morra :D

18 - any/neos! call me morra, robin or basil. local butchfemboygirlthing. send me asks about random stuff please! like "what are you listening to?" or somefin

[mimikabii]

extinguished

[punchcardeater]

[playwrongs]

Stephen King’s Fujo

[kungfunurse]

yeah @sunderwight these tags are gold

[kuropin]

Human fuunybunny hell ye hell ye

[redstonedust]

it's usually morally correct to make fun of the usa but whenever i hear british people do it it feels kinda tone deaf. idk if we have the high ground here guys. its like your mom making fun of your mental illness like ma'am where do you think i got it from.

[flowerbobatea]

[cipheramnesia]

Actually the real reason I transitioned was because my parents joked so many times about returning me to the child store I decided to void the warranty.

[cipheramnesia]

Actually the real reason I transitioned was my dad complained about women in golf so much I knew it was a sure fire way to make him stop trying to teach me golf.

[cipheramnesia]

Actually the real reason I transitioned was because I'm really supportive of my wife but I wanted to make shopping for their tampons feel less awkward.

[cipheramnesia]

Actually the real reason I transitioned was to prove to a point about the ending of the Scottish play to my 8th grade English teacher.

[cipheramnesia]

Actually the real reason I transitioned was because slutty shorts for men went out of style and I couldn't give them up.

[greatmountainfloofsquatch]

Have you considered doing standup comedy?

[cipheramnesia]

I prefer to sit.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Well then have you considered sit down comedy?

[cipheramnesia]

For sure, every time I stand up for open mic night, they says to me "sit back down."

[mochinohana]

This feels like a fun alternative to "do you want to know how I got these scars?"

[cipheramnesia]

I very much also have scars, but everyone knows I got them in an explosion.

[ironic-dysgraphia]

explosion at the transing my gender factory

[great-and-small]

We vertebrates really do just love to find a cool stick and get obsessed with it for a bit, don’t we

[hideki-koga]

アオバト（White-bellied green-pigeon）

[winewoo]

deltarune comic i made that i thought i’d also post here cause i spent way too long on it lolz

based off this dialogue

[lullanull013]

Wanted to draw Loop since I've drawn them only once

[torstherapy]

[silvermoon424]

Bro absolutely COOKED with this.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

If you ever hear the phrase "fascism is aesthetics as politics," that's what this post is talking about.

It's not about being tough on crime, because the absolute toughest most brutal measure you could take against "crime" as a social problem is to alleviate poverty, and increase access to education, healthcare and social mobility.

It's about performing "tough on crime" as an aesthetic by enacting violence against a prop, i.e. minorities and the impoverished, who are fetishized and objectified to represent "crime." They are brutalized as punishment for crime, but never with the purpose of alleviating the problem of crime.

This is why a lot of conservatives and other right wingers can get straight up angry when you suggest things like reform or social measures to reduce crime. They don't want crime to be reduced, they want an eternal war against "crime" because it provides an arena for the righteous to demonstrate virtue by brutalizing their enemies.

[ckret2]

Chapter 117 of human Bill Cipher nearly, but not quite, going a whole chapter without angsting over being human:

Is Bill being a professional manipulator, projecting his own issues on someone else, or genuinely trying to help out a friend? spoilers: it's all three!

also, at long last: Waddles's egg hatches.

####

Ford said, "Just hand over the egg, Stanley."

"And hand out refunds to everyone in the audience? Are you nuts?" Stan asked. "We're making money hand over fist!"

Ford and Dipper had elected to come in the back door of town hall, hoping to avoid drawing too much attention and causing a panic. The back door couldn't be opened from the outside without a key; but to their fortune, Stan had been there to open the door when they knocked. To their misfortune, Stan had immediately realized they were up to something and blocked their way.

"We don't have time for this!" Dipper tucked his camera under his arm for protection and shoved his way through.

"Hey, hold on!" Stan tried to get an arm around him—and missed wildly, because he still had permanent marker covering his glasses lenses. Dipper pushed past him to the back door.

And ran right into Bill's arm instead. "Hey, kid!" Bill gripped the puffy collar of Dipper's vest, teeth gritted in an angry smile. "What's the rush?"

"Lemme go!" Dipper twisted in his grip. "We've gotta get inside before the egg hatches!"

"Oh, but you don't wanna ruin the show, do you?" He shoved Dipper back outside and took up a position next to Stan, feet spread, fists on what should have been his corners, forming an impenetrable barrier of uncooperative con artists. "You two look pretty wound up! Maybe you should take, oh, five minutes out here to calm down—"

Mabel's voice drifted out from the auditorium: "And in less than five minutes, we'll welcome a brand new baby alien to Gravity Falls!"

"We don't have time!" Ford said. "Get out of the way." He tried to shove his way past Stan and Bill.

To block him, Bill linked his arm with Stan's, which made both of them shudder with distaste and privately resolve to shower when they got home. "No," Bill said. "What the heck's gotten into you two! Why are you so determined to mess up Mabel's show?"

"We're protecting Mabel," Ford snapped back. "The thing in that egg is dangerous! Mabel and everyone else inside could get hurt!"

Bill blinked at him in amazement. "What?"

Stan tensed. After a second, he reluctantly tugged his arm from Bill's grip. "I mean... I'd rather give the stupid refunds than endanger Mabel." Thoughtfully, he said, "Or maybe we can convince the audience taking away the egg is part of the show...?"

"She's not in any danger! Where did you get that?!" Bill asked. "I can see what's in it and I can see what'll happen when it hatches! Mabel's got nothing to worry about and neither do any of you! Now relax."

"Is that so?" Ford crossed his arms, glaring Bill down. "Then what is it."

Bill froze, fighting a burst of panic, his gaze flashing to Dipper and back to Ford. He laughed angrily. "Oo-oo-oh, so after pitching a fit about spoilers earlier today, now you want all the answers? I thought yoo-oo-oou wanted to figure it out ALL BY YOURSELF!" His voice swung erratically between mocking singsong lilt and accusatory scream.

Dipper shouted, "Bill, this isn't the time!" and overlapping him Ford said, "This is different and you know it! Don't be petty!"

Who was being petty! He was just trying not to get in trouble! Now they were cranky he wouldn't talk, but he was sure they'd be just as cranky if he did. There was no winning this. "Does it matter what's in it?! The important thing is that it's harmless, and if you think I'm lying about that then you'd think I'm lying if I told you what it is, too! Either way, you'll just have to trust me!"

That got a laugh out of both the Stans. Which was far from the first time; but he was beginning to get tired of them treating his every attempt to ask for a little faith in him like it was a big joke. Like he couldn't possibly truly want somebody to believe him.

"Why should I trust you," Ford said.

Bill struggled to think of anything he could offer that couldn't be called another lie. He came up blank. "Please?"

"No." Ford pushed past Bill; this time, Stan stood aside to let him. Betrayer.

Bill desperately grabbed onto Ford's sleeve. Before he could shake him off, Bill said, "I don't know what you heard about that egg or what you think you'll do about it, but if you two idiots barge in there, you're barreling right into a future that ends with Mabel in tears, and I'm not letting you do that to her!" Finally the perfect argument clicked into place: "If it was dangerous, do you really think I'd leave Mabel alone with it?!"

They both knew Ford wouldn't trust a single word out of Bill's mouth—nobody did—but Ford himself had said he'd only let Bill live because he now had a sliver of hope for him, because of how he treated Mabel. If it made such a big difference, was it enough to sway Ford now?

It was. Ford stopped trying to pull away from Bill's grasp. He glanced back at him, uncertain, searching his face.

"If you don't trust anything else," Bill pressed, "can you at least trust that?"

Ford exchanged a glance with Stan, silently discussing the question.

Dipper said, "Well, I can't."

Bill had been too focused on Ford. He hadn't been watching what was happening just a few seconds in the future, a few inches to the side. He only glanced over in time to get a half second preview of Dipper bolting past the rest of them to the door. It didn't give Bill enough advanced warning to intercept him, only enough to let him slip inside before the door could fully swing shut behind Dipper.

But it was more advanced warning than the Stans had. The heavy emergency exit door slammed in their faces. Stan barked, "Hey!" They pounded on the door. Ford shouted, "Dipper! Bill! Let us in!"

Bill helplessly studied the impenetrable slab of door-ness. "How?!"

Stan muttered a curse under his breath, then shouted, "Never mind, just get Dipper!"

"We'll come in from the front!"

Fine. Bill chased after Dipper. "Get back here!"

"Screw you!"

"Ford wants you to!"

"Mabel's more important!"

"It's a flying pig!"

Dipper skidded to a stop. He wheeled around to stare at Bill in disbelief. "Are you fu—"

Bill bodyslammed into Dipper, knocking them both to the ground.

"Bill! Geddoff—"

"Knock it off! Your sister's been working hard on this all day! You're not ruining another thing for her with your selfishness!"

"Selfishness?!" Dipper protectively clutched his camera in one arm and tried to stick his other hand in Bill's eye to force him off, but had to jerk back when Bill nearly snapped his fingers between his teeth. "What are you talking about! When have I ever—"

"Hmm! Let me think," Bill grunted, the sarcasm in his tone somewhat undermined by the strain of trying to keep Dipper's limbs pinned. "How about all those times you thought spending slightly more time with Red was more important than letting Mabel meet the pig that'll be her best friend for the next decade of her life, or helping a scared, stranded kid get back to his mermaid family! Because your hopeless crush mattered more than other people's lives, right?"

"This isn't about a crush!" With one arm protectively clutching his camera to his chest, Dipper wriggled out of Bill's grasp.

Before he could scramble back to his feet, Bill wrapped his arms around Dipper's legs to hold him down. "No, it's about you!" How was this stupid kid so slippery! Sure, he was sweaty, but his leg hairs were finally coming in, that was supposed to increase the friction! "Just like the time you decided 'solving the town's mysteries' was so important you'd do anything to get the next clue right now—even ruin your sister's show!"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Ooh, big boy language."

"You don't even believe anything you're saying yourself! You're just saying whatever you think will make me do what you want!" Dipper kicked one leg free. "And you're the one who ruined her show last time!"

Bill dug his nails in his other leg. "Yeah! And now I'm trying to save her show! Can you say that?!"

