enough to get your butt down here, Birdbrain!” he said irritably. “Do you know what kinda day I’ve ha—oh, actually, you just said you did, didn’t you?”

He tossed his hands in the air. “Well, if you could see what kinda day I was having, why haven’t you stepped in yet? Thought you were all about helping people in need or whatever?”

He made a casual gesture in Ford’s direction. “Well, I’ve sure needed some help getting away from him!”

Tangy held up their own hands with a guilty smile. “Okay, okay, I realize you have some concerns,” they said. “I don’t blame you, you’ve been through a lot in a short amount of time.”

One hand went to their forehead. “And admittedly, I’m mostly here because I realized I forgot to tell you a few things!”

“Oh, gee, you think?” Bill said, moving the gesture towards himself. “How about you start with explaining why you kept the fact that you’d be sticking me in a vessel like this a secret? Or why I’m still a pile of meat, bones and nerves in the mindscape instead of my usual form?”

“You—wait…”

They lowered their hand to give him a perplexed tilt of their head. “You mean you haven’t figured out what’s happening yet?”

“I mean, I figured out that you think you’re clever,” Bill said with a roll of his eyes. “Sticking me in a vessel this small for your dumb game, all without telling me ahead of time? That’s real cute, Birdbrain.”

A shrug, one accompanied by a smirk. “Hehe, what, did my short jokes bother you that bad?”

“No, they didn’t, but—”

“Aufero, delego. Amoveo, inflecto—”

The sound of Ford’s voice echoing through the mindscape turned both their attention to the ceiling, the imaginary mindscape shaking and rattling around them as he continued: “Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum!”

Bill’s brow furrowed at the sound, attention moving back to the still-inanimate Ford. So that was Sixer’s big plan, huh? To try his hand at a transfer spell while the vessel was unconscious?

That sneaky jerk, always trying to go behind his back—

“Oh, so, he’s trying that, huh?”

And back his attention and furrowed brow went to Tangy. Speaking of jerks, the feathered jerk needed to stop stealing his lines and get to their jerk point already! “You said you had something to tell me,” he said, hovering closer to them. “So hurry up and spill the beans before Sixer succeeds in doing whatever he’s doing out there!”

“Aufero, delego. Amoveo, inflecto—”

“Quickly, Birdbrain, we don’t have all day!”

Tangy looked to the ceiling again. “Yeah, I dunno if I’ll actually have the time to cover everything at this rate,” they said, and held up a finger. “But he won’t succeed in getting you outta that body, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

“Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum!”

Between the chanting from Ford and the crypticness from Tangy, Bill could physically feel his face reddening with anger. “Birdbrain, if you don’t explain right now—”

“Sorry, don’t have time!” they said quickly. “But I promise that this won’t be the last time we chat, and I can cover everything else the next time we do! Plus there’s always the thing on your wrist—”

“Wait, the what—”

There was a flash of light before all the color that had congregated to make Tangy’s form sank back into the floor and slowly started returning to the rest of the room.

And as the last little bits of brown and grays situated themselves back into place, Bill’s hovering body hit the floor again with a hard thud.

His eyes snapped closed on impact, then snapped open again with a shout.

— — — — — — —

“—aufero, delego. Amoveo, inflecto…Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum, Expuli Triangulum!”

With a final recital of the spell, Ford leaned back with another shuddery exhale of relief. Whether his attempt to shift Bill from one vessel to the other proved successful or not, the spell still required a few minutes of waiting for the end result.

While he waited, he let his gaze move once again to the unconscious teenager’s forehead. It had given him pause upon observation; not for any research purposes, but for the birthmark that waited beneath that mop of blonde hair—

“AAH!”

Ford jumped at the sound of a yell echoing through his study, the surprise of Bill suddenly moving again causing him to stumble backwards and trip over—and sever—the rope circle he had created on the floor.

Leaving a few inches of empty space between the ends of the rope.

Bill’s eyes were wide as dinner plates as he snapped back to consciousness, his screams of surprise petering out into sharp inhales of breath while he jerked up into a sitting position.

And with a final, shuddery exhale to ground himself—Yeesh, this body was weird. Who was in charge of designing a pile of flesh who needed oxygen, but not too much oxygen at once, to live?—his gaze locked to a still-floored Ford.

He stared, Ford stared back.

His functional pupil flitted down to the severed circle—

“Cipher, don’t you DARE!”

And Bill took off like a flash in the direction of the emergency exit staircase.

Ford was after him in seconds—rope and knife in hand—and the heavy thud of his boots against the medal stairs rung throughout the study over Bill’s maniacal cackling as he hurried for the cellar door.

Perhaps leaving fairy dust in a bag for over thirty years hadn’t been the best idea after all.

— — — — — — —

“Okay, so party preparations for today…”

Melody tapped her clipboard with the end of her pen, before turning to Mabel at her left. “We’ve got Mabel on the streamers—”

Mabel held up the rolls in her hands with a look of pride. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be fishing them out of the gutters for years!”

“Please don’t actually give me that much more work to do,” Wendy said from her right.

“...You’ll be fishing them out of the gutters for years in theory,” Mabel corrected herself. “In actuality, I’ll be cleaning them up myself so Wendy doesn’t have to!”

While Wendy gave her a thumbs up, Melody looked to her list again. “And we’ve got Dipper on balloon duty—”

Dipper shifted the countless packs of balloons in his embrace to one arm so he could give her a salute. “There won’t be a single bare table, chair, or loose area where a balloon can easily be tied to when I’m done with this place!”

“Just be careful not to tie too many to the shack itself,” Soos chimed in. “Otherwise they could, like, carry it up and away in the air!”

He made a series of floating motions with his hand. “You know like…WOOSH! Just floating all the way up into the sky!”

“Soos, you realize that’s probably impossible, right?” Dipper pointed out. “Do you know how many balloons we’d need to be able to rip through the foundation alone? They’d lose their helium way faster than I could inflate the necessary amount—”

“Poke!”

“Hey!”

While Dipper slapped his now-freed hand to his cheek where Mabel had poked him, she waved her arms around in a playful fashion. “Ooh, look at me, I’m Dipper~!” she teased. “I’ve seen gnomes, giant Manotaurs and dream demons, but balloons lifting up a house is impossible~!”

She leaned over to poke her again, and he nudged her back in amused retaliation. “Hey, come on, those things are actually real,” he pointed out with a chuckle. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t believe in a floating balloon house if it was right in front of me, but you know…it’s gotta prove itself possible first.”

“Balloons and the possibility of discovering something new,” Melody said, pressing a finger to her clipboard. “Check! Alright, what’s next?”

“I think we’ll wanna get the tables set up as soon as possible,” Soos chimed in. “I know we’ve still got hours until the party, but we’ve still gotta get all the food ready, right?”

He made a walking motion with his hand. “And who wants to make a buncha food, then carry a buncha tables outside—and then have to go back and carry out that same buncha food from before all in one go?” A shrug. “Just saying, babe, it’d be smart to get the tables out first, then focus on covering them with the food!”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Melody said, tucking her clipboard under her arm. “I’ll help you get the first one out here if you want.”

She flashed the others a smile. “Wendy, do you want to help us with tables or stay out here and decorate with the twins?”

“Hey, I’ll take tossing up balloons and streamers over having to carry whole tables back and forth,” Wendy said.

Dipper looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. “...Don’t you have a shrink ray—oh, you’re not mentioning it just so you don’t get stuck carrying tables, aren’t you?”

“Sure am.”

“Have fun, dudes!" Soos called to them, as the two of them made their way to the porch. "Make this place look like a party threw up from spending too much time at another party!”

“You got it, Soos!” Mabel said with a salute. “Like I said earlier: by the time I’m done with this place, you’ll be fishing old streamers out of the gutters for years!”

A pause, before she added as an afterthought: “...Again, I mean that metaphorically, and not in the way that will give Wendy more work!”

With a laugh, Wendy gave her a light nudge as the adults disappeared inside the house. Once they were out of sight, she turned her attention towards the yard before them. “Alright, so what side should we get to decorating first?”

BANG!

A loud clattering of the nearby cellar doors caused everyone to jump in surprise, right before Bill came barrelling out of the darkness with a shrill laugh—

“GET BACK HERE!”

—while the sound of Ford’s voice thundered after him from the cellar.

Bill skidded to a stop in the dirt, taking a brief second to catch his breath until he looked over to where the kids stood.

They stared, he stared back—

“Quick, somebody grab him!” Ford’s voice yelled from the cellar, seconds before he himself appeared in the doorway.

—and Bill spun on his heels before sprinting towards the nearby wood.

Despite their initial shock, Wendy was quick to the draw with the shrink ray. Rather than shoot a beam at Bill, however, she aimed it towards something in the line of his path—a small rock that suddenly quintupled in size in a matter of seconds.

So few seconds that Bill didn’t have enough time to slow to a halt before his face and body slammed against the rock, the impact knocking him off his already-wobbly feet and bringing him down to the dirt with a thud.

His escape attempt was momentarily forgotten as he pressed a hand to his injured nose, before casting a bitter glare in Wendy’s direction. “Oh, that’s real mature, Red!” he called. “I suppose your next trick involves painting a tunnel on the side?”

“Haha!” Mabel said delightedly. “Nice one, Wendy!”

“Yeah, I’m really liking this thing,” Wendy said, with a small twirl of the flashlight.

“Did you hear me?!” Ford said sharply—probably sharper than intended—as he stepped out into the yard. “Someone catch him before he gets to the woods!”

“Oh, right—”

As Bill sprung back to his feet and took off in another direction, the rest of the group rushed after him in a frantic hurry. And despite the burning sensation in Bill’s lungs, he was cackling with wicked delight at the others’ misfortune as he rounded the side of the shack near the porch—

“Gotcha!”

—right before a large hand snagged the back of his jacket and yanked him backwards.

Despite Bill’s desperate attempts to struggle free, Stan’s grip remained strong as he hoisted him up in the air. “Nice try, pal.”

If Bill could feel his face reddening in anger within the Mindscape, the sensation was tenfold in the real world as he glared daggers at Stan. “Put me down!”

“Not happening, Pyramid Face.”

Ford came into view around the corner, a heavy sigh of relief escaping his chest as he drew closer. “Nice catch, Stanley…”

“Maybe to you, it is!” Bill protested, with a pointed glare at Stan. “Thought you were busy pouting on the boat, or whatever.”

“And I thought you were busy dyin’, or whatever,” Stan shot back, before looking back to Ford again. “Need to tie him up, or—”

“Right, right,” Ford said, unfurling the rope he’d snagged from the study. “Hold him out?”

While Stan extended him out to Ford—the sight of Bill’s body dangling as he struggled to break free reminiscent of a scruffed kitten—the kids also rounded the side of the house in a rush. At the sight of Stan holding Bill, they too slowed to a stop with looks of both relief and mild confusion.

Confusion that Mabel finally vocalized with a: “What’s going on?”

“Aside from the obvious escape attempt on Bill’s end?” Dipper asked.

Despite his struggles, Bill couldn’t help but let out a mocking laugh at Dipper's remark. “Aww, look who has eyes and a brain that can string together two coherent thoughts. You’re really movin’ up in the world, aren’tcha, Pine Tree—hey, hey! I felt that, Stanford!”

He shot a sour look at Ford, who had already started the process of rewrapping the rope around his body to restrain him. Restraint with clear intent on Ford’s end to be as uncomfortable for Bill as possible.

And at Bill’s confrontation, Ford locked eyes with him and pulled the ends even tighter with an insincere: “Oops.”

While he moved to loop them again—and while Bill continued to try and struggle free—Stan raised an eyebrow. “Gonna guess whatever you were tryin’ down there didn’t work?”

“Oh, no, it worked perfectly~!” Bill replied in Ford’s place. “Clearly I’m now stuck in one of Sixer’s badly-made arts and crafts and—actually, I don’t exactly know what he planned on doing with me after that, so I can’t spin some dramatic yarn about it, but the point is that it obviously worked~!”

He gave Stan a cutesy bat of his eyelashes, which quickly fell into a flat look. “Asking questions like that is why you’re the dumber, sweatier twin. You realize this, right?”

Despite Stan’s fists tightening around Bill’s jacket in one hand and the stack of papers in the other, he kept his reply limited to an enraged stare that could’ve burned through a sheet of metal. From the side where the rest of the group stood, however, Mabel’s features lit up with intrigue as she took a cautious step closer. “Did he say arts and crafts project?”

“Pay him no mind, Mabel,” Ford instructed, as he fiddled with the rope further. “As I told you earlier, nothing he says is worth taking into account.”

Despite another tight yank of the ropes against his chest, Bill managed a disapproving tut. “Wooooow, Sixer, and here I was being open and honest to them about our exciting adventures down in the study,” he scolded. “I realize that the concept of honestly and openness is completely foreign to you, but there’s no time like the present to learn—ACK!”

Ford’s next rope tug forced a strangled gasp out of Bill’s chest that even he couldn’t mask with a snarky comment, and one that earned an uncomfortable wince from Dipper. “Grunkle Ford, I know he’s being a massive jerk and would probably deserve it, but you might suffocate him if you’re not careful.”

“Also what were you doing down in the study, Doc?” Wendy added, taking a step forward as well. “If you tell us, then he doesn’t have to, right?”

Despite his discomfort, Bill flashed her a small grin. “Doc? Hey, that’s not a bad one! Might add that one to the ol’ mental rolodex~!”

He tilted his head in Ford’s direction. “And she’s got a point, Fordsy! I mean, you can’t exactly get mad at me for spilling the beans when you aren’t willing to go and do it yourself, right!” he pointed out with a cackle. “Once again, we know you’re not exactly the expert at being honest with people, but I repeat my previous sentiments of ‘no time like the present to learn’!”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Or I guess it’s the best time for you mortals to learn, since you’re lacking one of those nifty little time dispensers or any sort of ultimate power like yours truly. But you get the idea!”

With a slow, shuddery exhale, Ford slackened his grip on the rope and reached around to loosen his previous loops. “Fine, Wendy—” he said, with strong emphasis on her name. “I suppose filling everyone in on the details wouldn’t cause any harm now.”

“Subtle,” Bill remarked, with an attempt—a failed attempt—to pull his arms free once the ropes were looser. “Also I bet you wish you hadn’t cut the rope around my hands now, huh?”

“As I informed Dipper and Stan earlier,” Ford continued. “I was attempting to move Bill’s soul from one vessel to another. I used fairy dust to knock him out in a second unicorn barrier and tossed a sock puppet into the circle, before I cut the binds that held him to the chair and attempted a transfer spell that would—well, as I said before, move him from one vessel to the other.”

“Fairy dust?” Mabel repeated, perking up further. “Sock puppets?”

“Magical, ain’t it, Shooting Star?” Bill asked. “But as I pointed out before, I’m still stuck in this body and not some badly-made puppet that Sixer put together in five minutes. So it was all for nothing~!”

His smile faltered as he glared back at Ford. “By the way, a transfer spell? That was your big, secret plan?” he asked with a scoff. “It’s so juvenile, I’m almost offended at your laziness. Props to you for finding one in the first place, though—didn’t realize you had one on hand! Too bad it didn’t work!”

“Woooow, and here I thought you were completely serious when you said it worked earlier,” Stan said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Of course you would, Goldfish,” Bill shot back with a smug grin. “Like I said; dumber and sweatier~! Not just pretty words tossed at you by your childhood bullies!”

Stan’s shoulders tensed further as Ford finally tied the rope off with a sturdy knot. “That should do it,” he said, then made a beckoning motion with his hand. “Alright, you can pass him over to me now.”

Stan stared at the hand, then down at Bill—earning another one of those toothy smiles of his; having a mouth really was a detriment to everyone but himself—before turning his gaze fully back to Ford.

Ford’s gaze was locked on him in return, any words he would’ve preferred to say silenced by the presence of Bill. Not just his presence but that of the kids, of Wendy—perhaps even by the presence of Stanley himself. An apology for earlier events lingering at the back of his throat, desperate to push itself out into the open, desperate to reach Stanley’s ears—

An apology almost identical to the one that Stan couldn’t bring himself to vocalize, the sheer vulnerability of such an action forcing him to avert his eyes from Ford to the kids, to Wendy, and finally to—

“No, no, don’t mind me,” Bill piped up. “If you two feel like fighting again, be my guests! And this time, you don’t even have a hallway to go out and fight in, so I get a front-row seat, baby~!”

Stan glowered at him before finally passing him off to Ford with a huff, one that allowed him a chance to push of that vulnerability back again.

Most of it, at least. “So, uh—that plan of yours,” he began slowly. “It really didn’t work, then?—don’t you say a word, Cipher!”

He directed that last part at Bill, who simply grinned in response as Ford shook his head. “No, unfortunately it didn’t work. As Bill is so keen on reminding us, his soul remained inside his current vessel even after the transfer attempt.”

He held up a finger. “However, that doesn’t mean I’m out of ideas. If anything, I did learn a few interesting things that might allow me to try a method I initially rejected.”

“Oh, because of the whole—” Dipper began, before his gaze shifted to Bill again. “You know, the stuff we talked about earlier—”

“Precisely,” Ford replied before Bill could get a word in. “While my initial theory wasn’t proven wrong by the failed attempt, it did prove that—”

He paused and returned his attention to Bill for a moment, who gave another cutesy bat of his eyelashes. “Well, Sixer, we’re waiting~?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Wendy started, then continued forward until she’d joined the adults proper. “Turn him towards me for a sec.”

With a confused look from all of them—Bill included—Ford obliged and held Bill out further in front of him. Once she was at a safe angle, Wendy leaned over and slapped a hand over each of his ears, earning a very irritable “Oh, COME ON—” from him for her efforts. “Would’ve covered his mouth too, but I’m not looking for another rabies shot,” Wendy explained. “Plus he seems like the kinda guy who’s going to yell and whine about me doing this, and it’ll muffle anything you have to say.”

“I’ll bet you mortals think you’re SO advanced for possessing external ear lobes!” Bill yelled, whipping his head back and forth. “Well, the joke’s on you! If I were in my usual form, I wouldn’t possess such a horrible evolutionary flaw! In fact, I’ll probably just get rid of ears altogether once I’m outta this stupid body—”

“Wow, smart call,” Dipper said.

Despite Bill’s best efforts to shake her off, Wendy’s hands remained firm against his head as she raised an eyebrow at Ford. “Alright, you wanted to say something?”

Ford blinked a few times in surprise, but cleared his throat with his free hand before responding: “As I was saying and as I told Stan and Dipper this morning, I was originally hesitant to cause any lethal harm to Bill’s current vessel, due to—well—”

“The fact that he looks like Dipper?” Mabel asked.

“Oh, so you guys saw that too,” Wendy asked with a grimace.

“We’ve seen it, acknowledged it—” Dipper added quickly. “But the main issue outside of that was that Grunkle Ford didn’t know if killing Bill’s vessel would actually kill Bill himself, since he’s a mind demon and stuff.”

“I had those concerns,” Ford continued. “But the failed transfer attempt proved a few things to me that I did not know at the time of those assumptions. I don’t have a lot of time to get into everything right now since, well—”

He gestured to the still-deafened Bill, who shot him a dirty look. “I know you’re talking about me! You think I don’t know your ‘showing off something as you talk about it’ gesture?”

“My point is—while the transfer failed, it taught me one important thing,” Ford said, while Bill droned on in anger. “While it’d still be dangerous to outright try killing Bill, he is unable to be pulled out of his current vessel.”

“...Meaning—?” Stan asked.

“Meaning that if he’s unable to be forcibly pulled out of his current vessel, there’s a high chance he also cannot leave of his own accord,” Ford explained. “Meaning he’s stuck. And if he’s stuck, there’s at least one specific thing we can try to get him out of our hair for the time being.”

“What is it?” Mabel asked.

“I’m going to take him down to the bunker and place him in one of the cryogenic chambers.”

“You’re gonna freeze him?” Wendy asked, then paused. “Woah, woah, time out—you had the idea to freeze him this whole time and you spent this long not doing that?”

“Well, to be fair, the process has only ever been used on the supernatural,” Ford explained. “I have no idea what kind of effect it’ll have on a human body, and the last thing I wanted to do is actually cause harm beyond repair to Bill’s vessel, for previously-explained reasons. But since my attempts to either contact the previous host or expunge him from the vessel were failures, it seems like a safe enough method to try next.”

“Hello?! Did we forget I was here?!”

Bill continued to shake his head about in an attempt to free his ears from Wendy’s hands, and Ford gave a nod to her to pull them back. “Anyway, what I told you is the current plan,” he said, while she obliged. “It shouldn’t take me too long to complete, and I should be back within an hour or so.”

“What, you’re going to the—” Dipper’s gaze bounced over to Bill for a split second “—the place we just talked about by yourself?”

“Oh, great recovery, Pine Tree,” Bill said. “By the way, it’s cute how you think that someone who’s been around the block as much as me doesn’t know how to read lips.”

He flashed the group a wide grin. “So if you guys wanna prattle on about how Sixer’s going to take me down to the bunker to pop me into one of those freezy-tubes like I were a pack of Mustelid Sticks, then by all means~!”

At the sight of their eyebrows shooting up their foreheads in surprise, Bill cackled in delight. “Wait, did I seriously get it right the first time?”

And as they attempted to settle their features back into more neutral expressions, he let out another elated cackle that rocked his entire body. “Haha, wow, I can’t believe that bluff actually worked!” he taunted. “I mean, it was my third guess, after ‘ultra-powerful vacuum’ and ‘fishing around inside my vessel’s ear with the soul-equivalent of those garbage-grabbing hooks’, but man, you guys gotta get better poker faces!”

“Yeah, well, so what if you’re right?” Mabel added, folding her arms across her chest. “What’re you gonna do about it to stop us from locking you up?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something~!” Bill said with a grin. “The universe does seem to have me in its favor when it comes to last-minute rescues~!”

He waggled his eyebrows at the group. “Do you get it? Because you jerks tried to kill me and I—hey!”

His smug look melted into annoyance as Ford gave his body a warning shake. “Don’t you worry about him, kids,” Ford said to the others. “No matter what he says, it’ll only be a matter of time before he’s out of our hair for good.”

“Going back to what Mabel was saying, though,” Stan said. “You’re really gonna handle this all by yourself?”

“Yeah, don’t you need someone to, like, push the buttons in the security room?” Wendy asked, then added as an afterthought: “I figure since he guessed the plan, we can talk about it freely now.”

