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Chapter Text

"Sh...Show me."

Words finally allowed itself to tumble out of her mouth but it shocked even the owner. What was she asking of him right now?

Even Mason's eyebrows rose at the request.

Hypothetically speaking, if someone had finally made such a request (one that he'd been waiting for but would never admit )- maybe he would've been a little..eager, you know..to abide.

Hypothetically of course.

Mason watched as Pacifica swallowed a gulp, her eyes determined and her lips pursed. Even if he wanted to say the word "no" purely to keep his image, how could he? How could he, when her expressions shun clearly as her face bathed in the dazzling sun?

But of course there is a start to every story, and this one starts a little differently. What else would you expect from the gleeful twins - the siblings who were raised to normalize violence in their daily lives?

Oh, pardon me- was that too forward?

Alright then, let's be a little more subtle. Why don't we go ahead and travel a few weeks before the encounter happened - beginning on another normal day for Mason who constantly, despite his own wills, gets dragged around by his sister to places he hasn't the slightest interest in.

"Remind me what we're doing again?" Mason had said, knowing fully well what they were doing; just delaying the inevitable.

The brown-eyed girl huffs, her clenched hands kept on the steering wheel as she replies enthusiastically, "Heading to the Pines'!"

He rolls his eyes at her, a gesture that seemed to be a staple of their interactions. "And pray tell, dear sister, why have you decided to drag me into your shenanigans yet again? My interest in that family hovers at a solid zero." His eyes roved over the passing trees as he made no effort to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh please. It's not like you had anything better to do anyway." 

"Are you implying that I'm free just because you've exhausted my other possibilities?"

She pouts, "Come on, Mason. Isn't spending time with me a reward in itself?"

He leaned in slightly, his expression faux thoughtful. "Let me think... No."

"Ugh. I hate you."

"It's mutual."

It's important to note though that their relationship might be unconventional, but it was built on a foundation of mutual understanding and acceptance - however weird that may be considering the current situation. 

As their destination loomed ahead, their banter subsided into an uncomfortable silence. Mason returned his attention to the passing scenery. He had been perfectly content before Mabel had burst into his room with her latest scheme for that brat. Now, he was being forced to spend time with the Pines family, a prospect he found far from appealing. It was a good thing he was at least given time to get dressed or it was Mabel's head next.

And why? For the stupid Pines boy. He doesn't even know what she sees in him. He's not one of them, neither is he close to being on their standard. Mason insists that he wouldn't give a damn about who her current crush is, if he weren't dragged around everywhere for that lowlife.

Mason rolled his eyes. The whole thing felt like a colossal waste of his time. Gideon was nothing more than a nuisance in his eyes, and Mabel's incessant fascination with him only served to exacerbate that sentiment. That wretched, measly little boy. Thanks to him, its only been "Gideon this! Gideon that! Gideon, Gideon, Gideon!". He could never get a word out about his new discovery on the journal or literally anything else with her hogging everyone's attention with her latest crush. That white-haired brat was a blight on his existence – another person to steal Mabel's attention away. Mason wasn't sure what his sister saw in the boy, but whatever it was, he was certain it was utterly nonsensical.

That reminds him, why in the world is she driving? It doesn't matter if they were of age, they have a driver for a reason! If Diane wasn't free, they still had his driver to take her place. But of course, Mabel probably just stole the car keys instead of being sane.

Good.

Now he had a legitimate reason to scold Diane. Maybe fire her, even. He never liked her anyway, she had talked back to him once.

"We're here!" Mabel announces, slowing the car to a stop. She doesn't bother hiding the car from prying eyes and parks it right in front of the Mystery Shack. Isn't she afraid he'd just lock her out again?

Mason's sigh was almost audible, his boredom returning full force. He'd endured many of his sister's escapades, and he was already prepped for another one. Yet, as the car came to a halt, he couldn't help the hint of curiosity that nipped at the edges of his indifference. Ever since Gideon first attended one of their Magic Shows, his 'unique' white hair had piqued Mabel's interest. From being some kind of experiment, Gideon has now escalated into her crush and she was determined to have him as her own. What made it harder was that Gideon didn't like her. At least not after she hypnotized him merely to get what she wanted.

Not his fault, really - Mason had mused. 

"Mabel, what makes you so sure he'll let you in this time?" He questions, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not like he has a choice." She answers and flicks her hair. "He loves me. He just doesn't know it yet."

Mason kept his expression blank. Sure.

"Stop criticizing me." She snaps.

"I didn't say anything"

"You didn't have to."

They both step out of the car and he follows her as she sashays her way to the door. She attempts to push it open, but it doesn't budge. She tries again, but fails.

"Oh, would you look at that? It's locked. I wonder why." An amused smirk tugged at Mason's lips as he watched his sister's failed attempts. "It appears the universe has decided that today is a day of miracles. Let's head h-"

Undeterred, Mabel turned her frustration into determination, her fists starting a rhythmical beat against the door. Mason's expression morphed into something akin to horror.

"Mabel! Stop that!" he whisper-shouts, slightly embarrassed by her actions. His eyes rolled heavenward, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration washing over him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Gideon~ It's me! Mabel!" Mabel continued her onslaught of knocks, and Mason had enough. If she was going to continue this spectacle, he might as well spend his time in the comfort of the vehicle. He was on the brink of storming off when a familiar truck makes a sharp turn to the only parking space.

So it really was coincidental.

Huh.

He turns to Mabel, her line of vision aimed at the same truck, a chilling smile slowly forming on her lips. But Mabel's demeanor shifted once more, her brows knitting together in a frown. Whatever she'd been expecting wasn't coming to fruition. Instead of the joyful greeting she likely envisioned, her gaze had locked onto something beyond him, something that wiped the excitement from her features.

Curiosity piqued, Mason turned around, only to be met with the sight of a blonde girl stumbling into him. The collision was hardly jarring for him, but the situation itself was unexpected. He hadn't predicted to meet a pair of the most mesmerizing dark blue eyes he had seen, staring back into his. 

"Oh god, sorry, I didn't mean, oh sorry-" she stammered, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink. Her voice held a hint of embarrassment, and Mason couldn't help but be intrigued by her. His gaze swept over her, taking in the varsity jacket, tank top, and white shorts that composed her outfit. Her blonde hair was tied back, and as his eyes met hers, something about them held his attention. He'd never seen such blue eyes – a hue that reminded him of the ocean's depths.

No wait anyway, who is this girl? Why was she with the Pines? Did he have a sister Mason wasn't aware of? But that couldn't be. The twins knew everyone who lived in Gravity Falls. That means she must've just arrived here today.

It was a second too long before he realized she was staring at him. The realization broke the spell, and his lips curled into a teasing smile.

"Like what you see?" he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.

Instead of flattery or a bashful blush, her eyes narrowed, and a smirk tugged at her lips – a response that caught him entirely off guard.

"Sorry, Dipper," she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm. "I'm just trying to figure out if that birthmark on your forehead is a map of your ego."

Excuse me?

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, her audacity momentarily rendering him speechless. She brushed past him, her shoulder colliding with his. This time, there was no apology, and he was left standing there, a mixture of astonishment and curiosity swirling within him.

He blinks a couple times.

No, no there's no way he heard that right. He couldn't have possibly.

As she walked away, her blonde hair swaying with her every step, Mason found himself fixated on her. His sister's antics were momentarily forgotten as he turned the encounter over in his mind. This newcomer had challenged him – and in doing so, had earned his attention. She clearly held herself high, having the audacity to talk back to him just to proclaim what's left of her dignity.

Mason's mind started working in overdrive. He found himself intrigued by this newcomer who dared to challenge him. He was determined to bend her will, to show her the extent of his power over Reverse Falls. His eyes turn to slits.

A fresh face in town.

She's yet to understand the power of a gleeful.

He shove his hands in my pockets as he walks to their vehicle. Mabel stomps to the driver's seat and starts the engine, driving away from the mystery shack. She begins rambling about Gideon's actions and the mysterious blonde girl. Being the great brother he is, he doesn't bother listening to her as he rests his head in his palm, focusing his attention on the view outside.

Mason's thoughts linger back to her. Her messy blonde strands unattractively sticking out of her head, asking to be tamed. Honestly, if he could - he would pluck a few strands out to experiment on it. Maybe blonde hair would produce different results, who knows? But besides the logical factor, he couldn't forget her eyes. Her eyes were blue, an inviting blue that felt calming to stare into and it reminded him of the ocean. He also couldn't forgot how those eyes mockingly glared at him as she uttered a ridiculous nickname,

Dipper.

His fingers subconciously reach up to his forehead, the tips of it just grazing on the Big Dipper birthmark. No one had ever called him that before.

And he's going to make sure it stayed that way.

Chapter Text

Mason leaned back in the plush leather chair of his study, his fingers steepled under his chin as he pondered the situation. The plan needed to be impeccable, subtle yet effective. His eyes flicked to the blue triangular creature hovering in the corner, a nervous aura radiating from it.

"Will, do you comprehend the task at hand?" Mason's voice cut through the silence, his gaze locking onto the creature.

Will twitched, its shape wobbling uneasily. "I-I think so, Mr. Gleeful. You want me to help you make Pacifica Northwest regret her insolence."

Mason slams the journal close and lift his head eerily slowly, glaring at its eye. "I don't recall giving you permission to say my name."

It gulps, "But your sister said--" He lifts an eyebrow, challenging it. "I-I mean, apologies, master!"

Already bored of their interactions, his eyes drift towards the journal again, flipping it open - observing the various pictures inside. "She dared to mock me, to belittle me in front of others. This town already has its bewildering opinion of me, and I won't tolerate any degradation." Mason confirmed with a slow nod.

"Show me the best way to punish the Pine girl." 

"Right away!"

The room turns dark, the only light emanating from Will's glow. It snaps its fingers ,causing a row of glowing pages from the journal to appear behind it. One of the few reasons why Mason keeps this blue nacho around - it has some use, one of them being that it has the journal memorized.

"We have many, many options," It states, the excitement clear in his tone as he showcases the pages. "Since you have the amulet, your choices are endless!"

Mason's blank expression doesn't waver. It's pointing out the obvious. Was Will trying to waste his time?

Will's smile slowly fades away when it catches his master's unsatisfied expression. It stops messing around and clears its throat, "Option one: you could switch her body parts. Her ears becomes her eyes, her mouth can turn into her leg. Anything you desire to see!" It explains. When he doesn't reply, it goes on. "Option two: you could turn her into a hideous monster for the rest of her life!" He stays silent. Will gulps and continues.

All these options were starting to turn dull. It didn't feel interesting as it used to - it felt repetitive, and Mason wanted to introduce that blonde to how things work in Gravity Falls. It had to be something impactful. Something she wouldn't expect.

And that hair.

Before torturing her or doing anything - he needed her hair in its best condition. Turning her into monsters or whatever could ruin its "essence" - is what Mabel would say. She is more educated on potion-making than him, though of course he didn't like admitting that. His eyes snap back at Will to see it still blabbering. Is it always going to be this boring? Maybe he should punish Will instead.

"How about this.." It trailed off. "If you really want to find out what ticks her off personally, why don't you just toy with her first, master?"

Mason eyes him, processing his words.

Toy with her..

It is her fault his life has become miserable these days. Getting dragged into messes because of that stupid Gideon, who turns out is actually her cousin as Will had mentioned.

And a new toy. Just like he wanted.

His lips curl upwards into a smirk.

A little push, and she'll be singing a different tune.

As Will's trepidation hung heavy in the air, Mason's mind churned with ideas. He needed Pacifica to understand her place in this hierarchy he'd established, to recognize that challenging him came with consequences.