"I'm trying to save her!" Dipper punctuated the sentence with a kick to Bill's chin.

He briefly saw stars; when they cleared up, Dipper was already on his feet and running again. Bill snarled, "And that's why you've got your camera, right?!"

Dipper skidded to a stop, staring at his camera like he'd never seen it before. (The camera that had made him delay leaving the shack for a couple more minutes, just so he could grab more film.)

"Planning to bludgeon the egg to pieces with that thing, kid?" Bill tried to get to his feet, and his head swam. Ow. Back on one knee. "This isn't about protecting Mabel, this is about your hero complex. You just want to make another stupid little episode for your stupid little unsuccessful vlog!" This time, he managed to stand. "You want to charge in there and be the biiig hero, save the whooole town from the dangerous beast and get it all on camera!"

And Dipper hadn't moved yet. That was the thing about saying whatever you think will make someone do what you want—if you say enough things, eventually you'll hit on the one that does get what you want. Like pounding the buttons on a game controller until you finally guessed the cheat code to unlock extra lives. Then all you have to do is keep spamming that combo— "But what'll that do to her. Here she is in the middle of a live performance—she did the script and costumes and everything! All in one day! You should've seen what a whirlwind she was!—and in charges her brother." He stalked up behind Dipper, seized his shoulder, and spun him to face Bill. "Who just has to prove he's the smart twin again—even if it means stealing her turn in the spotlight."

He could feel the cruel sneer twisting his face's muscles, feel the hate in his eyes, and he didn't care. He'd won this round and they both knew it. "Because this summer, she's the one who found a new source of secret knowledge about all the town's mysteries," he pointed at himself, "and you. can't. stand. that."

Bill had won this round, but apparently Dipper hadn't actually gotten the memo. His expression darkened. "I want to see Mabel succeed. I'm not jealous of her! Especially not her creepy friendship with you."

"Creepy?! Hey, I've been an angel!" Bill tried to get his hands around Dipper's neck—Mabel would understand if he strangled her brother, it was just to help her—but Dipper knocked his arms aside like they had the strength of pool noodles, seized Bill by the collar, somehow hooked a foot behind his ankle, and suddenly Bill was on the ground, looking at Dipper upside-down through a doorway. He'd knocked Bill into the meeting room they'd been using for backstage prep. "Hey, wait—!"

Dipper slammed the door shut between them.

"You little—!" Bill threw his full weight against the door—which, of course, did nothing. He pounded on the wood with both fists. "Get back here! You're making a mistake!"

Dipper didn't even slow down. All Bill could do was watch through the wood as he burst into the auditorium.

####

Mabel kept nervously glancing at the back of the auditorium. Bill had said he'd be here to signal her when the egg was ready to hatch, but he'd disappeared right after her performance started and hadn't been back since. What was taking him so long? Did something happen?

Or maybe she had been silly to take Bill Cipher at his word in the first place.

(She tried to push that thought aside. Bill was her friend, she didn't want to believe he'd treat her like that. Even if he treated his other friends like that... No. She'd find out what happened before passing judgment.)

But either way, he wasn't here and she was getting nervous. She was trying to keep track of when Bill had originally said the egg was supposed to hatch, watching the clock at the back of the auditorium, but she kept worrying she might have forgotten exactly when he'd said it was. She hadn't thought to write the time down on the sweaty script she'd stuffed in her pocket. She kept worrying she was talking too fast, and then she worried that she'd compensated by talking too slow, and usually she wasn't this nervous on stage but she hated when she had to give timed presentations, those were like the worst kinds of presentations ever, and after last summer's sock-tastrophe if she blew this performance too she'd never work in showbiz in this town again—

She was concluding the epic tale of how Waddles had survived the harsh deserts of Australia with the help of a mob of kangaroos and then rafted all the way across the Pacific Ocean to reach Oregon in time for the egg to land—when the heavy door "backstage" swung open and crashed into the wall so hard it sounded like one of those giant log thingies they used to break down castle doors in movies. Dipper barreled into the room, shouting, "STOP!"

Mabel froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open. Every face in the auditorium turned toward Dipper. His face was hardened with a fierce determination that made Mabel's stomach flip with anxiety. What was wrong? And did it have to be wrong right now, at the end of her big speech?

As he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes darted wildly around the stage until they fell on the egg. He took a deep breath and pointed at it.

And then he saw Mabel and his breath gushed back out. He took in her costume, and Waddles's, and the background studded with stars and planets; and then the audience (now staring expectantly at him instead of Mabel) and the rest of the shack gang at the back with the audio setup.

His face hardened again in determination and he sucked in another deep breath—to let it back out in a loud sigh. "Whew, I didn't miss it!"

Mabel groaned. "Dipperrr..."

"Sorry, sorry." The audience tittered as Dipper took a seat in the first row. He aimed his camera at Mabel and flashed her a thumbs up.

She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses, but gave him a thumbs up back. He'd totally thrown off her speech and now she really didn't know how much time she had left—but with her brother right in the front row supporting her, she was suddenly a lot less nervous about flubbing it. Even if she messed up so badly the whole audience hated her, he wouldn't. She picked up where she'd left off, with two magic peacocks with rainbows trailing behind them finding Waddles half dead on his raft and helpfully pushing it the rest of the way to Oregon's shores. (A few tourists were dabbing at their eyes.)

Stan and Ford rushed in from Town Hall's front doors, albeit a lot more quietly than Dipper. Ford looked around frantically, saw Dipper giving him a small shy wave from the front row, and relaxed. The whole family was here to watch her big conclusion. She couldn't fail now!

"...and when he touched the force field with his cute little piggy snout, the meteor exploded into a million zillion tiny little sparkly pieces—" Mabel flung two handfuls of glitter out from her concealed pockets (suddenly Dipper looked less thrilled about being on the front row), "—and Waddles finally met... the egg."

Doing an admirable job of not laughing into her mic, Wendy dutifully whispered, "The eeegg..."

Mabel had a whole bit planned about how Waddles swore to guard the egg with his life until the stars aligned on its home world and it finally hatched; but the egg, which had been periodically trembling and making little cracking sounds for the past hour, chose that moment to shake so violently it almost fell of the pillow. A crack arced halfway around its circumference; and then another, a small chip falling away where they intersected. Mabel gasped and said all in a rush, "And that concludes the tale of the pig of destiny and his egg now let's watch as he meets his fated child ta-daaa!"

The audience sat on the edges of their seats, waiting to see what finally emerged from the egg. In the back, the shack gang abandoned their posts, standing and craning their necks so they could see too.

Mabel and Waddles watched the egg with wide eyes as another chip fell loose, then another. At last, the egg gave one last big wiggle and burst apart—

Mabel let out a shriek. "OH-EM-GEEEE it's so CUUUTE!" She reached out to scoop up the little piglet with fluffy golden wings, and only just caught herself in time to let Waddles greet it first. He sniffed it, snorted on it—it squinted its eyes and its feathers fluttered in the breeze—then nuzzled his cheek against it.

The audience members close enough to get a good look at the piglet cooed in appreciation. Dipper nearly fell out of his seat leaning closer to film. At the back of the auditorium, Ford barked, "What!"

Soos hit the piano key for a triumphant trumpet fanfare.

The audience applauded.

####

"It's obviously a hoax," one tourist said to another as they filed out of the auditorium. "I mean, come on—a flying pig? I'll believe those are real when pigs fly."

"I don't know," the other said thoughtfully. "The bit about the kangaroos was probably made up, but those wings did look awfully convincing..."

"It was very well done," the first tourist conceded. "The costumes were fantastic. Did you see those rainbow capes?"

"And that story was so fun."

Somebody behind them shouted, "Holy smokes, is that really a pigasus?!" They glanced back at a gray-haired man in a tan coat who was bending over the piglet with a look of absolute wonder. The first tourist muttered, "Some people will believe anything."

Ford went on, "I've only heard tales about these creatures! I didn't think I'd live to see one! Dipper, Dipper, you're filming right? Wow! This is the greatest thing I've ever seen!"

"It's alright. Kinda wrinkly," Stan said. "I think." (He'd taken off his markered glasses and was squinting at the piglet.) "I bet it'll make the shack a fortune, though. Hey Soos, you got room for another pet?"

"We can make room," Soos said. "A couple more weird critters, and maybe we can start a cryptid petting zoo!"

"Grunkle Stan, you can't put Waddles's baby in the Mystery Shack," Mabel said. "That's child labor!"

Offended, Stan said, "What are you talking about?" He put one arm around Soos's and Wendy's shoulders, scooped Dipper and Mabel into a hug with the other, and said, "The Mystery Shack was built on a long and proud tradition of child labor. Sometimes unpaid!"

Wendy shook off Stan's arm. "Hey, Mabel! Nice work on the show."

"Yeah, it was totally awesome," Soos said. "I had no idea Waddles lives such an adventurous life. I have a newfound respect for him."

"Thanks, guys. I kinda messed up the ending a little, though." Mabel's beam of pride melted away. "B—Goldie said he'd signal me when it was almost time for the egg to hatch, but he completely disappeared! What's with that?"

Dipper gasped. "Oops."

####

When Dipper opened the meeting room door, Bill was leaning against the door frame with one hand, already positioned perfectly to glare down at him. "We've got to stop meeting like this." He shoved past him.

"Ow. You're welcome," Dipper muttered.

"Oh! Where are my manners! Thank you for locking me up so you could enjoy Shooting Star's grand finale!" Bill shot Dipper a dirty, bloody look. "But why let the person who convinced you not to ruin it for her see?"

All right, he supposed he deserved that one. "What happened to your eye?" Bill's right eye was tinged pink with blood. It pooled along his waterline, only a couple of drops just beginning to roll down his cheek.

Bill grunted in annoyance, swiped away the blood tears, and irritably flipped down his eye patch to obscure the view. "Only way I could watch the show," he muttered. (Dipper hadn't exactly felt bad earlier—yeah, sure, he realized he was in the wrong, but that was different from feeling bad—but knowing Bill had made his eyeball bleed just because he wanted to see the show...)