“Hey, yeah!” Dipper agreed. “There’s no way you’ll be able to do the code all by yourself, especially not with Bill in your hands!”

“Once again, very hurtful that people are talking about me like I’m not even here,” Bill said with feigned offense. “But the peanut gallery raise a good point. Pretty sure that unless you’ve gained the ability to grow another pair of arms—not that you’d tell me if you did, I guess—you’ll be squished flatter than—well, me~!”

A pause, before he flashed Ford a grin. “And while imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery and I highly suggest you try it, I’d rather not be involved in said imitation attempt myself. You know what I mean?”

Rather than respond, Ford pressed his free hand to his chin. “I suppose the security room does provide me with an issue I hadn’t previously considered…”

Stan’s features lit up with a spark of inspiration, and his grip once again tightened around the stack of papers in his hand. “Hey, you know, if the cat’s outta the bag on that bunker plan,” he said, and began to flip through them with one hand. “I might have somethin’ that—”

“No, Stanley.”

It was said too quickly, far too quickly for either of their liking. And Stan’s thumbing through the papers was halted with a deflated look, one that earned a remorseful expression from Ford in return. “I—I appreciate you catching Bill for me, but I can handle this myself,” he said quickly, regaining his composure. “I’ll…simply deactivate the security room before I bring Bill through. It might add some extra time to my bunker venture, but it would make for an easy and safe transfer to the main lab area.”

“But I—”

“Yeah, so why don’t you do what I told you to do earlier, Goldfish,” Bill chimed in. “And run along and let the adults handle things here?”

Red once again flooded Stan’s vision, the stack of papers dropped to the ground beside him as he bared both fists in a surge of anger. “Oh, you wanna see how an adult handles things, you little—”

He grit his teeth together as his vision shifted between Ford and the kids, before he exhaled as much anger as he could possibly expel in one breath and scooped the papers back up off the ground with a halfhearted “Forget it.” before storming off towards the Stan-O-War-II.

Ford opened his mouth the slightest amount to object, to call him back, to say something—

“Yeesh, the temper on that guy,” Bill spoke up with a laugh. “No wonder you avoided him for so long, I’d go nuts having to deal with that all the time!”

—and his grip tightened on Bill before he turned to the nearby wood. “As I said before, it shouldn’t take me more than a few hours at most to disable the security system,” he called back to the kids. “Once it’s done, Bill will be out of our hair for the time being.”

“If it works,” Bill added with a laugh. “I mean, your silly little transfer spell didn’t work, so who’s to say—hey, hey, quit shaking me!”

Bill narrowed his eyes at Ford, who returned it with another shake of his body as he stepped from the yard into the forest underbrush—

“Grunkle Ford, wait!”

—and spun back around at the sound of Mabel’s voice, dirt crunching beneath her shoes as she hurried towards him. “I know Soos asked you earlier and you didn’t respond,” she said. “But…do you think you’ll be done with the security room in time for the party?”

“Yeesh, Shooting Star,” Bill piped up. “You’re all in the presence of greatness here, and all you can think about is some silly party?”

A laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you focusing on yourselves over anything else. You Pineses don’t do enough of that anymore. But c’mon, I’m dyin’ over here!”

He flashed Ford a grin, one far more teeth than actual amusement. “Although I guess that’s the goal here, isn’t it, Sixer?”

“I…don’t have an answer to that question, Mabel,” Ford replied to Mabel. “While I have confidence in my own skill to deactivate the security room without issue, there’s always a chance that things could go astray in the process. If all goes according to plan, I should at least make it back for the tail end of things. If it doesn’t—”

“If it doesn’t, too bad!” Bill interrupted gleefully. “No party for Sixer~!”

This time, Ford didn’t even bother to acknowledge him as he turned and continued onwards into the woods. Mabel didn’t budge from her spot, keeping her eyes locked on Ford's back until both of them disappeared from sight between the trees.

“Well, I still don’t know if him and Stan actually fighting or not,” Wendy chimed up from behind her. “But either way, that could’ve gone way better.”

“No kidding,” Dipper added. “And I know this goes without saying, but Bill wasn’t exactly making things any easier.”

“You’d think dying would’ve taught him how to shut up a little bit,” Wendy agreed with a huff. “Bet you anything Stan was a second away from swinging on him again.”

“A bet I’d never take because you’d win it easy.”

Mabel kept her attention on the woods for a few more seconds, her entire posture sinking as she finally turned back to face them. “And now Grunkle Ford’s gonna be at the bunker all day, doing secret bunker stuff all by himself,” she said sadly. “He might not even make it back in time for the party tonight…”

She reached over to grab one of her sweater sleeves with one hand. “Guess that’s not the most important thing right now, though, huh? Guess it’s getting rid of Bill first…”

Dipper crossed his arms with a sigh. “He never did tell us how he was going to handle that alone,” he pointed out, with his own unsure look towards the forest. “I mean, I know he said he’s gonna deactivate the security room. But how’s he going to get into the bunker at all?”

“Hey, yeah,” Wendy said thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t he need to climb up and reach the lever? How’s he going to do that when he’s gotta keep a hand on Bill?”

Realization painted both Dipper and Mabel’s features at the same time, and their gazes immediately snapped to each other. “Grunkle Ford isn’t letting Stan help him—” Dipper began.

“—but he didn’t say we couldn’t come help,” Mabel finished knowingly.

“And even if he said he could handle the Bill stuff by himself, he never said anything about getting help with the bunker stuff,” Wendy added with a wink.

“Plus, he’ll probably need at least one other person to watch Bill so he can focus on the security room!” Dipper said thoughtfully, a grin spreading across his face. “I know it’s not technically a loophole dodge, but I mean…how’s he supposed to focus on dismantling a dangerous security system if he’s got to keep one eye on Bill?”

“And keeping that eye on Bill for someone else will probably be super easy if he’s tied up,” Mabel agreed. “I mean, all he can do right now is talk, right? And it’s not like we’re not gonna listen to anything he says!”

“Sounds to me like we’re all in agreement on this ‘go and help that stubborn old doc out’ train,” Wendy said. “So you two gonna get a move on towards the bunker, or what?”

“Oh, should we both go?” Dipper asked, directing the question at her, then Mabel. “I think one of us would be more than enough, right?”

“One should be good,” Mabel said with a nod. “And we can always keep in touch with our cell phones, right?”

“Signal might be hit or miss underground, but it’s not like I can’t just step out and guard the exit as I text,” Dipper agreed.

“Yeah, y—wait, you?” Mabel tilted her head in confusion. “You wanted to go?”

“Oh, was that not—” Dipper began. “Did you want to go instead? I thought you’d want to stay and decorate for the party?”

“Yeah, plus we have no idea if Dr. Pines will actually be finished by the time the party starts,” Wendy added. “Are you sayin’ you’d be willing to miss a party of this size, Mabel?”

“Eh, there’s always gonna be other parties,” Mabel insisted. “Plus, I trust you two to follow Soos’ vision of ‘making this place look like a party threw up from spending too much time at another party.’”

She looked towards the woods again. “Plus, I…I said I wanted to spend some time with Dr. Grunkle Ford, right? What better way to do that then to help him with all this Bill stuff?”

She pressed a hand to her mouth with a giggle. “Oops, I mean…all this bunker stuff.”

“Fair point, fair point,” Dipper agreed with a nod. “Alright, then you go help Ford, and keep me posted on what’s happening! And I’ll snap as many pics as I can of the party for you, just so you don’t feel too left out.”

“You’re the best, Bro-Bro~!” Mabel said, smile widening as she looked between them. “Alright, I’d better get going then, huh?”

“Good luck, Mabel!” Wendy said, and flashed her a thumbs up. “And be sure to drop a couple of swears at the little triangle bastard in my honor.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Mabel said excitedly, then pressed a hand to her chin. “Uh…which ones should I use?”

“Whatever one you want, so long as I don’t get in trouble for it.”

Mabel thought for a second. “Bill’s a…dumbass?”

Wendy slapped a hand to her mouth to try and bite back a laugh. “Good try, but maybe put a little bit more oomph behind it? C’mon, say it with your whole chest!”

“Bill’s a dumbass!” she tried again with more confidence.

“Yeah, atta girl!” Wendy said, pumping a fist into the air.

Dipper let out a laugh of delight, pressing a hand to his own mouth. “He really is a dumbass, huh?”

“The biggest one!” Mabel said, clapping her hands together. “Dumbass triangle!”

“Alright, alright, let’s spread ‘em out a bit, huh?” Wendy suggested. “Swears are fine and good, but you use too many of them at once and they lose their punch.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Mabel said with a nod. “Better save them for when I get to the bunker, huh?”

With a laugh, Wendy gave her a two-finger salute, one accompanied by a thumbs up from Dipper. And after a confusing attempt to mirror both at the same time, Mabel bounded off through the underbrush in the direction where Ford had gone.

The two of them watched her go in silence, before Wendy looked down to Dipper. “So, you wanna get started on those streamers while we toss out a couple more swears about the little jerk?”

“Like you’ve gotta ask,” Dipper said, before they turned back towards the Shack. “I know for a fact I’ve got a couple of those hearty f-words saved up just for him.”

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Wendy Corduroy #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)#(Lots of Stan; Ford and Bill)

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djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains · 4 months

Text

so. um. @mean-scarlet-deceiver's post about thomas and henry's relationship has been living in my brain rent free for the past month and i have been turning over a scene for just as long.

so. i tried to write it. i hope you don't mind, jobey. and also you're right. they are Hard to get right. if i had to put an era on this i'd call it BG (Before Gordon).

about 1.5k, full fic under the cut

--- --- ---

Thomas keeps shooting glances at the sheds as he bustles around the yard.

It… the hired help from the other railway, the engines who are slightly too full of themselves for Thomas’ liking (and he’s made sure to let them know as such) have been talking loudly all morning, as they were getting ready to take their trains, about… the new engine.

Henry. Even if he couldn’t have remembered Henry’s name, the other two have been saying it loudly enough to carry around the yard that Thomas certainly has the picture now. And… Thomas’ lip curls as he hears their newest comment as he goes past.

“Hey!” he calls, boiling over, and the two hired engines look at him. “It’s 9am already. Are you going to actually go take your trains, or are you just going to sit and preen all day?”

“What would you know, little Thomas?” one of them calls back, all smarmy and smug. Thomas’ lip curls even more into a full on frown. Eugh. Tender engines.

“About running a railway on time?” Thomas snaps back. “Clearly more than you! Are you waiting for Sir Topham Hatt to personally invite you, or?”

They huff and sneer and pout at him, but they do still steam off one by one. However, they each shoot Henry a knowing and cruel side-eye as they go that makes Thomas bristle, despite himself.

Henry is still in his berth in the sheds. Well, he’s half-in, half-out. He only seemed to have made it so far before he… stopped. And he’s been going all sorts of shades of red as the others’ gossip had gotten louder and louder as he waited for his driver to return with an engineer of some sort.

Henry isn’t looking at Thomas now, but his eyes had snapped to the tank engine when Thomas had spoken up. He’s instead closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and seems to be trying – and trying hard – to… to what? To move?

Thomas tries not to stare, as he moves trucks into the siding they’re expected to be found in. Why is he trying so hard?

Eventually, Henry does actually move – but he… Thomas frowns again. Henry moves backwards, back into the shed. The wheesh Henry lets out as he comes to a halt is limp and weak.

Henry has been here, what, all of a month, maybe two at this point. Thomas hasn’t heard… many kind things, actually, so far, which is weird because look at him. Henry’s huge – Henry’s the biggest engine Thomas has ever seen, and he’s surely powerful to boot.

But Henry… Well, Edward said that Henry is sick, and sick often.

“Why?” Thomas had asked, as they had approached the shed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Thomas,” Edward had reprimanded, and that’s when Thomas had realised Henry was in earshot, and clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t.

And that had been that.

Thomas had seen Sir Topham Hatt come out of his office at the station to watch Henry’s comings and goings, and more often than not with a stormy expression on his face. And Thomas didn’t get that either. Problems get the stormy expression. Troublemakers get the stormy expressions (Thomas would know). And Henry seems… too…

Thomas biffs his truck ahead of him as he turns his thoughts over.

Too… quiet? Too wallpaper? Too chameleon? Too…?

He snorts to himself. Whatever Henry is, he’s too much of it. And certainly too much of it to be a troublemaker, not like those mainline engines. It’s not like Thomas has gotten to know Henry yet, and it’s not like Henry has given him the opportunity to, either: but Thomas doesn’t get the impression Henry wants to be trouble. But he has to be… there has to be something wrong here, otherwise the Fat Controller wouldn’t be so upset.

Thomas hears a sniff from behind him as he backs down his stretch of track, and realises it’s come from the sheds.

And Thomas sighs quietly. …Then again, if nothing was wrong, Henry wouldn’t be so upset either.

“Those two,” Thomas says, before he can think, and Henry has gone absolutely silent, eyes flicking over to Thomas as Thomas pauses on a nearby siding for just a moment. “Bloody wankers, the pair of them.”

The silence holds for another second or two, before Thomas is rewarded with a shaky laugh.

“…I noticed,” says Henry.

“All those mainline tossers, really,” Thomas continues, and he keeps talking even as his work takes him all around the yard, speaking up so Henry can still hear him. “I almost wish the Fat Controller wouldn’t hire them. Sure, we need more wheels on rails, but they don’t seem to know a blazing thing about this railway.”

Henry – in the shadow of the shed – purses his lips, before he lets out another sigh, another limp wheesh of steam.

“I would hardly say I do, either,” he says miserably.

Thomas frowns, and comes to a halt a little too sharply with a big woosh of steam.

“Of course you do,” he replies, indignant. Henry’s a big engine, he should- why would he say that? Sure, Henry hasn’t been here long, but he’s a big engine, he should know plenty. “More than them, anyway.”

Henry sighs. He doesn’t argue, but Thomas’ fire flickers in annoyance as he can read of Henry’s face that Henry doesn’t agree either.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have been bought if-”

“Don’t.”

Thomas’ mouth hangs open for a second, before he closes it, blinks, and glances at Henry.

Henry looks even more upset. Great job, Thomas.

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t,” Henry cuts him off again, sounding grumpier. And he’s gone from miserable to grumpy – that’s a win in Thomas’ book. “I’m particularly not in the mood to hear how I’d be more useful as a tin can.”

“The only tin cans around here are those self-important mainland pricks,” Thomas shoots back, and Henry side-eyes him – suspicious. “I’m not convinced they know what a timetable is, let alone how to read one. What kind of engine hangs around in the sheds when there’s work to… be…?”

Thomas trails off, and Henry… actually laughs. It’s tired and it’s bitter, but it’s a real laugh and it’s better than miserable.

“…Well, I want to assume you’re going to go work. When you can.”

“Optimism,” Henry says dryly. “I admire that in an engine.”

Thomas scrunches up his face. “I don’t understand you,” he says bluntly, in a way he’s sure Edward would scold him for if he was with them. “You’re miserable in the sheds, you’re miserable out on the line, you’re miserable doing nothing and you’re miserable pulling trains.”

Henry stares at Thomas for a moment, before his eyes flick away.

“If I could get out of this yard and actually pull trains, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Thomas says, far more dreamily than he’ meant to, and he cringes a little, chuffing out of where he can see Henry’s face, because he doesn’t need to hear an earful about it from another big engine.

“…You’re small,” Henry says, slowly, not accusatorily nor really condescendingly. He sounds more …confused than anything. “…And you’re useful, here.”

“And?” Thomas snaps back, defensive. “I could be useful anywhere.”

Henry’s silent for another moment, like he’s really chewing that statement over.

Then, eventually, he surprises Thomas by saying, “…I suppose you would be better than those two.”

And Thomas lets out a sharp bark of laughter, shooting Henry a grin as he goes by, and punctuating it with a hoot and a whistle – delighted. The enthusiasm makes Henry blink, before slowly, a smile of his own spreads across his face; one that sharpens to match Thomas’.

“You’re most certainly right! And besides. You let them get to you, you let them win,” Thomas agrees. “And they’re far too useless for that.”

Henry laughs again. Thomas lets out another peep-peep and a woosh of steam of his own, pleased to have earnt it. Footsteps crunch over the gravel of the yard, and Thomas spots Henry’s driver returning with a couple of engineers in tow before Henry does, and replies to their hellos as he bustles past.

“Hello, lad,” Henry’s driver says to Henry, patting his side. “We’ll have you right as rain in no-time, alright?"

Henry sighs again, but does actually smile back at his driver.

His driver blinks in fond surprise as the engineers get to work finding the newest problem. “You’re in good spirits, all of a sudden.” Then, he glances at Thomas as the tank engine goes past. “Making friends?”

“More so finding the only engine in this yard with a thought in his smokebox, it seems,” Henry says dryly, loud enough for Thomas to hear, and that makes Thomas snort in amusement.

He does call back, “Hey, now, be nice to Edward!”

And the engineers and Henry’s driver alike seem relieved when the two engines laugh together.

Thomas watches them work to get Henry’s steam up, and Henry’s finally pulling out of the sheds a good half-hour later. Thomas whistles goodbye as Henry chuffs away.

He smiles with the satisfaction of a job well done when Henry, completely of his own volition, whistles a goodbye in return as he disappears off down the line.

Then, Thomas returns to his trucks, and gives them a good biff once more, ignoring how this time, they really shriek. He – and Henry, he imagines – can’t wait for those mainlanders’ contracts to run out.

#ttte #thomas the tank engine #ttte henry #ttte thomas #ttte fic #dj's writing #i never realised how much i rely on nodding as gestural filler in my writing until im writing engines who cant nod #i hope a) you don't mind and b) this is good #i wanted to draw this originally but it eluded me badly #i dont know if Henry would actually be that forthcoming about his self-depricating comments but ALSO he's very miserable #and probably is trying to make Thomas leave him alone via making him uncomfortable. this however does not work #mostly bc thomas doesn't believe in pity parties. unless they're for himself.#excuse the tag ramble. im thinking about them hard

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doberbutts · 1 year

Note

Please feel free to ignore this ask if you feel it would bring any drama towards you-- that said, I am curious, why do you have a mostly negative view of protection dogs? Honestly, not sure where I stand. Idea wise, I don't really care, *however*... the amount of people with "working dogs" that I feel have absolute no idea what they have or how to safely manage their bitesport dogs is high enough, that I imagine there's just as high a percentage of people with "protection dogs", which makes me veeeery uncomfortable. I like the idea of having a dog that would genuinely be able to protect me, but at the same time, I view them the same as a weapon, and the idea of other people having one *who should have no business handling one* makes me. Eugh. I hope that makes sense.

I have a mostly negative view towards *personal* protection dogs. Not all protection dogs, just PPDs.

The reasoning is multifaceted but the largest portion is due to the fact that many people who say they want a PPD actually want a gun. They have an idea in their heads about what PPDs do and what they are capable of and that is honestly mostly fantasy and nonsense in this era. If [general] you are so concerned about being attacked that you need a dog to bite someone at a moment's notice, what you need is to take some self defense classes, get your conceal carry license, and buy yourself a suitable weapon.

Put simply, an aggressor that sees a dog at your side (esp of guardian breeds known for this sort of temperament) and still chooses to attack is prepared for the dog. Some quick work with a gun or a knife and you have just spent 5-10k on a dog's corpse and have no ability to fight back. All the training in the world does not make a dog immune to bullets or blades between the ribs. What will you do when your dog is dead and your aggressor is still coming for you?

Then you have the sticky situation of the fact that even in castle law ans stand your ground states, while it is legal for YOU to kill someone who is attacking you, your dog is not similarly protected. You may not be jailed, but a dog that bites or kills in defense of handler is susceptible to being taken and euthanized for being a dangerous dog. Once again you have just spent thousands of dollars on a corpse.

Unfortunately there are plenty of charlatans out there willing to take your money to train your dog and they may or may not do good work- though in my experience it can be difficult to find someone who actually is capable of doing good work and even harder to afford that person as they know their value is very high. But most do not warn people that they are throwing a lot of money at a problem that can be solved with less than half the amount of cash and not have to live through the experience of your would-be assailant killing your dog in front of you.

Lastly, it is a largely unregulated industry, so there is no standardization of training, no safety precautions, and no consequences when something inevidibly goes wrong. There are no certifications to prove quality. There is very little recourse for those who are harmed by the practice of bad actors. Anyone can claim they know what they're doing and while that is a repeating problem with all dog training- because it's not regulated at all in this country- there is a significant difference in danger of someone who's bad at training teaching a dog how to sit vs someone who's bad at training teaching a dog how to attack people.

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gaybananabread · 7 months

Note

Hii! I hope I'm doing this right 😅

The amazing digital circus, Lee Jax! Ler ragatha!

Banana,oranges,lemons please!! :3

Absolutely fine if your not able to do it but just a request :D

(oh no I forgot something 😅😭 Can the most focused on spot be the ears please!! Super sorry!)

Fruit(s): Bananas, Oranges, Lemons

You’re all good, Anon! Jax is such an ass and I’m here for it (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠◡⁠`⁠). I’ve been pretty sick this week, so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes or quality issues (ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ). Fair warning, the bunny man is quite the prick in this because I like bickering. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Jax

Ler: Ragatha

Summary: Jax is being a total brat, sassing and picking on all the other characters. Ragatha has enough, giving him a lesson on manners he won’t soon forget.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

The Amazing Digital Circus was…an interesting place, to say the least. If one could get over the fact that a likely-sentient AI entity ran a digital fairgrounds that nobody could ever escape from, their minds twisting and going down a deep spiral of paranoia and uncertainty until they lost their sanity, it was kinda cool. That first part was a pretty big hang-up for most, though.

Jax, however, had grown pretty used to the madness. He had his wit and sarcasm as a coping method. Why worry about your own misfortunes when you can laugh at someone else’s? The rabbit took every opportunity he could to quip, snicker and poke fun at his fellow characters. He got on everyone’s nerves.

His antics really got to one being in particular: Ragatha.

She felt as if she could tear his ears off some days. Jax would always bully the others, but he had been horrible that day. Pomni was still getting used to things; the poor thing didn’t need another reason to fret. His jokes were only putting everyone on edge, and that jester was already on a narrow ledge… It needed to stop.