He puts on a red collared long-sleeved shirt, leaving the top two buttons unbuttoned. He then wears a pair of black slacks and shoes, and heads downstairs. With his hair neatly brushed, he was ready to observe his target.

"Mason?" a voice calls out but Mason, of course, doesn't care who's calling and doesn't bother slowing down. He instead presses down the door handle, pulling it open before it slams shut by itself. He doesn't even flinch, already growing accustomed to these situations. He rolls his eyes and reluctantly turns around, spotting an annoyed Mabel.

"What." 

"I called you."

"No shit. Are we done here?"

"No." She furrows her eyebrows and huffs, "I want to know where you're heading."

"None of your business." He spins around, the creak of the door echoing through the halls as he pulls it open. At least before it slams itself shut, again.

Of course, he could just use his own amulet to slam it back open but he decides this situation really isn't worth the energy. He clicks his mouth in annoyance and turns his body towards his brat of a sister, a pout evident on her face - she's clearly curious. Which makes it even more annoying.

"Tell. Me. Where. You're. Going." She spits, demanding an answer.

"No. Fuck. Off." He replies, matching her tone. He flashes her a fake smile to rub it in, causing her to grit her teeth in anger. He pulls the damned door open, this time actually managing to finally walk out successfully. He finds Victor, his driver, already waiting any orders as he reaches the carpark. Mason enter the vehicle and the helper jolts from the sudden noise. 

"To the Mystery Shack." 

"We're here, sir." Victor announces after he puts the car to a stop. Mason cringes at the scratchy noise as his foot makes contact with the sand-like surface of the ground but doesn't stop him nevertheless. He heads to the door of the mystery shack and gives it three knocks.

"Wendy! Get the door!" a muffled voice shouts from inside. Sounds a lot like Stanford's.

"It's not even locked." She, who he assumes is Wendy, replies nonchalantly. Her voice is muffled as well but she's a lot closer to the door compared to Stan.

He knocks again, harder this time. She groans in annoyance and right after, the door is eventually pulled open by a frustrated red-head. She has black highlights in her disheveled hair that covers her left eye, thick eyeliner on both her eyelids and she wore a black long sleeved shirt, the sleeves; a black lace. To match with it, the rest of her outfit was black except the red choker around her neck and the chain hooked on the belt of her pants.

"Oh great." She sneers but snaps her mouth shut, not daring to say more. She lazily walks behind the counter and sits down on a chair.

Mason reluctantly step into the dusty, unsanitary house and looks around, reminding himself he's on a mission. He walks over to the shelves placed on the right, observing the useless knick-knacks arranged on each platform. The real Mystery of all this is the fact that people actually buy this. What are they thinking?

"Gleeful."

Mason already recognizes the familiar voice without needing to turn. The old man's never happy to see him ever since Mabel's hypnotized his grand nephew or whatever. I mean of course, no one in this town likes Mason, but Stanford was never afraid to show his distaste. It leaves Mason a little intrigued to be honest, but it's also entertaining to note that Stanford is still wary of him - seeing as he's never made a move to attack him.

"Pines." he mockingly matches the grumpy man's tone. He turns to face him; Stan's arms are crossed and he warily observes the spine-chilling bastard. "If your sister is looking for Gideon, tell her he isn't here." He says in a rehearsed tone, like he's said this line a thousand times.

Before the brown-eyed boy could clarify that his sister isn't for once - attached to his hip as they may think - the entrance to the Mystery Shack dings open. Mason's lips twitch upwards into a blood-curdling smirk when he meets those familiar dark blue eyes, confusion filling them this time around. Stanford mumbles a string of curse words under his breath as he watches the Gleeful twin walk slowly towards his relative. 

The blonde on the other hand eyes him, a skeptical look written all over her face. She doesn't like his attitude, and the fact that he came back is probably far from a good sign. She takes a step backward as Mason inched closer, not realizing her cousin behind her as she bumped the back of her head with his forehead. They both groaned in unison, clutching their heads in pain.

My god. Birds of a feather really do flock together, Mason had thought.

Stanford, not wanting to be included, headed back to the living room to watch his show. As long as Wendy's here, it should be fine anyway. All she does is mope around about her depressing life but she would still help or scream loud enough for Stan to hear if something happened.

The white-haired boy looks up first and attempts to cover up his scared expression. But alas, we aren't all skilled at everything, and he's the best example of that.

The girl takes her turn to glance up, her blue eyes filled with disgust as she scans him up and down. "Oh, the Dipper boy from yesterday. Why are you back?"

Snarky brat.

"You're Pacifica Northwest, I believe?" Mason asked, his brown orbs glaring her down - a tactic he'd always used to make everyone else remember their place.

Pacifica isn't excluded it seems, as her eyes widened in confusion. She subconsciously backs away again, not tripping this time since Gideon went out of the way, "How do you know that?"

To cater to his enjoyment, he takes another step, then another, until her back touches the wall - caving her in. Their faces were only a few centimeters away from each other and Pacifica, not knowing where else to look stares into his chocolate coated eyes - except these chocolates were filled with poison.

"I think we'd be good friends, Miss Northwest. I'm Mason Gleeful. I'm sure you've heard enough of me." He scoffs as her previously fearful expression is now replaced with a pout, which he guesses is an attempt to scare him off.

"Enough for you to now see that you had not only talked to me, glared and knocked into me, but you gave me a stupid nickname I don't approve of." He pulls his face away from hers and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"But I need something from you, so I'll be nice. Apologize. On your knees. Then maybe I'll let it go."

Of course that isn't true, he wouldn't completely let it go. But he considered, maybe if had a lock of her hair Mabel would distract herself with something else besides that white-haired freak. Which is basically a reward for everyone, so that basically makes Mason an angel, he concluded. So he wouldn't kill her - just mess with her a little. After she begged of course.

Pacifica's incredulous laughter filled the air. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. Think of it as a way to avoid any future misunderstandings."

Her refusal was swift, her voice dripping with disdain. "I'd rather set my hair on fire."

Gideon whispers something to her ear, still looking like he's about to piss his pants. Mason waited expectantly for her to abide but instead she throws her head back, the sound of her laughter filling the room. "You? The obnoxious guy, run this town? Uhuh, yeah, when pigs fly. I'm not begging, no way in hell. I thought I was a bit rude but hearing you talk now, it's like; wow you must have one big ego."

Gideon's breath hitches in his throat as he nudges his cousin and shook his head. He knows what the Gleefuls are capable of. And the way she's running her mouth is not making it any better.

"You know Miss Northwest," He trails off, biting his lip to restrain himself as his patience frayed at her obstinance. Gideon's eyes grow shaky in panic.

"You really don't want to provoke me. I assure you your cousin is correct. You are dancing with death."

She shook her head, blonde strands swaying with the motion. "You're nothing more than a spoiled bully with delusions of power."

Then she mimicks him by stepping closer, "Look here, Meghan..Meagen..Meat--"

"Mr. Gleeful."

"Look, Dipper, I don't care who you are. All I know is your sister keeps harassing my cousin, and the moment I thought 'maybe if I explained it to her brother, he would understand', you hit on me and say these things. So I can see now that you're both the same." She let out a long sigh. "I'm not planning to be your target, so please, don't come back. Bye bye now." She knocks into his shoulder just like last time.

Mason stands still in his spot.

What is her purpose? What is she trying to gain?

If she was aiming to frustrate him, she definitely can tick that off her to-do list.

He knew. He knew he was supposed to wait but since he didn't form a proper plan yet, he figured the brat needed to be taught a lesson. Mason's usual cool exterior cracked for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of irritation. He had expected resistance, but he had hoped his offer would sway her. "Very well," he said through gritted teeth, his voice tinged with a dangerous edge. "You've made your choice."

Before her horrified eyes, Pacifica's surroundings shifted. The air grew thick with tension, and her body began to react as though under siege. She clawed at her arms, her voice a mixture of fear and pain. The room seemed to close in on her, the walls bearing down until they threatened to crush her.

"What the..What's..What's going on?" She rhetorically asks, taking experimental steps backwards. The walls continue to grow closer, the distance shortening. Her hands began to tremble, they shake as she traces her face; trying to ground herself in something concrete. "What are you doing to me?" She looks up at him through the blurry visions, seeing his face void of expression. Her breath shortens when she sees the blood drip from her arm onto the floor, the pool beneath her only growing. In sheer panic, she screams her lungs dry- for its all she could do - and it echoed through the Mystery Shack.

"Pacifica, what's happening?!"

She doubles over on the floor, trying to scramble to her feet as she lunges to a corner, "Oh fu- my god! Oh my god, what..what is that? Where did these slashes come from? Oh my god, it hurts like hell." The confusion and pain is visible in her voice as she examines her body - full of various cuts. She lunges for Gideon, attempting to grip his arms for some form of reassurance. "Gideon! Help! What's happening? It hurts.." Why wasn't he helping? Why hasn't he helping her fix this?

"Oh shit-" Wendy stands up from behind the desk.

Mason peeks slightly to enjoy the scene. Gideon frantically rushes over to his cousin with Wendy following not too far behind. Gideon purses his lips, "What..what slashes? I don't see anything."

"Are you blind?!" She waves her completely healthy looking arms in front of him, then turning to Wendy who looks just as perplexed."Please! A-a bandage! There's blood everywhere!" She inwardly curses at their confusion, at their ignorance. She was shaking - the poor thing, Mason mused - she had probably thought she'd die from blood loss at this rate.

What a crybaby. It's not like he broke her arm or anything. But it is his favourite trick in the book; Hallucination.

"What is it, What's happening?" Stanford rushes into the room again after hearing all the chaos and drops his popcorn the moment he spots his niece panicking on the floor, surrounded by the others.

Pacifica's breath came in ragged gasps as tears streaked down her face. She struggled to form words amidst the pain. "I… I don't know… He… Mason…" Her voice trembled as she tried to convey the horror of her experience. She turns to her Grunkle and pleads "It hurts, please..."

Grunkle Stan's eyes narrowed as he stepped between Mason and the suffering Pacifica, his tone low and dangerous. "You're treading on thin ice here, boy. You better explain yourself."

"Oh please, why would I even bother messing with the likes of you?" Mason calmly retorts, but his glowing blue eyes betray his words - an action that only occurs when he uses his amulet. "Actions have consequences. I've given you your chance." He muses aloud, leaving the shack. While there were many words left unsaid, he decided he didn't want the clueless blonde to figure out he was basically capable to do anything he wanted. Not yet.

The illusion released its grip on her, leaving Pacifica gasping for air. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, and the echoes of her screams lingered in the air. She turned her haunted gaze to where Mason had stood, her defiance broken but her spirit unyielding. His departure leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

He hummed. It's not that shocking. She's lived in the city all her life, the bland, boring environment is what she grew up in. Things like magic are all made-up fantasies to her.

But that's where she's wrong. She's in his world now.

"I know where you went."

"Oh no. You caught me. Whatever shall I do?" Mason covers his mouth, faking a gasp. It doesn't matter whether or not she does and not to insult her, but he's sure she doesn't. He continues to hover the ultraviolet light over his journal, not even sparing a glance.

Mabel's expression doesn't falter. She eyes her brother and places her hands on her hips.

"You know, Mason, You should believe me more. I'm your favourite sister, so I know where you'd go if you wanted me not to come with." She smirks and flips her hair back, confidence radiating from her body.

"What nonsense are you blabbering about still? You're my only sister. If I had another sibling, neither of you would be my favourite anyway." He sighs, stating the obvious.

Ignoring his reply she continues, "You went to the shack."

Huh. What a shock.

No, that's not it, it couldn't be. Did she ask Victor?

"And why do you believe this?" Mason questions as he continues to observe his journal, a composed expression plastered upon his face.