By the time they emerged in the auditorium Bill had remembered how to slap on a fake smile. "Hey, star girl! What a performance! Looks like the audience liked it, too!" He studied the piglet. "And you... you were fine. Don't expect a 'supporting actress' trophy, though."

"Bill! Where..." Mabel stopped. "She's a girl pig?" She knelt to study its face.

"Sure! She's got girl guts!" Bill said cheerily. "And she probably doesn't have an opinion of her own on the matter yet."

Mabel nodded thoughtfully; and then remembered her earlier resentment. "Hey, you missed the whole show. Where were you?"

"Watching from backstage!"

She put on an exaggerated pout and planted her hands on her hips in a performance of faux hurt feelings, to cover the fact that her feelings actually were hurt. "You said you'd tell me when the egg was about to hatch."

Bill's grin only flickered for a second before he plastered it back in place. "Yeah, well, you know me. Notoriously unreliable."

Then Tyler waved from across the room and Bill immediately headed his way, cutting the conversation off. Mabel's shoulders slumped.

Dipper didn't get it. Why did Bill do that? This wasn't the first time he'd let Mabel believe something wrong about him that made him look even worse than he really was. He was more than happy to lie to make himself look better—why wouldn't he jump all over an opportunity to make himself look better when it was actually true?

####

"We had such a great turnout," Tyler gushed. "And on such short notice! I'll admit, I was a little worried when you wanted to schedule an event on the day of, but wow!" He cast a fond eye toward the piglet, flopped on her silver pillow and surrounded by an admiring crowd, like a napping princess flanked by her royal guard. "And what a cute little thing, too."

"Hey, that's what I'm good at! I'm a logistics guy! You want a project done, I'm the one who knows how to get the right people and the right stuff where and when they're supposed to be. Especially if the 'project' is a party. Wink."

Tyler giggled. "Is that so! Well, the next time we need a party planner, I'll keep you in mind."

"That's all I want! To be in people's minds!" Bill flashed him a finger gun; and let his hand and smile drop as he turned away. Ugh. He couldn't even enjoy this after the screw up at the end of the show.

Apparently Ford had gotten a little overeager in studying his newest favorite creature, because Waddles squealed in alarm and Mabel shooed him away. Bill muttered, "Oh, great." Ford and Stan were headed up the aisle toward Bill.

As soon as they were in conversation range and before Ford could start scolding Bill again for [explaining too much/not explaining enough], Bill said, "Hey. I blame both of you for making me miss the end, by the way." Ford couldn't attack if he was already on the defense.

Stan said, "Okay, I can get blaming Poindexter, but what did I do?"

"Backstabbed me at the last second and let the twerp get past our barrier."

"Dipper taped the ending," Ford said. "You can watch it with me when we get home."

Bill's next round of complaints derailed and gently rolled downhill to crash into a shallow river. "What?"

Ford wasn't even looking at him. He was writing away in his journal (it had been weeks since he'd let Bill get a glimpse of Journal 5), no doubt documenting as much about the day as he could while it was fresh on his mind. "I know I just saw it, but I want to see it again!" He finally glanced up, eyes shining, wearing a beaming smile that stretched all the way across his face. (He had so many teeth. Bill involuntarily swallowed. He could hear the squelching sound of saliva and contracting throat muscles in his ears.) "Dipper was closer to the stage! I want to see all the details I missed the first time!"

For a moment, he'd thought Ford was actually inviting him to watch TV together. What a silly thought! Clearly he was just nerding out toward anyone in a ten foot radius and hadn't even consciously realized he'd included Bill in his excitement. Best to take advantage of it before Ford noticed. "Okay! Movie night! It's a date!"

"Mm-hmm." His head was already back in his journal.

Stan shot Bill a disapproving frown. Bill muttered to him, as if he was a co-conspirator in the joke, "Look at him. He didn't even notice what I said." Stan snorted.

"There!" Ford finished off whatever he'd been writing with a flourish of his pen—probably a riveting diary entry on everything he'd done today and how it made him feel about himself—and said giddily, "I'm gonna get a closer look." He hurried up toward the group clustered around the stage, moving like a man with half his years and cynicism.

Bill asked, "Do you think he's already forgotten Mabel chased him off?"

"Probably." Stan sighed. "I'd better go get him."

"Aww, don't spoil his fun too much!" This evening might've been a disaster for Bill—but at least one of them had had fun tonight.

####

Tyler was sticking around so he could lock up town hall once everyone was out, but it was up to the Mystery Shack crew to clean up their own mess. Bill was trying to figure out which direction the stupid legs on Soos's stupid electric piano were supposed to fold up—and getting increasingly frustrated in the process—(they only bent back and forth in one direction, how hard could this be?!)—when Dipper hesitantly crept up to him. "Hey," he said, awkwardly rubbing his arm.

Bill gave him his best don't test me right now glare.

Oblivious to the subtle nuances of glares, Dipper said, "Uh... sorry for making you miss the show, man."

"Well you should be," Bill snarled, "since you're the reason I didn't get to see it." Dipper opened his mouth; Bill didn't give him a chance to retort. "And none of it would have happened if it wasn't for your stupid, stubborn little quest to be the most special, smart little boy in the whole wide world—"

"Whoa, hey! I'm trying to apologize, man," Dipper said. "What's your problem? So I'm trying to get a career going, so what, what's wrong with that!"

"When's it gonna be enough, kid?"

Dipper struggled for a second to decipher the question. "What?"

"When will you achieve enough? When'll you feel like you finally succeeded at cryptid cataloguing and won at life?"

"I—I don't know?" he said defensively. "I haven't even really gotten started."

"Exactly. You haven't even started! So quit before you've wasted your whole pathetic life on this." Bill jammed a finger against Dipper's camera. (He stepped back to shield it protectively.) "It's not too late for you to be just one more forgettable, mediocre guy out of billions!"

"No! Maybe you want me to be mediocre, but why would I want that?"

"Why would you want to be special," Bill sneered. "Wanna see what happens to the 'special' one in the class?" He pointed toward Ford. "Right there! Your hero! Dr. Supergenius Six-Fingers has been special his whole life! Always the freak with a spotlight on him, whether he's placed on a pedestal or pushed in the mud! And now he doesn't have the choice to quit! He'll never be content just being 'good enough.' He can't be happy with a normal life. You can be. The smartest thing you can do for yourself is give up on being the 'smart one.'"

That confused look on Dipper's face made Bill's boil. The smart ones were always so stupid—especially about their own smarts. "Why should I be content with being 'good enough'? Why would anybody want a normal life if they knew they could have a better one—"

"Did I say a 'better' life? No. A special one. You know all about your great-uncle's life story—he's a walking cautionary tale against hubris! Does he look like he's having fun? Do I look like I am?" He jabbed a finger in Dipper's chest. "Go underachieve, kid. Flunk a test! Or drop out! You don't want to have what it takes to keep up with the winners."

Dipper shoved Bill's hand away. "You don't know anything about what I want."

"Don't I? Who's been in whose head?" If Bill left right now, he was pretty sure he could win this argument before Dipper started pulling out all the times the Pines had caught him off-guard by not wanting what he expected them to want. He shoved the keyboard case and misfolded legs under his arms and spun away from Dipper to march off triumphantly.

Dipper said, "Anyway, Grunkle Ford does look like he's having fun."

Bill glanced over again, and wished he hadn't. Ford had been corralled a safe distance away, and from the looks of it Stan had been posted as his guard so he didn't disturb the new father and his baby—but his eyes were still bright with wonder and riveted on the piglet, only glancing away in quick flickers to draw in his journal. Right now, his life was all sunshine and rainbows.

Bill's stomach did a little flip. "You know what I mean." His voice came out rougher than he expected. "Now shut up and buzz off."

Dipper must've shut up and buzzed off, although Bill didn't notice him go. Look at Ford. What a nerd. If he kept up that big, stupid grin for much longer, his face would get stuck like that—

"HEY there!"

"Gah!" Bill whipped around, dropping the piano legs. "Kid! Don't sneak up on me like that, I could've thrown a piano at you."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "I'm wearing the crinkliest dress in the world," she said, flapping her arms to demonstrate. "Anyway, this is for you! Bop!" She smacked a sticker on his chest.

He set down the piano and pulled out his hoodie to inspect his new prize. It depicted a candy-pink ear. Bubble letters surrounding it read, "You're My HEARo!" Bill's heart leaped into his throat. "Huh! Already forgiven me for bailing on you?"

"Oh, stoppit," Mabel said. "Dipper told me what really happened. Thanks for saving Choink."

Bill would have liked to add this to his list of reasons to be irritated at Dipper, but it was hard to be annoyed when he'd just heard a word like that. "Is that her name?"

"Yeah, because she makes this cheep-oink sound."

"I like it, it's weird." Almost as weird as the ear sticker. Which she'd given to him because he'd actually earned it. Not on false pretenses, either. He had actually done the task, on purpose, with the exact motivation she probably expected.

And it felt wrong, for some reason. He felt less like he deserved this sticker than the sticker he'd "earned" by manipulating and cheating and lying to Mabel's face. He felt like he was gonna get in trouble for having it. Why was that?

"You could've just told me what happened yourself," Mabel said. "I would've believed you."

He hated that that made him feel something. "Sure you would've!" He awkwardly crouched to re-collect the dismembered piano and its limbs. "Hey, you wanna help me with these?"

She took the legs and—to Bill's consternation—successfully folded them flat in three seconds. "Hey, Bill?"

He didn't like that tone. That was a serious question tone. "Yeah?" She was gonna ask why he hadn't been the one to explain what happened behind stage, and he didn't have a good answer.

"Why didn't you see my warning about Weirdmageddon?" Mabel asked.

His stomach dropped. He'd already prepared a witty quip about Mabel being busy keeping the paparazzi off Choink and now he had to start over finding a quip. "What?"

"Dipper said you saw Grunkle Ford and him messing up the show; so, you must've been looking at the future to see how it went," Mabel said. "But you said you didn't see my warning. Right?"

"Oh." His stomach sank. "Well—I had to keep an eye on the future so I could cue you exactly when the egg was gonna hatch. At Weirdmageddon, I was living in the moment!"

"You didn't look at the future once?" Mabel asked skeptically.

"Nope!"