“Wow Gangle, I didn’t know you could actually do something productive. Color me shocked.” Jax hovered over her, looking down at the ribbon being’s drawing. It was some sort of fan art, though he couldn’t name the media. It didn’t look that accurate, and he wasn’t that much of a nerd before he put the headset on…

Before she could think to be shocked at the half-praise, he quickly put the dickery in his words. “Shame it’s too trashy to make out whatever you drew. This place is enough of an eye-sore as is.”

The tears on Gangle’s mask rippled as she sniffed, trying not to let his mean words get to her. It didn’t really work; she’d put a lot of effort into that… She clutched the drawing to her chest as she ran away, her mouth line quivering. Jax just chuckled, not really caring that she ran off. It was just a joke. Not his fault she couldn’t take it.

Ragatha put her hands on her hips, marching over to Jax. He rolled his eyes, preparing for the lecture. “JAX! What is wrong with you?! Gangle worked really hard on that! You…you need to quit being such a jerky prick!”

The wide smirk stuck, though his eyes widened slightly. It was hardly a solid insult, though coming from such a typically passive-aggressive person, it was surprising. Didn’t know she had it in her…heh.

Jax’s snarky smirk returned, his eyes forming amused crescents. Hello, new source of entertainment… “Relax, dollface! Crybaby’s fine. Just havin’ another pity party.”

She scoffed, letting her typically suppressed temper show. “Seriously? You told her that those amazing drawings were trashy! Why are you such a bratty bully?” Her tone was as curious as it was disappointed. Eugh…

“I’m not a bully. I just say what I see; not my fault you babies can’t handle the truth.” Okay, maybe he was going a bit further than he normally did. He was bored, and the banter was actually amusing. As long as he danced on the right side of the line, he’d be fine. “Like you. I mean, I get this place knows our minds or something, but it really nailed you. Trashy scraps and frayed yarn.”

This little…ugh! He was bringing out a side of Ragatha she didn’t know she still had. “Oh really? And what’s that make you, cotton tail? A bargain bin, carnival prize knock-off?”

Jax actually chuckled; finally, someone fun. “Nah, I’m just better. Taller, good-looking, not made of sewn together *boink*. I’d say it did me right.” He smirked, leaning in and getting to her level. “You found a nice 1830’s girl yet? They’re all about raggedy scraps.”

Oh, that was it! She glared, her upper lip curling as she reached for him. The lanky jerk leaned away just in time, taking off in the opposite direction. Okay, so it was possible to make her mad…totally worth it.

Ragatha chased after him, going over revenge plans in her mind. She normally tried to avoid conflict, but Jax was out of control. Rabbit stew seemed delicious, even if it would only be a simulation…

Jax tried to find literally any not-obvious spot to hide, but everything was ginormous and solid, a vengeful Ragatha on his heels. He just ran for his life. He might’ve made it, too, if he hadn’t tripped on something. “What the-” He went down, face-planting on the bouncy floor. Gloink…of course. He could’ve sworn it smirked at him, even though they had no mouths.

The doll was on him in seconds, quickly pinning him to the floor. For fabric and stuffing, she was pretty strong. Before he could think to fight back, his arms were pinned above his head, the girl straddling him and blocking his every escape. “W-woah doll! At least buy me dinner first!” That one was kinda stupid, but it was there.

The smoldering glare that comment received finally shut him up, if only for a moment. So many ideas, so little time… But she couldn’t do anything to hurt him. One, it wasn’t physically possible, and two, she was better than that. He still needed some kind of shove in the right direction… Ohohohooo, that’s perfect.

“I think you need to learn some hard lessons, Jax. Respect for your friends, and when to shut up.” The tone of her voice was surprisingly playful, even if it had a serious edge. He didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved.

He wasn’t sure what she was up to. That is, until he felt one of her mitten-esque hands on his stomach, wiggling into the furry surface. Unable to bite his lip, giggles slipped past his defenses, greeting the smug doll. “W-whahat the *bloink* ahare you dohohoing?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m showing you what happens when you’re a snarky dork.” Ragatha smirked, keeping his hands pinned firmly above his head. “W-whehen dihid you gehehet strohohohong?!”

She tsked, trying not to take offense to that. “You need a filter, Jax. Apparently Caine’s isn’t enough. My way is a bit more…hands-on.” Ragatha went to town on his belly, digging her fabric fingers into his midsection.

Squealing, twisting and turning, Jax tried anything to escape. He might’ve had the height advantage, but when it came to strength and endurance, he was surprisingly out-matched. Also, apparently very ticklish. Shocks across the board.

Jax kicked his feet, the pads thumping against the floor. She cooed, teasing him further. “Aww, guess you really do live up to your character, Thumper.”

The tickling wasn’t even the worst part, though it did come in a close second. It was the teases. He honestly didn’t think she had it in her, but *sproing* he was wrong. Ragatha squeezed his hip, making him jolt and squeal. “R-RAHAhagathaha!” Okay, make that a tie.

His laughter, to Ragatha, was honestly adorable. Who knew a jerk like him could be so ticklish, much less have a laugh like that. It was bright, bubbly and uncontrollable. Hearing her friends laugh, no matter how rude, was something special. She could listen to it all day, though she didn’t quite plan on going that far.

While the silliness wasn’t hurting him, his pride was being battered to bits. No matter how much he wriggled and writhed under her, he couldn’t manage to break her hold or knock her off. Beyond that, she just had to keep exploring his spots. “Youhuhu lihittle- GYAAAHAHA! NAHAT THEHEHERE!” Like that one.

Ragatha's eyes widened as she rubbed the base of his ear, not expecting the spot to incite such a reaction. She wasn’t complaining, though. “Geez, Jax. These floppy ears are so sensitive! I have got to tell the others.” The doll switched between each ear, making sure neither felt left out. They twitched and flopped, but couldn’t avoid her skilled hand.

Even though he was the most prideful of all the characters, her tickling was really pushing his limits; he just couldn’t take any more. Abandoning his ego for a moment, he cried out. “O-OHOHOKAHAY! IHI’M SOHAHAHARRY! P-PLEHEHEASE NO MOHOHORE!”

She took that as her cue to quit, releasing his arms and climbing off him. The rabbit man immediately curled into himself, giggling like a toddler. She did notice, however, that he was still wiggling slightly, his closed eyes moving as if he had a twitching nose. He was clearly happy, though she bet he’d never admit it out loud.

“Y-youhuhu…youhu’re dehehead!” The threat would’ve been a lot more menacing if he didn’t look and sound like he’d had the time of his life. “Uh-huh, sure. Just try to be nicer, okay Giggles?” Ragatha pat his head, walking away and going to find Gangle. Knowing her, she would need similar treatment, though for very different reasons.

Jax took deep and giggly breaths as he tried to calm himself. That was…wow. He didn’t even think stimulation like that was possible in the Circus. Then again, Caine did say the only thing he couldn’t control were their minds. How his mind felt right then…he’d rather not talk about it. Her plan had worked; he’d definitely be thinking about that encounter for a while. Maybe not for the intended reasons, though…

#tadc tickle #kasey's fruit shop #lee!jax #ler!ragatha #ticklish!jax #sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle #fruit shop event #the amazing digital circus tickle #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #sfw tickle fic #jax is an asshole

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falling-star-cygnus · 23 days

Text

it pains me greatly to refer to Sampo’s hair as dark blue

i didn't get Aventurine, even after playing through his entire banner, and i'm devastated. but at least now im guaranteed for Boothill

will it become angst? will it be fluffy friendship feels? who knows? -> you don't, i certainly don't

let's find out together! -> continuation of this post

This man was way too close for comfort.

Dark blue hair, closer to a violet if the light hit it and shadowed by white, hung in front a handsomely familiar face. But the seriousness of it didn't seem fitting of the playful green glimmer of his sleepy eyes.

And 'sleepy', in this case, didn't translate to 'oblivious' in the slightest.

Aventurine felt like prey.

Hm... if the blond took a step back- when there was room to step back- and squinted, maybe tilted his head a little to the right, he'd almost be reminded of a certain doctor. It's with that comparison that the gambler is able to find his voice.

"Something on my face?"

Aventurine forces a levity he doesn't feel into his tone, if only to mask the growing unease that made a home in his chest. It fluttered and jumped around like a bug, beat it's wings into the hollow of his throat, as he pressed his left wrist into the wall behind him.

The man straightens up from his intense staring.

It's almost impressively synthetic, how his sharp seriousness melts into lazy edges and swagger. Almost believable too, had the blond not been able to see the twin daggers sitting on his exposed hips. And if the man hadn't literally been cornering him against a wall not two seconds prior.

Who was this guy?

"I know my face is pretty, but surely you realize staring is bad manners."

And so is crowding them against walls, he doesn't say. They're long past the point of correction, after all...

A sleazy sort of cat-like smile curls over the man's face like it was always meant to be there, completing the illusion of friendliness and leaving Aventurine feeling vaguely wrong footed.

"My sincerest apologies! I'm afraid your familiar face got me all wrapped up in nostalgia. I was just trying to place where I'd seen such- striking- features before."

He talks like there's something thick in the back of his throat. It's not nasally but... honeyed. Tiptoeing the line of sarcasm and sincerity like he was born on it.

And apparently Aventurine wasn't the only one who felt that twinge of recognition either.

"Oh? What a coincidence, friend. Do you happen to have an unpaid debt?"

It was a long shot, but perhaps...

The man cringes back.

"Eugh.. so you are with the IPC then. And here I was hoping that Ms. Sparkle was lying again..."

Aventurine can feel his smile tighten.

Why did he know who Sparkle was? Wasn't this the man that Topaz had been chasing through that snowball of a planet? Did he guess wrong?

Syrupy words cut through the questions cramming into the blond's skull like a knife.

"After all, I find it hard to believe that a man like yourself would turn down an invitation for performative freedom, just to do the exact same thing with a collar."

He's smiling like a cat that caught the canary and Aventurine suddenly feels very cornered. There's nothing stopping him from leaving this conversation, not since the man had backed off his space, but now that felt vaguely like surrender...

"Hahah... what did you say your name was again?" "How could I be so rude? The name's Sampo Koski, a business man! Anything you need, I can get. For the right price."

A business man. Right... and Aventurine was a free man.

"I was there, you know."

The blond feels like he swallowed a brick of ice. 'Sampo Koski's' oppressive presence drowned out any possible thought Aventurine could hope to form, like an actor dazzling in the spotlight.

"There?" "When the invitation was extended, of course!"

Sampo snaps, as if having some bright realization, and his smile somehow gets even wider.

"That's where I've seen you before! Let's see, what name did it go out to again? K-A-... Kakav-" "Aventurine."

Maybe it's the sudden hardness of his voice, or the realization that maybe Sampo shouldn't be pressing someone that controls his debts, but the man backs off with deceptively innocent eyes.

Aventurine doesn't want to hear this stranger say his name.

"...Wow, I was way off. You work with Ms. Topaz then?"

The larger than life attitude Sampo had donned dissipates like smoke. His countenance had never changed from lazy swagger, but now it felt... skittish. Confident, but in a way that conveyed 'exiting stage left'. The gambler felt like he could breathe a little easier.

Yeesh, was this how Ratio felt talking to him? He might have some apologies to make...

"That's right. You work with Sparkle?" "Ugh, as little as possible!"

Despite the rather... tumultuous, circumstances that led to their meeting, Aventurine found himself chuckling. After all, he completely understood the distaste.

"What, not a fan?"

Sampo scoffs theatrically, crossing his muscled arms over his chest. He was pretty impressively built, now that the gambler could properly take in his features without feeling stuck in place. Not as muscular as Ratio was, of course, but- still.

Slender waist and fingers, broad shoulders, tall... Wow.

Maybe Aventurine had a type.

The two quickly found themselves in the throes of pleasant conversation, trading snippets of their experiences with the Fool like girls at a slumber party.

Sampo, of course, had a lot more to share than Aventurine did but that was to be expected. The blond almost found it endearing how cautiously the man talked about her, almost as if he couldn't bring himself to speak badly of a lady- no matter how much he disliked one.

It was an admirable trait for a Fool.

In the end, Sampo disappears in the same manner he had thrown himself into Aventurine's path.

Abruptly and with barely a trace.

The blond sends the selfie he had taken with the man to Ratio, trying to regain some sense of normalcy after that rollercoaster of a conversation.

Gambler: *sent one image* 12:15 found your discount twin today, doc ;) 12:15

*Doctor <3 is typing*

Doctor <3: . . . That looks nothing like me, gambler. 12:16 Zero points. 12:16

#uncanny sampo my beloved #if sampo has no fans im dead #honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #hsr #ratiorine #aventio #hsr aventurine #hsr sparkle #hsr sampo #sampo koski #aventurine #veritas ratio

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basu-shokikita · 4 months

Text

Dethentines 2024 Day 4

College AU or forced proximity

Happy Sunday, I finished this entry a few minutes ago! It was a no brainer between these two tropes, making the boys suffer is ALWAYS morally right. And I got a little carried away so this one is closer to a fic than a drabble. 🌸

Skwistok being stupid and flustered, go!

“Whats happens?” Toki asked, his eyes seeing nothing but darkness.

“Eughhhh….” Skwisgaar replied, not too far away from him, but Toki couldn’t see where. “Where…ams we?” He sounded confused.

Toki blinked, trying to remember what went down…

Charles had given them specific instructions. Go to the dungeons, don’t speak to anyone, deliver the package and get back to the main levels. And don’t play around the traps, especially do not play with the traps. They were not made for playing.

Toki dragged Skwisgaar with him, because he was bored and Skwisgaar was bored too though he probably would never admit it. And everything was going smoothly, until Skwisgaar thought it would be funny to start shoving Toki when they were close to those mysterious holes in the ground. Because he was an idiot and wanted to see Toki fall, no matter how many times Toki told him to stop it. Until Toki stumbled and held onto Skwisgaar out of reflex as he fell.

And then everything was black.

“Ah!” He let out a shout of realization. “You dildos, Skwisgaar! I tolds you to stops wif de pushings!”

“Ja, and dens you fells and-” There was a thud, most likely Skwisgaar impacting against something. “What de hells?”

“Whats?”

“I tries to moves and-” Another thud. “I hits against somethingks. Where ams we?”

“I don’t knows!” Toki said with exasperation. “I can’ts even sees! Does you have a lampterns?”

“Toki, why woulds I carries an lants in my owns houses?” Skwisgaar asked, with that tone like Toki had said something incredibly stupid.

“Wells, you shoulds!” Toki started feeling around. It’s not like he hadn’t spent his childhood in dark places, it just so happened that he wasn’t used to this one. Okay, so he was lying down and there was something hard all under him. He knocked it. Wood most definitely.

Then, he stretched his arm to see how far it went but, before too long, he hit a corner that went upwards, and then another corner that went to the left and above him. If he could reach it with his fingertips that meant it was small. When Toki stretched his left arm, he almost immediately came across something soft, fabric?

“Eugh…?”

Toki kept fondling the unknown texture against his palm. “What ams this?”

“Dats…woulks be mines ass, Toke.” Skwisgaar said in a low tone and Toki jolted so hard he felt his head knock against the wood.

“Wh-Why ams yous ass soes close to mes!” He screeched, pulling his arm away in a frenzy. “What ams wrongs wif yous?!”

“I tolds you I tries to-” Skwisgaar knocked hard against something. “Odins! Dere ams no goddamns spaces in dis plasckes!”

“We needs light!” Toki exclaimed with desperation. “Looks for lights!”

“Okeys, okeys…” Judging by the awkward taps he was hearing, Skwisgaar was searching. Eventually, he stopped. “I thinks I founds somethingks.”

“Ja?”

“Ja…” There was a click and a flash, red light blinding them. Toki instantly covered his face and closed his eyes. After a while, he opened them and it took a while to process the sight.

And when it did, it was the opposite of reassuring.

They were stuck in some sort of enclosed space, with Skwisgaar on top of him, his head facing Toki’s feet and his crotch hovering over Toki’s chest and his legs resting on the sides of Toki’s head. There was hardly any space to move away from each other.

“What de fucks…” He let out in abject horror.

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar tried to look back, clearly not quite aware yet of what Toki was seeing. “Dis why I couldnts moves earliers.” He tried to back away and Toki saw his ass fastly approaching his face.

“Waits, Skwisgaar!” He raised his hand but stopped inches away from touching his bandmate’s behind. “Don’s move…yous ass is…ams closes to mes right nows…”

“Oh.” Skwisgaar said almost unemotionally. After a pause, he added. “Ams it like de sixty nines-”

“Ja.”

There was some rustling and Toki glimpsed at Skwisgaar moving his head, most likely to confirm the information. ““...Fucks.”

“J-Ja.”

“Nows what?”

Toki tried to think. All things taken in account, he had the better position. Skwisgaar was propped on his arms and legs, there was no way he was going to be able to stay like that for a long time. And when he gave in…

The image that popped in Toki’s mind was so obscene that he had to physically shake off his head. “Tries movings soes we ams facing each others…faces.”

There was a short-lived silence. “Why don’ts you moves?” Skwisgaar sounded irritated.

“Because ams de ones betweens de woods-walls and yous?!” Toki huffed in disbelief. To demonstrate his point, he lifted his knee and it impacted against Skwisgaar’s shoulder.

“Augh!” Skwisgaar groaned in pain and weakly punched Toki’s calf.

“Sees? I can’ts even moves!”

Grumbling, Skwisgaar began the process of changing positions. He twisted his body to the side before burying his head in his chest and moving to the right. Clumsily, his legs followed, not without Skwisgaar’s boot rubbing against Toki’s face.

“Heys!”

Skwisgaar ignored him and continued, purposefully sinking his elbow into Toki’s chest as he moved. Annoyed, Toki grabbed him by the wrists to move him faster.

“Don’ts touch!” Skwisgaar complained, running his hands over Toki’s face like a child.

“Yous-” Toki slapped Skwisgaar’s hands with his own. “Yous de ones touchings!”

“Yous startedks!”Skwisgaar was now shoving his fingers inside Toki’s mouth.

“Youghh…busheds me!” Toki retaliated by digging his digits into Skwisgaar’s nose.

“Eugh- Yous mades me falls!”

Slaps and kicks were delivered everywhere, Toki wasn’t even looking what he was punching against, just that it was Skwisgaar’s body. They groaned and cursed and were certainly going to stay frantically hitting each other for an indefinite time until they heard a weird noise in the distance.

Skwisgaar went still. “W-Whats was dats?”

“I don’t knows…” Toki couldn’t hear it anymore. He wondered how deep they were, if maybe there weren’t monsters in the vicinity. He swallowed heavily. “Maybes we shouldn’ts makes noises for nows.”

Skwisgaar nodded in agreement. “Ja.”

As they stared at one another in silence, Toki realized that maybe his suggestion was foul. They were so close to each other now that Toki could see Skwisgaar’s pearly sweat forming on his forehead, could feel his hot breath on his face and his chest pressed against Toki’s.

“Eugh…” Skwisgaar seemed to notice as well and he shifted his body, to decrease the physical closeness, to no avail. There was no space to move to, one of his knees resting between Toki’s legs. “Dis ams…”

If anything, Toki was glad the light was red because then Skwisgaar wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. “M-Maybes turns off de lights?” He suggested, thinking it would be less uncomfortably intimate if they didn’t have to gaze at each other’s faces.

“Ja, good ideas.” Skwisgaar accepted and his foot began searching for the switch. His eyes strayed away from Toki, frowning deeply and biting down his bottom in concentration and Toki briefly wondered if that’s how Skwisgaar looked in bed before rejecting the thought in a panic.

“Ah!” Skwisgaar looked at Toki victorious and Toki wished it had been in any situation but this one. “I finds it!” And like that, the last thing Toki saw was Skwisgaar sticking his tongue out with his eyes rolled back before they were plunged into darkness again.

Fuck his life, seriously.

There was another noise and the space trembled and Skwisgaar just fell on top of Toki, no longer propping himself up with his limbs. “What da fucks ams goingks on?” Skwisgaar asked, the fear prevalent in his voice.

“Oh, Gods…” Toki said, just as scared. He had been so busy thinking about the space they were in, how cramped it was, that he had forgotten to think about how the hell were they going to leave. “Ams we goings to-” The space shook violently and he instinctively clung to Skwisgaar. “Oh, Gods!”

“Fucks…” Skwisgaar whispered, his face buried in Toki’s shoulder. “Fucks, fucks, fucks…”

“I don’ts wants to dies…” Toki said, his eyes watering.

“I don’ts wants to dies eide- uh, Toki?” Skwisgaar suddenly lifted his head.

“W-Whats?” Toki’s voice was shaky.

“Ams you…Ams you hards right nows?”

“Whats?!” Toki let go of Skwisgaar. “No, ams no-” The space shook again and he was back at hugging Skwisgaar in fear. “Ahhh!!” He screamed like a child.

“Ahhhh!” Skwisgaar echoed him as the shaking grew worse and worse.

Toki closed his eyes, preparing himself for the end. His life was flashing before his eyes when…

“Toki?” A familiar voice called him. “Skwisgaar?”

Toki opened his eyes. “Was dats…?”

“Toki? Skwisgaar? Just answer if you’re there, boys!”

“Ams dat…?” Skwisgaar trailed off.

“Alright, they’re not here.” Charles said. “Let’s keep looking.”

Panicked, Toki and Skwisgaar yelled at the same time.

“Helps!”

“Helps us!”

“We ams downs here!”

“Quicks, dere ams bigs monsters whats gonsa eats us!”

“Helps us!

–

Toki and Skwisgaar looked down in shame as their manager scolded them in his office. Apparently, while messing around, they had fallen into one of the torture traps designed for…Dethklok’s enemies. It was a slow asphyxiation kind of deal, coupled with potential decrease in temperature and eventual crushing. They would’ve certainly suffered a slow and excruciating death if Charles hadn’t realized they were taking too long to come back.

The most embarrassing part was, though, when the Klokateers rescued them and Toki discovered Skwisgaar hadn’t been lying about his you-know-what being awake. Really awake. Nobody referred to it, but still.

While glancing down at his own groin, Toki decided two things. He was never asking Charles for stuff to do ever again. And he was especially never bringing Skwisgaar with him again.