"Because I saw you eyeing it the other day. After our show last week, you looked at the Munchin' Shack for more than a second." She starts picking her nails, trying to seem nonchalant even though she wants to brag about how right she is, "So I thought 'Wow, messing up on that string trick must've really gotten to him if he wants to start eating fast food all of a sudden. I mean you? and a french fry? I can't imagine how stressed you were."

Slowly, for the dramatic effect, her brother lifts his head from his journal to give her a look of disbelief. What in the fuck is she talking about?

"Mabel, I was looking at it out of disgust. The amount of fat and plastic in those burgers; it screams disgusting. Whoever buys them must be out of their minds." He furrows his eyebrows, offended at the mere suggestion.

"And you messed up the string trick, not me. I told you to spin it to the left so many times, and you didn't even spin it. You arms just got tangled with the string."

She shakes her head and hums like she doesn't believe what she's hearing, "Oh silly, silly brother. You can fool anyone but you can't fool me. I saw that eye twitch when I said 'shack.'" She points out, continuing with her baseless brag. In response, he spins his chair back around and picks up the ultraviolet light.

"Just get out of my room."

"Ma-"

"Out."

Chapter Text

It shouldn't have gotten to him.

It really shouldn't have. That would just be childish, foolish and yet...

Yet it did, and that thought in itself made him pissed. If that Northwest had just begged, it would've been over sooner. He thought that method would have worked since he had never been that merciful before. Now what? He's going to be just as involved with the Pines as his sister is? Frolicking in the woods, hand in hand, yapping about fries or whatever it is those two idiots would be up to?

If there was something Mason despised more than disobedience, it was socializing.

This little shit's testing him.

Suppressing his rage, Mason raised his hand, preparing to chant a spell that would convey his frustration onto the maid. But before he could complete the incantation, a familiar voice rang out, disrupting his focus.

"May may!!"

Taken aback by the sudden noise, the barrier he forms breaks and the helper falls to her knees, the other helpers looking at her either with pity or disdain.

Mabel's entrance was as dramatic as ever, her exuberance practically a force of nature. She thrust a tray of brownies toward him, her eyes glinting mischievously. Mason's fingers clenched the armrest of his chair, his gaze shifting from the tempting brownies to his sister's triumphant grin.

Mason regarded her with irritation, the spell interrupted and his anger momentarily dulled. "Can't you see I'm occupied?"

Mabel shrugged, unfazed by his annoyance. "Firstly, you've been getting too many helpers fired, and I can't be bothered to keep finding replacements. Secondly, I made brownies!"

He eyed her with skepticism, fully aware of her propensity for pranks. "What's the catch?"

Mabel's grin widened. "No catch! Just some good ol' sibling bonding."

"Who the hell let you in the kitchen anyway?"

"Myself!" She replies with another beaming smile, shoving the chocolate coated brownies in her brother's face. 

Sighing, Mason reluctantly took a brownie, lifting it to his mouth before swiftly handing it to the blonde maid. He observed her reaction as she hesitated, then accepted the treat, a spark of hope in her eyes.

"For...for me?" She utters in shock. Mason doesn't make any indication of moving, the brownie hovering her face. She takes the hint and brings the sweet into her hands.

"Hey! What the hell!" Mabel exclaims, furious. "Are you getting soft or something? That was for you!"

Not a moment later the blonde doubles over, clutching her stomach in agony. Mason observes in silence before turning back to a now fidgety Mabel, who clears her throat awkwardly.

"Dang..I wonder how that happened.."

"You really think I'd fall for your poisoned food bits?" Mason shakes his head, turning back to his meal. Another helper had brought him a new steak this time, before walking back to where the others stood.

"Oh come on! It's funny!" Mabel whines, stomping her foot like a kid, "You fell for it before!"

Mason's eyes glows and his amulet follows suit,

"That was once, and never again."

His sister rolls her eyes at her brother's childish behavior as he goes back to his food.

"You're boring." She huffs, sitting on the chair opposite his. In an instant her meal practically pops out of nowhere in front of her with her napkins, utensils and favorite drink on standby.

The dining room is then filled with nothing but the sound of their clinking utensils, Mabel's rambling and the faint breath of the blonde helper, passed out on the floor, of who the other helpers prayed would still be alive by the end of their meal.

Chapter Text

Have you heard of the Mere-exposure effect?

According to psychology, it's a phenomenon which states that people tend to have a preference for things they are familiar to - a sense of comfort. In social psychology, this is referred to as the Familiarity Principle.

Mason Gleeful was well aware of this concept. He'd decided that if he could subtly insert himself into Pacifica's thoughts, he could create a familiarity that might draw her towards him. The strategy was straightforward – he intended to have her approach him first. Slowly, he would weave a connection that grew stronger, right until it reached its zenith. And then, when her vulnerability was at its peak, he would shatter that connection, breaking her heart in the process. It was a meticulous plan, one that capitalized on his patience and vindictive nature.

But how was he going to achieve this? His initial encounters with Pacifica had already taken place, and her impression of him was shaped by gossip and skewed perceptions. 

False.

Based on the Northwest's reaction towards him, she clearly isn't one for rumors. Therefore, they've only had two official meetings. The rest of her understanding of him is whatever he has linked with his sister. Which, in Mason's opinion, is by far the worst way someone could get to know him.

Thus, the only way to rewrite those 'misunderstandings' would be to..

"Welcome to the Mystery Shack - Oh." Wendy's voice trailed off as she caught sight of the unexpected customer. She sighed internally, realizing who it was by the relentless knocking – none other than Mason Gleeful.

Unperturbed, Mason met Wendy's gaze, noting her surprise. He had predicted her reaction – the shack wasn't used to his presence, especially without his sister. And so, he had knocked until someone had to give in and open the door for him.

The only way to rewrite the misunderstandings would be to visit the Mystery Shack more often. Without the rowdy Mabel who would steal the spotlight - just a visit by himself. His repeated appearances, like the gentle strokes of a brush on a canvas, would paint an image of familiarity in her mind. 

Since Wendy still lingered by the door, Mason switched his gaze from the shack to her - and she immediately focused her attention to the floor. She cleared her throat to mask her fear and rubbed the back of her neck, "Look around or..whatever.."

Classic reaction.

After she made her way back to the counter, Mason saunters to the shelves and perused the curious objects on display, feeling an unexpected wave of amusement. The last time he had been here, he had been impulsive, driven by anger and lacking a solid plan. But now, things were different. He had a calculated strategy.

The shelves held a collection of oddities that ranged from bizarre to absurd. His gaze landed on a peculiar glass ball containing an eyeball submerged in tears. It piqued his interest, and he stepped closer for inspection. The intricate layers of glass intrigued him, and he found himself almost amused.

"Hey Wendy, have you seen Waddles? He ate a piece of my shirt and -" Soos's voice trailed off as he noticed Mason's presence. "O-oh. It's Mr. Gleeful."

Mason inwardly groaned. Soos was the unpredictable element he couldn't anticipate, making it difficult to predict his reactions.

"Look, Mr. Gleeful," Soos began hesitantly, "I really don't wanna fight but if you're here to hurt Pacifica then..."

Mason continued to inspect the peculiar glass object, ignoring Soos's words. He wrapped it in a napkin and approached the counter, ready to purchase it.

The three stood in silence.

"Well?" Mason questioned after a few moments of no movement, staring at Wendy with his hands stationed in his pockets, "Aren't you going to ring it up?"

"Wh.." Wendy echoed her thoughts, then shook her head to get back to reality "Yeah. Sorry. Just one for you, sir?"

Mason doesn't reply.

She took the hint and pursed her lips. She glanced at the cashier system, "Um...that'll be-"

Mason dropped a 100 dollar bill wordlessly on the counter and wrapped the eyeball glass with a napkin, taking it with him.

"Wait but your change-"

But just as quick as he came, he left.

After a few more moments of standing in silence, Wendy and Soos finally turn to each other.

Day 1 was complete.

That was it. It was a simple plan – visit the shack, purchase an item, and leave. He didn't want anyone to be overtly cautious around him; the key was to remain unremarkable.

As much as he wanted to shut them up with his usual methods, their shocked and confused faces was a little entertaining. At least this method didn't fully bore him, given of course it was less gory.

He knocked a specific rhythm onto the door infront of him, and it opened so fast a small gust of wind blew in his face.

"Baby brother! To what do i owe this visit?"

With no reply, he shoved his newly bought item into his sister's arms, taking her aback. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she glanced down to the small ball wrapped in one of her brother's napkin.

Studying it carefully without revealing its contents, Mason watched as she puts napkin covered ball close to her ear, shaking it, even trying to sniff it and other ridiculous things. Finally, her eyes widened in realization when she tapped one of her fingernails onto the ball.

It was glass! Pfft, it must be broken shards or something. Well two can play at that game.

Mabel let the ball drop to the ground, expecting a shattering sound. "Hah! You think you can fool....wh..." But it never broke. Instead, a weird mist started to erupt from the napkin - coming from the eyeball ball.

"This..its oleander extract..How dare you...Fuck...." Mabel dramatically tried to argue, before falling to the ground - arms flailling. Mason, already predicting the situation, had covered his own nose with a napkin while she was busy summoning a ritual to figure out the ball's effects.

The weird eyeball ball was brimmed with tears containing oleander extract which originally comes from nerium oleander - a flower containing deadly contents.

Whatever, Mason rolled his eyes. He knew that his sister was even more trained against poison in comparison and she would wake up pretty soon. That's what she gets for trying to poison him again.

Later, as Mason settled into his room, he contemplated his successful execution of Day 1. His plan was in motion, a methodical scheme to expose Pacifica to his presence. He was excited by the prospect, even though she wasn't physically there to witness it. The familiarity principle was his weapon, and he was determined to wield it to his advantage.

As he closed his eyes, Pacifica's image appeared in his mind's eye – her striking dark blue eyes. He was prepared to rewrite their dynamic, confident that his calculated actions would bring about the desired outcome. With the first day complete, Mason was resolute in his pursuit, even if it meant playing the long game.

Now that he's learned her tango, she would finally understand that making daring steps wouldn't lead to an outstanding performance. It would instead cause a ruckus - especially with an uncoorperative partner.

Chapter Text

Pacifica, in all honesty, could not believe what the fuck she was hearing.

"I'm telling you guys, it was real. I saw Mr. Gleeful. He took an eyeball, gave us 100-" He had made an 'o' shape with his hands to further empathize his point "Two 0's, guys. Two! And he didn't take his change!"

When Soos first barged into her room to say that while she practiced her makeup on Gideon, she thought he was joking. Even her cousin, who was so shaken up by that Gleeful had frowned his purple glittery shaded lips in disbelief. He'd had his fair share of run-ins with the loud twin, and he knew how dangerous and unpredictable Mason could be. But, to believe that Mason had actually visited the Mystery Shack and made a purchase? That was something that stretched the limits of plausibility.

With that being said, it was even more shocking when Gideon barged in Pacifica's room, over a week later sharing the same frantic expression, "He was here! Mr. Gleeful! I saw him!"

Pacifica stood still for a bit.

Then she continued cleaning her sneakers, brushing all the dirt off so she could soon challenge her grunkle Stan to her own version of baseball – "faceball". Maybe this time she can bet on his left shoe instead.

"Pacifica! Pacifica Northwest, are you listening?!" Her cousin screamed into her eardrums, shaking her back and forth.

"Ugh," She groaned, forcing herself to turn to her panicked cousin "What."

Noticing his cousin's laidback expression, Gideon repeats his sentence with an added sense of urgency. "I told you, I saw Mr. Gleeful!"