"Not even to make sure that nothing went wrong?"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Why not?"

"Be—cause... I didn't want to know what happened next." 

It took him too long to think of something else to add. Something to cancel out the dread he was sure he heard in his own reply. "I mean," he said, "I've waited this long to throw my eternal party. Wouldn't it be boring to get there and already know everything that'll happening?"

"I guess," Mabel said. "But you looked at the future of my show."

"Sure, but—I already knew how this show ends. You've got the script in your pocket," Bill said defensively. "That's not like a party. Parties get wild."

"Do you think there's maybe a timeline where you did?" she asked. "And maybe everything turned out okay there?"

She hadn't been trying to question his logic; she was just trying to find a way for her little warn-the-past trick to work out. "Oh—oh, yeah! Sure!" He smiled brightly. "There's more timelines than you can count out there! Everything can happen! There's bound to be a few where I saw your note and... What's that look for? What, don't you believe me?" She shouldn't. He was definitely lying.

"I don't know," she sighed, "I guess, I just—I feel bad that you saved my show but I can't save you from getting stuck in this body. I know it feels gross to you. Like a wetsuit full of applesauce and melted cheese."

Bill mentally saved that idea for the next time he needed to torture an enemy. "Hey, you already saved my life once this summer! I think we're even!" He rapped a knuckle on her noggin, "Anyway, remember the power of positive thinking! You're a problem solver! With both of us trying to figure this thing out, we'll find a way to get me out of this body, just you wait."

That finally perked her up. "Yeah! There's gotta be something that'll work."

Bill wondered if Mabel hadn't realized she'd just promised to help him return to his true, triangular, dangerous form. He wondered if she had realized, but cared about him enough that she was willing to take that risk.

He wrapped her up in a tight hug and she flinched in surprise. "Bill? What's this for?"

"Oh, I need an excuse to hug, now? It was for you being cool, but if you're not gonna be cool about it..."

"I'll be cool, I'll be cool!" She flung her arms around his neck. "I'm cool as a penguin."

"That's what I thought."

When he'd unleashed her, she asked, "Did people hug in your dimension, too?"

"Sure! Hugs are pan-universal!" They weren't, but he was sure Mabel wanted to believe in the kind of multiverse where they were.

"How? You can't cross over each other's arms in the second dimension. Did you have to take turns hugging each other?"

"Ha! No, we— Look, I'll show you." It was the least he could do for her.

####

(Least surprising thing that could possibly be in the egg. Kudos to everyone who guessed it, especially the anon who called it a pigasus, the greatest word i've ever heard.

Thanks for y'all's patience with the late chapter! I had to rewrite the last 1/3 of it because I wanted this chapter to remain focused on Dipper and Mabel; so to do that I had to move a very, very, VERY important scene... to the start of next chapter. 😎 You'll see.

In other news: next chapter is our last chapter in the present for a while! After that we're getting... another flashback plot!! This time, to Bill's first ever girlfriend: the howling void! I'm gonna be doing something a bit different this time and posting this plot on tumblr AND ao3 simultaneously, as its own separate fic. So I might be able to do weekly updates on it again! ... or, i might not, because i'm trying not to think about how many scenes i left half coherent with an "[***edit this later]" note to myself lmao.

But in the meantime: waddles! egg! choink! bill slipping up and saying too much about himself! applesauce and melted cheese! looking forward to y'all's thoughts this week.)

[ckret2]

Chapter 116 of human Bill Cipher actually acting like a good friend for once:

Mabel has reached her final form.

Everyone's headed to town hall to prepare for the big show: watching Waddles's egg hatch; and meanwhile, Dipper and Ford are frantic to stop the show before it's too late.

####

Ford and Dipper weren't quite panicking by the time they got home, but Ford was walking fast enough that Dipper nearly had to jog to keep up—which Ford felt bad about, but he could hardly slow down under such dire circumstances. He paused for a half second at the sight of the new sign propped up in front of the gift shop—"Come see the amazing egg-laying pig!"—then shook his head and hurried onward to the back door. Of course. That was probably Stan's work. He'd be disappoint to lose his new money-maker, but he'd probably be just as satisfied with an "egg" made by pasting papier-mâché on a balloon, so Ford wasn't concerned about him.

But the house was eerily quiet when he and Dipper came in. "Stanley? Mabel?" Ford called. "Bill?"

"Where is everyone?" Dipper asked.

"Everyone else is out," Abuelita said. They found her in the living room, sitting in a corner where the couch had been shoved to make room for a curtain around Waddles's nest.

"Out? Where?" Dipper asked.

"To watch the egg hatch," Abuelita said.

Ford gasped. "What? Already?!"

She nodded sympathetically. "Children grow so fast these days," she said. "I did not go. I am old and tired. I will find out what was in the egg when they get home."

"If they get home," Dipper said. "Where are they?"

"Town hall."

Ford turned toward the door, and was thrown off when Dipper bolted upstairs. "Dipper?!"

"I'm getting supplies! I'll be right back!"

He'd better be fast. At least Ford could use this opportunity to get a little more intel.  "When do they expect the egg to hatch?"

"Mr. Cipher said it will be around seven o'clock."

Seven o'clock. That didn't leave much time. If they left right now they'd barely arrive in time to stop it—assuming it didn't hatch any sooner than Bill had predicted. (Bill. Of course he knew when it would hatch. He might have been the one to trick them into heating up the egg.) "Mrs. Ramirez, listen—you must call Soos to warn him! There's a monster in that egg, and everyone in town hall is in grave danger!"

"Oh?" Abuelita said. "Okay."

"Got it!" Dipper charged back downstairs with his backpack hanging from one shoulder, shoving several spare tapes for his camera in around Mabel's grappling hook. Smart choice, you never knew when you'd need a grappling hook. "Let's go!"

As they left, Ford called to Abuelita, "Hurry! There's no time to waste!" That was his last farewell before slamming the door.

Abuelita looked back at her romance novel and finished reading the page.

She looked around for the expired grocery store coupon she'd been using as a bookmark. When she couldn't find it, she carefully wedged half of the open book between the couch cushions to keep her place.

She stood, and slowly tottered toward the office, taking special care with the step up from the living room to the entryway. This old shack really had far too many unnecessary stair steps.

She let herself into Soos's office, rummaged through his desk drawer for the paper with his and Melody's cell phone numbers in case of emergency, and when she couldn't find it, she slowly searched the other drawer. She found the paper, pulled it out, smoothed it flat on the desk, and eased herself down into Soos's office chair to give her aching knees a break. She studied the paper closely as she dialed Soos's digits one by one.

She sat back placidly as the phone rang.

####

"Wow, this came together fast," Melody said appreciatively.

So far, half of town hall's auditorium was full, but the closer they got to seven, the faster guests seemed to be coming in. In the back of the auditorium, Melody was helping set up Soos's electric piano and Wendy was adjusting a microphone so she could speak into it without having to stand up.

The town map at the front of the room had been covered by a black bed sheet decorated with construction paper planets. Star-shaped fairy lights were strung across the backdrop. Mabel and Waddles were wearing matching shiny silver robes, metallic rainbow capes, and neon green mirrored sunglasses shaped like giant alien bug eyes.

Sitting in front of them, a low wooden box had been converted into a plinth for the not-yet-present egg. Mabel stood with her back straight, feet parted, and hands clasped like a secret service agent. Waddles, on the other hand, was pacing back and forth behind the box. For all the world, he looked like a nervous father-to-be pacing outside the delivery room as he waited to hear how his wife and baby were doing. Whenever Waddles waddled past, Mabel snuck out a hand to pat his head, keeping him calm.

"Oh yeah, Mabel's a crafting expert," Wendy said. "Last summer she made a whole sock puppet musical with fireworks in like half a week."

"Fireworks?"

"There's a whole illegal stash in the shack. I'll show you at work."

Melody laughed, "Please tell me you have a recording of the show."

"Stan did, but they might've burned the tapes. It was kinda a disaster," Wendy said. "Not Mabel's fault! The show was super impressive. But she and Dipper started fighting in the middle and it sorta ruined the thing. It looked like he was mad she'd taken his journal as a prop, and he'd been super sleep deprived for days so we thought he'd started hallucinating he was a god? But then it turned out he was just possessed." She shrugged.

Melody had been nodding along in wide-eyed shock, but paused at that. "Whaaat was possessing him?" Like she didn't know.

Bill clapped his hands on Melody's and Wendy's shoulders from behind, making them both jump, and leaned between them. "Ladies! I feel like someone's talking about me! What's going on?"

"We were discussing that time Dipper got possessed last summer?" Melody said, raising a brow.

Bill nearly took enthusiastic credit, remembered Wendy was still the one human in the house who didn't know who he was, and said, "Nope! Wasn't about me after all. But—" he "adjusted" his eye patch so he could flash Melody a wink without Wendy seeing, "I think I might know the triangle who did it."

Melody rolled her eyes.

"I'm just glad he's not a problem this year," Wendy said. "Mabel put on a brave face about the whole thing after it got ruined—you know, acting like she shouldn't have 'taken that much time' to herself and her project when Dipper wanted to do something, acting like it was her fault he got possessed, saying it was more important he was safe—blah blah, sister stuff—but she worked crazy hard on that show! I know she was majorly bummed..." Wendy winced and gave Bill a dirty look. "Ow. Dude, let go."

Bill quickly let go of Wendy and Melody's shoulders. "Sorry! Sorry. Got a little too friendly there." He laced his fingers and stretched his arms over his head, trying to look casual. "Well, like you said. She's got nothing to worry about this year."

Not because the demon was gone; but because the local patron god of teen parties and chaos was watching over her.

He looked up at his laced hands and saw the light glint off his friendship bracelet's evil eye beads.

"Oh, I actually came over here for a reason. If you'll excuse me—" He leaned between Melody and Wendy, grabbed up the microphone, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen! The miracle egg will hatch in fifteen minutes! Please make your way to your seats for our pre-hatching show!"

At their cue, Stan and Soos emerged from the door to the right of the front stage, carrying a shining silver pillow between them with the egg on top. At Mabel's insistence, they were both wearing black suits, capes, and sunglasses. Bill had persuaded Mabel to persuade Stan that coloring in his normal glasses with black marker was the best way to make free sunglasses, and he stumbled on the step up to the stage. Bill bit back a laugh. Mabel and Waddles nearly bolted over to catch the egg, but he righted himself, and he and Soos carefully set the egg down. Soos had to help lead Stan off the stage by the arm.