#dethentines #dethentines2024 #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #my writing #no beta we die like men etc #tw claustrophobia #just in case

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angelpuns · 6 months

Note

Spinoff kid Leo Au (fan story)

Part 2

Lunch was ready and everyone was reunited at the table (or coffee table for the living room. It was small, and there were no chairs. It's fine.) and not to complain about the food either, but whatever this was, didn't seem like something you could digest or at least that's Leo's opinion, 'cause everyone else was fine eating it. It looked like some sort of smash potatoes... but dad didn't bring potatoes, which made Leo distrust the dish.

"Is everything fine, blue? You haven't touched your meal." Eugh boy, Leo really didn't want to try it. Spoon fully right at his mouth. "Oh yes, everything is fine, just trying to figure out what this delicious thing is. Heh." He gave a thumbs up. Leo was really nervous, he didn't want his dad to feel bad. The dish wasn't bad, in fact it didn't have any flavor. Makes him question more.

"I know it is not great cooking, but it's what we have." Splinter seemed disappointed, not about his cooking nor their way of living, but of himself. He could give his children a better life. If he wasn't so selfish, would they be here? Would he have his lovely children? It's something Splinter wouldn't like to think of, because all the decisions, for the good or for the bad, brought him to where he is now, to his family. He would never change that, but he wishes to give them more, a better life than the sewers. Be a better father to them.

"Now someone is centered in his thoughts, eh. Everything fine pops?" Leo just wanted to light the mood. If he was going to stay here, at minimum try to avoid making his dad go into depression mode earlier than anticipated.

"Yeah. I was just thinking... maybe more salt?" Was he really trying to lie to Leo? He's a teen, not a toddler any more. Things won't be easy any more, are they?

"Yeah. Maybe more salt." He repeated. He won't make Splinter talk about his feelings. Took Mikey years to make his father talk openly to them. He won't try that to him now.

And it's contradictory because if it wasn't that their father was locked in his room, they wouldn't escape to the surface, they wouldn't meet April, wouldn't become friends, and many other things wouldn't have happened. And of course they love April, but they also needed their father more time with them. Man, if they ever gave Leo to choose, he couldn't. How would he?

It was a silent meal... until Mikey decided to make it uncomfortable. "Do we have a mom in the future?" There goes a lovely evening. Splinter almost choked with the spoon. Leo didn't know if to laugh or cry... or both at the same time. He could totally be like: Why yes brother dearest, in fact we have two. One is a giant spider who tried to kill us many times. And maybe more me than you. And the other one is a goat sheep-man who also tried to kill us, also more me than you... maybe including dad. I don't know. Or simply pretend he didn't hear him and change the subject. He turned to his dad to see if he could save him, but the old man just turned his gaze, Leo gave him a smile that could be read: help me or I can ruin your entire career. I know all your secrets old man.

The older toddlers just looked at Mikey as if he had something wrong. Clearly he was curious, an innocent question you may add. But by the uncomfortableness between both adults, you can tell they felt distressed. Donnie helped save the day. "Why would you ask that? That's kinda gross, maybe Leo doesn't know about that because of his inferior knowledge. Why won't you ask something more simply? like something about us?" Ohmigosh. You had to make yourself sound so smart, didn't you? with all those fancy words. Please Donnie, you only have six. But thank you anyways.

"Oh I see. Then... how babies are made?" Leo immediately ran out the kitchen, with pain by his injuries, but fast as he could. Repenting "Nope." On his way out. He will not be the one who has to explain that to a toddler. Splinter.exe has stopped working.

"Mikey. No.~" the only thing that could Donnie do is just give a gentle squeeze at Mikey's little shoulder. Raph and Mikey were confused. Adults and Donnie were confusing, but it's best not to ask.

After a couple of hours. Leo had returned to the kitchen to help his father clean while the kids were playing. "So, no mom. eh?" Splinter started jokingly, he wasn't interested in the topic, but it was funny to see Leo's face turning red. Even though you can't notice at simple sight because of his stripes. "Really dad. You too?" He didn't want to make eye contact, he felt embarrassed.

"No, not really. But you should have seen your face. Hehe." Leo finally turned to face him, Splinter's sincere smile was contagious. "Heh, yeah. But I'm still not answering that." They both laughed.

"And how about you? Do you have a girlfriend?" Splinter asked while they both were washing the dishes.

"What?"

"Or boyfriend. I won't judge. So tell me, will I be grandpa? And how many grandchildren will I have?" Now he did sound interested.

Leo didn't believe what he was hearing. For the first time his father showed interest in them... in him... well, not the first time. He already is… he was like this when he was little, but after the age of eight, when he left them on their own... Nothing was the same. Not even at their teen age, and when he finally left the couch to help them fight a great threat. When their lives were at line. He was there, but not like he wanted. He wanted a father, not a sensei. Not even Raph deserved what he's been through only for being the oldest. But they were still grateful that at the end... no... in continuity, they had their family all together. Metaphorically speaking. Leo had to figure out how to go back to his family of his time. But it is still counted as a win. Kinda.

"Pfff sadly no. Not that I know. None of us have a couple or children, except for Donnie, but robots can't be considered grandchildren, can they? Just don't tell little Donnie I told you this, ok?"

"Heh maybe. It depends. And don't worry I won't tell." This was nice. Leo felt like he could tell anything to this Splinter and he would actually listen to him. It didn't have to be the: he didn't listen to me again, fine whatever. The feeling of being ignored wasn't good, but they were used to it, and that wasn't good either.

"Papá! I'm bored!" Yelled Mikey from the... probably the living room. Splinter gave a reassuring smile to Leo before he went to help his child in "distress" and leaving the teenager alone.

It was calm, It was silent. No caos, no trouble, no villains to fight against, no life threatening situations. A normal life. Leo didn't realize they had a calmed life before going to surface. He wished this could've lasted a bit longer, but also having gone to school could've been cool. "You can't always have everything Leo." he said to himself.

Side note: I did this in honor of Angel and his amazing blog/Au. If you liked it, I could continue with the small side, side, non-official, fan story. If not, is also fine, (it's my first time writing a story) I would love to hear some feedback and your opinion.

Thank you for reading 💙

- 🌸

WGAHHDHFHFHF YES YES YES LOVELY AS ALWAYS!!!

Omg Mikey asking the real questions out here- ' how are babies made ' HE WOULD ASK THAT LMAOOO

I do hope they get to eat some nice food soon ;-; maybe Leo can make them some pizza :D

#these are so great #waaaaa #i love #kid leo asks #kid leo au

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ficbrish · 5 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

[31Jan2024]

This is from a one shot that's part of my Kinktober collection

"A Tumble"

Non-Dark Urge Vistri, Eary Act II, After deciding to "be real", but before his actual 'didn't drink the potion' lock-in

[cw - Injury, gore, grief, panic, magic first aid, food]

It wasn’t the first time Astarion saw her fall. She was a sorcerer; her type only ever brought some cloth and the raw, unlimited fury of the weave to battle.

“Vistri!” he’d shouted her name so sweetly the other night, and now it crawled out of his mouth as something misshapen and wretched. He sent a fiery arrow after the shadows and dropped to his knees beside her. The others finished the fight as he reached into his pack with trembling hands. Too many scrolls. So many fucking scrolls! There was one for poison, another for grease traps—for gods damned spiderwebs!

“Get up! Gods damn you!” he cried out, still searching through his pack. There was blood on her neck, but it was wrong. It wasn’t from him; the shadows did that to her. The dark in these woods was a different kind. It was thick and overbearing, like the moment after something horrible. The air around them clung to their throats, coating it with a heavy sort of gravity. It was hard to get used to and threw off all their senses, even as a Vampire and a Drow.

A ragged draw of breath stopped Astarion’s heart mid-beat. Her stillness had been deceiving. Quickly, he stuffed the scrolls back in and pulled out a potion. Gingerly, he lifted her head into his lap and dabbed a bit of its serum onto her lips, coaxing her to drink the rest. Magic and dragon blood closed her wounds. A bit of color came back to her periwinkle cheeks.

Vistri coughed, “Hello dear.”

He sighed into the sight of her living eyes and bent down to kiss her. Their lips were upside down. She laughed and kissed him back as if she weren’t just ripped open and unconscious.

Astarion felt something creep behind him and unsheathed a knife from his thigh, “Wait here a moment, love.”

He set her aside gently and stood up with a twirl. His blade stuck deep into the gut of a shadow cursed Harper, leaving him staring into the blank rotten eyes of a corpse. Astarion hadn’t seen himself once these past two hundred years, and wondered in that moment whether he had those same dead eyes. One look back at Vistri relieved him of that fear.

“Come back to my side at once,” she pouted.

Rushing, he stabbed the undead creature through its skull, and as it collapsed on its own weight, it toppled over on him. Astarion regained his balance and pushed it off, “Eugh!” Then he slid over to Vistri on his knees.

“You blasted,” he kissed her about a million times, grumpily and gratefully, “Hag!”

“Hey!”

“Stop dying, then!”

“I didn’t die, exactly. I just fell over.”

“You almost died. Not that I care anything about it.”

She smirked, “There’s something so dashing about the way you pout.”

He tried his best to frown instead, “Don’t try to flatter your way out of my concern.”

“Thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t!” he scoffed.

Wyll and Karlach strutted towards them out of the dark, obviously smug about felling the last of their enemies.

“Oy! Children!” Karlach called out, addressing them, “Lend a hand next time, will ya?”

“I’m no child! I am over 200 years old!”

“Act like it then,” she winked cheekily.

He was ready to fight until Vistri squeezed his hand—They weren’t children. Karlach only teased them out of respect—Astarion dropped his shoulders.

“You hear that, my dear?” he quipped instead, “Karlach thinks we should act more adult.”

He scooped Vistri up by her waist and had his way with her tongue.

“Ah, love,” Wyll commented dreamily.

“Don’ know if I’d call that love,” Karlach groaned, “More like bragging.”

“What is love if not life’s greatest braggart?”

“Should write that down, mate.”

“Really? You think so.”

Karlach winked, “I’d say you were a poet and didn’t even know it.”

Astarion couldn’t really hear either of them. He could only taste her, savor her existence after how close she’d been to disappearing. Her lips were warm. They were so warm.

Wyll cleared his throat, “Um, guys? Can we go now?”

Vistri hummed dreamily as she tore herself away, “If I can stand on two feet.”

“If you can’t, I’m sure prince charming down there would be happy to carry you.”

Karlach laughed as if the idea were absolutely hysterical, “As if!”

Astarion stood up in offense, “As if?!”

“Come on, Fangs! Be real about it. Carry someone? All the way back to the inn?”

Before she knew what was happening, Vistri found herself swept up and thrown over Astarion’s shoulder like a heavy sack. She squealed in a mixture of terror and delight.

“I’m not as useless as I may seem!” Astarion grumbled, tossing Vistri a bit to adjust his hold. Neither Karlach nor Wyll argued, but they did raise their brows.

Shrieking was common in the Shadow Curse lands, but the way Vistri did it was startlingly out of place. It had laughter and happy shock in it, “Your face is right by my bum!”

“Is that a bad thing, darling?”

“But what if I fart?!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Quit tossing me about so much then!”

Wyll led the way, leaning into Karlach to comment, “Aren’t they sweet?” To which she snickered back.

Astarion actually managed to carry Vistri the whole way. She might have cast herself with Feather, making his feat a little less impressive, but neither of them cared. Astarion was determined to brag about it and change everyone’s mind regarding his strength, and Vistri was smiling the whole way over. She bounced awkwardly, but she liked the warmth of his back, and the feel of his hands on the back of her thighs. She also managed not to fart.

There was a sense of regret when he let her down, as if they’d lost something. They just stood there after, looking at each other as if they had no idea what to do now that they were apart.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

“For saving your life, or carrying you?”

“Oh, there’s a list?” she chuckled.

His smirk was equal parts mischievous and self-satisfied, “You’ve been incurring a lot of debts, my dear.”

Vistri pretended to be startled, “Have I? Oh my! How should I endeavor pay them?”

He lifted a playful finger to his chin, “Hmmm, what a dilemma!”

His mood was so drastically shifted from before, during the fight. Looking at him now, you’d never think that face held any worry. In little flashes, he was brand new. No more heaviness. Vistri may have grown up with a sorcerer’s might, but she never felt more magical.

“How about I think on it a while? The two of us are exhausted! Best not to make any rash decisions.”

She giggled, even though her bones felt hollow, and her muscles were near useless, “Take your time to think, but make it go—”

Her stomach growled loudly.

“Oh, dear,” Astarion said, “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

He was being uncharacteristically servient and sweet, telling her to sit by the fire as he fetched her a bowl of something hot. He even brought a blanket over to throw over their legs and sat there with her as she ate.

Vistri looked at him, startled, when he sat down and settled the blanket over them.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head to clear it, “Nothing.” Then started eating.

It was a very plain stew with fish and beans, but it was everything on a night like this. Or was it even night? There was no sense of time in the Shadow Curse lands.

Astarion dipped her finger in his bowl and licked it.

“Hey!”

“Just wanted a taste.”

#vistarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #wip wednesday #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #BrishFics #astarion #astarion ancunin #angst #tumble fic

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pettydollie · 3 months

Text

ᴄᴏʟᴏɢɴᴇ - ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴘ2

summary: yn deals with the trauma from her toxic ex boyf in a negative way, falling into unhealthy habits. she meets chris at a cafe she works at but has trouble admitting her liking to him, but its even harder when her best friend hates him. warnings/notes: fem!reader, lowercase intended, cursing, reader is in a bad mental state, toxic!bf, dirty thoughts, mentions of sex (no smut tho), bodyshaming, this entire chapter is a flashback wc: 1.1k

you were practically begging for praise, eugh.

"am i good enough?" you asked your boyfriend one night after you jacked him off and then refused to sleep with him. you sat on your bed in a tank top and tiny shorts while he was almost fully naked, only just putting his boxers back on. he turned his gaze to you, raising a brow. he scoffed. "yeah, you did fine."

you wanted to roll your eyes. "that's not what i meant." you swallowed hard, hoping he doesn't think you're an attention seeker. he didn't respond, he just walked over and kissed your neck. "i'm going home."

you pull back from his pecks, nodding your head. you wished he wouldn't go so quick. he was always rushing to leave. you miss being able smell his cologne whenever you two were together; now it's a faint memory. he threw the rest of his clothes on, grabbing his phone when he was finished.

he gave you a peck on the lips before walking to the door. "call me in an hour!" you exclaim. you heard an "uh huh" as the door shut. he wasn't going to call. he probably wasn't even going home. you don't think he's cheating, but you know he's probably going out to a party of some sort.

you wanted to be seductive and give him more than what you did, but you couldn't bring yourself to. you don't think you're that attractive, so you should be thankful someone like him is with you. you rub your wrists that are numb and tired from all the work you did.

and he gave you nothing.

you hate this feeling. the on and off feeling, not knowing if your emotions are even valid. he never put on cologne any more to impress you. he smells gross, but you don't ever mention it.

almost two hours later, you're sitting on your sink in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. last week your boyfriend told you that you're gaining weight. at the time, you foolishly agreed even though you thought you were okay.

but now, when you're staring into your reflection, really admiring yourself, you decide he's wrong. you're.. pretty. gorgeous even. then you get a disgusting feeling in your stomach. you hate the way he's been treating you. honestly, what were you thinking?

you grab your phone and call him. he doesn't answer. you call again. and again. you scoff, "drop your shit and pick up the phone." you snarl, wishing that for once he'd give you the attention you craved. you hop off the sink, your heart beating. you slip on your mary janes and anxiously swing the door open, not really knowing where you're gonna go.

but your trip out quickly comes to an end when you see olivia standing there, her eyes wide in surprise. "oh.. hi!" she greets, giggling at the coincidence. "were you going out?" she asks. you shake your head, stepping aside to let her inside.

you two lay down on your bed, light music playing in the background. you bring a bowl of strawberries, plopping down next to her as she pulls one out from the bowl. the wind from your open window blows into the room, causing chills on yours and her skin. you giggle at the goosebumps, rubbing her arm up and down to make them go away.

she clears her throat, looking a little shy, asking you've been. you sigh and begin to explain your thought process about your boyfriend.

olivia's pov:

"ugh, what is wrong with him? girl, don't listen to him, you're beautiful." i grimace after she explains what he told her. i wish she'd just dump him already, he's no good for her.

she smiles at my compliment, making me happy. "aw, thank you livvy." she pauses her story, grabbing a strawberry. i watch as her mouth wraps around the fruit, the juice coating her sweet lips. some of the liquid dripped off her mouth, falling into the valley of her somewhat exposed breasts. i suck in a breath.

"oops." she grins sheepishly, wiping it away with her hand. she goes back to the details, "and when i jerked him off today, he didn't even ask me if i wanted anything. like, helloo?? i just felt really bad. i didn't want anything anyways, but he still could've asked, y'know?"

an idea popped into my head. my face goes red at the nasty thought. it was terrible, really. thinking of doing something with my best friend. i guess she noticed though, she asked me if i was okay right after. "uhh yeah." i respond, scratching the back of my head. "just- question. and you totally don't have to answer" i clarify with a straight face

she nods, smiling. i feel butterflies from her sweet demeanor. no one deserves her. "so, uh.. are you a virgin?" i ask hesitantly, not wanting her to be offended. but she isn't. of course she isn't insulted, she's perfect.

"mhm." she sighs, playing with the leaves of her leftover berry. "well.. i could teach you a thing or two if you want?" i blurt out without thinking. oh shit she's gonna hate me. FUCKK! "but you're a girl" she grins obviously, raising a brow. i embarrassingly stutter in reply, "y-yeah, but i've had sex with boys before, so i know what they like." good save.

she thinks for a second. "hm, okay!" she starts pulling off her pants. OH. i wasn't expecting that.

it was great, as expected. but i dont know if i can handle keeping my feelings inside now after that. if anything, it just made me want her more. fuck.

you waved olivia goodbye, shutting the door behind her. wow. you just had sex with your best friend. she suggested it though, so it's no biggie. was it good? ehhh. you didn't cum, but she was just showing you what boys like anyways. you exhale, relaxing on your bed. your phone rings all of a sudden.

damn, maybe this isn't so healthy. did you just cheat on your boyfriend? no. nonono, he'd be happy. you're learning for his benefit. yeah, this is fine. it's not gonna happen again anyhow, so it doesn't even really matter anymore.

you shrug off the thoughts. you try imagining what your older brother breyden would say if you told him about this. he'd always been a little different from the other boys at school growing up, so he'd probably say something stupid about being gay. but you haven't talked to him in forever. you sigh. maybe you should go outside and get some fresh air.

but you don't.

you decide to call your boyfriend one last time before bed. this time, he answers. "we have to talk." he says before you could speak.

tags: @leah-loves-lilies @latinasforchrizz @stargirlsturniololover @junnniiieee07

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frozenjokes · 2 months

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Wolves, Watchers, And Words Like Fear

this fic is part of a series, you can read the rest here

“Is anyone there?” Jimmy laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He asked mostly out of a lack of anything else to do; it seemed like Dogwarts had decided to engage in some sort of roleplay battle- a notion he had politely declined, and then not so politely declined when Martyn got pushy. He didn’t want to fight Scar. He certainly didn’t want to fight Grian. But now, declared enemies of Dogwarts, it seemed like he might be fighting at their side instead. Or not. Jimmy hadn’t been able to reach Scar since the wolf spawn rates started skyrocketing, and the one time he’d tried to go to the desert, it was no use trying to speak to him. Too busy preparing for war, it seemed. Too on edge as well, but that was nothing new.

“That was kind of a rhetorical question,” Jimmy mused, a touch of snark edging his tone, “I know you’re there.” Still no answer, but that was expected enough. The Watchers had never addressed him directly before. “I have a question. Would you answer if I asked it? I know you can talk. I would like to talk to you, whoever is here.

‘Probably shouldn’t..’

Jimmy cringed as his own voice answered back, partially due to the sound, all encompassing and always overwhelming, but also his voice, eugh, he really didn’t like it when they used his voice.

“Why not?” He forced himself to straighten, trying to look a little nicer outwardly, though he doubted the Watchers cared. Honestly, they probably preferred he be uncomfortable.

‘Scar probably..’ there was a small silence, and Jimmy couldn’t tell if a different Watcher was speaking or the same, ‘..wouldn’t approve.’

‘We could ask?’ Jimmy noticed a hopeful note there, possibly excitement, and he jumped on it, hoping to keep them right here, away from Scar.

“Do you really have to?” Jimmy said, somewhat slyly, “Scar likes me. We’re friends. And I’m not trying to pry into his business either, I just want to talk to you guys, y’know? Plus..” Jimmy trailed off, looking around the room for entities he could not see, “What Scar doesn’t know won’t hurt him. You can report back like normal, and he can’t get mad or anything; he never told you not to talk to me, did he? But personally, I don’t think he’ll be angry at all. We’re friends, good friends, I know him very well. He won’t be angry. You wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.”

Jimmy was a little shocked at how effectively that seemed to work.

There was a short pause before the Watchers began mumbling to each other, deliberating in a way that was honestly quite adorable. They really did sound like dogs sometimes, fighting with their impulse control, not wanting to do anything that would upset their owner, but also… ‘He’s not here,’ was a reoccurring sentiment, ‘He can’t hear us.’ Even if Scar wasn’t happy when he found out, maybe it would be worth it.

“He can’t hear you,” Jimmy added, hoping to crack at their resolve, “And it’s harmless, really. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

‘Would he really care?’ one of the Watchers asked, an idea that excited the others, the mumbling and murmuring growing in volume.

“I don’t think so,” Jimmy said, and he must have been convincing, because the Watchers seemed to really perk up at that, speaking faster, excited. Maybe Scar would like if we spoke to Jimmy! Maybe he’d be pleased! Do you think he’d praise us? Their thoughts began to stray off the line of logic, but Jimmy didn’t mind, amused as he listened.

“Hey, would you guys mind if you used a different voice? I don’t really like it when you talk with mine.”

Immediately, a chorus of ‘Why?’ echoed back, the question innocent, but so damn loud, Jimmy flinched, unable to resist the impulse to cover his ears.

“I-“ Jimmy gasped, “I just don’t like it-“

‘Why?’ Again, so many of them, so loud, so uncaring of Jimmy’s distress as he clutched his head, burying his face in his knees. But their curiosity did not waver, and when Jimmy didn’t answer, they continued to question him, why, why, why, something innocently malevolent, and Jimmy genuinely could not tell if the attack was deliberate.