She deadpanned, giving him a long hard stare before sighing, "What did Soos bribe you with? Hair gel? Don't you have enough hair serums at this point?"

"He didn't bribe-" Gideon stopped himself short, "Hey! I have the average required number of hair serums. You wouldn't get it cause you just brush that horsehair of yours after a wash and hope for the best."

"Did you just call my hair horsehair?!" Pacifica shouts back and gapes, grabbing a fistful of hair and shoving it infront of Gideon's face. "You call this-?" She starts pushing her hair closer to his eyes "You call this horsehair?!"

"Eww get that away from me, you stink."

"You come back here you little shit-"

"KIDS! Are you safe?!"

A huff and puff was coming from the hallway and the cousins' fight came to a halt. They switched their gaze to the door left ajar, waiting for their grunkle to arrive. Not long after, his signature hat finally comes into view – along with the worried look in his eyes.

Pacifica didn't need to hear the next line. Soos trying to make a dumb joke or misunderstanding a situation was normal, Gideon joining in on the prank was nothing out of ordinary – but her Grunkle? Even with his teasing attitude, he would never lie about something like this. Maybe it's due to his long list of criminal records that made him acquainted with danger, but all she knew is that he was good great-uncle. And she could trust him.

And that Dipper must've had definitely paid a visit.

"If im right, he might come by again in about three days. Last week, he came on Monday and Thursday. And he came back this Monday so..."

Gideon's words echoed in her head. There was no way that rich bastard was paying them a visit weekly. It must've been some sort of coincidence. Technically, she doesn't know him well. But she knew enough to understand that he was a busy person. What kind of busy person pays a weekly visit to a rundown off-putting shack to buy random things? After all that rudeness he portrayed? After she heard about just how much Dipper used to hate coming here?

No, it didn't make sense. But if it were true, and he really did visit – not only is her Grunkle's business booming from the overpay but it would mean he had an underlying reason. Pacifica hated rumors, so she wasn't familiar with any information regarding the Gleefuls.

But she could tell from the way he carried himself that he knew something. Something dark and sinister...

Ouch!

"Hey!" Pacifica whines, touching her jawline that was now covered in paint. The burst of dark green spread all the way down to the right of her neck and blended in with the other colours splattered on face. "What was that for?" She questions, peeling what remained of the balloon off her body.

The attacker, Grunkle Stan had feigned innocence and shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know what youre talking about, kiddo." He stated, but the paint-filled balloon in his hand said otherwise.

"I'm supposed to catch the balloon, not get the balloon thrown to my face!" His niece protests, waving her arms around "Foul! Foul move! Disqualified!"

"Oh, come on! Just because Judge Giddy isn't here you can't just disqualify me." Grunkle Stan accused, referring to Gideon who had refused to watch over their faceball match today which is fair enough, considering how loud they tend to be.

"Faceball" was basically just 'normal baseball but you catch it with your face'. And of course, for safety purposes the balls are replaced with paint-filled balloons. Usually Gideon joins in the stupid shenanigans but he's been on edge ever since Mr. Gleeful makes his frequent visits. Apparently, more than once was frequent enough. That worrywart.

"Judge Northwest is in town! Disqualified!" Pacifica announces to no one in particular, cupping her hands around her mouth. Grunkle Stan groaned, having already given up on the argument. He begrudgingly starts to carry the bucket with leftover paint balloons and attempted to walk past his niece.

"Uh, uh, uh~" Pacifica waved her finger infront of Grunkle Stan's face, interrupting his loser walk back to the shack. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but she wordlessly crossed her arms, waiting for the gears to turn in his head. After a while, he let out a sigh and took off his last remaining shoe – leaving him barefoot on the overgrown patch of grass.

"This is bullying."

"It's called winning."

"Yeah, yeah. Are you coming in or what?"

Today was a Thursday.
Of course, Gideon could've been lying but just incase..

"I'll stay out here for a bit." Pacifica replied, flashing a tight-lipped smile.

After her Grunkle grumbled about not staying out too long, he left her for the shack to clean up. She peeked to confirm he was out of earshot before she let out a long sigh, her smile wiped off her face.

Calm down.
Even if he did show up, she could handle him, no big.

Although she repeated those words in her head, a tiny part of her was undoubtedly a little worried. She had no idea what occurred the other day but her arms were definitely bleeding one second, then gone the next. She hadn't seen anything like it.

But honestly? above all else, she was..

Right on cue, a familiar black sheeted car rolled in their driveway. It parked after mere seconds and the driver stepped out first - opening the car door for the person in the backseat.

And there he was.

She knew, after being told enough times she knew he would show up.

But still.

Pacifica's eyes widened as she took shelter behind a tree bark, observing the Gleeful twin. He was dressed in black slacks, a black collared shirt to match and a pastel turquoise vest on top. He had a small silver collar chain to complete the look. Now that he wasn't glaring daggers at her and she could take a closer look, Pacifica took her time to observe. But she could barely stop her hands from shaking. 

What she had felt that day. It was real. Even though Gideon had assured her night by night that she hadn't even the slightest cut, she knew what she felt. She knew what she saw. And what is Pacifica but stubborn?

She's not an idiot. She's heard of the rumors, she's heard a few things of what that twin sister did to her cousin. She hadn't believed it much then but the sheer fear she felt when Dipper unleashed that onto her - something was happening in Gravity Falls. And while she understood she isn't some top secret detective, She wanted to understand him. And while he had instilled that dread, that agitation into her, another thing that people didn't know about Pacifica was that she wasn't exactly that normal. 

Yes, of course she was fucking terrified. But something so new, to accept something so different to enter her life..

"Stalking already, Northwest?"

"AH!" She yelped, not expecting a low rumble to suddenly be filling her ears. She created some space between herself and the culprit behind her, casting him a glare; her cheeks tinted red from embarrassment.

His gaze was fleeting from Pacifica's color stained shirt up to her eyes - where they lingered a little bit. He kept his hands interlocked behind his back and Pacifica wasn't sure what to think. His stare felt like it was boring into her very soul but she refused to cut eye contact. That would be like admitting defeat in her eyes.

"Dipper." Pacifica spat out, her voice laced with annoyance. "They told me you might be coming, but I didn't believe it."

"Gleeful." He corrected. Mason's lips quirked up in a half-smile, a look that caught her off guard. "Is that so?" 

"What do you want?" she demanded, her hands balled into fists as her annoyance flared up.

Tilting his head, he asked "To shop? Am I not allowed?"

"No."

He snickered, his voice sending shivers up her spine; not the good kind. "How hostile. Shouldn't you be more thankful for your grandfather?"

It was odd.

He hadn't done a thing but something was telling her it was only a matter of time. His mocking expressions, the blood-curdling aura he radiated and his eyes that felt like it was watching her every move. She wasn't sure what was going through his mind, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that he was not to be trusted. There was something dark and unsettling about him, something that her instincts were picking up on.

She knew the type – the kind that played mind games, that sought control. She had encountered bullies before, and she refused to let him intimidate her. She met his gaze head-on, her determination evident.

"Look, I don't know what you're planning but I want out. Your sister is one thing but you just- Gah." She scrunched up her face in disgust, holding her arms together like they'd fall off if she wasn't careful. "Frankly Dipper, you creep me out. And I think for the sake of both our families we stop meeting each other like this, ey?"

He didn't even as much as flinch at her discomfort. Pacifica nearly clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Do tell."

"I'm not humoring you. Stay away from my family, bastard." She uttered, turning her back towards him so she could wash off at the shack.

But there was one thing Pacifica forgot to include in her plans.

Her opponent was also not normal.

Her feet had suddenly refused to obey her, her breaths leaving her. What the fuck?? She didn't know he could do that. God, she should've played safe and observed him a little more. What if she died right now? No, no, don't be shaken, Pacifica Northwest!

It was odd.

She was clearly uncomfortable, but she'd glare right back at him. She'd fill the silence with insults, she would give him orders and tell him to stay out of her life. 

But why?

Why was she so confident? She had seen a smidgen of his power yet she still refused to avoid his gaze like the rest? What did she have in store? Was there something he didn't know? As far as his resources told him, the Northwest was just a regular human being. Then what the fuck made her so stubborn, so confident that she could beat him of all people?

Pacifica waited for him to break the ice. She needed to wait for his reply to see what next step to take. Since Mason wasn't much of a talker - it was quite a long wait.

But what after felt like ages, he began, "Northwest. Why do you-"

And then, in the midst of the silence, she heard it – a faint rustling of leaves, a hint of movement. But before she could react, whatever was holding her in place seemed to release her. Suddenly, she was free to move, and her instincts kicked in. She turned on her heels, ready to leave the scene.

But her movement was halted abruptly, her back pressed against a tree. Her heart raced as she looked up, locking eyes with Mason Gleeful. The world around her seemed to fade, and all she could see were his eyes – those dirt-colored eyes that held an intensity she couldn't decipher.

She watched as his matching coloured hair fell a little over his eyes,

As his collar chain hovered over her chest,

And as his veiny hands pinned her against the tree.

Wait, what?

Chapter Text

Wait, what?

Taken back by surprise, Pacifica stood as still as a statue; forgetting how to breathe. But once her brain neurons kicked in, she immediately jerked out of disgust and tried to wiggle out of his grip. Screw waiting for the next step! She had no idea what the fuck he was planning at this point, but she knew damn well she didn't want to be there to find out.

"Stop struggling."

Are you insane?! "Let go before I start screaming or you lose your ability to procreate." She hung her head low, shooting him a nasty glare from under her eyelashes "Wanna find out which comes first?"

He finally turns to her, noticing her angered expression. Nothing unfamiliar, but she was livid this time around. "Wow. Is that a threat I hear?"

"It's a warning, you prick." He merely gives a head tilt as if to show how harmless her threat seemed to him.

'Fine, you want to play it that way?' Her thoughts challenged; legs spread in position. Pacifica squeezed her mouth shut and groaned, putting some strength into her right wrist to do a quick turn downwards, conditioning his wrist to twist as well. Catching him off guard, she releases herself from his shackles and attempts to attack him in his lower abdomen. But her attempt was thwarted, her body pinned against the tree by some unseen force. Her frustration peaked as she realized he had trapped her without even touching her.

"Damn this doodoo voodoo stuff," she muttered through gritted teeth, "is seriously unfair."

"Calm yourself, Northwest. I wouldn't touch her grimy hands either if I could." he said, his attention momentarily diverted again and he gulped, "Bear with me for a moment."

But why is he-

"Gideon, darling!! I'm back!!"

Oh.

Mason's eyes were glued onto his exasperating sister as she bounced around the shack's entrance door, clearly planning to loiter until it was opened. Shit, why did she come today? He had been careful to study her schedule on these two days specifically so they wouldn't cross paths. As a precautionary measure, he had already told his driver to drive to a designated second location if this situation were to occur. But he didn't think he'd ever had to use that route - least not this early on his mission.

Did she know? No, she couldn't have possibly. Had she known, things would not have gone this smoothly. Mabel's course of action was more direct and violent, she sucked at hiding literally fucking anything. Especially from him.

To her dismay, the Mystery Shack entrance stayed unopened and uninviting. Mason exhaled a sigh, almost frowning. This is exactly why he had warned Mabel about her potrayal of emotions - the people here deemed her as weak; at least weaker than him. Had that been Mason knocking, it would've already been opened by now.