"Dude, we almost had scrambled eggs," Wendy whispered. (Melody shushed her, laughing.) "Okay, when do we start our part?

"Once Mabel gives the signal," Melody said.

They all looked at the stage. Waddles was tenderly sniffing his egg, but Mabel had disappeared.

"Huh," Melody said. "I guess when she's back."

"Guess so," Wendy said.

Except she wasn't supposed to have left. Bill scanned the future. That egg was hatching in fifteen minutes tops whether Mabel was there or not, and he didn't like the increasing number of timelines where she was not.

"'Scuse me," he said, edging away from the special effects crew. He hurried to the front of the auditorium, kicked the door to the right of the stage until Soos got the hint and opened it, and went searching for Mabel.

####

Mabel had retreated down the hallway to the meeting room they'd claimed as their backstage/dressing room; when Bill found her, she was focused so intently on a handful of notebook pages—the final iteration of her story about the egg's history—that she didn't even lift her head as he came in.

Which was concerning. He was pretty sure she'd only written that script for everyone else's benefit. There was no way she needed to review it. "Hey, kid."

She started. "Bill! Don't sneak up on me!"

"I'm fluorescent yellow. If you missed me, that's on you." He sat on the meeting table by Mabel. "It's almost go time, what are you doing back here?" He pointed at her script. "I know you've got that memorized."

"I know, but—what if I get it wrong!" she asked. "What if you guessed the time wrong or I talk at the wrong speed! What if I still have a minute of my speech left when the egg starts hatching! Or, worse, what if I say it's gonna hatch right now and then it doesn't and they all just stare at it and I look stupid!" She buried her face behind her script. "Auuugh!"

"Relax, you'll do fine" Bill said. "I told you when it'll hatch, you can see a clock from the stage, just keep your eye on it and talk a little faster or slower to make sure you end on time. And even if you're off by a few seconds, getting it almost right will still impress everyone."

She still looked dubious. What else could Bill offer? Humans loved a strategic show of vulnerability—and she'd already offered him some earlier today. And he trusted her to keep it to herself. He combed through his long history for the least-humiliating humiliating memory he could find. "Hey, I'll tell you an embarrassing story if you promise not to tell anyone else."

Her face lit up. Yeah, just like Bill thought—who could turn down an offer like that? "Promise!"

"Alright! So, I wasn't always able to see the future. When I was your age, I used to only be able to see higher dimensions beyond any means of mortal perception! Yawn, right? Anyway—remember how I said that in my dimension, eclipses were caused by an axolotl flying in front of the sun?"

(She nodded excitedly—yeah, of course she remembered.)

"Well, no one could see the axolotl but me, since it was up in the third dimension. So one time, I tried to predict an eclipse, since I was the only one that could see when it was about to cross. I got a big crowd gathered, watched the sky, waited until the axolotl was riiight next to the sun, and shouted 'now!'" He dragged out the dramatic pause while Mabel watched him with bated breath. "And then the axolotl did a loop around the sun and missed it entirely. No eclipse at all!"

Mabel squealed in laughter. "Nooo, Biiill! That's so bad!"

"It was! I was mortified with a capital M-O-R-T," Bill said. "That—that's Latin for 'death.' I nearly died of embarrassment."

He couldn't recall the last time he'd shared that story. He couldn't recall whether he ever had shared that story before. Surely he have—someone, sometime, must have known, right?—but he couldn't remember the telling of it, and he couldn't remember who he'd told.

He remembered the hurt and humiliation of that day had been a sharp, cutting thing; but telling it now, the pain was so old that it felt duller than the back side of a plastic knife. It surprised him.

Mabel said, "And you learned an important life lesson about how nobody is perfect and a little mistake isn't the end of the world, right?"

Bill laughed. "No way! It was the worst thing that ever happened to me—and to put that into context, I was halfway to being an orphan at that point! I wanted to turn my body inside out and die on the spot! Plus, I'd bet actual money on predicting the eclipse! This stupid manbaby of a salamander was gonna financially ruin me!"

Mabel winced. "You're not very good at pep talks."

"I'm not done," Bill said. "Anyway, I was so mad that I yelled at the axolotl to come fight me. And it actually heard me and looped back to see what the fuss was. Bam! There was the eclipse I promised! So now, nobody thought I'd predicted the eclipse—they thought I'd caused it." He shrugged, "Which I guess I did! Suddenly I was the coolest triangle in the world."

He put a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "So, here's my lesson: if you finish your speech and announce that egg's hatching right now, and it doesn't? Wait it out until it's been juuust long enough to get a little awkward, then tell that egg to hatch. Even if you ended your speech too early, you can't be off by more than thirty seconds! The audience will think it's part of the show! They won't go 'aww, she was off,' they'll go 'wow! she was really building the suspense!'"

Mabel looked thoughtful; but said, "Are you sure? The last time I messed up a show and thought everyone would think it was planned, everyone booed me."

Was that why she was so nervous all the sudden? "Sure I'm sure! And I'll give you three reasons why. One: I've pulled this trick myself, remember? It's 100% guaranteed to work. Two: once everyone sees what's in that egg, they won't even remember if you flubbed a line or were off a few seconds. The thing under that shell is cool enough to make up for anything." He pointed at himself. "And three: the guy who sabotaged your last show is on your side this time! I'll be in the audience watching with the losers from the shack! I'll see when the egg's about to hatch! Just keep an eye on me, I'll give you a countdown when it's about to happen." That had better be good enough. There was a weird feeling forming in Bill's stomach when he thought about Mabel being nervous about the show because of him, and he wanted it to go away.

She sighed in relief. (Quietly, he did too.) "Thanks, Bill." She gave him a tight hug. He'd been getting a lot of those lately. Either Mabel was feeling particularly cuddly or he was doing a better job at earning them.

He'd like to imagine he deserved them. "Any time." He returned the hug. "Knock 'em dead, star girl."

####

As Bill slid into his seat near the special effects crew—Melody, Wendy, and now Soos—Wendy asked, "Hey, is everything cool?"

"Sure! Just some pre-show jitters," Bill said. "I told her a story ten times more embarrassing than anything she could possibly do, she's fine now."

She nodded, satisfied. "You're pretty nice to her," she observed. "It's sweet, watching an adult take a kid they aren't even related to seriously." Bill was still deciding whether he felt complimented by being called sweet when she added, "Especially after everything she went through last summer."

No pumping up Bill's ego today, apparently. "Yeah, thanks," he said halfheartedly. "It's got nothing to do with last summer, but. Thanks."

Wendy elbowed him. "So how come you're such a big jerk to Dipper?"

"Because he's not as cool as Mabel!"

The lights dimmed and two spotlights turned on, illuminating Mabel, Waddles, and the egg. Mabel solemnly raised her hands in acknowledgment of the audience, who applauded. Wendy whispered, "That's our cue," sat up straighter, and pulled the microphone closer.

On the piano, Soos played the opening chord—he'd learned three entire chords for this performance—and Mabel said, "Long ago, an ancient prophecy foretold that a magical child from the stars would be raised by an earthling. But not just any earthling! According to the prophecy, only one earthling was brave, beautiful, and loving enough to raise this child of the stars." She paused dramatically. "The pig... of destiny."

Wendy leaned into her microphone and whispered, "Destinyyy..."

The audience leaned closer to the stage.

Soos flinched as his pants vibrated. He yanked out his phone, checked the caller ID, and whispered, "It's the shack! Abuelita's home alone, it could be an emergency. Can you take over?"

Melody nodded and slid behind the piano. Soos scooted to the end of the bench and quietly snuck outside.

####

"Soos, mijo, there you are. How are the preparations for the show? Good?" Abuelita nodded. "Did you remember to get dinner on the way?" She nodded again in satisfaction. "I have to warn you about something, mijo. It seems Dr. Pines and Dipper have gotten some crazy idea in their heads about the egg. Now they are all in a tizzy about it. So look out for them to arrive and calm them down when they get there, okay? Maybe make them hot drinks." After a thoughtful pause, she said, "But nothing caffeinated. They do not need the caffeine."

####

Something about the show was making Bill nervous.

Nothing is ever guaranteed. Whenever he looked at the future, he usually saw dozens, if not hundreds or thousands, of overlapping future timelines. He predicted the future based on which possibilities were so overwhelmingly frequent that they all but blotted out all other possibilities.

If someone rolled a die, Bill would guess it would land on 5 if that was true in 90% of timelines—and sure, rolling a dice was theoreitcally random, but what wasn't random was the positions of your fingers and the position of the die in your hand on this particular roll, and how the die landed depended on how the die was cast, so once the die was in hand there usually was a 90% chance it would ultimately land on a particular side—but he could still faintly see the 10% of timelines where it landed on 1 or 2 or 3 or 4 or 6 because the roller had let go of the die a fraction of a second sooner, or a single muscle in a single finger twitched a little tighter or looser than it had in other timelines; and beyond that, if he focused, he could very faintly see the less-than-1% of timelines where the roller accidentally tossed the die off the table, or the die bounced it into someone else's mouth and choked them to death, or an eagle dove in through the window and snatched up the die and flew away, or physics spontaneously reversed and the die fell onto the ceiling, followed shortly by all the furniture and players.

All of which was to say:

Of course, Bill saw that there were timelines where Mabel's performance went poorly. A timeline where she tripped on her cape and fell on the egg, a timeline where Soos's hastily-assembled sound-and-light setup caught fire, a timeline where one of town hall's ghost bears possessed Mayor Tyler and drove him to steal the egg and flee into the street. The best Bill could do in any situation was make sure that he saw the outcome he wanted in most timelines, and then focus hard on those futures and what he needed to do to stay on track toward one of them.

(The only downside—a downside he'd never acknowledged before and wasn't about to start acknowledging today—was that focusing so hard only on the futures he wanted made it too easy to overlook the timelines where things didn't go to plan—and to overlook the factors that might cause him to trip and stumble sideways into one of those timelines.)