“Stop!” he cried finally, unable to hear his shout over the raucous noise until it ceased altogether, leaving him alone with ringing ears.

They listened. Jimmy hadn’t.. expected that.

“Are you still here?” he asked, meek.

‘Yes,’ only one answered this time, quieter, not out of guilt, just returning back to its normal speaking volume, like Jimmy had flipped a switch. He wondered if the Watchers were at all sorry, or if they could feel sorry at all? It was still using his voice but.. well, he wasn’t about to fight them about it. Maybe if he could ever get ahold of Scar, Jimmy could ask him instead. Had there been a point in Scar’s life where he had tried asking the Watchers to use a different voice? Had they not understood, or simply refused? Did it hurt Scar as much as it hurt Jimmy when they spoke so loudly, all together like that? Jimmy guessed not. The ugly scars across his ears, deforming the sides of his head, those were old. What did those injuries look like when they were new? How had Scar even survived doing that to himself? The thought made Jimmy feel ill. Time to move on.

“I wanted to know about the wolves. Do you guys or Scar know what’s happening? Why they’re suddenly everywhere? It has to do with the server, doesn’t it? Joel tamed a bunch, apparently. He said there are lots around the ravines, that they hang out and get stuck down there.”

The silence was long, so long Jimmy thought they may just ignore him altogether, but then there was a soft grumbling, a little deliberation, and then one spoke.

‘Stay away from the ravines. Bad. Very bad.’

“I mean.. I guess I knew that. I don’t- I never got to ask Scar if he even knew what was down there, but he must. He can see everything, I think. Is that how that works? Why is- do you know who it is that’s down there? Or- What it is? It sounded like Scar, but Scar isn’t-“

‘No.’ The Watchers were loud, more of them this time, and Jimmy swore there were hints of fear behind their voices, ‘No. No, no, no. Stay away from the ravines.’

“Wait-“ Jimmy grit his teeth, eyes squinted shut, “Wait, please. You don’t know what’s down there? Did you know something was down there?”

‘Scar can’t see. Scar will die. We will die.’

“Scar- Are you saying Scar doesn’t know? What do you mean he’ll die? Is- I heard Scar when I was down there, he talked to me! Was that not him? Was it trying to trick me? It didn’t look like Scar- it looked like Grian.”

‘That’s not Scar!’

‘Scar didn’t- Scar didn’t mean for this.’

‘That isn’t Scar anymore.’

And they were arguing, suddenly arguing, and if Jimmy had suspected that the Watchers were some kind of hive mind, he didn’t think that anymore. Each of them had a different opinion, and each of those opinions were loud and vicious, voices slipping through different languages, distinctly inhuman. Jimmy’s bodily awareness started to leave him, every sight and feeling replaced only with noise, noise, razors under his skin, bullets in his jaw, sharp static behind his eyes. Stop. Stop. Please, please stop. He didn’t know if he said the words out loud. He couldn’t tell the difference between his voice and the Watchers’.

In a world that was nothing but noise, nothing but Jimmy’s own voice, he noticed when there was something new. Someone new, someone loud (but not nearly loud enough), someone not Overwhelmingly Everything, so Jimmy latched on, desperate for anything that didn’t hurt.

“Jimmy- Jimmy. Jimmy-!” Over and over, his name, his name, and screaming, still screaming. Maybe that was his scream. Maybe that was him. Jimmy wanted to make himself speak something else. He wasn’t sure if he managed to stop. But the voice that wasn’t his didn’t stop speaking, so Jimmy held it close to his chest.

His throat burned. Everything burned. Jimmy couldn’t tell where the burning was coming from, he couldn’t tell where Any Of Him was. Something blissfully nothing began to edge in at the corners of his perception, and he clung to it, desperate, hopeful, until he was nothing at all.

And then violently he was something again, and there were more voices, or maybe just one, but all still horrible, all too much.

And then it stopped, and Jimmy felt his body go slack. He could feel himself twitching. He felt wet. He might have whined, but he wasn’t sure.

“What was that about?” Someone- no, that was Scar, Scar out loud and angry, he was so angry. Some sort of ethereal whine cut the air, stealing Jimmy’s breath, but there were no more words, quiet enveloping him once more.

“Answer me!” Scar’s anger was frightening, but Jimmy was too exhausted to flinch. “No!” Something shifted in his tone, anger falling into some sort of desperation, “Where are you going? What’s happening? What’s down there? What- What did I do?” The silence was deafening. “Jimmy.” With his sense of physical self returning, he was vaguely aware of someone grabbing his hand, though the touch was quickly yanked away.

“Scar, no- Scar!” and that was Scott, along with some softer sounds of tussling, gasping. “You need to stop. What is going on? What did you do?”

“You don’t understand- I need to speak to Jimmy- I need to find out what happened-“

“Jimmy just had a- seizure is not the right word, but he’s been completely- you saw!

“I got here as fast as I could, Scott! I had no idea this was happening- I had no way of knowing- I don’t know why they did this!”

“Scar.”

“I promise I’ll explain. I know I owe you an explanation, but this is important- They’re not- They’ve never run away before- they’re never just refused to answer me!” He was scared. Scar was scared. Jimmy tried to move.

“It doesn’t matter how important this is, Scar, Jimmy just spent thirty minutes seizing and half of that time screaming, he is not in any state to talk to anyone right now. Do you know how to help him? You- you’ve seen this, somehow. Your.. Your friends..? Did this?”

“Jimmy is going to be fine, he just needs time. My- sure, my friends were just.. loud. They can be very loud, and the noise is painful. The noise is like- everywhere. I don’t know exactly how to explain, but I promise this isn’t usually an issue. Something really scared them I think- They weren’t trying to hurt Jimmy, they were arguing about something. That’s not- My Watchers don’t just argue, I don’t know what spooked them so badly!”

Jimmy took a shuddering breath, one both Scar and Scott noticed. “My fault.” Jimmy couldn’t quite see, but heard movement, and felt a hand fall over his forehead. Scott’s, he was pretty sure, but Scar spoke first.

“I don’t think.. I mean I doubt-“ Scar cut himself off, frustrated, “I don’t know. I really don’t know. They hardly snap like that ever- not when I’m not around especially, and they don’t just refuse to tell me why!” Distress edged the anger away, Scar’s exhale shaky.

“I asked about the ravines. I wanted to know if they could tell me what was down there, I.. I thought they knew. I thought you knew.” Jimmy paused to take a breath, his throat and lungs aching, “Do you know?”

Something like confusion floated off Scar’s voice, “The wolves?”

“The person.”

The silence was just as terrifying as it was a relief. Regardless, Jimmy had precious moments to hear nothing before Scar spoke again.

“You saw someone. In the ravine. Was it when you fell? I- I haven’t seen anything down there, I try to look sometimes, but it’s just too dark. And darkness isn’t usually a problem for me, but I just figured this was different because of the.. I mean, I don’t know, but I didn’t think it meant anything.”

“It sounded like you. Looked like Grian.”

“What?!” Scar nearly shrieked, and this time Jimmy did flinch, Scott aggressively moving to shush Scar. But Scar was near hysterics, broken words and noise falling indiscriminately from his lips as he walked away from Jimmy’s bedside, “I need to see. I need to go down there. I need-“ Scar cut himself off, two heavy footfalls bringing his intensity barreling back, “What did it say? What- What do you hear, Jimmy?”

“Scar, calm down. Whatever this is, we can figure it out,” Scott insisted, and Jimmy had trouble keeping track of what was happening through the shuffling of feet. He felt feathers brush his face, though not much more.

“I don’t know what this is and that’s the problem.”

“But you caused it, didn’t you? The ravines? The wolves, even? The- whatever is down there? Scar, if you did something- dangerous I mean, why didn’t you tell us? Can you fix this? Is the server in trouble?”

“Of course I can fix it. I can- The server is fine.”

Jimmy frowned, shutting his eyes tighter, “Scar.” he said through gritted teeth, forcing the air through his lungs, then continued after a pause, sure he had Scar’s attention, “Stop. Being an asshole.”

Scar huffed, “I’m glad you found the energy to tell me off,” and Jimmy managed to open his eyes in time to see Scar’s twitching wings, feathers sticking up in all sorts of odd places. Christ, Jimmy had never seen wings in such dire need of preening. “Well.” Scar said, definitive, “I don’t have time for this. I’ll see both of you soon, I’m sure. With Ren and Martyn breathing down our necks, it won’t be long.”

Scott didn’t say a word as Scar stomped off, his frown deep as he watched. But his expression softened when he turned to Jimmy, mercifully, speaking quietly, “Why are you protecting him?” The question wasn’t quite meant to be answered, more a thought spoken out loud, but Jimmy needed the answer for himself as well, exhaustion seeping through him in his entirety.

“It’s complicated,” he mumbled, heaving a sigh, but Scott didn’t look convinced. Actually, he looked more shaken than anything; Jimmy really must have scared him. “What happened just now wasn’t Scar’s fault. I promise. He was telling the truth, even if he wasn’t very kind. I think he’s scared. I mean, he’s always been scared, he’s been scared before this server was even created, but I don’t think his Watchers refuse to listen to him very often. Especially when it’s so important they talk to him. They just left; they never do that. It must have been frightening, I think. Maybe when he cools down I’ll go over there but..” Jimmy trailed off, cursing internally, “I need to message Martyn. See if he’s okay.” Jimmy forced himself to sit up, and Scott eyed him carefully, following every move.

“Watchers..” he tested the word, uncertain, “And you can hear them? Martyn can too?”

“Yes,” Jimmy breathed, his prior fears surrounding the discovery of this power supremely outweighed by his thick exhaustion. He focused instead on grabbing his communicator, but struggled once his fingers were at the keyboard. How would he even explain this? ‘Maybe don’t talk to the Watchers, Martyn, they might start arguing and screaming and knock you out. No, I don’t know why. They seemed to be pretty scared though, which is terrifying! They won’t even talk to Scar!’

Mercifully, Scott didn’t ask any questions while Jimmy was trying to craft a message, even keeping his silence after it was sent, a much appreciated peace. Martyn didn’t respond, and Jimmy didn’t expect him to. Ren had sent a message to gather up the Red Army a couple minutes ago, so it was likely Martyn was at least with him, hopefully at Dogwarts. Where else would they have their meetings?

“It’s funny.. I don’t really have many questions,” Scott chuckled, shaking his head, “I mean, I definitely have a few, but.. I dunno. Things have been weird for so long, and now the whole server is just kinda pretending it’s not.. I guess it’s nice to know I’m not crazy. And you don’t have to answer, Jimmy, you don’t, but I just want you to know that I trust you. You’re a good guy, always have been. Whatever’s going on here, I think you’re probably trying to do the right thing. I’ll stick by you, especially if it means we have a better chance of helping Grian.” Scott paused, an unsteady quiet, “I know I just said you didn’t have to answer me, but I have to know. Is what Martyn said about Scar and Grian true? That Scar.. hurt him somehow?”

“It’s true,” Jimmy mumbled, setting down his communicator when he was sure he wasn’t going to get an answer. He was starting to feel a bit better at least; not nearly 100%, and he was still tired and sore, but better. “It was an accident, and Scar says it’s the first accident in hundreds of years.”

Jimmy tried to gauge for a reaction, but Scott didn’t give much away, so he continued, “Scar was weak, really weak. He’s so guilty about what he needs to do to survive- eating emotions, kinda?- he lives in this state of like.. always starving. For years, I mean, on Hermitcraft, that’s what he did. Taking just barely enough, so no one would feel it. But he needed more, and he meant to do it ethically with the game, since everyone would be scrapping and role playing and stuff. But he died so early, too early to recover from it, so his Watchers tried to save him and.. I mean, they did. But Martyn heard them. And I did too. It.. was really awful.”

Scott nodded slowly, not looking entirely like he understood, but trying to front it anyway, “And that’s why you went off by yourself? Why you wanted to drop out?”

“Yeah.. I mean, I had no idea what it was. Martyn read all these book apparently, he knew like everything, but I just kinda thought I was crazy. I’ve always thought..” Jimmy trailed off, but there was no energy to cry. This was monumental for him, something deep and emotional, and here he was, too tired to feel at all. Absently, he wondered if the Watchers did that. If they were feeding, whether by accident or on purpose. Jimmy didn’t notice Scott’s arms until they were around him in a loose hug, tighter when Jimmy leaned into it. He didn’t even lift his own arms, just sitting against him, forehead on Scott’s shoulder.

“Scar told me,” Jimmy began again, speaking into Scott’s shirt, “He told me everything. And he was so kind. So.. scared. And honestly, I.. after all this, I hardly want anything to do with him anymore. I’m angry with how he’s acting. I know exactly why, he told me, but it’s so- he must know he’s not getting out of this with that secret intact! The server is literally crumbling under our feet, he must know- I..” Jimmy sighed deeply, and Scott ran a gentle hand across his back.

“Maybe he’s delusional. Like, literally delusional. I don’t know. But it’s not really about protecting Scar to me anymore, to answer your question. I sympathized with him because of my own problems, but I don’t anymore, not really. It’s about Grian. And as much as I’m angry with Scar, and as much as I think he needs to let us all pitch in and try to figure this out, I still think.. I don’t know. I don’t think taking Scar out of the game is the answer. Right now, he knows the most about Grian’s condition, and he really has been trying to help him with their routine thing. It might be working, we can’t discount that. And Grian likes him. Grian is comfortable with him. That means something, I think. Not to mention, if something really is seriously wrong with the server, Scar might be the only person who can fix it. He has the Watchers as resources too, and they seem to know something Scar doesn’t.. if he can convince them to tell us..” Jimmy sighed once more, closing his eyes, “Maybe I’m the delusional one.”

“I don’t think so,” Scott replied, simple, thoughtful, “I mean, I think if Scar actually wanted to hurt us, he would have done so already, and if we’re going to fix his mess, then it’s better if he’s alive, right? Sounds to me like he just needs to be convinced to start being honest, then we can get to work.”

Jimmy laughed despite himself, “Right. Good luck.”

“Hey! I believe in you!” Scott gave Jimmy’s arm a playful nudge and Jimmy groaned.

“Me? I’ve already tried plenty of times, and at best it’s gone nowhere. At worst it’s gone very poorly. I don’t need him to start hating me either, again, I’m trying to help Grian he-rAuGh-“ Jimmy jerked upward as a snarl cut his brain, then a scream, sharp and sudden like a bottle being smashed on his head. Scar. Scar screamed. When Jimmy came back to, Scott was holding him, wide eyed. Jimmy didn’t get to answer before Scar cried out again, a more hurt sound, but no less loud, enough to draw tears. And just as quickly as the last, it was over.

“Jimmy. Jimmy. Can you hear me? Is it- is it happening again?”

“No,” he breathed, trying to get up much to Scott’s alarm, “Something’s wrong. Scar needs help, he-

‘Please. What’s down there?’ Scar’s voice again, but quiet, so quiet, desperate and scared. Nothing answered him.

“Jimmy, you need to lay down.”

“I can’t. I have to go- I have to go to the desert! The ravine. Something- Something’s happening. I have to go and- fuck the rules, I’ll fly, I don’t have time-“ Scott was far past the point of alarm, but Jimmy didn’t care, pushing past him. He could feel it, in their voices, in Scar’s cry- this was different.

“Jimmy, you can not fly! You’ll fall if you- if you hear anything- and you don’t have another life to cushion yourself with. You shouldn’t be leaving at all!”

“I have to go, Scott. I have to.”

Scott seemed to understand the urgency, Jimmy’s desperation, and even as Scott bit his lip and shook his head, there was something resigned behind his eyes, like he knew this was beyond his understanding. “I have a horse, found one the other day,” he said softly, “We can ride, and I can hold you if you pass out.”

“Please.”

Scott sighed, borderline harshly, “Then let’s go.”

The world was quiet on the way to the desert, and Jimmy didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. He didn’t particularly want to pass out on a horse, but he also wanted to know- Jimmy wasn’t sure- Everything?

He didn’t have to wait long. Past the tree line, there was nothing to obscure the desert nor the massive ravine that split the edge. There were a few bridges at least, stable looking, though Jimmy couldn’t quite squash the primal desire to fly over it instead. Regardless, he stayed put. Just like the ravine near the Crastle and the flower forest, wolves were gathered near the edges, yipping and chasing each other and generally being dogs, unconcerned about the giant hole in the ground.

“There he is,” Scott mumbled, and Jimmy followed his gaze to where Scar was sitting, huddled alone in the sand, a few yards away from the ravine. “Doesn’t look like anything is wrong with him.” And Scott was right. Jimmy couldn’t see his face from so far away, but other than the fact that he was sitting by himself in the sun, he didn’t look upset or like he was arguing with anyone. A few of the wolves were gathered somewhat close, sniffing, eying him curiously, but Scar wasn’t paying them any mind.

But as he and Scott drew closer, Jimmy realized that his last assessment was very wrong. Scar knew they were there, no doubt; they had crossed the ravine after all and were right in his line of sight, but Jimmy only saw him glance their way once, the rest of his attention focused solely on the surrounding wolves. He didn’t move either, not acknowledging them or even turning his head, only his eyes, flicking from wolf to wolf, wide and cold. Jimmy only noticed the blood when they approached, staining his cloak and skin, but the injury was mostly obscured, tucked behind Scar’s legs.

“Scar?” Jimmy called, only suddenly aware of his nerves when his voice cracked. The whole clearing felt anxious, like every grain of sand was standing on end, “You okay, bud?”

“Your horse,” Scar surprised him by returning his call, his voice hardly more than a rasp, “Your horse. They’re hungry, they’ll attack. You have to leave.” When Jimmy and Scott exchanged a confused glance, Scar clarified, “The wolves.”

Jimmy frowned, taking a look. They didn’t seem aggressive at all, paying little mind to the passersby. In fact, most kept their distance, unwilling to hang around at all. But when Jimmy turned back, Scar didn’t look like he was trying to send them away for the sake of it. You couldn’t fake that kind of tenseness, nor the wide eyed distrust. And maybe in fairness to Scar, their horse was getting uneasy.

“I’m going to get off,” Jimmy mumbled, “You go check on G, see if he’s alright. He’s probably sleeping though, so don’t wake him up. I’ll make sure Scar’s okay.” Scott nodded. Scar gave no indication that he heard. Probably for the best. Jimmy dismounted somewhat gracelessly, hopping a bit as his foot caught in one of the stirrups, but Scar still did not look at him, and yeah, at this point it was pretty clear he was not doing well. Jimmy sighed, only watching for a moment as Scott rode away.

“Horse’s gone, Scar. You can relax, bud.” Scar did not relax, not that Jimmy expected him to.

“Stand behind me. I need to see. They’ll hide behind you, they’re clever.”

Jimmy frowned, glancing around once more. Half the wolves that were anywhere close had gone now, and none of them looked like they were paying him much attention. Still, he didn’t want to upset Scar, and he needed a closer look anyway. “Alright.” Scar paid him no mind, even as Jimmy walked right past, hand nearly brushing his hair. Something was wrong with his eyes. Scar had sharp pupils, round and green like a cat’s, but they were blown way out now, and even as alert as Scar currently was, Jimmy couldn’t help feeling like his eyes were ever so slightly glazed over, like the movements were too repetitive.

Jimmy sat down beside him, raising his wings ever so slightly over his head, “You’re going to get sunburnt sitting out in the sun like this. How long have you been here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Scar mumbled, staring straight ahead, “Can’t turn around, that’s when they’ll strike. Distract you, get behind you. And it’s over. But they won’t catch me off guard. They won’t. I’m keeping ‘em right here, right where I can see them. And they’ll try, they’ll try. If you think otherwise you’re a fool.”

“Okay..” Jimmy tried, hoping he sounded more compassionate than he felt, “Scar, you’re injured. Did you know?” Even at his side, Jimmy couldn’t quite tell the extent of Scar’s injury, his torn cloak covering most of the wound. At least he didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, so regen must be working its magic.

“Bit me. Wolf did. But I’ve got them now.”

“Alright,” Jimmy pushed the word through, struggling not to sound skeptical, “Do you mind if I look? Don’t want you bleeding out in the desert.”

“Okay.” Scar responded, curt. His stillness was eerie before, but now it was really starting to get under Jimmy’s skin. Even when he was being an asshole, Scar was so animated when he spoke, a tried and true entertainer. And even the least energetic people moved when they talked to you. Unconscious movements, like the twitching of wings or the raising of eyebrows- Scar did none of it. He was utterly still, except for his eyes.

Jimmy grimaced, steeling himself before pulling back the cloak, though, because of the regen, the injury itself wasn’t too bad, the blood simply making everything look a bit worse. One thing was for sure though, being, that was not a bite wound. No wolf could have made that, it was too big, the punctures and tearing spanning across Scar’s entire torso. There wasn’t a thing on the server that was big enough to bite all the way across him like that, and Jimmy would sooner believe Scar got bludgeoned with a blunt-spined cactus.

Jimmy blinked, looking a little closer. Even if that was a bite mark, what an odd wound. Bites from large animals weren’t just clean like this, showing the individual teeth. There was more tearing, more mess- if something that big had actually wanted to hurt Scar, it looked as if it could have done enough damage to split him right in half. But the Watchers didn’t want to hurt Scar. They just wanted to keep him away from the ravine. Jimmy let go of Scar’s cloak, letting it fall. Scar didn’t flinch. Jimmy paid closer attention to the places Scar was focusing on, counting six distinct eye movements before they looped around. There were less than four wolves even close to their general vicinity, and Jimmy wasn’t certain if Scar was looking at any of them.

“Scar..” Jimmy spoke slowly, cautiously, “I’m going to touch your head, okay?” Scar didn’t even answer, nor did he react when Jimmy laid his hands gently across Scar’s temples. Nor did he react when Jimmy moved them to his forehead. Nor did he react when Jimmy covered his eyes. “Scar, buddy, it’s not real. It’s not real.”

When he spoke after a moment, his voice was so quiet, so afraid, “What?” It broke Jimmy’s damn heart.

“No one’s going to hurt you. You can close your eyes.”

“I’m scared. No one’s looking out for me anymore. I’m all alone.”

“I’ve got you, Scar. I’ve got you.” Gently, so gently, Jimmy eased Scar’s eyelids closed, but beneath them, his eyes still moved, and it was clear Jimmy wouldn’t be able to do this for him, “You have to close them, Scar. It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, you’re safe, and I’m going to take you home.” Scar whimpered softly, so Jimmy brought his hands down, wrapping him in a small hug. “Grian’s going to wake up soon. He needs you, he does. You can’t just sit out here all day.”