Pacifica watched as Mason's initial calm demeanor faltered, replaced by a mixture of stress and apprehension. She didn't miss the fact that he had planned his visit to avoid Mabel's presence, and now his careful strategy was unraveling. The shift in his emotions was surprisingly human, and it was an angle of him she hadn't expected to witness. On the other hand, she was also..busy checking him out. Okay listen. Yes it's wrong. She still hates him - that does not change. But he's literally sandwiched against her, what other option did she have? She watched as the adam's apple bobbed in his throat, his slender shoulders hunched over her and his plump lips etched into a frown. Wow...fuck this world for giving this bastard such blessed features. Putting that aside, he was visibly upset...maybe even a little hesitant about something. This wasn't normal - if anything this was once in a lifetime kind of opportunity. But Pacifica didn't know that. If anything, right now she was preoccupied. Its just for a few seconds; then we'll be back to business.

At long last, Mason observed as the shack door unlocked to reveal a less-than-amused Gideon, his frown evident as he focused his gaze onto the floor. Mason could no longer make out their conversation from the distance nor did he really care. He just had to wait until the coast was clear so he could come out again.

Which would've been easier had he no company.

"Interesting." Speak of the devil. She talks. "So we're hiding from your sister now, huh?" Her irritatingly smug smile stretched up to her ears, entertained by the sudden change of pace. 

Mason's attention shifted back to her, his expression unimpressed.

"Ohoho, you look nervous."

"I don't get nervous," he shot back.

Pacifica raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes. "Is. that. so?" she replied, mockingly imitating his earlier tone. She could sense his frustration, but she was determined to keep up the banter.

He scowled at her lack of self protection. Did she look forward to dying early or something?

This time, Pacifica broke the silence. "What are you plotting there, Dipper? I suggest you stop."

He scoffed, "Excuse me?"

"I have the upper hand here." She braved herself to incline her head upwards, her face in full view now as she drilled her blue orbs straight into his brown ones. "For some unknown reason you don't want your sister finding out you're here. Now while I wouldn't anyone to see me with you either-" Her eyes thinned into slits, "I'm thinkin' your reason is probably much graver than mine, huh?"

His silence answered her enough. Bingo.

It took everything in him not to use magic on her right then. His amulet tucked behind his collared shirt was almost glowing even, eager to be used - her tone, her gestures, her mockery; if it were anyone else she would be dead.

He musn't. It's for research. If his first test subject dies in this way, who's to say the next test subject won't suffer the same fate?

Mason's genuine interest in research and his findings paired with his ego to never lose to anyone - not even himself - prevented him from using magic at that very moment. But of course, it was very, extremely, excruciatingly hard.

Swallowing his urges back inside, he managed to croak out, "What do you want?" His words were laced with a cool indifference, but Pacifica could sense an underlying curiosity and felt an odd sense of satisfaction in pushing his buttons, even if it was just a small victory.

She hesitated for a moment, her mind racing to come up with the best approach, "First of all, stop pinning me to this tree. It hurts my back."

Mason no more than stared, not giving any indication he was even considering it. But after a while, he grimaced and raised his hand - snapping his fingers. Instantly Pacifica started to regain her balance as her feet were on solid ground, the invisible force that had propelled her before vanishing. She grazes her fingers on the small of her back, searching for any evidence of the tree bark digging into her skin.

But she didn't have time to let that fester, at least not now. She turned back to him, "And, I also want..." She trailed off, knowing she didn't have much time to decide. Now that she was released, her eyes roamed freely - studying her surroundings for any exit points or anything important. She had to play her cards right, this dipper guy would never let her off easy if she ran away right now. Going along with it for now was probably the best choice.

But what can she ask for? Obviously he was hellbent on not telling her why he was here so that was out of the picture.

Just then, with no warning Mason flipped around with his hand outstretched.

The fuck?

Pacifica peeked over his shoulder, wondering what abruptly caught his attention.

Quite a distance away from his hand was a rabbit with the softest fur she's seen. Its dainty ears were upright from panic due to the unwanted attention. The animal had heterochromic eyes that were looking around in confusion as it was frozen in place, much like she was a few seconds ago.

Mason's shoulders relaxed; My god. It's just a rabbit. He had sensed there was something - figuring it was another person tailing them. Given his record, Mason had many enemies who were always after him so he had to be on guard no matter what. That being said, he couldn't let anything slide.

Slowly, Mason's brown-colored eyes were replaced with a glowing turquoise - so swiftly, almost like water being poured into a glass. He raised the rabbit up into the air; its eyes now wide and glowing the same color as his own. His amulet peeked out of his buttoned shirt to reveal itself in all its glory, the gem in the middle mimicking the same shade of glowing turquoise. The rabbit's mouth hung open as it floated lifelessly; its soul being ripped out.

Pacifica struggled to move even an inch as she watched the scene unfold before her very eyes. What the fuck was going on? The rabbit was frozen in place one second and now it looks demonic, floating, with ghost-like creatures circling around its body and its eyes rolled back to its head. She wasn't sure if it's her imagination, but her teeth began to chatter when the gusts of wind blew stronger and the clouds seemed as though they collectively gathered above them. Her ears were filled with the caws of crows along with muffled whispers that sent a chill down her spine. She wanted to comment, to retort, say anything - but my god, who could? Would that be her next? What the hell was he even doing?!

Time had stopped, she was sure of it - The crows surrounding them prevented her from looking around but she didn't feel like the clock was ticking, like her life was moving. Is this magic? The magic you always see in fairytales, the ones that wizards have and such? Did they have magic like these? From all the glorification of magic she didn't think of just how terrifying it'd be in real life.

Then finally, the crows departed, the sun shone upon them once again and she felt warmth engulf her body. Pacifica let out a shaky breath, not even realizing that she hadn't been breathing that whole time; just like before. She looked back to the rabbit to find it harmless, on land, chipping on a piece of grass and hopping away like it didn't just get sacrificed or whatever the fuck it was that she witnessed.

"What is that odd look on your face?"

Mouth still agape, she merely looked at him, unable to form any words. Even after all that, this guy still didn't look even the least bit fazed; Arms crossed, his hair still in place and now his eyes were back to the shade of chocolate she was more accustomed to. Was he even human?

"Oh right. I assume that's new to you." He stated to no one in particular and nodded to his conclusion. "Hm. Welcome to Gravity Falls."

Thank you for the warm welcome. Pacifica had wanted to say.

She recollected herself, snapping out of her zone. What were they doing again? Oh right. Avoiding Gideon and Mabel. Were they even still inside? What else did he do? She pat herself down, as if attempting to reassure herself by the knowledge that she was still intact. Sweatpants? Check. Slingshot in pocket? Check. Same shirt. Check. Paint-covered face? Check. Though the paint's all dry now. Shit, she should've bought a watch! How long has it been?!

"It's only been a few minutes." Mason answered as if he could read her mind. Wait, could he? "I'm not reassuring you. I'd rather not deal with the aftermath, is all."

"Sh...Show me." Words finally allowed itself to tumble out of her mouth but it shocked even the owner. What was she requesting right now?

When Mason didn't reply, she repeated her sentence, now more sure of herself. Her own blue orbs sparkled with determination as she was able to gaze into his eyes once again, "Show me. That magic."

She had bled terribly. Then gone the next.

The rabbit was floating demonically. Then normal the next.

It worried her, yes, but above all she was...intrigued.

Even Mason's eyebrows rose slightly to request, a little surprised. He had heard her the first time, but he wasn't sure if he heard it right. Usually at this point, people would be set off, running away. He knew why she couldn't do that right now but, she actually wanted to stay? She wanted to see it again. And it wasn't like the twins' monthly magic shows where everyone was hypnotized. She wasn't hypnotized, manipulated to reply that way at all.

Hypothetically speaking, if he was a normal person he would be glad that someone reacted this way.

Hypothetically, of course.

He regained his composure, "Why should I listen to your requests?"

She hummed in thought, "I guess you don't have to." She shrugged and turned her body to the shack's direction and cupped her hands to her mouth. Mason's eyes shot open when it clicked and she took an exaggerated deep breath, "OH, MABE-"

He hastily smacked his hand onto her mouth, too panicked to even use his magic to do it for him. She gave him a mischievous look and he could feel her smug smile forming under his hand. They shared a long, hard stare before he let his eyes flutter close, trying to prevent a vein from popping. Pacifica's smug smile only stretches, knowing she won.

"Nothing too violent please. Not sure what you did just now but some would say it's a little jarring."

Some huh. But not you?

Mason shook his head from the thought, examining the trees around him. He paused at the sight of a delphinium flower not too far ahead and calmly walked to it, Pacifica lagging behind. He crouched by the flower, his eyes glossing over it as his fingers brushed the petals gently.

This will do.

He hovers his left hand to the blonde's direction, his eyes still trained on the flower.

"What? Do you need help getting up?"

He shot her a stern look wordlessly, motioning his fingers towards him as if requesting something. She gets the hint and hesitantly places her hand on his palm.

"Closer." She follows obediently and crouches next to him.

He puts his fingers into his shirt and she watches intently as he takes out his amulet, finally able to examine it properly without the chaotic situation to pair it with. The silver chained necklace would fool you to think it was a normal accessory until your eyes trail down to the main gem that hung in the middle, which was made to look like the pupil of an eye. The eye itself was molded and made to show as though it were crying, the tears evolving into swirls that surrounded the eye, as if protecting it from something. Besides the chain, the eye and swirls were all a dull turquoise color, seemingly brown almost. The gem without a doubt, was a deep brown shade - but it seemed wrong. Like it mimicked that shade to scream that it was parched, starving even.

Pacifica wasn't given much time to ponder as he brought the amulet closer to her hand, pricking the end of her index finger with the sharp gem. She winced but didn't complain as his slender hand gripped her wrist, tugging it a little to bring her bleeding finger atop the delphinium. As her blood trickled down her finger onto the flower's petal down to its roots, Dipper had uttered some unintelligible words - his eyes glowing again like it did before. The amulet's gem glowed to match, and it felt like a weight suddenly lifted off her shoulders as though she were floating. Strands of her hair danced along to the rhythmic gust of the wind and she felt like she could drift off to sleep, a drastic difference to how his magic impacted her before. But she refused to even let her eyes flutter, stubborn to capture every second of this moment. Its magic! Magic on her! Holy shit!

She wanted to hum, to dance, to sing - to express this light and airy feeling in some way. It went from piercing through her skin to barely even touching her, just grazing her arms and body, tickling her feet a little.

Unfortunately this time it didn't last long and she couldn't hide her frown when her hair calmed itself down, falling back to the sides of her face. But the frown was almost immediately wiped off when she spotted the blue delphinium flower, glowing slightly.

"Why is it glowing?" She managed to ask, broken out of her trance. She let her hand hover above the flower, the petals following her pricked fingers like it's reaching out towards it. Thats so cool! The flower is following my fingers!

"Since I used your blood, it only glows when you're near." A good way to detect her, he thought.

"Wow...." She echoed her thoughts aloud, continuing to let her fingers dance around the flower - amazement clear in her voice. The flower responded, glowing faintly with a magical aura. Her excitement bubbled over, and she struggled to contain herself.

"That's incredible!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

Mason's eyebrow twitched, and she couldn't tell if it was annoyance or something else. "It's just magic," he said dismissively.

"Just magic?" she repeated, incredulous. "You made that flower glow with just a wave of your hand! That's not just magic—it's amazing!"

His expression softened imperceptibly, "Pfft.."

She blinked. Was that a laugh? It sounded like one used to mock her, but still. Despite his stoic demeanor, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—a spark of interest. Did she see it wrong? "Did you just laugh?"

"Northwest, you ask too many questions."

He stood up, brushing the dirt off his pants, "So easy to amuse.." He had whispered under his breath. He cleared his throat, adjusting his vest "My sister is gone, so I'll be taking my leave. Until next time."

"Uhuh..." Pacifica replied dumbly, tilting her head to watch the glowing flower. Its magic. She now has evidence of it too! Magic!