But even with his habit of aggressively focusing on the positive, he couldn't help but notice that the future where Mabel's performance concluded triumphantly right before the egg hatched was fading—and he didn't much like the future that was growing clearer in its place.

He slid out of his seat to gently knock on the door where Soos had gone outside.

When Soos opened the door, Bill murmured, "What's going on?"

"Aw, dude. It's bad news," he said. "It sounds like Ford and Dipper are coming, and they're not happy about the show. Dunno why yet." Soos was scanning the street in front of Town Hall. "I'm gonna talk to them when they get here."

Bill scanned the street as well—left and right, past and future. Soos was too late. Bill could see, a couple minutes before Soos had gone outside to take the call, Ford and Dipper coming up the sidewalk and then circling behind town hall. They must have been heading toward the back door. Bill's jaw tightened.

Soos could stay out here searching for a looming threat that had already passed him by. Bill, meanwhile, headed inside, slid through the door leading backstage that had been left ajar, and stalked toward the back door.

####

(Mabel's and Waddles's silver costume with the rainbow cape is inspired by one of the many costumes of Ruth Norman, a.k.a. Uriel, a.a.k.a. the best dressed leader of a UFO cult in history. 

Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! Next chapter's The Big One. aside from the big one after that.)

[ckret2]

Chapter 114 of human Bill Cipher somehow managing to befriend a pig faster than he's winning Ford over:

Waddles lays an egg.

Also: Mabel tries to retroactively prevent Weirdmageddon, and Dipper vivisects Bill's entire personality with the surgical skill and murderous rage of Jack the Ripper. But mostly Waddles lays an egg.

Ford's very excited.

####

Bill had been in the floor room playing on Soos's electric piano all evening, trying to remember a song that wasn't made to be played on human keyboards or heard by human ears.

That was his story if anyone asked him what he was doing by himself, anyway. More truthfully, he didn't want to be around Soos after that little talk in the car about involuntary matricide (momslaughter?), and after letting slip that Bill knew less about this phenomenon with his own face plastered all over it than Ford did, he didn't want to see Ford either. It felt like being convinced the backs of dollars were blank all over again.

He had to think of some way to get the intellectual upper hand again. Ford may see Bill as a con artist, manipulator, abuser, monster, person who could be but wasn't good, etc., and that was all fine; but he'd be damned again before he let Ford think he was ignorant. He needed something fresh to impress him. What was Ford into these days? He'd spent the year sailing with Stan, Bill hadn't heard nearly enough about that yet. He'd made a stop in Atlantis, maybe Bill could drop a little ancient lore on him...

And thus was how he spent his evening while the household nerds went out to anime night and came back, and the household slowly went to sleep.

All except Bill, headphones on, playing piano in the dark.

####

It was nearly midnight when Waddles waddled into the floor room, carefully easing down the stairs. Bill glanced at him, concluded he probably wasn't looking for a turn on the piano, and ignored him. Waddles trotted to the windows and put his front hooves on the windowsill, staring out into the night.

Bill nearly forgot Waddles was there until he attempted to jump up onto the bench with him. Bill toppled off with a yelp, bench coming with him. "Hey! If you want a turn, ask nicely!"

Not the least bit ashamed of his inconsiderate actions, Waddles planted his front feet on Bill's abdomen, squealing in agitation.

"Ow. Get off." Bill shoved him away, which at Waddle's one-year-old weight was getting increasingly difficult. He pulled off his headphones. "What? What do you want?"

Waddles squealed.

"Yeah, I got that the first time. Can't you try charades or something?"

Waddles galloped to the window and propped himself up to see out again, still squealing.

Bill trudged up and looked out into the dark. Oh.

At first, he assumed he was looking at the legs of Baba Yaga's house, before realizing they were too short. Baby Yaga?

Bill looked up.

To his surprise, there wasn't a house atop the giant chicken legs, but rather a giant chicken. Its golden-red feathers were each edged in black, making it look like it was wearing lead chain mail. The waxing moonlight glinted off its eyes as it stared down at them with both the tyrannical majesty and dinosaur stupidity of a T-rex.

"Ah," Bill said. "Yeah. That would do it."

The giant chicken slowly bent down to peer in the window, giving Bill only a passing glance as it inspected Waddles. He pressed his snout flat to the window, inches away from the tip of the massive bird's beak.

Apparently satisfied with its inspection, the bird straightened, puffed out its chest, and slowly retreated into the dark, its footsteps oddly delicate for how massive its claws were. It vanished between the pine trees.

"Well?" Bill asked. "Did you impress her?"

Waddles ran to the door outside and leaned his hooves on it, giving Bill a pleading look.

"Sorry, pal. But if you can't open the door, then we're both out of luck."

Waddles kept staring at him hopefully until Bill finally left the window. Show was over. He had tunes to bang out.

He'd only been back at the keyboard a couple minutes before the weight of Waddles's stare grew unbearable. He sighed harshly, turning toward the pig again. "What!"

Waddles was still sitting in front of the window. Now that he had Bill's attention, he stood to lean on the glass again.

"Why should I do you a favor?" Bill asked. "What did you do for me when I was locked in the bathroom, huh? I don't owe you a thing!"

Waddles made distressed little oinks.

"I'm not letting you out," Bill said. "If there's anything out there, it'll still be there in the morning."

Waddles gave him the saddest eyes a pig had ever given.

"I can't work like this." Bill turned off the keyboard. He was leaving. He really should be sleeping so he could work on repairing the portal, anyway.

The last he saw of Waddles, he was still staring out into the night.

####

Bill went to bed; he slept; he dreamed; he sleepwalked.

He was pulling on his hoodie so he could use its eye when another eye, the zodiac blanket on Dipper's bed, caught Mabel creeping out of her own bed. Bill froze. A moment later, the blanket serving as his bedroom door spied her heading down the hall.

He had to wait for her to return before he left. He couldn't risk the Pines catching on to his sleepwalking trick yet.

A few minutes later, she passed by the curtain again. He waited for the kids' door to shut before he crept out himself.

He was halfway down the stairs when the eye in the kids' room shifted and Dipper groggily said, "Mabel?" Bill froze again. "What're you doing up?"

"Waddles isn't in bed," Mabel said, pointing at the empty pet bed on the floor. "I found him pacing downstairs. I think something's bothering him."

"Pigs don't pace, Mabel."

"Well, that's what he was doing! What if something's wrong?"

Dipper grumbled, but said, "Is he sick or hurt?"

"I don't think so."

"Then whatever it is, it can wait til morning."

"I guess." Mabel grudgingly slid back into bed. "It's gonna bug me all night, though."

Bill quietly sighed and changed his plans for the night.

####

As soon as Bill reached the first floor, Waddles stampeded up to him, oinking for his attention.

"Shhh! Don't wake the whole house, I can't help you if there are witnesses."

Waddles took off down the hall to the floor room, and had to double back to glare balefully at Bill when he instead went through the living room. Eventually, Waddles followed him into the gift shop, and immediately ran to sit by the exit door.

So optimistic. But Bill had decided to help Waddles; that didn't mean he was letting Waddles out.

From the ladder, through the roof lids, Bill climbed up to the roof. Waddles watched him warily until he was out of sight. When Bill jumped lightly from the roof down to the gift shop porch, Waddles immediately rushed back to the door, wiggling in excitement and oinking his little heart out.

Bill shushed him again. "Do you want me to get caught? Don't make a scene! And don't tell anyone I'm out here or you're dead meat, bacon bits." He hopped off the porch into the weeds, leaving Waddles behind at the door as he circled the shack.

It wasn't hard to identify the path that the giant chicken had taken into the woods. Bill followed the shadowy trail of snapped branches away from the shack. It took about a minute for him to find what he was looking for: a giant egg, perfectly spherical, cradled in a pile of downed underbrush. It was about the size of a basketball and gleamed like a pearl. It was still hot when Bill picked it up.

By the time he emerged from the treeline, Waddles was back in the floor room again, anxiously watching through the window. Bill held the egg up. "Congrats. You must have impressed her."

Waddles completely lost his little mind.

At least if Waddles's squealing woke anyone now, they'd be distracted watching him run circles in the floor room while Bill was slipping in through the gift shop. He enchanted the egg to near weightlessness, bounced it up to the roof like a beach ball, and climbed the shack's log walls to join it.

He could hand this off to Waddles and still have the rest of the night to work on the portal. He'd just about finished taking inventory of what pieces still remained, maybe tonight he could start a list of the replacement parts he needed—

He stopped dead in his tracks.

He'd climbed high enough to see the top of the roof hangout spot. There was something written on the roof, letters painted large enough to completely cover the surface. It was in invisible ink. The letters were the in the most common Dimension 0 pidgin cipher. The message read:

DEAR 2012 BILL: DON'T DO WEIRDMAGEDDON! YOU'LL LOSE AND DIE AND GET REINARCA REINCARNATED AS A HUMAN AND BE MISERABLE! PLUS IT'S EVIL! YOU CAN DO BETTER! LOVE, 2013 MABEL

Bill stared at the message.

Huh.

####

Getting the egg into the living room was difficult with Waddles pressed to Bill's hip like he planned to knock him over if he didn't receive his delivery soon. Bill shoved his snout. "Back off. You weigh as much as a second grader, do you want to crush your crunchy little bundle of joy?"

Waddles did not back off. He gazed up at the egg with the deepest yearning.

"Are you sure you're ready for fatherhood?" Bill asked. "No offense, but you've never struck me as a terribly responsible guy. And you've got a good thing going with Mabel, are you sure you want to hand her a baby replacement that's ten times more adorable than you've ever been?" Bill hefted the egg in one hand. "It's not too late to abort this thing and make a very interesting omelet!"

With an authoritative but genial voice befitting a respected science communicator, Waddles said, "I'm prepared to tackle this new phase of my life. And Mabel's and my relationship is secure; I feel confident that we will maintain a strong partnership while raising this new life together."

Bill's jaw dropped. "Since when can you speak English?!"

Waddles chortled good-naturedly. "Remember—you're still dreaming."

"Oh! Right. Almost forgot." Bill pulled off his hood and opened his eyes. "Speak!"

Waddles snorted. That was more like it.