“Grian?”

“Mhm,” Jimmy was afraid to breathe, like the flicker of hope in Scar’s voice would vanish at the slightest breeze, “He’s waiting for you. You just have to close your eyes.”

“Okay,” he said, less than a whisper, “I’ll try.” But Scar was already relaxing, already distracted from the wolves in his hallucination, already melting into Jimmy’s arms, like he couldn’t stand to hold himself up any longer. Jimmy understood.

“I’m afraid of wolves,” Scar said, soft. He did not open his eyes. “I used to think they’d save me, and now, everywhere I go, I’m haunted by them. And I love them. Dearly I love them. But I’m so, so afraid. All of the time, I’m so afraid. And they know it.”

Jimmy didn’t have to ask. “Your wings could use some work,” he mumbled instead, and Scar nodded, low and heavy.

“I know. I just never have time. Always working. Always in the sand. No use preening them if there’ll always be sand.”

“Then lend me your time, and I’ll straighten the feathers at least.”

“You don’t have to.”

“We have a lot to talk about, Scar.”

Scar quieted. Jimmy thought he might never speak again, which, so be it, that wouldn’t stop him from getting started. So he did just that, overwhelming as four wings were, with the bottom left, closest to his lap. Straightening the feathers, brushing out dirt and sand and grit and dead skin, anything that was keeping the feathers from laying flat.

And finally, finally Scar spoke.

“Okay.”

#third life #life series #life series smp #trafficfic #traffic smp #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #grian #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #scott smajor #smajor #watcher scar #evo watchers

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astro-b-o-y-d · 3 months

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Triangulum - Chapter 3 - An Unwelcomed Guest

— — — — — — —

Bill’s head hurt.

A searing ache throbbed at the back of his skull while consciousness returned to him once again. No pain in recent memory compared to something like this; even getting his eye ripped out of its socket had been more of an inconvenience at worst. It took forever to regenerate those things!

The closest thing he could compare such intense pain to was his outright death, which sent a jolt of panic through his mind that only furthered his headache. He wasn’t dead again, was he—

“Why would I go through all this effort to bring you back, only to deceive you about what I have to offer?”

Oh. Right.

Any concerns were washed away in an instant as the feathery face of the shelduck drifted to the front of his mind. Not just their face, but the conversation the two of them had shared in the mindscape. The game they had wanted him to play, their contract, the destruction of the barrier as a prize—

—something was wrong.

Even with his eyelid still closed, Bill could physically feel a disconnect with his body.

It was difficult to verbalize properly—his eye felt too distant from his limbs, and his usual shape felt noticeably altered. As if he’d slipped into a costume with lots of awkward parts, ones that stuck out in ways that forced him to be aware of their existence as he tried to descend down a narrow passageway.

Almost exactly how he’d felt whenever he possessed someone in the past.

But the way the body suited itself around his existence, it didn’t feel like it would belong to a talking, anthropomorphic shelduck. Even with his eye closed, Bill could still feel a lack of any feathers pinpricking their way through his skin, or a beak protruding from his face—

“When did I ever say you were going to possess me in this game?”

…Ah.

Alright, even he couldn’t ignore a good loophole dodge when he saw it. Point to Tangy for their oh-so-clever little trick; he’d be sure to give them kudos for it later.

Kudos in the form of soaking their tacky windbreaker in a gallon of rotten tuna fish for a month. Good luck getting the smell out after that one, Birdbrain!

“—what if he’s not even in there anymore?”

“Yeah, he could’ve jumped out after Wendy clunked him on the back of the head!”

“Are we even sure it’s him in the first place? Just sayin’, some random kid cackling maniacally in the middle of the woods isn’t the weirdest thing to happen around here.”

“Everyone just hold on a second, I’m trying to think—”

The sound of frantic, hushed voices stirred him further awake, and he fluttered his eyelid—no, wait, eyelids plural—open the tiniest amount to investigate.

It didn’t seem like Birdbrain had taken any extreme measures with his vision; he still possessed a functioning eyeball. But rather than being set in the center of his face, his vision had taken a hard shift to the left and weakened to a noticeable degree. And while his vision hadn’t carried over to the right side of his face, he could feel another eyeball rotating around in its socket.

Almost as much as he could feel a set of teeth and tongue in a separate cavity much lower on his face—oh, eugh, he’d forgotten how bizarre it felt to have his face parts separated like this, and not even the fun kind of bizarre!—or a protruding nose right smack dab between his new pair of eyes.

Alright, so Birdbrain had gone humanoid for his vessel. Bit cliché, but nothing he wasn’t used to by this point. And if his mouth and eye placement weren’t enough to confirm this fact, peering open his eyelids further revealed his head to be slumped forwards, gaze fixed on a pair of black-panted human legs that were clearly attached to his body.

Yep, there was no denying that he’d been slapped back into a meatsuit mecha.

An even-riskier peek around him revealed he was currently tied up in some sort of bedroom. One clearly owned by the word’s most generic older woman of all time; creme-colored floral wallpaper decorated the walls, a shelf lined with creepy, porcelain dolls was situated near the door, and a comfortable old recliner had been set up near the fireplace—

—hang on, wasn’t this just the parlor room in the Shack?

“He’s awake!”

Shoot. Guess he’d made it a bit too obvious that he’d regained consciousness.

Bill’s head snapped up to full height at the sudden exclamation, only find himself on the receiving end of a number of different intimidation methods—all to various degrees of effectiveness.

Mabel’s weapon of choice was her beloved grappling hook. One of the better options of the bunch; metal was strong enough to shatter a fragile human skull if aimed at just the right spot and applied with just enough power and force. Terrible for his current vessel, but Bill could appreciate a healthy level of bloodlust.

Stan’s brass-knuckled fists were—admittedly—also an inspired choice, given how effective his fists had been in the past. A fact that Bill was happy to ignore and brush to the side as he shifted his attention over to—

—the random plank of wood in Dipper’s hands, one he was gripping tightly with all the intimidation of a mildly-inconvenienced kitten. Yeesh, had he even tried?

Of course, Pine Tree’s embarrassing incompetence was compensated in full by the gun in Ford’s hand, both the barrel and his own violent gaze locked onto Bill like his life depended on it.

Hmm, that was annoying.

And here Bill had hoped he could keep his return discreet for at least a short while before these suckers caught wind. Maybe strike some fear and uncertainty in their naive minds by staring ominously at them through their windows, only to vanish from sight when they came over to investigate.

Were their minds playing tricks on them now that they were back in town? Were they simply paranoid as a result of what happened the year before? Or was there really someone watching them beyond the shadows of the trees?

Maybe if his methods were effective enough, Ford would even start shooting at the woods in a blind panic. Heck, maybe one of the kids would even get caught in the crossfire!

Y’know, fun stuff like that.

But unfortunately for Bill, it seemed like he’d dropped right into the belly of the beast and Ford had gained the upper hand while he’d been unconscious.

Any attempts to move his new human limbs revealed them to be restrained to the chair he was seated upon; arms tucked behind the back and bound at the wrists, torso tied in place—what, had there been a sale on rope or something? It was a miracle they’d left his legs alone—or maybe they’d just run out of rope by that point?

Nope, an abandoned piece near the far wall rendered that guess incorrect. Maybe they just hadn’t had enough time to restrain his legs, then?

Moving the focus back to his captors, Bill’s gaze bounced from person to person as he took a quick stock of their expressions. Unanimous hatred and fury trying so desperately to mask the uncertainty and fear behind their expressions. The clear desire to come across as intimidating, despite the trembling hands around their weapons.

So much fear, despite having the upper hand over him. Bill was tied to a chair and barely conscious, yet he could get a reaction like this outta them?

Good.

Because otherwise, he had no idea how he would be able to spin this situation to his advantage. With the element of surprise and mobility no longer an option for him, tapping into those fears and insecurities was the only weapon that Bill had left at his disposal.

Speaking of which—

The silence in the room stretched on as the Pines continued to stare at him, to the point where Bill was starting to grow bored. Sure, leaving them forever entrenched in uncertainty might be fun in theory, but that also required him to remain quiet for just as long.

And while that wasn’t an impossible order, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter.

He needed just the right comment to break the ice. A perfect reintroduction to his presence in their lives, one that would only strengthen that fear behind their eyes.

“I gotta ask, what didja think a gun was gonna do against me?” he asked with a grin at Ford. “I mean, do you really think regular old bullets are going to be enough to get the job done?”

His pupil flicked over to Dipper. “Guess it’s better than whatever Junior’s got going on over there, though,” he said. “Seriously, Pine Tree, a piece of wood? I guess you might have a chance at beating me in a game of interdimensional rock-paper-scissors, but outside of that, I don’t like your odds.”

Just for good measure, he punctuated everything with his loud, trademark cackle—one that shook the room and everyone in it.

Oh yeah, that’d do the trick nicely.

Sure enough, everyone’s grip on their weapons tensed, the fear in their faces now completely tangible as the worst scenario they could possibly imagine was confirmed.

“Bill.”

It was Ford who spoke first, tone marinaded in venom as he stared Bill down. Such vitriol sent another cackle throughout Bill, his body wiggling with delight against the bonds that held him to the chair. “Aww, it’s good to see you too, Sixer~!” he said sweetly. “What’s it been, about nine months now? Nice beard, by the way. Really brings your face together in a way that those sideburns didn’t, know what I mean?”

His amusement fell with a vindictiveness he made no attempt to mask. “Although if you ask me, I’d suggest taking up that old face-burning habit of yours to clear everything up and start fresh,” he said, narrowing his eye—eyes. “I mean, you’re clearly the expert in burning things around here. Facial hair, bridges, minds with me in them—”

“Stop talking.”

Bill was cut off by the cold, threatening steel of the gun barrel being pressed against his cheek, pupil flitting up to Ford’s own cold, threatening gaze.

Oh, he was real mad.

Of course, not even Ford’s ire was enough to silence Bill completely, and he managed a smug grin despite the distortion of his cheek against the weapon’s tip. “Again I ask: just a regular gun? No Quantum Destabilizer? No memory-erasing device or fancy-schmancy magical weapon from your precious journals? You’re really getting dull in your old age, Fordsy.”

He tilted his head, half in thought and half to give himself some breathing room. “Although I have to wonder why you didn’t just try to kill me while I was knocked out, if you’re this trigger-happy?”

The answer to that one was pretty obvious. Given their initial reactions, they hadn’t been certain if he had actually been possessing someone—and they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human on the off-chance they were wrong. And now that he was awake and his presence confirmed, they weren’t about to go and murder an innocent human while he was possessing them.

And if that was truly the case, it probably meant he was free to run his mouth as much as he wanted.

Probably.

Maybe?

“Ooh, lemme guess: you wanted me to be awake before you pumped me full of lead?”

…Heck with it, he couldn’t resist the chance to press a few more of Ford’s buttons. To really test the waters on what he could get away with saying or doing. “Well, I’d love to see you take your best shot at it~!” he continued with a wide grin, one that show far too much of his gums. Guess that was one benefit to having a humanoid vessel again. “I know it’ll probably get a real laugh outta the poor sucker I’m puppeting around now—”

There was a click of the hammer as the tip was pressed further into his cheek, to the point where not even leaning away from it would pull Bill out of its line of fire.

Alright, limit reached for the time being. “Okay, okay, geez, I get the picture,” he said, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Can I at least ask for a mirror or something? I wanna see what I’m working with over here.”

Okay, maybe one more. “I’d fetch one myself, but as you can see, I’m a bit tied up at the moment~!”

Ha. Hilarious.

Luckily for him, his clever little risk seemed to pay off in the unexpected way of making Ford lower his weapon, with an added bonus of painting a look of confusion across his face. And judging by the looks being exchanged between the other family members, it was clear that his little joke had been far more effective in causing confusion than he’d originally intended.

After a few more minutes of perplexed silence between them, it was Mabel who eventually—and hesitantly—spoke up with a: “You…don’t know what you look like?”

Hmm, an unexpected question to follow the unexpected responses. And a stupid one at that; did she really expect him to give her the honest, unfiltered truth when prompted?

If she did, the answer to that question would be a resounding “It’s funny how dumb you are, Shooting Star~!”, followed by a bout of condescending laughter to drive the point home.

And the answer to her former question would probably be that same reply and condescending laughter. There was no chance across the entire multiverse that he would tell them about his little deal with Tangy. Birdbrain had said it themselves back in their mindscape: the second they found out that he was playing a game where the prize was the destruction of the barrier, the second Ford would do everything in his power to keep him restrained until the end of the game.

Or, well—more restrained than he was already.

Still, as good as his clever little joke had been, he had unintentionally dropped a small hint to them about his situation.

Guess it was time to do what he did best; scramble their mushy little brains more than he’d done already and throw them completely off the right track.

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy,” he said casually, leaning back in the chair as far as he could. “Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me—hey, come on—”

The barrel of the gun was at his cheek again as Ford gave him another warning look. “Don’t listen to a single word he says,” he said, directing the statement at the others. “We have no reason to believe that what he’s telling us is the truth, so don’t take any stock in anything he’s saying.”

Bill narrowed his eyes up at him. Spoilsport. Spoilsport and a hypocrite, to boot! “Oh, yeah, that’s rich, Sixer,” he said bitterly. “But I guess you would know what it’s like to give people a reason not to trust you, wouldn’t you?”

His functional pupil bounced over to Stan, the corners of his mouth twitching with the threat of a smile. “I’m just saying: the last time we saw each other, you were promising to finally give me that equation,” he said, with a look back to Ford. “But then when I ended up making the deal, it wasn’t your brain I ended up in, was it—OW!”

The tip of the gun was jammed so hard against his cheek that the skin would likely be bruised in the shape of a triangle later. “Stop talking—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before Ford could respond, Stan’s hand was back on his shoulder and gently goading him towards the door. “Ford, come on, let’s just—”

“Stan—”

“He’s tied up, Soos says the rope’s got the unicorn stuff woven into it,” Stan kept trying. “Let’s just step outside for a sec. Kids, why don’t you go with him? I’ll be with you in a few minutes, just—”

“We’re on it.”

Ford opened his mouth to protest further, but Mabel had already taken one of his hands in her own while Dipper claimed the other. “Come on, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, giving his hand an encouraging tug. “Let’s go wait in the hallway.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and leave, Sixer~?” Bill teased with a kick of his feet. “I’m sure I won’t go anywhere while you’re gone!”

A risky taunt, for sure. Ford had turned the gun on him enough times to prove that he was only a few more pokes away from throwing caution to the wind and sticking a bullet between his eyes, regardless of the consequences. Besides, the sooner Bill got the chance to be alone and collect his thoughts, the better.

But at the same time, any opportunity to get under Ford’s skin was just too good to resist, nor did he have any desire to try resisting in the first place.

It seemed to be a lucky day for him in terms of taunt-rope balancing, because Ford pulled his hands from the kids’ embraces and trudged out of the room with calm, restrained steps. Steps clearly powered by every last ounce of self-control he could possibly muster, ones that suppressed a deep, brooding storm that swelled just beneath the surface.

Good. Seethe harder, Stanford.

Eventually the door shut behind him, leaving Stan and the kids—their own hands now void of any that possessed six fingers—behind. Although it was only a second later when the door cracked open again, and one six-fingered hand reentered their line of sight.

A hand that Mabel immediately took hold of again before both her and Dipper hurried out into the hallway after him. Leaving only Bill, Stan, and a deafening silence left in the room.

A deafening silence that Bill was quick to break with a casual: “Gotta say, the beard look is waaaay more natural on you than it is on Sixer. Covers your ugly mug way better than his does.”

Apparently Ford had kept all of the restraint for himself because Stan was back to him before he could blink, and Bill had no time to brace himself as the older man grasped a rugged hand around his throat. “Listen to me, and listen good, Wise Guy,” he growled. “I don’t know how you got back here, and I don’t really care how.”

The hand around Bill’s neck tightened as he balled the other into a fist. “But I punched your lights out once, and I can do it again. As many times as it takes for you to stay down for good.”

He moved the first near Bill’s blinded eye, his good pupil following despite himself. “You try anything with my family again, you’re gonna know what it feels like to get punched to death twice. ¿Comprende?”

It was a threat Bill knew that Stan would hold himself to if necessary. One that Bill couldn’t help but feel a twinge of genuine fear towards as those final memories inside Stan’s head came rushing back to him.

And for a split second, Bill could almost feel the terrifying heat of the flames around them, creeping nearer and nearer as they swallowed every last bit of the room in their destructive wake—

One fatal mistake…

—only for a brief moment, before he flashed Stan another toothy grin. “But seriously, you should keep that beard. Maybe try and convince Sixer to shave his, I don’t know who I was kidding when I told him it looked good—”

His grin spread wider, once again revealing far too much of the inside of his mouth. “But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

Stan punched him. Hard.

And when Bill crumbled with a shout, pain enveloping the area around his right eye that was sure to be bruised within minutes, Stan turned and stormed out of the room.

Yep—flew too close to the sun with that one.

— — — — — — —

Ford had barely made it out of the room before the stress of the situation brought him to his knees, and Stan entered the hallway to the sight of almost everyone else circled around him in an attempt to bring comfort.

Seeing him, Soos lifted his head. “So, is it really him?”

“Sure looks, sounds, and acts like it,” Stan said, pressing a weary hand to his temple. “Alright, so the guy who tried to take over the universe and who we thought was dead is now tied up in the next room, very much the opposite of dead.”

He took a sweeping glance around at the rest of the group. “...Does anybody have a game plan?”

From beside Ford on the floor, Mabel perked up. “What about that zodiac prophecy thingy Grunkle Ford tried to do during Weirdmageddon?” she asked. “Didn’t he say that was supposed to stop Bill?”

“Hey, yeah!” Stan snapped his fingers with an inspired look. “Great idea, Pumpkin, we could try that!”

“But don’t we need all of the symbol-things for it to work?” Soos pointed out. “And out of the original ten, we only have, like—” He paused to count heads. “—six of the people here that we’d need.”

From the spot near the wall where Wendy had seated herself, she lifted her head to join in on the conversation. “Well, then why don’t we just get the other four?” she asked. “I doubt it’d be hard to convince Robbie, Pacifica or the others to help us out. They probably hate Bill as much as we do.”

“We could also try the Quantum Destabilizer,” Dipper added thoughtfully, pressing a hand to his chin. “Grunkle Ford said it could blast Bill back into the Nightmare Realm, but I wonder if that would actually work without a rift to—you know, blast him back through.”

“What do you think, Dr. Pines?” Melody asked, directing the question at Ford.

And suddenly all eyes were back on Ford again, who had yet to move from the spot where he had collapsed after leaving the bedroom—too enveloped in his own overwhelming, smothering thoughts to take any notice to the others’ suggestions.

Bill was alive.

A scenario he had only envisioned in the worst of the nightmares that plagued his head on a nightly basis. A fear that lingered over him like the shadow of a starving predator, waiting to strike its unsuspecting prey when they least expected.

He had wanted to hope so dearly that he’d been dreaming when that child between the birch trees began to laugh in that horrific, familiar way. The bone-chilling laughter that often echoed through the deepest recesses of his mindscape, nothing more than a mere shadow of the one who had once produced it.

But this was no dream, no nightmare, nor a bad memory he could simply banish to the back of his mind—

Bill was alive.

“Dr. Pines?”

“The Zodiac Prophecy is a no-go,” he said, his words forming on their own as he returned to his feet. “The entire town believes that Bill is dead, and letting too many people know that he’s returned could ignite a panic.”

He cast a tense look around at everyone else. “One would argue that too many people know about his return already.”

“Hey, come on, I don’t think anyone here’s in a hurry to go blabbing about him,” Wendy pointed out.

“Regardless, it’s not a liable option at the moment,” Ford continued. “And unfortunately, neither is the Quantum Destabilizer. The only power source stable enough to power the device was only obtainable in another dimension, with the assistance of another another dimension’s Fiddleford McGucket—”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be tough to get, then,” Melody spoke up. “Fiddleford's out of town for a few weeks with his family.”

“We had to put our weekly anime club meetings on hiatus until he got back,” Soos added sadly. “But, that gives all of us plenty of time to catch up on our latest show and discuss our thoughts once he’s back!”

Ford raised his hands. “Wait, that’s not what I—”

“Well, what about when he does get back?” Wendy asked. “I mean—like I said before, I doubt he’d be in a hurry to go blabbing to anyone else. Plus he’s probably smart enough to build anything we’d need to get rid of Bill.”

“Wait, I—”

“Yeah, yeah, good point, Wendy!” Stan said, waggling a finger at her. “The guy turned this place into a giant, robotic, triangle-punching whatchamacallit. He could definitely build some fancy-schmancy power source—”

“You’re missing the point!”

Ford’s fist hit the wall before he could even process his action, and suddenly the hallway was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. His frustration lingered for only a second, before he took a look at the concerned expressions around him—

—and the guilt swiftly drowned any other emotions that had been building inside his chest. “Sorry, that was—sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Several pairs of shoulders unclenched as his arm fell back to his side, and Stan moved to him again. “Woah, woah, hey, come on, no one here’s about to judge you for swingin’ a fist,” he assured him. “Feel like outta anyone here, you deserve to do it the most.”

He flicked a thumb back at the bedroom door. “‘Sides, at least you held out as long as you could. I may have given the little jerk a—let’s call it a ‘welcome back gift’.”

A pause. “I…I gave him a black eye, that’s the joke I was trying to make.”

“Non-refundable gift,” Wendy said with a proud nod. “Nice.”

“Stan’s got a point,” Dipper added from Ford’s side. “It’s Bill Cipher. I feel like if anyone deserves to be angry right now, it’s you.”

“Yeah, sorry for uh—sorry if we sounded like we weren’t taking this seriously,” Soos added. “I know how dangerous he is, and Wendy and I even told Melody everything about him ahead of time. Just in case something like this ever happened, of course. A big bad returning during a moment of peace is a common trope in sequels, after all.”

He rolled his hands together. “And since this is the summer after he died…you know, sequel summer? Just…just sayin’, it wasn’t outta the realm of possibilities.”

“I wasn’t sure how much of it was actually true,” Melody admitted. “But also I’ve seen way weirder stuff in this town. So if you all say that kid in there’s actually an evil triangle demon bent on destroying the universe, then I’d believe it.”