After a stretch of silence, Mason mused, "It glows when you're near. But it also reacts accordingly to your emotions. I wonder what such a reactive dance entails?" He explained, then walked off to his vehicle leaving Pacifica to her own thoughts.

Reactive dance? Huh?

Then it clicked and her face flushed red from embarrassment.

Her flower totally revealed just how happy she was in that moment...This is so embarrassing...

Pacifica bit her lip, trying to look back at the flower to distract herself. But now the flower was covering itself with its petals, reflecting her embarrassment as well.

Oh, go to hell!

Chapter Text

Pacifica returned to the Mystery Shack, her mind still racing from the encounter in the woods. She spotted Gideon, looking worn out, and concern washed over her. "Gideon, are you okay?" she asked, her voice carrying genuine worry.

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Oh, hey, Paz. Yeah, just Mabel being Mabel, you know? She visited again."

Pacifica's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Mabel's visit. The memory of her encounter with Mason played in her mind like a broken record. Gideon's words pulled her from her reverie.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," Gideon said, his eyes apologetic. "Mr.Gleeful didn't show up like I thought he would. I know you were concerned about running into him."

Pacifica's heart raced, and for a moment, she considered correcting him. But then, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, she held back. "It's okay, Gideon. Don't worry about it."

She herself didn't know why, I mean it's not like she had to keep it a secret. But maybe it was subconscious, as if to repay the favor for the delphinium flower. Also, if Gideon had found out, what if he tried to kill the flower? He's always overthinking everything. She wanted to be a little selfish once in a while...

Plus even if she wanted to tell, it's too late now. She stayed silent too long.

"Pacifica..Gideon.." A voice cut into her thoughts, sounding mellow as usual. She turned to Wendy. "Have any of you seen my eyeliner?"

She frowned, "No sorry Wendy, I haven't."

She hung her head in shame, dragging her feet behind the counter. She grumbled about how much she hated her life under her breath, counting the money in the register.

Wendy didn't use to be that way.

Shaking her head to dispel the thought, Pacifica focused on Gideon and Wendy's banter, letting their playful exchanges bring a smile to her lips.

As the topic shifted, Pacifica's mind wandered back to the peculiar thought that had entered her head earlier—Wendy hadn't always been so concerned about her appearance. It was a puzzling thought that she quickly dismissed as irrelevant. There were more pressing matters at hand.

She sighed. All that magic is getting to her head. "Hey Gideon, I'm gonna shower and take a nap real quick..My head hurts."

"O-oh yeah, No problem Paz. I'll help Wendy search for her eyeliner down here."

She nodded and went upstairs, heading to search for a fresh change of clothes.

She was with the flower again.

Mason didn't have to be there physically to know. He had to give his magic to make that flower come to life so he could feel it. The flower felt calm just like it did the day before, so she was probably telling stories or something to it again. How ridiculous..and persistent.

Why she was so amused by this, he didn't know. But she had visited that flower every day since.

"Hey! Maymay! Are you even listening to me?!"

He had wanted to complain. He missed his bass guitar in his secret bunker. He made a mental note to play after this before eating another spoonful of spaghetti.

"Ugh. I hate you." She pouted, leaning back into her chair. "You know, Gideon would never ignore me if I was talking-"

"Stop bringing up that vanilla top. You're ruining my appetite."

He downs his glass of water before flicking his eyes to her. Pursing his lips, he states. "You were talking about the effects of your new discovery. It stunned your lab rat."

Immediately her expression shifts and he is greeted with her warm smile, "Yes! Can you believe it, it finally worked! All it needed was a spoonful of flour." She giggled, proud of her new potion, "God who would have guessed? Me, as it turns out."

A maid hurriedly but quietly speed-walked by Mabel, whispering some things to her as she bowed her head. Mabel listened intently. "Alright, just give her a glass of water or something. I'll come up shortly."

"Yes, Miss Gleeful." She bowed to Mabel again before scurrying away.

"Let me guess, the lab rat is awake?"

She sighed to Mason's surprise. "Yes, she is." 

A silence stretched between them.

"Okay quit looking so shocked! Yes, I actually didn't mean to poison someone this time!"

He raised an eyebrow wordlessly and that was all it took for Mabel to spill the beans.

Apparently, she had borrowed the lab in their old high school even if it was summer break - simply because she had wanted a change of scenery. She was experimenting on her newest potion - safety goggles on, her signature lab coat now a mess from all the testing. At the time, she had messed up another test round, and the spoon she tested it on started to dance.

"How did you do that?" A girl had asked and Mabel jumped; not even sensing her presence.

Mabel bullies people - that much was true. But only to those who were hostile from the beginning. It had been a while since she met someone friendly. "I don't even know, to be honest." Mabel had told her "Nothing seems to be working."

"Have you tried adding this?" The unnamed girl handed her a small vial which Mabel had considered but alas, that ended in a small explosion. The girl and Mabel took turns trying out different components and experimenting together. At some point, the girl had put on a lab coat and glassed on as well.

'I should ask her for her name..' Mabel thought. Before she could get a word out, the girl asked where she kept water to which Mabel mindlessly pointed to the side where the jug of water was.

Then she heard a thud.

"I didn't know I put my stun potion next to the jug..." Mabel whined, her head buried in her hands. "I put it in a mug since it was still in testing, I mean, I would've known better but how could I have known some random girl was going to join me? Ugh..." Her words started to slur, becoming unintelligible since her face was covered.

"Look who's getting soft," Mason replied, sipping his coffee.

"I'm not getting soft! She just didn't do anything wrong so..." 

Mason knew this was true. Mabel had always been the more direct out of the two but she had sympathy. Sometimes. She never hurt someone first - but then again 'hurting Mabel' could just be equal to staring at her too long so, it's not like any of their morals were in order.

"Plus, she was interested in my potions!"  She beamed, resting her head in her palms as she smiled - cheeks a little red from excitement, "Sh-she even did it with me. Hehe."

"Wow."

She flushed a deeper red, "Shut up! It's not like that."

"I didn't even-"

"You didn't have to! You..poopybutt!"

"Moron."

"Nerd!"

"Imbecile."

"Loser!"

"Mouthbreather."

"Dumbbutt!"

"Soft."

"I'm not!"

She groaned, standing up from her seat. "I'm leaving. I should get her home."

"Should I be expecting you to come back home or..."

A pillow was chucked at his face.

Pacifica slipped her varsity jacket on, her fingers deftly maneuvering through the familiar process. As she hurried downstairs, the words flowed from her lips in a practiced rhythm, "I'm going to Grenda's! Don't wait up!"

Stan's gruff acknowledgment trailed after her. She was ready to head out and make the most of the day, pay a visit to her friend Grenda, and maybe even find a bit of adventure to spice things up in the quirky town of Gravity Falls. She headed for the Mystery Shack exit, wanting to say goodbye to Wendy and Soos before she left. Gideon was probably busy being a dork somewhere in his room so she already texted him beforehand.

She spotted Soos first, sweeping the back of the store. "Soos, I'm heading out. Don't forget to feed Waddles, okay?"

"Got it, Miss Northwest, ma'am!" Soos playfully replied, saluting her.

"Hup!" She chanted, mimicking the salute. They break character after a few fits of giggles, giving each other a fist bump.

She greeted Wendy who was by the counter, hunched over as always. "Hey, Wendy!"

"Hi...." The ginger responded, dressed in all black again today. "What's the bag for?"

"I'm going to Grenda's but I might stay over," Pacifica replied with a smile, shifting the bag higher so she was more comfortable. "Robbie's not coming today?"

"He's busy or something, I don't know." She replied with a sigh, and it seemed like she was melting into the chair. Pacifica almost regretted bringing it up before she continued, "He says he'll drop by soon though. I don't know."

"Oh, good for you then! You smile more when he's around." 

A blush crept up her neck, "What! No, I don't! That's stupid!"

Sometimes it feels like she's still in her 14-year-old emo phase...

"Well, maybe. A little." A ghost of a smile appeared on Wendy's lips as she fiddled with her fingers. At least she admits it now.  "Anyway, have fun Pacifica."

But as Pacifica bounded towards the exit of the Mystery Shack, a sudden pause seized her momentum. Her heart seemed to hitch, the rhythm of her steps faltering momentarily. Just when she thought she was free from the specter of their previous encounter, fate had other plans.

"Oh."

Pacifica froze.

She had forgotten - today was Monday.

She froze. She very visibly froze upon hearing him.

What, was she scared of him now? After just what, a few days? It couldn't possibly be right? It would be odd for her to take so long to be scared of him after all that..

Their gazes collided, and a wave of emotions washed over Pacifica—confusion, irritation, and an unfamiliar undercurrent she couldn't quite define. The air grew tense, an awkward silence engulfing the space. She couldn't quite understand why his presence affected her so deeply.

Wendy's watchful eyes flicked between them, no doubt recalling the previous incident that had left a mark on both their memories. She was ready to intervene if things escalated again. That much was clear in her guarded expression. She gives Wendy a nod before shuffling behind Mason, attempting to flee the scene.

Mason, ever enigmatic, finally broke the silence.

"Northwest." he greeted.

"Dipper." She greeted back.

"Mr. Gleeful." he corrected.

"Whatever." She gave up at this point.

The unspoken tension between them was palpable, and Wendy's eyes bore into Mason, as if warning him not to step out of line. Pacifica sidestepped him, intending to make a hasty exit, but she wasn't about to escape so easily. With Pacifica in the open, this was the most effective way to prove his innocence once and for all.

"Northwest." He called again, turning to her. Don't use magic to stop her. Don't use magic to stop her.

She hesitantly but slowly turns to him, gulping, "Uh..yeah?"

"I assume you liked my little gift?"

To this, Wendy's eyebrows shot up.

Pacifica's ones squint instead, not catching his drift, "Gift? What gift?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, "I'm talking about the flow-"

"AAAAA-" Pacifica started screaming, making Wendy and Mason both jump, startled by the sudden noise. She let out a nervous laugh, before explaining that her throat was itchy. Wanting to stop it from escalating, she held Mason's wrist, "Just give us a sec, Wendy! Haha.." 

Dragging him near the shelves, Mason followed silently before snapping out of it and yanking his arm back. "I don't believe I said anything untrue."

Catching Wendy shamelessly leaning in to eavesdrop, Pacifica stays silent and tries to communicate solely with expressions, squinting and making weird faces. Shockingly enough, Mason seemed to understand – thanks to Mabel's usual antics. 

He raised an eyebrow as if to ask "And why didn't you tell them?"

She blanked. How was she supposed to make a face that said 'Because they would overreact and kill the flower that I secretly liked but I can't tell you that or your ego will skyrocket if that's even possible!'

Her silence answered enough it seemed, as a smug smile slowly started to form on his lips.

"No, no, no, it's not what you think." She actually had no idea what he was thinking but she could tell it was anything but good.

"Do tell."

"I am not humoring you."

"Maybe Valentino could."

She gasped "You wouldn't." 

He stared at her for a beat to make her think he was considering otherwise, then spun around – heading to expose Pacifica to Wendy. This wasn't the plan, but he was kind of..enjoying this back and forth fights they had. 

Obviously, because he wins them. Yes, he liked to win.

Pacifica, cheeks dusted red from embarrassment, was ready to stop him before she spot Grenda outside – probably about to pick her up because she took so long. Shit, Wendy she could handle but Grenda? Grenda would tell everyone!

What was there even to tell? Who cares about some flowers? They'd probably leave her alone but Pacifica's mind was flooded with the pressure of just stopping Mason no matter what - the Mason that looked so good when he smirked, the Mason that pinned her against a damn tree, the Mason that gave a flower – that fucking Mason. This bastard.