Well, if Waddles was so determined to throw the next eighteen pig-years of his life away, who was Bill to talk sense into him. "Don't say I didn't warn you!"

He helped Waddles pull all the cushions off the living room chairs to make a nest, and set the egg in the middle on a pile of Abuelita's lace doilies.

Then he finally headed downstairs to get to work on the portal.

####

A couple of times, he caught himself staring at the dead portal's frame, like he expected to see himself rip it open from the other side and fly through to tell his relieved human parody that Mabel's message had retconned him out of existence and the real Bill Cipher would take things from here.

The problem with dimensions with branching timelines was that anything could happen, but not everything did happen. The portal remained cold and still.

Bill sighed and got back to work.

####

Stan woke before Ford. Right, Ford had been out last night at the Northwest place, wildly partying. (Watching Japanese cartoons.) Stan used the bathroom, made coffee, and went into the living room to watch TV.

Where he discovered none of the seats had cushions.

"Ugh, that darn pig got in the living room last night." He planted a fist on his hip. Waddles, all bright-eyed and curly tailed, looked entirely too pleased with himself. "What a mess. Pulled out all the cushions and laid an egg, and right in front of the TV, too!" He trudged upstairs to get Mabel, grumbling under his breath.

He came back downstairs. "Laid an egg?"

####

Within ten minutes, the Pineses, Ramirezes, and Ramirez-to-be were all crowded around the cushion nest. Waddles looked between their faces, confused by all the attention but nonetheless honored to have it. He was laying next to the egg, slightly curled around it.

"But Waddles can't lay an egg," Mabel said, "he's a boy pig!"

Dipper said, "Mabel, that's the least of the reasons he can't lay an egg."

"Hold on," Soos said. "Maybe we should make sure he's a boy pig. I'll text Tate." He pulled out his phone, crouched behind Waddles—"Nobody look for a second, okay?"—and gingerly lifted Waddles's tail to snap a picture of his butt. Waddles twisted around to snort in confusion at Soos, but he concluded he probably didn't pose a threat to the egg.

Dipper asked, "Grunkle Ford, have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"Never," Ford said. He'd hastily retrieved his journal and was sketching Waddles on his nest. "I've never even heard rumors about egg-laying pigs. And this is the largest hard-shelled egg I've ever seen in this dimension."

"Good news, dudes," Soos said. "Old Man McGucket says Waddles is a boy." He lowered his phone. "So how did he lay an egg..."

Dipper said, "You guys remember girl pigs don't lay eggs either, right?"

Bill oozed downstairs. He glimpsed the living room crowd on his way to the kitchen. "Hey, humans! What's everyone standing around for? Martians drop a monolith in front of the TV?"

Ford said, "Waddles laid an egg."

Bill clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. (He sort of missed and covered his nose and eyes too.) On the one hand, Ford being wrong about something was hilarious; on the other hand, Bill was dying to correct him. But he couldn't do that without admitting he'd been outside. He managed to restrain himself to a "Huh!"

Better feign interest. He sauntered into the living room. "Mabel, you need to get your pig fixed."

"He is fixed," she protested. A beat, and then she dragged her hands down her face. "So how did he lay an egg?!"

"Again," Dipper said, "not the primary reason this should be impossible."

He ought to have known better than to say anything should be impossible in front of Bill. "Oh, yeah?" Bill asked. "I can't think of any other relevant reasons!"

Dipper considered ignoring the comment and just letting Bill look stupid. He could smell the trap being laid. He caved. "Pigs are mammals. Mammals can't lay—"

"Platypus."

Bill grinned at Dipper's scowl. Okay, that was enough feigning interest. He returned to the kitchen. "So! Who wants breakfast! Bacon? Eggs? Bacon eggs?"

"Bill!" Mabel shouted. "Be nice to the baby!"

"Sorry, sorry!"

Soos ventured, "Maybe the dad is a plaidypus?"

"Or mom," Melody said. "Maybe Waddles wasn't the one who laid it."

"Oh, good point."

Reproachfully, Mabel asked Waddles, "Did you cheat on Gompers?"

Waddles gazed at her serenely.

"It can't be from a plaidypus," Ford said, "they lay plaid eggs."

Relieved, Mabel said, "So it could still be Gompers's!"

"We won't know for sure until we've done a DNA test."

Seeing that now even Ford was embracing this nonsense, Dipper threw up his hands and went to get breakfast as well.

"This is fascinating," Ford said. "Waddles looks the same as he did yesterday, no visible change in his mass—did the egg form via magic? I have some equipment I can use to run tests on it—"

"No!" Mabel flung herself protectively over the egg. "Nobody's experimenting on Waddles's baby!"

"I won't hurt it," Ford insisted, pouting. "Just, do a few scans... pierce the shell to get some fluid samples..."

"Nooo way."

"What about a trade?" Ford asked. "I can give you an equivalent amount of chicken eggs. I'd say the volume of this egg is about the same as the volume of... 160 and 1/3 chicken eggs? I'll round it up to 161!"

"Do any of those eggs have Waddle's baby in them?"

"Well. No."

"Then no."

Ford's shoulders drooped sadly. "Okay."

Bill was surprised at just how disappointed he was, too. He hadn't heard Ford get this excited all summer. Heck, he wasn't sure whether he'd seen Ford this excited over anything since the portal test in '82. DD&MD came close, but not quite. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed hearing his pet nerd nerding out. It felt like some giant Rube Goldberg machine with half its components knocked akimbo was finally clicking back into alignment. It was nice.

With no immediate answers and no pressing actions needing to be taken over the egg, the group dispersed. Soos and Melody had to open the Mystery Shack, and Stan and Abuelita had important old people business to attend to. Only the kids and Ford remained behind.

"But this is great," Dipper said. "This is something we can investigate!" At Mabel's glare, he quick added, "I don't mean bothering the egg. We can do research! We can ask if anyone in town has heard stories about this kind of thing, or go look for old newspaper articles in the library about pigs laying eggs..."

"That's a fantastic idea, Dipper," Ford said. "I ought to dig out my old college cryptozoology textbooks to see if they mention any similar phenomena I've forgotten."

"Hey, kids!"

The three humans, with various levels of wariness, turned toward Bill. He was leaning in the doorway with a plateful of blue pancakes, grinning mischievously. "I couldn't help but overhear that you're trying to find out where that egg came from!"

"Yeah," Dipper said, "and Ford and I are going to investigate it. By ourselves. Without help."

"Isn't that cute!" Bill dug into his pancakes. "You know," he said, mouth full, "I could save you a library trip. I already know where the egg's from."

Mabel's face lit up, but Dipper said firmly, "No, thanks. We've got it handled. Isn't that right, Grunkle Ford?"

Ford nodded, but Bill was sure he hesitated for a second.

The offer wasn't even for Dipper. Did Bill have to talk him into it just so he could tell everybody else? "Seems to me like a big waste of time, spending what could be years trying to solve a mystery that's already been solved! As long as you're still reinventing the wheel, you'll never get your little paranormal investigator career rolling! Why turn down a free answer just to go looking for the same info somewhere else?"

This time, Ford's conflict was plainly visible on his face, and Mabel looked like the effort of holding in her questions was killing her. But Dipper's face didn't soften. "Because I don't want it from you."

"Okay! Fine! Have it your way!" Bill shrugged. "If you want to waste your precious summer, that's your business. You kids have fun looking for whatever gave the egg to Waddles." He graced Dipper with a fleeting wicked smirk before biting a forkful of pancakes.

"Gave it to Waddles?" Ford echoed.

Mabel said, "Aww, Waddles, you didn't lay this egg yourself?" He gazed at her face, his eyes conveying inscrutable piggy thoughts.

Dipper let out a growl of annoyance. "Could you stop spoiling everything for one day?!"

Bill feigned innocence, batting his lashes in faux confusion.

"YES, we GET IT! You know everything! You've been around for a trillion years, it's not that hard! But you know what? When you ruin everyone else's fun just to remind us all how smart you are, again, you don't look cool, man. You just look like a... an insecure jerk."

The fake innocent act didn't last long. Bill's eyes shot wide open. The corners of his mouth twitched with the effort of preventing them from turning downward into a scowl. He turned his stunned stare on Mabel, looking for a little sympathy.

She sucked her lips into her mouth and avoided eye contact. Ouch. Et tu, Brute?

He huffed dismissively, face flushing. "Wow. Okay! You want to talk about insecure? Nobody else here has a problem with getting blessed with the wisdom of the multiverse for free—but Mr. Honors Roll just hates being reminded he isn't the smartest guy in the room, doesn't he?"

"Bill..." Ford said warningly.

"What!" Bill said. "What! Am I wrong? He'd rather be ignorant than let me tell him anything. He doesn't want knowledge, he just wants the credit of discovering—"

"For goodness's sake, Bill, you're trying to tear down a child! A child who happens to be my great nephew," snapped Ford. "Besides, he's right about you."

"He's r—?!" Bill laughed in disbelief, face going even redder. "As if you aren't dying to know what I know! Show of hands, who would love to hear me explain where the pig's egg came from?"

Ford tucked his hands behind his back. Mabel stuffed hers in her skirt pockets.

Bill gave them both a withering look. "There's a timeline where you cowards raise your hands and I can see it."

"Just drop it, would you?" Dipper spread his hands wide. "You're competing with a 13-year-old. That's pretty lame."

Bill pointedly looked him up and down, and sneered. "I don't see any competition," he said. "1803."

"Don't you—!" Dipper lunged at Bill, reaching to grab his collar.

Laughing, Bill spun out of the way on one foot—nice try, you little wanna-be judoka—and turned his side toward Dipper, facing him like a fencer, an arm extended to parry any more attempts to grapple him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Mabel darted between them. She grabbed their shoulders. It was a grip that gently but firmly announced that she could do far worse to either of them than they could do to each other. "Guys. Fellas. Buddies. Bro-bro and Bill-Bill. Knock it off. You're both smart and you're both acting super stupid."

Dipper glared at Bill, but backed off, tugging out of Mabel's grip. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's go find out where that egg came from. Without his help."

Ford patted Dipper's shoulder as he passed, cast one last disapproving look at Bill, and followed Dipper out of the shack.