“There, you see?” Stan added. “Ain’t nobody here to judge. You be as angry as you want, punch another wall or two if you really gotta.”

“Although if it helps you swing at them less, clearly we’re all on the ball when it comes to thinking of ways to put Cipher back under the ground where he belongs,” Wendy pointed out. “Maybe the stuff we already suggested won’t work, but putting our heads together like this will probably get us somewhere a lot quicker than when you were just doing this by yourself, y’know?”

“Once again, Wendy knows what’s what,” Stan agreed, and gave her a thumbs up. “If I were still your boss, I’d give you a raise.”

“...No, you wouldn’t.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

He reached over to clasp a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Point we’re tryin’ to make is that you’ve got your family here for you this time. You don’t have to deal with this alone again.”

“Yeah, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel agreed, casting him a weak smile as she once again tucked a hand into his own. “We’ll do everything we can to help you kick Bill’s butt again!”

Ford’s gaze fell to her face, sweet eyes wide with concern and small hands once again gripping his own tightly. He could feel them trembling, clearly masking just as much fear as he was harboring inside him—

—the same way his had trembled as he pulled the trigger on the memory gun, wiping every little trace of what made his brother himself from his mind.

He forced his gaze to the man at his right, eyes moving up to the face that mirrored his own to a near-identical degree.

The face of the man Ford had cried over for a week straight while he worked so tirelessly, so desperately to restore those lost memories. For whom he had dug out every last movie reel, scrapbook—even old postcards that Stan had sent during his travels across the country, and with whom he had spent several long night poring over the contents.

The man whose confused expression shifted to bright realization as the kids read out the jokes from his favorite joke book, jokes he would follow up with every terrible punchline with perfect recollection. The man who suddenly remembered his and Ford’s brush with the Jersey Devil mid-story, only to go on and tell the back half as if the two of them had only experienced it yesterday.

The man who had risked sacrificing all those precious memories, all of who he was for the sake of the world’s safety. For the sake of his family’s safety.

And now Bill was back, leaving that precious sacrifice nothing more than a pointless suffering for Stanley to have endured.

“I’ll figure out a way to stop Bill by myself,” he said suddenly, pulling his hand out of Mabel’s before turning to the others. “Someone’s going to need to stay up and keep an eye on him tonight anyway. I’ll use that time to come up with a plan, and we can reconvene tomorrow.”

He reached for the doorknob. “As for the rest of you, it’s late and you should be getting to bed.”

Everyone exchanged a series of unsure looks, which Stan vocalized with a: “Do you really expect the rest of us to just sleep while you deal with some all-powerful demon all night?”

“Also, do you really expect us to sleep at all with someone like that in the house?” Wendy added. “I mean, I know he’s kinda—”

She made a shrinking motion with her fingers. “—now, but this is the same guy that crawls through people’s heads like a kid in a Hoo-Ha Owl’s playplace, right?”

Ford looked to her, then the other adults with a raised eyebrow. “You said the rope had unicorn hair weaved into it?”

“Well, yeah,” Soos confirmed. “Plus we set up those moonstones, got you that mercury you needed—”

“We have a whole stash of everything in the storage room, too,” Melody added. “If you need any more of anything.”

“Then it should be enough to hold Bill in place for the night,” Ford said matter-of-factly. “And if it’s not—well, I’ll be enough to hold him in place for the night.”

Before anyone could question him further, the bedroom door was opened and shut behind him. Leaving the rest of them out in the hallway, the shrill and barely-muffled greeting of “Welcome back, Fordsy~!” in the bedroom only adding to the unsure aura surrounding them.

Despite the door being closed, Soos held up a hand to the side of his mouth. “Uh, okay! Good night, Dr. Pines!” he called. “Also if you’ve gotta shoot him, please aim the bullets away from Abuelita’s porcelain doll collection!”

Mabel finally let her arm—the one that she had kept outstretched even after Ford let go of her hand—fall back to her side with a dejected sigh. A look that Dipper immediately spotted and moved to her side to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” he said reassuringly. “Ford’s just worried about Bill, that’s all. And he probably just wants us to stay safe.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to go around makin’ himself unsafe to do that,” Stan said, pressing a hand to his head with an annoyed huff. “Is he out of his mind? What’s he thinking, dealing with all of this by himself?”

Everyone else exchanged a look. “Well, if he doesn’t want our help then…what should we do now?” Melody asked.

With a sigh, Wendy took a wide step away from the wall. “Guess we do what the doc said and try to get some sleep. Dibs on the couch as usual, by the way.”

With that, the shuffled on down the hallway, while the rest of the group silently watched her take her leave. Once she disappeared around the corner, Soos pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the hallway. “Uh, I dunno if it’ll help at all, but Melody and I sleep in the room next to Abuelita’s,” he said to Stan. “If you want, we can sleep in shifts and check in on Dr. Pines for you.”

“And if anything actually happens, one of us can come get you,” Melody added. “Leaving the other person down here to help him if he needs it.”

“Yeah!” Soos said, nodding in agreement. “If anything happens, we’ll come get you, okay?”

Stan hesitated to respond—as if the idea was anything but okay to him—but eventually he gave them a tired nod in return. “Alright, you two. Just keep an ear out for him.”

He leaned over and placed a hand on Soos’s shoulder. “And—should I not get here quick enough to do it myself—I give you my blessing to punch the pointy little jerk in my place.”

With a look of honor, Soos pressed a hand to his forehead in a salute. “I won’t let you down, Mr. Pines! I’ll even knock out a few of his teeth if I’ve gotta!”

“Good man, Soos,” Stan said, giving his shoulder a pat. “Now get.”

With Stan’s approval, Soos gestured for Melody to follow him to their bedroom. “I’ll be the one to come get you if we need to, then,” she assured Stan as they walked. “That’ll leave Soos open for—well, that.”

And soon their bedroom door closed behind them, leaving nobody but the remaining Pines in the hallway. And with a gruff sigh and the realization that they were the only ones left, Stan turned to face the kids.

Despite the reassurances from everyone else—and even each other—they had shuffled close to one another with their attention firmly locked on to the door of Abuelita’s bedroom. As if they expected Bill to come bursting out of it at any second.

Yep, that was about what he expected.

Another sigh brought Stan to his knees, and he gave the two of them a weak smile. “Well, you two knuckleheads heard everyone. Let’s head upstairs.”

The two exchanged an uncertain look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah,” Mabel added. “I mean…it’s Bill.”

“If Ford’s so insistent on dealing with this by himself, then he’s probably got a couple of tricks up his sleeve to solve it by himself,” Stan pointed out, and reached over to lightly bap the top of Dipper’s hat. “It’s like you said, he probably just wants us to stay safe. And if he does need our help, then—well, he knows where to find us...”

Even he couldn’t bring himself to try and sound convincing by the end of his reassurances, but he gave both of them a nudge to move forwards before returning to full height. “In the meantime, let’s not give that demon the satisfaction of knowing he’s freaking all of us out and go get some rest, okay?”

After another look to each other, the younger twins eventually let themselves be lead down the hallway. Despite this, Stan counted at least three times where one of them would pause to look back towards the bedroom door, before they finally rounded the hallway corner and the room was barred from their line of sight.

The interior of the Mystery Shack had fallen silent by that point, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath their steps as they headed for and—after grabbing the bags they had dropped upon arrival—up the staircases that eventually brought them to the topmost floor of the shack.

Mere hours ago, the sight of the old attic would’ve been a nostalgic welcome back, like greeting an old friend after spending so long apart. And approaching the room at the far end would’ve been the equivalent of bringing that old friend into a warm hug.

Warm, friendly, welcoming—

But the air around the trio just felt so miserable as they slowed to a gradual stop outside the bedroom door, and Stan reached a hand to the doorknob. Rather than turn it immediately, he instead chose to direct his attention back at the kids.

Silent attention—as if he wanted to say something, but struggled to find the proper words.

After a few, long seconds, he spoke with an uneasy: “Hey, uh, if you kids need to—you know…” The hand on the doorknob moved to the back of his head. “You gonna be alright by yourselves up here? You know you can always join Wendy in the living room, or come bunk down with me if you really need to, or something—”

The younger twins looked to each other in silent consideration, until Dipper finally spoke up: “I…think we’ll be okay,” he said, although his shaky tone implied otherwise. “If we’re really that scared, we can always sleep in shifts.”

“Yeah,” Mabel added with a bit more optimism. “And—and we’ll lock our door and window—”

An oink at the staircase drew a pointed finger from her, aimed at the pig who had ambled up the stairs after them. “—and we also have Waddles as an attack hog if we really need him! We’ll be okay!”

Her shoulders fell. “Right?”

Dipper folded his arms with a feeble nod, hands tightly gripping the sides as if he were attempting to keep himself grounded with such an action. “Yeah, we’ll…we’ll be okay.”

Stan didn’t miss this, and knelt down in front of them. “Hey, you two listen to me, alright?” he said, moving a hand to each of their shoulders. “I may not know how the little demon got back or why he’s back at all.”

The hands moved to ruffle their heads. “But what I do know is that I ain’t gonna let him lay a hand on either of you or Ford,” he reassured them. “And I don’t care how long it takes or how many times we gotta kill him before he stays dead. We’ll squash him for good if it’s the last thing we do—”

He was suddenly cut off by Mabel flinging herself at him in a tight hug, with Dipper quickly following suit. Stan remained still for a few seconds, before he wrapped an arm around each of them to complete the hug. “Alright…we’re gonna be okay, okay?”

He forced a smile as the two of them broke the hug. “And hey, look on the bright side,” he continued. “With the puny size he is now, we could probably just step on the little jerk and actually squash him to death!”

Sure enough, his weak attempt to lighten the mood brought a small pair of smiles to their faces. “We could get a pair of really big shoes,” Mabel added, smile widening further as she made a stomping motion with her foot. “Just go squish, like he’s a gross cockroach under a boot!”

“Are you implying that he’s not a gross cockroach already?” Dipper asked with a weak laugh.

“Touché, but I like painting a clear, visual picture of my words,” Mabel explained. “It’s almost as fun as painting an actual picture! Ooh, I wonder if I should paint an actual picture of Bill with a cockroach body—?”

“Save that for tomorrow,” Stan said. “Right now, you two need to get some rest. You’ve got a whole summer to look forward to, and I ain’t gonna let you kids miss a second of it.”

He gave them a wink. “Even with a sudden triangle-shaped cockroach thrown into the mix.”

Both gave him a smile—much wider than before—in return before finally shuffling to the door and pulled it open, revealing the waiting bedroom on the other side.

Aside from a lack of almost any dust on the furniture—had that been Soos and Melody’s doing?—the bedroom had remained mostly untouched since the previous summer. A few scattered googly eyes rested on the floor beside a forgotten food bowl for Waddles on Mabel’s side of the room, while several crumpled pieces of paper still filled Dipper’s old wastebasket.

And while uncertainty and fear still lingered in the air as the kids stepped inside, a bit of that old, nostalgic warmth did seem to be sneaking its way around them in a reassuring embrace. A reassurance that despite the evening’s stress, this was still a place they could call a home away from home.

After one last little smile at Stan—one he returned in full—Mabel shut the door behind them. Stan continued to wordlessly stare at the door for a few minutes, attention focused on the clicking of the lock, then the creaking of the wooden floor on the other side.

When he was sure the sound had reached their beds, he finally turned and shuffled back towards—then down—the staircase, continuing onwards down the hall on the second floor until he reached the door to his own bedroom.

It was only once his hand touched the doorknob that his entire posture sank from exhaustion.

His hand once again lingered for a moment as he looked back towards the staircase that lead downstairs—before he shook his head and trudged on forward into the bedroom.

— — — — — — — —

It was barely an hour later when Stan firmly concluded that he was not falling asleep anytime soon.

How in the heck was he supposed to sleep at a time like this? Bill was back! The evil triangle demon that had tried to take over the town—town? Universe?—and had haunted his brother’s mind for literal decades!

Ford had always downplayed how much weight Bill truly held over his mind, always reassuring Stan that he was fine whenever the topic came up in conversation and was always quick to change the subject to something unrelated.

But if Ford really thought the guy who slept in the same cabin as him for months on end wouldn’t notice him crying out in his sleep—the names Bill, Cipher or both being shouted into his pillow with so much hatred and fear more times than Stan could count—then Stan had a bridge to sell him.

And if he really thought that he hadn’t picked up on the subtle little ways Ford would flinch or the way his mood would shift on occasion—probably due to some unearthed memories about Bill, ones that Stan so desperately wished he could just punch as hard as the guy who had burned them into his brother’s mind—then Stan had two bridges to sell him.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

With a grunt, Stan rolled over onto his back and squinted blindly at the ceiling. He didn’t trust the pointy little jerk as far as he could throw him but he’d raised a good point. What right did he have to stand—lie around and call Ford an idiot for not wanting to talk about Bill, especially when he’d been the one in charge of getting rid of Bill in the first place?

He felt his thoughts drift to the earlier events of the day, before all the Bill stuff had started. Soos’s wedding announcement, the tour of the new exhibits—

“The very weird point they’re to make is that none of this would’ve happened without you building the shack to begin with, Grunkle Ford. So in a way, a lot of this is because of you!”

“Well, we kinda have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines. You and the kids, of course.”

It didn’t bother him.

Really, it didn’t.

So what if Soos wanted to give Ford the credit for tying the knot with the girl he liked, or for giving them the smart-guy science methods to make the exhibits more exciting? Even if Ford was terrible at hiding his Bill feelings, at the very least he’d seemed pretty flattered by all the praise.

He’d felt appreciated, nostalgic over the new, science-y ways that Soos and Melody were bringing in customers. The kids were excited to be spending time with him this year.

Ford felt like he belonged.

What kind of jerk would Stan be to take that happiness away from him, especially after all the years that had been taken from him already?

At at the end of the day, it didn’t matter if people slapped Ford’s name over every single one of his own accomplishments. Honestly, after stealing his identity for three decades, Stan would willingly give up a few of his own accord if it made Ford happy.

If Soos wanted to give Ford credit for building the place that inevitably lead him to his fiancé—even if Stan had been the one running the place when Soos started working here—then fine. If him and the kids wanted to give Ford credit for the exhibit ideas—exhibits that were wildly improved from the two-bit slop Stan had been pushing for the past few decades—then fine.

It was fine.

But if there was one accomplishment that Stan thought nobody could take away from him, it was the ability to keep his family safe. Not just them, but Soos, Wendy—the entire town. They had all called him a hero, finally saw him as someone worth a darn—

At the end of the day, he had finally proven he was worth something to someone.

And then Bill came back, alive and unharmed. Stan had failed to kill him good and proper, and now he was back.

Now he was back, and now Ford and the kids had to spend their summer in fear.

Now he was back, and Stan was truly worthless again.

After staring at the ceiling for about ten more minutes—and waiting another ten minutes for his nightly body aches to settle—he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and swung his legs over the side of the bed. And with the groan of a man whose bones were older than he was, he pulled himself to his feet, trudged out of the room and headed down to the first floor of the shack.

The light of the TV stopped him at the living room doorway, and a quick peek into the room revealed that he wasn’t the only resident of the house who was still awake.

Despite the TV running some early morning infomercial for a cheap and useless product—one worth more than its share of that hyper-specific brand of scorn and mockery that only a snarky teenager could provide—Wendy’s attention was firmly glued to her phone as she tapped away at the keys.

At the sight of Stan in the doorway, however, she lifted her head with a curious look. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Whaddaya mean? Clearly I’m sleepwalkin’.”

“Haha,” she said, snapping her phone shut. “Gonna try again with Dr. Pines?”

“You know it,” Stan said, and placed a hand on the doorway frame. “You, uh—you holdin’ up okay out here?”

“Psh, don’t even start,” Wendy said, waving him away. “I mean, sure, I’ve got my share of worries about that little megalomaniac being back—”

She flashed him a grin. “—buuuut I think a lot of ‘em were pretty evened out by the fact that I got to clunk him in the back of the head with a bat!”

“Oh yeah, that was great,” Stan agreed with a smirk of his own, before pressing his hands together in a squishing motion. “Isn’t it soooo satisfying? The little jerk talks suuuuuuch a big game, but you hit him once and he crunches like a soda can.”

Wendy cackled at that, although her expression fell again as she cast a glance upwards. “How’re the squirts handling it?”

Stan followed her gaze up to the ceiling. “Well, they’ve stayed in their room so far, so my money’s on ‘probably as well as they can with somethin’ like this.’”

“Mmm…”

She flipped her phone back open, fingers once again tapping at the keys. “At least they’ve got each other through all this,” she mused. “The two of them combined are some of the toughest and strongest kids I’ve ever met. No matter what happens, they’ll get through it so long as they stick together.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, with a glance back towards the hallway. “At least they’ve got that goin’ for them…”

Both fell silent for a moment, before Stan turned to leave. “If you hear any yellin’ going on down the hall, it’s because I’m trying to convince Ford to go to bed,” he told her. “If I succeed, make sure he actually goes up to bed, okay?”

“You got it, boss.”

— — — — — — — —

The room was silent, save for the scratching of pencil to paper as Ford continued to write.

Not for a lack of trying on Bill’s part; he had made several attempts to strike up a conversation with Ford already, but all had been shot down by either a menacing glare or the flash of the gun he kept within reaching distance.

And while neither were enough to completely shut Bill up, he did fall silent after the dozenth-or-so attempt to take advantage of the chance to gather his thoughts.

He’d agreed to play a game with that stupid duck and they’d plunked him back down in front of the shack. He assumed it had been right in front of the shack, at least; he did recall being greeted by the concerned faces of Mabel and Ford, along with some faint, blurry remarks about how he’d potentially fallen out of a tree—

—thank you, Birdbrain—

—but there was always a chance that they had stumbled across his body somewhere else and simply brought him to the shack to keep a closer eye on him.

Regardless of how it had happened or wherever those suckers had originally found him, he was back in town as Tangy had promised. Sure, it had been a sneaky drop off with several details of what that drop off entailed omitted. But at the same time, they had still kept their word.

And while Bill still had plans to dunk that silly little windbreaker of theirs in tuna fish—perhaps with the added flair of tossing in a bottle of itching powder, Melt-Your-Skin-Clean-Off-Your-Bones-Juice, and maybe a splash of lime for taste—he could at least respect how much effort they had put into getting him here at all.

Planned retribution aside…eh, game could recognize game.

And speaking of game—

His thoughts shifted to the deal they had agreed upon, sealed with both a handshake and a signature. Three months, they’d said. He had exactly three months to play. Three months to find all the pieces of their dumb trinket and put it all back together again, Humpty-Dumpty style.

He briefly considered the idea of not playing their game at all—out of sheer spite for their deviousness in getting him here—but the idea was discarded as quickly as it formed. Despite their underhanded methods to get him back to town, they had been very clear about how strictly they had to stick to their contract. And even if they’d been lying about the legitimacy of said contract, they had still foolishly locked themselves into a deal with Bill himself.

Whether or not they truly planned on upholding themselves to their side of their deal didn’t matter—if he won their little game, Bill would either have a destroyed barrier or a duck subjected to an eternity of slow-roasting over an over fire in the Nightmare Realm. Maybe in the case of the second option, such torture directed at another being would be enough to get his buddies off his back when he returned.

Heck, maybe he’d even get a spiffy new jacket out of the deal!

And that was simply the worst case scenario. Best case scenario, the barrier would be gone and no one would be able to stand in his way ever again.

And a prize that valuable was enough for him to humor the tacky idiot and romp around an annoyingly-familiar hick town in a meatsuit for a summer.

Even with his current situation, escaping wouldn’t be a difficult task to accomplish. Sure, he was tied so tightly to a chair that it would make Harry Houdini blush—he would know, he dabbled in a bit of dealmaking with the famous magician back during the height of his career—and the ropes apparently contained some of that fancy-schmancy unicorn magic that the household had used to protect the shack last year.

A fact that soured Bill’s expression for a brief moment, but at the end of the day, even a magically-laced rope was still just a rope. And any rope could be cut with the right tool, or by the right sucker.

The sound of paper being ripped from a notebook distracted Bill from his thoughts, and a mischievous grin poked at the corners of his mouth as he cast a look in the direction of his six-fingered warden—just as the discarded page was crumpled into a ball and tossed it into the unlit fireplace.

Well, a sucker by any other year was just as gullible—or whatever.

Sure, Bill knew Stanford Pines would rather chew off his own extra fingers than be unpromptedly helpful to him in any way, shape or form. But even if a few details about the bigger picture had to be omitted—it wouldn’t be the first time when it came to Stanford—there were always ways for Bill to get people to do what he wanted.

The scratching of pencil to paper began again, and Bill lightly tugged against the binds that held his wrists. Well, while there were always ways to get people to do what he wanted, even he knew it was highly unlikely that he’d manage to trick Ford into freeing him tonight. And the near-silence of the room was starting to become agonizingly dull.

To reiterate an earlier point, Bill Cipher was not the kind of triangle to sit and behave quietly if he had any say in the matter. Even if Ford was attempting to keep a lid on things now, there was always a way to annoy him into tossing out a few bits and pieces of information he had gathered in Bill’s absence. Perhaps some of that information would be of use to him.

Or maybe he would only succeed in getting the gun shoved in his cheek again.

Either way, the fifteenth attempt at starting a conversation was always the charm~!

“You know,” he began with a light kick of his feet. “I’m surprised you haven’t bombarded me with questions about how I got back yet.”

He saw Ford’s hand twitch in the direction of the gun, keeping his attention still firmly focused on his writing. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to, Fordsy!” Bill continued. “You and I both know for a fact that you’re a man beckoned by the call of the strange and bizarre.”

He winked at him with his good eye. “And let’s not kid ourselves; I’m the strangest and bizarre-est guy you know~!”

Another kick of his feet, his feet lightly bouncing against the chair legs. “Even if I no longer have access to your mind, I can tell you’ve got a billion questions about me buzzing around in that lump of wet meat you call a brain,” he continued. “Questions like ‘How did he get back?’ ‘Why is he human now?’ ‘Why, oh, why did I think that a simple memory gun would be enough to defeat someone as powerful, as amazing, as unstoppable as Bill Cipher?’”