"Dipper needs to use the washroom!"

If Pacifica wasn't so panicked she would've noticed the embarrassed look that appeared for a slight moment on Mason's face, "What! It's Gleeful. And how preposterous-!"

Mason was shoved into the toilet.

"NORTHWEST-"

"Dipper, I'm telling you now, if you come out – someone's gonna stick to you 24/7." Pacifica whispered over her shoulder, her back against the toilet door to keep it closed "If she found you here she'd act like how Mabel does to Gideon. Just because she'd think we're together? Do you want that, dipper? Do you?"

Silence. 

Good.

"Sup bitch!" Grenda's familiar rough voice greeted Pacifica, as she slammed the Shack door open. "I got tired of waiting so I came to get you." Yeah, she figured as much.

"Grenda! Careful on the damn door!" Grunkle Stan had yelled from the living room.

"Door's fine, old man!" Grenda shouted back before looking to her blonde friend, chucking a motorcycle helmet to which she caught. Grenda's eyes narrowed playfully, catching the way her friend's fingers were still curled around the handle of the restroom door.

"Did I interrupt something juicy?" Grenda wiggled her eyebrows, her grin mischievous.

Pacifica tried to laugh off the awkwardness, her cheeks reddening. "No way! You just caught me... discussing bathroom secrets!"

Grenda's laugh was a hearty burst of sound. "Classic! Anyway, let's roll, Pacifica!"

"Yeah, sure!"

That was enough to convince Grenda to roll her eyes and mumble about not taking too long, leaving the shack. Pacifica let out an exhale in relief, opening the washroom door. Out came Mason, looking traumatized.

"Hey, sorry – Yo, you good?"

"Deep cleaning..." He trailed off, glancing at his palms in fear, "I need a deep cleansing...I'm heading home.."

For once, Pacifica didn't have a reply to shoot his way because she felt so bad for locking him in there. No one used that restroom in a long while so she knew Soos hadn't cleaned it in a long time either. He looks like he's getting sick. For a rich psycho brat, that was probably the closest thing to torture for him. She kept silent as she slowly stepped backward, wanting to meet her friend outside before she suspects anything. Grenda's obliviousness to the commotion and her teasing only added to Pacifica's internal turmoil. She could only hope that Mason wouldn't hold a grudge for being stashed in the bathroom like a misbehaving child. With her heart still racing, Pacifica followed Grenda out of the Mystery Shack, her thoughts a swirling whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions. Maybe she'll apologize another time..

And then there was Wendy, who watched everything unfold, in utter confusion.

Chapter Text

Huh.

Mason leaned against a shelf, his arms folded, as he discreetly scanned the interior of the Mystery Shack. He had taken care to keep his presence relatively low-key, wanting to avoid unnecessary attention. His eyes subtly searched for a particular figure, his mind seemingly divided between intrigue and a peculiar kind of impatience - but nothing. Nothing?

"She's not here today."

Mason flinched, looking over to the person behind the counter. It wasn't Wendy today – but a new face instead. He had black tufted hair, and a graphic shirt worn under his signature plaid button-up that was left unbuttoned.  But of course, he was a Gleeful. He knew who this was.

Mason's eyebrow quirked in response, feigning indifference. "I never said I was looking for her."

Robbie's amused chuckle lingered in the air as he tossed a coin casually in his hand. "Hey, man, no judgments here. If you're hoping to catch her, go for it. But just so you know, she's still out from her sleepover." He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning into his chair.

Days had passed since then.

And she's still with Grenda? The thought made his eye twitch before he recollected himself. Why did that even matter? They were probably doing something useless, and honestly, he was not at all curious as to what they were up to. To add to that, she is most definitely thinking about him being here since it was a Thursday.  According to the schedule. The plan was working.

Mason shook his head at the thought, grabbing some random object from the shelf to ring up as usual. He would kill for some tea right now.

As the days rolled on, Mason found himself cloistered within his hidden bunker, his fingers caressing the strings of an electric guitar. His mind was absorbed in his music, his lips unconsciously humming along with the chords of a BABBA song, "My Love, My Life." The soulful melody matched the fingers that danced gracefully over the strings, an enigmatic performance meant for his ears alone.

"So now, we'll go separate ways,

Never again, we two."

He hummed mindlessly, closing his eyes to enjoy the music. His usual brown hair that had stayed tucked behind his ear was now falling over his eyes a little but he paid no mind to it.

Suddenly, a wave-like emotion sends shivers up his spine and his index finger throbs a little. 

Oh. She was with the flower again.

She's back?

His eyebrow arched, but he didn't want to make too much movement. Mason was a perfectionist and he knew he needed to finish the song first before doing anything else. So instead, his mouth continued to hum as his mind continued to race.

Really? She had to come back today? Not yesterday, when he was literally right there?

I mean, he was not looking forward to seeing her. But at this point, his plan was going excruciatingly slow. Mr. Gleeful was more patient than one might think but even he had his limits. Just how long did he have to keep this act up? All the social interactions he had to do was eating him up inside.

"Like reflections of your mind,

My Love, My Life."

And now what? He just had to continue this charade? His fingers pressed on the chords with more strength as his other hand continued to pluck. He was close. He knew he was. She finally requested something of him and he could tell she had developed an interest in it from how much she uses it. She owes him now. This is good.

"Still my one and only...."

It's good. This is good. Just be patient. It'd be good. It'd be worth it.

At least, that's the reason he tried to convince himself with.

Meanwhile, in the forest, Pacifica wrapped up her conversation with the enigmatic delphinium flower. Her steps led her back to her friends, Grenda and Candy, who were awaiting her return. She shook off the connection she felt with the magical flora, her mind eager to divert the conversation.

"Did you find it?" Grenda inquired, her tone playfully quizzical.

Pacifica managed an artful sigh and a shake of her head. "No, I think I left it in my room. I'll have to search for it later."

Grenda's acceptance was swift, but Candy regarded Pacifica with an almost suspicious look. "Really? Just like that?"

Pacifica smiled, mentally preparing herself to handle Candy's scrutinizing gaze. "Yep, Candy, just like that."

Change the subject, "Anyway, what's the plan with lovergirl?"

Candy was suddenly more interested in her shoes as she fought a blush, "I don't know. We haven't talked since...I passed out."

"Yeah and then woke up. at her HOUSE." Grenda exclaimed aloud and Pacifica giggled along with her as they nudged each other. Candy sunk more into herself. 

"She was just being nice."

Pacifica raised an eyebrow and the two friends shared a look to Candy's dismay. Pacifica lightly slapped herself, then fell towards Grenda, "Help, I'm sick!" She dramatically whined, clutching her hand to her chest.

To match, Grenda gasped with the same exaggerated tone, "Oh my! I'll just be nice and take you in my limo so I can treat you in my room even though I have a big mansion with many many rooms." Candy rolled her eyes so much you'd think she could see her brain.

"I hate you guys."

"Aww, Candy, you love us and you know it!"

"I hate you."

With their laughter still echoing, the trio entered the Mystery Shack, their camaraderie apparent. Inside, a new face greeted them – Robbie, who had taken over for Wendy.

"Morning, W- Oh!" Pacifica blinked in surprise, realizing it wasn't the usual redhead. "Hey Robbie!"

"Yo." Robbie greets them with a nod, to which some return and the rest wave. "I'm replacing Wendy, she's in her finals this week."

A chorus of ooo’s follow.

“By the way Pace, someone was looking for you.”

A pause “Huh?”

Another chorus of ooo’s follow, this time high pitched and paired with elbow nudges.

“Well, well, someone’s got herself busy.” Grenda commented, snickering.

“What..”

“Were you even searching for anything just now, or did you meet him behind our backs?” Candy added and Grenda gasps dramatically.

“What?”

“Our girl is so in love she lost the ability to speak. .” Grenda sniffs while Candy lightly giggles at the blonde’s reaction.

She promptly turns to Robbie, clearing her throat “Is it…is it who I think it is?” Was she scared? Well she should be. But he usually came just to…visit, right? Well Pacifica is still convinced he’s up to something, but he’s never specifically looked for her before.

She shouldn’t be even a little giddy. She really shouldn’t…but doing something she shouldn’t sounds just like Pacifica.

Robbie raises an eyebrow, chuckling under his breath. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I don’t judge dude, have fun.”

“HIM?”

“It’s a him!”

With her friends' playful banter echoing around her, Pacifica braced herself for the impending revelation, her curiosity piqued and her apprehension growing.

“Guys…” Pacifica rolls her eyes, faking a nonchalant attitude “You guys are seriously overreacting.”

Thrilling or not, he probably came there for another threat – realistically speaking.

It took her forever to drag her friends into her room, practically having to push them there since they had refused to budge for a good minute until they drilled the information out of her (unsuccessfully, might she add). But just like them, she too was thinking of Dipper. She still ought to apologize right? I mean, what kind of hypocrite would she be for demanding remorse from him when she doesn’t return it?

Perhaps it was just her nature, but Pacifica always believed there had to be some good in someone.

Maybe to a fault.

“You never know if you never try,” Pacifica mused, swallowing her nerves. She took a deep breath and slowly raised her finger to press the doorbell to Gleeful Manor.

Chapter Text

He's not bored.

No, seriously, he isn't. 

After all, he's a Gleeful. And he reveled in the aura of mystery and power that surrounded his very existence. Boredom was for those who lacked his capacity for intrigue and mischief.

To add to that, his sister had been bothering him more than usual, which meant he couldn't find the time to sneak into his bunker or visit the Shack. So he was stuck for the past week doing...nothing. I mean, of course, all he did was study the dark arts, note down his newest researches, find a rare flower for his sister's latest potion which had him hiking through a dense forest. But he was..

Wait, not bored. You misunderstood. He's not bored at all.

"I-is something the matter, Master?" the nervous one-eyed triangle utters after Mason heaves another sigh, the fourth one today. His typically focused mind had found itself idling far more than he would have preferred, his hands feeling restless for the first time in years.

His master stands by his window, observing the view painted behind it. The splash of colours blended into the sunset, the scattered trees with its leaves flittering in the wind, the fountain in the middle of their garden - greeting him everytime he had entered the gates. The same way it greets the blonde that stood there at that moment.

Pursing his lips, he turns back to his table and points to the triangle to-

Hold.

Mason had to stop himself from practically smashing his face into the window as he rushes back, doing a double take. Maybe it's a dye. Two blondes? Two blondes right? Is it that godforsaken maid again?

He watched as she fiddled nervously at her spot, clutching a small paperbag by its string. He couldn't make out what expression she wore but just by the way she held herself, he knew. His heart did a rather inconvenient somersault, and his posture stiffened in sheer surprise. He peered closer, his focus unwavering, his breath hitching ever so slightly.

"Northwest," he muttered under his breath, his eyes affixed to the sight that shouldn't have surprised him so much. He didn't know why he was taken off guard; she lived with Gideon Pines, her fool of a cousin. It was logical for her to be around, yet the appearance of Pacifica had an uncanny ability to disrupt his logical thinking.

Panic, it was almost laughable how foreign that emotion was to him. But panic he did, his heart racing as he tried to ignore the rapid rhythm it had adopted. He willed himself to seem composed, despite the whirlwind of emotions that churned beneath his carefully maintained facade. Mason snaps his fingers and a small mirror pops up next to him. Did he look okay? No of course, he always looked perfect. He fixes his collar for good measure, anything to distract himself from the fact that she's at his mansion. 

Wait.
She's at his mansion. Where Mabel is.

FUC#!!£?£KCK?#?????2£+(#??

He swerves back to the window and watches her fidget with her feet, looking around. Good, buy time.