Bill huffed. "Fine! Have fun wasting time!" He glowered imperiously after them until the door shut.

And then he sat on the floor, knees to his chest, eyes to his knees, hands laced on the back of his burning neck. He groaned.

Mabel dropped down onto a cushion and began drumming on Waddles's side. After a moment, she warily said, "Bill? What is it."

Bill mumbled, "I looked like a loser in front of Sixer, didn't I."

"Mmm..." Mabel grimaced. "Well..."

Bill groaned again in irritation. "Your brother started it! You saw him! I was just talking about Waddles's egg when he flew off the handle!"

"Okay, but he was so excited to figure out the egg by himself and you were trying to ruin it, of course he was upset."

"I wasn't trying to ruin anything! I wasn't even thinking about the kid's dumb wild goose egg hunt! I just wanted to explain where the egg came from and he got offended."

"Then you could have just said you didn't think about his feelings and apologized and everything would've been fine!"

"He'd already gone off on me by then, was I supposed to just not retaliate?" Bill demanded. "Besides, I can't just admit I didn't think of something in front of the guy I spent years convincing I'm all-knowing."

"Yeah you can," Mabel said. "And think of this: if Dipper had gone and insulted you and everything, and then you acted all nice and backed off instead, he would have looked like the jerk for getting mad. But instead you proved him right."

Bill considered that. He was silent for a long moment. "Well. Maybe if he didn't try to make me look stupid in front of Sixer," he muttered. "I can't just... I don't know." He flopped onto his side, still curled in a ball.

Mabel considered whether Bill's distress was worthy of a little sympathy, then decided he'd suffered enough and gently patted his head. "Why do you have to pick on Dipper all the time?"

"I wasn't picking on him," Bill insisted, choosing to ignore all the other times he had definitely been picking on Dipper. "Really! I was just trying to show off a tiny bit of my infinite wisdom for Sixer, like how we used to do! But your brother just had to butt in. Where does he get off getting mad about a conversation that has nothing to do with him!"

"You're the one that was butting in on our conversation," Mabel pointed out.

"I was not."

"We both know you were. And so does Waddles."

Bill shot Waddles a dirty look. This was the thanks he got for rescuing his egg. "Yeah, well. Whatever." He sat up with a sigh, picked up his pancake plate, and held it out to Mabel. "Here. Made the brown one for you."

She surveyed his plate in disappointment. "How come mine isn't blue, too?"

"The blue is from cough syrup."

"Oh." She picked up her pancake. "Thanks!"

"Yours is chocolate."

"Awesome." She folded it in half like a New Yorker eating a pizza. "You weren't trying to be a bad guy. You just have to remember to be considerate of other people's feelings."

"I did," Bill said. "I considered what a big nerd Ford is and decided he'd love to hear about the egg's origins"—he realized how that might sound to Mabel, who was already unjustly suspicious of his intentions around Ford, and quickly added—"and that you would want to know what Waddles has been doing—"

"But you didn't consider Dipper's feelings."

Of course not, he didn't care about Dipper. "Oh, what, so am I supposed to manage the feelings of everyone in the world?"

"Not everyone," Mabel said. "Just everyone you know and everyone they know who might ever possibly be affected by your actions!" At Bill's dubious look, she said, "Maybe you can start with considering the feelings of the people in the room."

Bill sighed loudly. "Fine, sure, I guess I can do that." It wasn't like monitoring and manipulating multiple other people's emotions at once was hard. That was a basic skill for any cult leader. The hard part was forcing himself to care about the feelings of anyone he didn't want in his cult.

"Sooo," Mabel said. "Since Dipper isn't in the room..." She gave Bill a meaningful look.

He considered turning her down for her treachery earlier. "If anyone finds out you know, you are telling them that you asked me where the egg came from. I'm not getting in trouble just because you're a curious cat."

"That's fair," Mabel said. "Now, spill!"

"Giant chicken dropped it down the chimney," Bill said. "Like the mythical stork bring a baby."

"Whoa. Do all piglets come from the chicken stork?"

"Only the special ones."

"Waddles, you're having a special baby!"

Waddles snorted serenely.

"Is it a piglet?" Mabel asked. "It is, right?"

Bill hesitated. "Do you want me to ruin the surprise?"

"No!"

Bill pantomimed locking an invisible key sticking out of his forehead. "I won't spoil it." (He'd picked up that gesture from Keyhole, he remembered unbidden. Man, he really had been away from home too long—he was even starting to miss Keyhole.) "Okay, you asked me one, I get to ask you one. What's up with the warning on the roof?"

Mabel perked up. "You saw it?"

"Sure, I was stargazing through the roof last night! I read it from underneath, backwards and upside-down!"

"And in secret code?"

"The code's only secret to humans! In the Nightmare Realm it's the lingua franca! Where'd you learn it, huh?"

Coolly—but clearly quite proud of herself—Mabel said, "Dipper's got a copy in his journal. He got it from Grunkle Ford."

Yikes. And Bill had been using that cipher to hide taunting messages in Dipper's journal all summer. He'd have to find a fresh code. "Clever, star girl."

She beamed. "So I thought, you could see forever into the future when you were a triangle, right? And you were spying on us like crazy all summer, so... maybe leaving a warning would've stopped Weirdmageddon completely. Especially a secret cody message! An invisible secret cody message! From the future! From your enemy! That's like a super major deluxe bad omen, right?

"Ultra super major deluxe." It really was clever. Too bad timelines didn't work like that. He took another bite from his pancakes to delay delivering the bad news. "I hate to break it to you, kid—but me being here now means I didn't see your warning. You can influence the past, but you can't change it. Not without pulling out that time tape you kids took from me at the start of summer." Hint, hint.

"I already tried that," Mabel grumbled.

Bill almost choked on his pancake. "You what? You did not! Why didn't I hear about this?"

"Because I kind of didn't tell anybody," Mabel said. "Except Waddles."

Bill glared at his contented little face. He was never doing that pig a favor again. "When was this!"

"After we went to the mall with Dipper and Grunkle Stan. I thought maybe I could warn myself not to trust you, and then Weirdmageddon wouldn't happen and you wouldn't be here this summer." (Oh, so she'd been mad mad at him, huh.)

"So what happened? I don't remember any future yous popping up last summer."

"I was only there for like a minute. And then this whole time SWAT team showed up and they time arrested me, and I spent like ten hours in a time interrogation room... they assigned me a time lawyer..." Mabel sighed heavily. "it was a whole thing."

And she hadn't mentioned this? Granted, they hadn't been on speaking terms at the time, but. "Oh, yeah. Time Baby's set up a pretty heavy spaciotemporal perimeter around Weirdmageddon. He thinks I might return to the scene of the crime. Sorry, kid."

"Yeah, well, Time Baby thinks you might've sent me instead. Since I'm the one that let you in to Gravity Falls."

Bill cringed. "Oh. Huh."

"So now I'm out on time bail and I'm legally not allowed to leave the time county until my time trial date."

"You worried about it?"

"Naaah. Apparently the trial's scheduled for like, four years ago. My lawyer says we won. Or, will win?"

"Will did won," Bill said. "Good. Sounds like you've got a competent lawyer." Unlike the big pink idiot who'd advised him to plea insanity.

The Theraprism was still looking for Bill, wasn't it? And Time Baby knew and was helping, that was the whole reason he'd set up a perimeter around Weirdmageddon in the first place. Bill's stomach lurched. "You... didn't mention that I'm here, did you?"

Mabel laughed in disbelief. "No? There's no way I'd convince the time judge I'm not your accomplice if they knew you're living with us. Like Grunkle Stan says: if you see a cop, shut your yap."

"Good," Bill said, relieved. "Yeah, that's—that's the reason I was asking. Nothing good can come to you if people think you're hanging out with me."

What was Bill offering that made it worth being his friend? He hated how quickly that question had popped back into his mind. What set his real pals apart from his pawns? If Mabel were just a disposable tool, would anything about this conversation be different? She wasn't just a tool, right? She really was his friend, wasn't she? 

It wasn't her commitment he doubted—her heart was an open guest book with "SIGN HERE" written in big glitter pen bubble letters. He doubted his own commitment. And doubt like that felt like realizing the ground he was standing on was only an inch thick, and beneath it was nothing but a dark void.

Change the topic. "Why did you try to warn me? You know that even if I'd seen it, I might've just revised my plan so I wouldn't lose and kept going, right?"

"Maybe," Mabel conceded. "But maybe you'd wonder why I cared enough to warn you, get to know me, and make friends even faster. Without destroying the town and torturing my family."

Wouldn't that be a beautiful reality. He shut his eyes and focused on it. He liked Mabel, right? He'd always liked Mabel, right? He told himself he had. He told himself she was his friend.

"Sure," he said. "Anything's possible. Maybe I would have."

####

(A couple of folks have asked what the "1803" means, which is fair, since it last came up two years ago. Bill's referring to the conversation he had with Dipper in chapter 31.

Show of hands who caught the Mothra movie reference? I know some of y'all have been following me since the Godzilla days.

ngl I forgot tbob had a baba yaga/baby yaga joke when I made one. pretend it's an intentional reference. 

This is one of my favorite plot arcs so far. It feels very Gravity Falls to me. Let me know what you think!! I also wanna know what y'all think is in that egg, because I feel like it's pretty easy to guess, but I still don't wanna give it away until the characters figure it out.

ALSO!! the Gravity Falls nonfiction zine with the research paper I mentioned working on has been posted! The zine is free to download! Go check it out! Go go go!)

[everydaylouie]

cat game

[figglypuff]

[necrolentil]

Goddamit i hate this fucking post. I hate it because obviously if “twelve” followed the same pattern as the other teen numbers it wouldn’t be “twoteen” it would be “seconteen”. Think about it. It’s not “threeteen” it’s “thirteen” as in “third”. It’s not “fiveteen” it’s “fifteen” as in fifth. So with that in mind, you count “first, second, third, fourth, fifth,” and so on, so eleven would be “firsteen” and twelve would be “secondteen” or “seconteen”. “Firsteen, seconteen, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen….” It just drives me absolutely mad everytime i see this post that this obvious pattern was overlooked and i cant hold in my rage anymore.

[improper-integral]