Ford’s hand inched closer to the gun as Bill kept talking: “You must’ve felt so proud of yourself for that memory gun trick, by the way,” he went on. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, it was a smart move that only a brainiac like you could’ve drummed up in the short time you had.”

A wink. “Well, lucky for you I’m not the kinda triangle to hold a grudge,” he continued. “In fact, I’d even be willing to answer a couple of those hypothetical questions for you! And to call us even, you can always just answer a couple of mine in return. Like what you’ve been up to in the past nine months~! Come on, I’ll bet you’re just dying to tell me all about how you grew that beard of yours!”

The hand wrapped around the grip, and Bill settled lower in the chair with a sigh. “Fine, I guess it was too much to hope for a chance to catch up with an old friend,” he said with a dramatic flair to his tone—

—one that immediately shifted into something far more malevolent. “But then again, I guess I wouldn’t find any of those around here, now would I?”

Bill paused, giving Ford him a few seconds to chime in—only to roll his eyes when he heard a click from the gun as Ford turned off the safety catch: “Oh, come on, Stanford, are you really telling me that you’d rather spend the entire night alone with your thoughts than to spend five minutes holding a conversation with me?”

“Yes.”

It was the first word, sans any threats, he’d managed to get out of Ford all night, and it was annoying enough for Bill to sink further against his restraints with a huff.

Not a defeated huff; if a stubborn, old fool not giving him what he wanted was enough to stop Bill Cipher, then he wouldn’t be Bill Cipher. If he’d possessed enough patience to wait eons for a functioning portal, then he could certainly possess enough to get a few words outta Ford over the course of a single evening.

And as soon as Ford stopped being so difficult—you couldn’t avoid talking all night, Sixer—he'd be in business.

The distant sound of floorboards creaking somewhere on the other side of the shack perked Bill up again with a look towards the ceiling. Guess the rest of the household was fighting back the urge to sleep with a stick.

The sudden lack of pencil to paper also caught his attention, gaze bouncing back to where Ford was seated. He hadn’t moved, but Bill could still see the pupils of his sunken-in eyes shift towards the door with mild curiosity.

Mild curiosity that vanished the second he realized Bill was watching him, and his focus immediately returning to his notes after clicking the safety back and leaving the gun where it rested.

Hmm.

“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about what you’ve been up to for the past few months?” he tried again. “Fair enough, I really didn’t wanna hear about it. Why don’t we talk about about something else, then? Like the kids, perhaps?”

The hand was back at the gun without pause.

“They’re looking well, older even. Or do they?—I’m still fuzzy on the details of the aging process of you mortals,” Bill continued. “Or if you don’t wanna talk about them, we could always talk about your brother. Can’t believe he’s still wildly swinging those fists around like a wild animal, especially when that didn’t even work the first time—”

The gun was ignored completely as Ford crossed the room in an instant, the vitriol behind his eyes hot enough to burn straight through Bill’s skin, blood, skull—his everything, until it bore a hole right through to the other side of his head.

A motion that made Bill jump against his better judgment—his blackened eye instinctively twitching as he remembered Stan’s earlier show of force—and for a fleeting moment, he expected another hand around his throat in seconds.

Before Ford could react proper, however, a loud knock pulled both of their attention to the bedroom door. After a silent breath of relief, Bill shot Ford a cheeky grin. “Sounds like you’ve got company~! Unless they’re here to see me, which—I mean, who could blame them if they were?”

Ford glared at him before turning back to the door. “Who is it?”

“Jersey Devil. Who d’you think it is?”

“...Come on in.”

The knob turned and Stan slowly entered the room, casting a silent look between the two of them before settling his gaze on Ford. “Just checkin’ in. How’s, uh—” he began, then paused. “—how’s everything going?”

He was clearly talking to Ford, and making an obvious effort to ignore the triangle-shaped elephant in the room. So naturally, Bill had to do everything in his power to make his presence as loud and obvious as possible.

“Everything’s peachy~!” he piped up, with another wiggle against his binds. “Ol’ Fordsy and I are having the time of our lives catching up on things! In fact, I think he was just about to tell me about what the kids have been up to for the past few months?”

He flashed Ford a wide grin. “Come on, Ford, I’ll bet they’ve shared a ton of stories with you~!”

Stan pointed a finger at him. “Hey, you’d better watch that mouth of yours, before I come over there and make it match your eyeball.”

“What, you’re gonna punch it?” Bill asked. “Go right ahead, I was just lamenting the fact that my mouth and eyeball are separated in this body.”

He giggled mischievously and flashed him a wide grin. “Your fist’s about the size of a mouth-sized eyeball, right? Just asking, because the second you swing it at these puppies—” He gave a warning snap of his teeth. “—I can’t promise that you’ll get it back.”

“Everything’s fine, Stanley. Go get some sleep.”

Ford’s tone was so scripted and hollow, like the words he actually wanted to say were being held back by a metric ton of steel. More than just the physical steel plate installed in his head, a whole dam of metaphorical steel was keeping the flood of Ford’s true thoughts at bay.

And judging by the way Stan’s features twisted with uncertainty at his brother’s words—only until he spotted Bill eyeing him and promptly shifted his expression into a look of disdain—there was clearly something keeping his own thoughts hidden as well.

Oh, it killed Bill to not know what they were thinking. To lack the ability to act as the metaphorical wrecking ball that could smash through all that steel in an instant, leaving him free to pry open every last little thought, rivet by rivet, bolt by bolt.

Well, at least he still possessed the ability to verbally taunt them~! “You heard the big guy, Goldfish~! Why don’t you run on back to bed while the adults talk?”

“Why you little—” Stan began, then paused with a look of confusion. “Goldfish, what—”

“Your sign in the Zodiac Wheel,” Bill elaborated. “You know—that little goldfish thing on your hat! Although I guess it could also be a reference to your constant desperation for fortune and fame, combined with your childish dream of dragging Sixer off on some ridiculous, insignificant boat adventure. You know, first part’s the gold, second part’s the fish?”

He tilted his head. “Of course, I could always call you Fez instead, but that just sounds silly. It’d be like calling Question Mark Shirt or Pine Tree…I dunno, Other Hat? Hmm, kinda like that, actually.”

“...Welp, that one’s on me for asking,” Stan said, and promptly turned his attention back to Ford. “I did need you for something, though. Apparently Soos found a few more moonstones that he said we should lay out in the hall—”

“Well, feel free to lay them there,” Ford said, making his way back to his chair. “One at each corner, evenly spaced…Probably a smart idea to stick one at the end of the hallway for good measure—”

“I really think we need your help with it,” Stan urged.

“Not if you follow my instructions.”

Bill’s eyebrows shot as far up his forehead as they could get, expression lighting up with sadistic glee. Oh, oh—they were fighting~! “Aww, I’m back for five minutes and you two are already at each other’s throats again!” he said with a mirthy twinkle in his eye. “Man, even after all this time, you Pines Twins still can’t get along!”

He began to rock back and forth in the chair with delight. “Come on, punch each other in the face!” he demanded excitedly. “Give Sixer a black eye that looks worse than mine!”

He stopped rocking for a moment, and cast a look down at the chair. “Hmm, I forgot that you mortals haven’t evolved to the point where you can hear the voices of inanimate objects,” he said. “I can’t even hear just how much this chair is probably screaming from the way I’ve been rocking it back and forth.”

With a cackle, he proceeded to rock back and forth even harder. “Hehe, I’ll bet the guy’s absolutely livid right now—ACK!”

The chair suddenly tipped over and crashed—Bill and all—to the floor with a loud clatter. With his limbs too restrained to catch himself in any dignified fashion, Bill quickly found himself with his face squished into the lavender rug near Abuelita’s bed.

Both Ford and Stan stared at him for a moment, their disagreement temporarily forgotten at Bill’s misfortune. However, Stan snapped back to reality first and took advantage of the other two being distracted long enough to pull Ford towards the door and out into the hallway.

Bill barely had time to bark out an irritated: “Hey, get back here and pick me up!” before the door was pulled shut behind them. With a irritable huff, he attempted to rock the chair again in the hopes of adjusting to a more comfortable angle.

And after a moment of struggling, he finally succeeded in rolling the chair onto its—and by extension, his—back. Leaving him completely flat on the floor with his gaze pointed upwards at the ceiling.

Well, at least this angle was more familiar.

— — — — — — —

“Stanley, I said—”

“I know what you said,” Stan replied, closing the door shut behind them. “But you know I’m gonna try and make you sleep tonight, right?”

“And you know I’m not going to do that, right?”

“Ford—”

“How on Earth am I supposed to sleep with Bill still alive?!”

It was like something had finally crashed right on through whatever wall Ford had built up in his mind, the stress he had tried desperately to repress all evening spilling out of him in an instant. “The memory gun should’ve worked,” he muttered in a panicked tone. “It…it destroyed everything in your mind, right?”

“Well, yeah, everything—” Stan began. “But—”

“There had to have been something he did, something that protected him,” Ford rambled on, mostly to himself. “Was it a spell? Some kind of failsafe? Did he catch onto our plan—”

“Woah, woah, hey, just breathe for a sec,” Stan interrupted. “Yeah, this is exactly why you’ve gotta let someone else babysit the little jerk while you get some sleep. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you’re too tired to think straight.”

And maybe if Ford got some sleep, he could shift some of the burden to Stan’s shoulders where it belonged. Yeesh, the poor guy had really been holding back earlier. Had he really been this stressed all evening?

…As if Stan needed to ask.

“You’d be surprised at what I can accomplish during an all-nighter,” Ford assured him. “Back in my college days, I once started a twenty-thousand-word essay at ten in the evening, and had it on the professor’s desk by six the next morning.”

He pressed a hand to his forehead. “And when you first arrived here to help me hide the journals, I believe was on my fourth consecutive day of staying awake.”

“Fourth?!” Stan sputtered in disbelief, before he shook his head. “No, no, just gonna ignore that for now—it’s not like I got any room to talk when it comes to bad sleep schedules. But also you are not staying up four days to deal with this by yourself.”

He reached over to place a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder. “Come on, Stanford, let me help you,” he urged. “At least go get an hour of sleep. I’ll stay down here, keep him quiet—heck, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut if he gets too mouthy with me.”

He balled his free hand into a fist and thumped it against his own chest. “Let me help you put that pointy jerk twenty feet back under the ground, and make it stick this time!”

Ford’s eyes fell to the hand on his shoulder and followed it up to the desperation in his brother’s features.

An expression near identical to the one he had worn after being blasted by the memory gun. Confusion mixed with a desire to understand…

It was like they were back in that clearing in the woods, the natural warmth of the sun draping itself back over the town, after the blood-red skies of Weirdmageddon had barred it from sight for so long. Stanley kneeling in front of him and the kids in a dazed trance, no recollection of whom he was or the sacrifices he had just made.

All of which he had assured Ford was worth the risk while they swapped clothes back in the Fearamid, beneath the wretched tapestries of the remaining Zodiac members, an ear perked on both ends for Bill’s thundering footsteps reapproaching the main room.

But had it been? Had it been worth the risk?

Up until Mabel’s scrapbook method, they had no way of knowing that Stanley would’ve been able to return to his usual self. And as far as they knew, that cure only worked when presented with the memory gun’s effects.

What if Stanley got involved again, only for something worse to happen to him than lost memories? What if he couldn’t simply be scrapbooked and home movie’d back to his usual self again this time around?

What if—

“Yeah, well, if they keep on bein’ that thrilled, you’re gonna have to bust out that necromancy spell to talk to me.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Stanley,” Ford said, and turned back to the door. “You go get some sleep.”

“Wh—Ford!”

His brother’s name fell on deaf ears as Ford promptly open and shut the door behind him. Stan continued to stare at the closed door, too dumbfounded to properly react.

Ford really didn’t want his help with Bill? He could understand sending everyone off to bed earlier, but he was still turning down his help when it was just the two of them?

He raised a hand to the doorknob, the temptation to try and properly sway Ford into letting him help rising in his chest—

“Mr. Pines?”

Stan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice from the other bedroom in the hallway, and he turned to see Soos standing in the doorway. “Everything alright? …I don’t have to punch anyone yet, do I?”

With an exhale, Stan forced his hand back to his side again. “Yeesh, Soos, don’t sneak up on me like that or I’m gonna be the one who starts swinging. But nah, everything’s fine. Just thought I check in on Ford, is all.”

“Alright,” Soos said with a small smile as he held up a fist of his own. “But I swear, I will throw a punch if I need to! I made a promise, after all.”

He paused, and switched the fist to another hand. “Although maybe I should use this hand,” he said thoughtfully. “Don’t wanna accidentally break my Shack-Brochure-and-Fanfic-Writing hand on his face, you know what I mean?”

He swapped back to the first. “Although it’s probably better to use your dominant hand to punch—”

“Go to bed, Soos.”

“You got it, Mr. Pines!”

He shut the door, leaving Stan once again by himself in the quiet hallway.

Stan cast a look back to the door in front of him, his hand moving towards the doorknob again.

The same way it had when Ford had called him to the shack all those years ago, eyes bloodshot and features sunken from a lack of sleep—four days, Ford?!—and he’d showed up without a second thought to help.

Despite all the time they had spent apart, Ford had relied on him enough to seek out his help. Despite everything, Stan had still held some worth in his brother’s eyes.

And how had Stan proven that worth to his brother?

By tossing him through some massive, otherworldly portal for thirty years, stealing his identity, and ruining his life.

By getting huffy over a simple thank you and nearly dooming the entire universe.

“But then again, you might have a little trouble convincing him. Considering your poor track record in fixing mistakes.”

By not doing the one thing that had actually granted him worth, and killing that stupid demon proper.

He slammed his hand back down to his side again in a balled fist, and headed back down the hallway.

Forget it, he’d try again tomorrow.

— — — — — — —

“So, how’d the fight go~?”

Not even Bill’s shrill tauntings could pull Ford out of his determined state as he returned to his chair and notebook, the tip of his pencil once again dancing across the paper with incredible speed.

From the floor where he’d fallen earlier, Bill cast him a sour look. “Oh, real mature, Sixer. You’re really not going to pick me up?”

Ford’s hand clenched tighter around the pencil as he went to scratch out his latest idea—one that joined the dozen other scribbled-out ideas above it—before moving down to the next empty row on the paper and starting again—

“Uh, hello? Stanford? I’m talking to you!”

Talk then, you vile little demon.

The tip of the pencil snapped and Ford was unable to bite back his frustrated grunt of surprise. Right on cue, a cackle started from the floor as he reached for a pencil sharpener. “Hehe, I heard that~!” Bill chimed in a singsong voice. “Guess we know who lost the fight, eh, Grumpypants~?”

Ford paid him no mind as he quickly sharpened the pencil back into a point and returned to his work with that fierce determination from before.

No matter how many scribbled-out ideas he had to toss into the fireplace, he was going to find a solution to this problem.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much he had to verbally endure at Bill’s hand again—

—he would make certain that his brother’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain.

“...Okay, seriously, are you going to leave me down here all night?”

— — — — — — — —

Mabel couldn’t sleep.

Ever since she’d settled into bed—a snoozing Waddles curled up at her side—her eyes had stayed glued to the ceiling. At first she’d tried distracting herself by holding mental conversations with the mold spots permanently stained into the old wood, but not even Daryl could lift her spirits at a time like this.

Every few minutes, her gaze would move to the bed across the room, a question lingering on her tongue for a moment before she returned her attention to the ceiling.

It was around midnight before she finally vocalized her lingering question with a quiet: “You awake, Dipper?”

Her answer immediately came in the form of blankets shuffling as Dipper rolled over to face her. “Of course I am.”

She rolled over to face him proper as well, both pairs of eyes shifting to the triangular window of their room. The moon hung high in the night sky, its beams of light shining through the glass and illuminating the floor in a way that would normally be comforting.

Tonight, however, the sight of an eye-shaped object through the triangular frame was just a painful reminder of what waited for them just a few rooms below.

“I can’t believe he’s back…”

Dipper turned his gaze from the moonlight and back to his sister at the sound of her voice. “Did you see Grunkle Ford?” she asked quietly. “He was so scared…”

“I don’t blame him,” Dipper admitted, placing a hand to his forehead. “We went through all of that trouble to kill Bill, and it didn’t even work.”

He slid the hand down to cover his eyes, but immediately lifted it again to peek over at her. “Hey, you saw it, right? How much he looked like me…”

There was more shuffling—this time on Mabel’s end—as she sat up in bed completely. “It was like when I saw him during the puppet show,” she said, pulling her legs to her chest. “Except the hair and eyes were different this time around. His left eye wasn’t all—”

She covered her own left eye with one hand. “His hair color’s different this time, too. I wonder why?”

“Who knows?” Dipper said with a shrug. “Although I guess meeting—or re-meeting a guy who looks like me isn’t the weirdest thing to happen in this town, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mabel agreed. “Still…why’d it have to be that guy? Why does he have to ruin everything?”

A sad hum escaped her as she hugged her knees close. “So much for getting to spend more time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

Dipper let his arm fall before he sat up in bed. “Hey, come on, you really think it’s gonna take all summer for Grunkle Ford to get rid of Bill?” he asked. “He’s spent the last thirty years traversing the Multiverse! He’s explored more dimensions than we could probably even think of on our own—dimensions where everyone lives underwater, dimensions ruled by talking robotic octopi—”

When Mabel plopped sadly back against her pillow again, Dipper paused for a moment to think. “—dimension where the air is made of cotton candy instead of oxygen?”

As he’d expected, the concept twitched the corners of her mouth with mild amusement. “Ugh, I’ll bet that dimension is soooo tasty,” she said. “I wonder what they do when it rains, though? All the cotton candy would just melt and then they’d have no air—ooh, I’ll bet they have like, a ga-ZILLION of those cotton candy-making machines ready for when that happens!”

“Anything’s possible in the Multiverse,” Dipper said with a nod. “My point is that Grunkle Ford’s been around, and he’s probably picked up a lot of different ways to get rid of Bill! Even if the methods he’s tried already didn’t work—and even if we can’t use stuff like the Zodiac or his Quantum Destabilizer—I’m sure he’s got something up his sleeve.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And if none of those work, we could always come up with some ideas for him! Like—like—”

She flumped her arms across her blanket with an exasperated huff. “Well, I’m too tired to think of anything now, but I’m sure we could think of something!” she said, scrunching her face in concentration. “What if we…I dunno—”

“Oooh!” Dipper snapped his fingers with inspiration. “What if we got one of those time travel devices, strapped one to Bill, and then rocketed him to a date so far into the future that he’d never be able to get back to our time?”

Mabel pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, but her amusement faded almost immediately. “Nah, that wouldn’t work. He could always trick and possess someone super far in the future, and they could help him get back here,” she pointed out. “Like what he did with that Blendin guy, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

The two fell silent again, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle summer wind rustling the forest outside their window. “We should probably sleep for real,” Dipper finally said. “We can just…do what we told Grunkle Stan we were going to do and take shifts, right?”

“Well then, you sleep first,” Mabel said, once again in an upright position as she reached over to pull Waddles close to her. “And like I said I was gonna do, I’ll let Waddles stay on your side and be your guard hog while you sleep.”

Waddles followed up her remark with a groggy little oink of reassurance, and Dipper let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and what’s he gonna do if Bill pops up in my dream?”

“I mean, you can always dream up a dream Waddles to eat him,” Mabel suggested. “He looks like a corn chip, right? I’ll bet dream corn chips taste just as good as real ones!”

She plapped a hand against the top of Waddles’ head. “Plus then when you wake up, you’ll have the real Waddles right there to comfort you!”

This got a full-on laugh out of Dipper. “Alright, alright, point made. Send him over.”

Mabel leaned over the side of the bed and gently set Waddles to the floor, giving his little rump an encouraging pat. “Go on, boy! Go protect Dipper from the dream nacho!”

With another tired little oink, he ambled on over to Dipper’s side of the bedroom and oinked up at him for assistance. “Go ahead and set an alarm on your phone, Mabel,” Dipper said, and reached down to pull him up onto his bed. “What should we set it to? An hour? Hour-and-a-half?”

“An hour works for me,” Mabel said. “But if you don’t actually sleep for that hour, I will not hesitate to stay up longer out of spite!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sleeping…”

Dipper settled back down under the covers while Waddles snuggled up next to him, and it wasn’t until Mabel heard Dipper’s light snoring that she finally dared to tear her gaze from him and reach for her phone.

That was good. At the very least, he’d be getting some sleep tonight.

She looked to the window again—the moonlight still faintly illuminating the darkened room—and crawled out of bed to stare outside properly. Despite the tall trees that surrounded the shack on all sides, there was little to block the ocean of stars that painted the night sky.

After staring for a bit, she turned and crawled back into her bed. With another look at her brother to make sure he was still asleep, she dug her hand between the mattress and wall, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips in determination as she fumbled around for the unseen object she sought so desperately.

She knew it was a longshot that it would’ve remained in the same place for nine months—given the dustless state of their room, Soos would’ve been the most likely candidate to find it if he searched-slash-cleaned hard enough—but eventually her fingers brushed against something and she pulled it out to investigate.

It was an old, dusty piece of paper, the same one she had crumpled and tucked in its hiding spot almost a full year ago. The edges were frayed and torn and the tint of the paper was a sicklier yellow than she remembered—but the jagged writing on the front was still just as legible as the day she’d found it in Stan’s car:

“Note to self: Possessing people is hilarious! To think of all the sensations I’ve been missing out on—burning, stabbing, drowning. It’s like a buffet tray of fun! Once I destroy that journal, I’ll enjoy giving this body its grand finale—by throwing it off the water tower! Best of all, people will just think Pine Tree lost his mind, and his mental form will wander in the mindscape forever. Want to join him, Shooting Star?”

Mabel stared hard at the paper for what felt like an hour—although in reality, it was probably no longer than a few minutes. She read and reread several times over, every cruel word like a knife to her vision and gut, before finally crumpling the paper in an angry fist and shoving it back down between the wall and her mattress where it belonged.

She settled back against her pillow again, and turned back to Dipper’s bed. Still fast asleep, with nothing more than the occasional twitch or shift in place.

He was sleeping, supposedly without nightmares. That was all that mattered.

She continued to stare at him until the sight made her drowsy, before turning her attention back to the various mold spots on the ceiling.

Daryl was going to have to work overtime tonight if he really wanted to lift her spirits.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Bill Cipher #Stanford Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)#(Stan and Mabel get some decent screentime in this chapter as well)

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