Alright, calm down Mason. Let's think this through, he rationalizes. He had placed a scent on Mabel's ankle, tacky and temporary, he knows, but anything permanent wouldn't have gone past his potion-obssessed sister. If he can trace the scent he would know if she's-

Nevermind, fuck it! That brat's about to ring the doorbell we need to stop her NOW.

"You never know if you never try," Pacifica muses, swallowing her nerves. She takes a deep breath and slowly raises her finger to press the doorbell to Gleeful Manor.

When all of a sudden,

"Northwest."

She yelps and instinctively jumps away from the noise in shock. She clutches her heart and looks at him, taking her time doing so - only when she's calmed her heart rate down.

"Dipper! What the- How did you get there?!" she exclaimed, her bewilderment evident as she tried to comprehend his uncanny timing.

He watched her, his eyes studying her in a way that felt unnerving yet oddly mesmerizing. She seemed almost the tiniest...bit adorable in her flustered state, her words a cascade of confusion and frustration. It was a side of her he hadn't seen before, and he found himself oddly captivated. "Gleeful. And well, it is my abode. It would be odd for me not to be in it, is it not?"

"Well, yes but..." she trails off.

Yes but she could've sworn-

"What brings you here?"

She trailed off, and he watched as she seemed to recalibrate her thoughts. "Right, um, well we didn't exactly leave on a good note. And don't get me wrong," she said, and he could detect the familiar hints of annoyance in her tone. "You're still suspicious. I don't like you really," she asserted, her gaze leveling at him.

His eyebrow arched in response, an almost imperceptible quirk that hinted at his bemusement.

Her tone shifted, and she continued, her words almost a tumble of thoughts spilling from her lips. "But you did show me magic even though I asked to see it right after threatening you and- and fighting you...and that magic flower works to this day!" Her face brightens up as she recalls the memory, still just as excited at the thought of magic as he remembered.

"Oh, do you- do you remember it?" She sheepishly grins, "I bet you do so much magic, it's probably just nothing to you.."

He nodded, leaving his answer to interpretation. 

He knew way more but she didn't have to know that.

She clears her throat, holding the paper bag higher. That aroma, it smells like.. "I made some cookies. Don't make this a big thing, I really just baked a lot and I had leftovers, so.."

He doesn't move to take it.

A few seconds pass, and her adrenaline slowly dissipates. "Just take it! It's a peace offering, you can say. You've hurt me a lot but I just feel like, i don't know, you've done magic all your life right? Or so it looks like. You don't like you have any friends-"

"Hey."

"And I'm assuming magic takes a toll on you so you probably don't know...how social..works..." She trails off yet again, shifting her focus to her feet. 

He didn't interrupt her, his silence allowing her to navigate through her thoughts and sentiments. It was rare for him to allow anyone, let alone her, to speak at such length in his presence without interruption. But something about her words, her sincerity, kept him rooted in place, as if an invisible force held him there.

And then, as quickly as her words flowed, they stopped. Her gaze met his, and there was an unexpected vulnerability in her eyes. "I'm not forgiving you though. That doesn't excuse what you did but I'm also not a hypocrite," she admitted, her voice softer now.

Her vulnerability gave way to a spark of defiance as she reached into the paper bag she held, retrieving something and thrusting it towards him. His gaze shifted to the bag she held, and he observed the cookies she had baked.

She must overthink a lot, huh?" His thoughts wondered. He clearly wouldn't stop his visits for a mere restroom incident but, here she was anyway.

But to think she's giving him some "peace offering", knowing what he did, knowing what he's capable of, and blind to what awaits her in the future - the eventual revenge that will come to bite her in the back...

What is this feeling?

He feels..as though he is in pain? Is that the right word? His heart - if it is still there - it's scrunched up in itself and his stomach is twisted in knots. Somehow, as driven as he is, he wants to put it all to a stop. This feels weird. unfamiliar. Does this make him a quitter? A loser? Is that what he's turned into?

Everything in him is screaming to take that paperbag. To tell her the cookies are delicious. To tell her he's glad she liked the flower. He just wants to open the gates in between them so he can-

So he can...what?

Something is odd. Maybe he should put a stop to this plan, he doesn't like this unfamiliar feeling. If he can't diagnose it, how would he conclude it?

He watched her, his usually detached demeanor momentarily fractured by the complexity of emotions she was bringing to the surface. And the longer he watched, the more she rambled. And ramble she did.

"...and i thought, what the hell did that rabbit do to you? But then it went back to the ground and it was fine, that was so weird-"

But Mason still struggled to formulate his thoughts. I mean, why was he even hesitating with the plan? He's known to be adamant - to be stubborn, he can't just give up now. He can't grow sof...no. He's not going to finish that sentence. He simply...musn't.

He's a master at hiding his emotions. Pesky little doubts shouldn't be an issue to him.

At least not anymore.

"-obviously capitalism is bad. But it's not like the bunnies served their role at all in the economical industry. Of course that doesn't mean they should be dead-"

"Northwest."

She catches herself mid-sentence when she finally hears a reply. "Oh..sorry, did I ramble again?"

Yes. How did she even end up talking about capitalism? It's slightly impressive.

Don't get sidetracked. He gestures to the paperbag, "The cookies. Eat one."

She tilts her head and gazes down at her cookies, laying still as they're jumbled up together.

"Just do it."

A few seconds pass before her confusion evolves into a frown. She snaps her eyes back to him and he almost flinches.

"You think I poisoned them," she accused, her words infused with anger and accusation.

"You fail to understand. It's a precautionar-"

She grabs a cookie from her bag and shoves it in her mouth, not giving a damn about the crumbs scattering everywhere; all the while closing her eyes to digest it quicker. "There. Happy? Some of us aren't goddamn murderers!"

"I didn't intend to-"

"Save it," she spat, throwing the bag at him before turning on her heel, her frustration palpable.

He watched her retreating figure, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. No, wait, that's not how it was supposed to go. He didn't mean it as an insult. Isn't it common knowledge to have the chef or taste tester try the food before giving him the final result? That's how it's always been. Why was she so angry?

He looks down at the paperbag in his hands, like the sight she's seen - it's a bunch of cookies jumbled together. Not perfectly round-shaped, not neatly placed in a box but randomly sized desserts she had baked with her own two hands, for him. He could imagine her in her kitchen, focused as she stirred the batter with a hairband to hold her locks back. Her cousin would tease her and ask who it's for and she would shrug his hand off. Her grunkle would attempt to steal one but she would slap his hand away in the nick of time. He imagined her nervously navigating her way to his manor, passing the trees and the trimmed bushes that formed various shapes beyond the gates. He could see her eyes light up observing them and guessing what they are.

He dusts the crumbs off his vest, the remains from when she threw the bag at him. Based on his previous informations, she did infact bake but it was only reserved for cakes. A rough assumption from what details he'd gathered is that she tend to burn any cookies she made. And yet..

And yet..?

His breath hitches. He stares at the pavement where she stood.

Then back at the cookies.

And he feels the doubt bubbling up inside him again.

Snap out of it!

What was happening to him?

Why did this girl manage to rattle the very foundation of his carefully constructed plan?

He clutched the paper bag in his hands, feeling a sense of unease gnaw at the edges of his consciousness. That unidentified feeling. It resurfaced again. This can't keep happening. At this rate, he'll end up ruining the plan on his own.  Before anything continues, perhaps it would be best to get to the bottom of- 

"Mason?"

Oh fuck.

Mabel.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Stupid dummy stupid dumb stupid idiot fucking stupid dumb dummy asshole stupid knucklehead." she chastised herself, her voice dripping with irritation as she kicked a random rock in her path.

How could she have thought that offering that rich brat cookies would be a good idea? As if he'd ever accept anything from her. He probably doesn't even know what gifts mean.

Her footsteps were punctuated by the crunch of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig beneath her boots. She wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings, her mind a swirling vortex of anger and regret. She had put herself out there, trying to bridge a gap between them, and what did she get in return? Accusations of poison. She clenched her fists at the memory, her nails digging into her palms.

Dipper was way nicer before.

She paused, her brows furrowing in confusion. What did that even mean? It was as if a fragment of her own thoughts had momentarily betrayed her, conjuring an image of Dipper that didn't quite align with the person she knew.

Shaking her head as if to dispel the absurd notion, she continued her brisk march through the forest. She had no time for delusional musings, not when she was already seething with irritation. Her steps guided her unerringly to a particular spot in the forest, a clearing where a solitary flower stood tall and proud – the delphinium. A sense of calm washed over her as she gazed at the vibrant petals, the memory of their encounter coming back to her.

Despite her initial determination to keep her emotions in check, the sight of the delphinium seemed to trigger a torrent of words. She found herself ranting, her voice carrying her frustrations and grievances to the flower that stood as a silent observer of her tirade.

"I mean, seriously, who does he think he is?" she exclaimed, her tone a mixture of exasperation and indignation. "Treating me like I'm some sort of poisoner. I was just trying to be nice, and what do I get?" 

Her voice goes deeper to mock him "yOu fAiL to uNdErStaNd-"  She clicks her tongue. "Fail to understand my ass! I hate him!"

She paced back and forth, her arms gesturing animatedly as she vented her frustration. The delphinium swayed erratically in response, as if it understood her words. And it quite frankly did, thanks to that blasted amulet. She felt a little guilty for that flower for having to be in the same state she is, but she couldn't quite care at the moment.

She huffed, her breath visible in the crisp air as she vented her frustrations. "I should have known better than to think that offering him cookies would make any difference. He's just... ugh!"

Her frustration was palpable, her emotions spilling out as she sought solace in the presence of the delphinium. And as her words filled the air, far deeper into the heart of the forest, a faint rumble seemed to stir the ground. Unbeknownst to her, a tiny, microscopic crack emerged from the earth, snaking its way across the ground. The air felt charged with an otherworldly energy for a split second, a sense of anticipation hanging in the atmosphere. A harbinger of something unknown and unexpected that was slowly unfurling in the heart of Gravity Falls.

Chapter Text

"M-Mabel," He didn't stutter.

"Mason." He hoped she did. 

Silence hung heavy between them, punctuated only by the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. Mason's heart pounded in his chest, a sense of unease settling over him like a heavy cloak. He couldn't afford any slip-ups, not now.

"I understand what it seemed like. But I can explain," Mason attempted, but his words felt feeble even to his own ears.

He tried to regain his composure, reminding himself of the calculated, emotionless persona he had meticulously crafted over the years.

"How much did you see?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.

Mabel's smirk widened,"Enough,"

Fuck.

"Look Mason, it's nothing to be ashamed of." She stated coyly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "I'm not ashamed, Mabel. I don't get ashamed."

She giggled (which was never a good thing) and placed a finger on her chin, "Well there was that time when you wet the bed-"

"I was FIVE-"

"And the other time when you lost to Alfred at chess."

"I'm telling you he must've cheated-"

"Or the OTHER time when you-"

"ENOUGH." He interrupted, his cheeks flaming slightly. The guards were nearby and within earshot. He didn't like the thought of that.

"So what's to be ashamed of rejecting a girl?"

Another silence stretched between the twins.

Mason blinked his chocolate eyes cluelessly, "Wait, what?"

She rolled her eyes "Oh please. As soon as I came here I hear a girl yelling and I see you covered in cookie crumbs. I'm not an idiot." She crossed her arms and cocked her head, "Good for you though, huh? One of your admirers finally confessed to you. I never thought they'd have the balls."

Gathering himself, he scoffed, "I'm not that surprised." 

"Well I am. You let her roam free? What's up with that?"

He placed his hands behind his back, now able to calm himself due to Mabel's complete misunderstanding, "She confessed unlike the rest. I respect the small ounce of courage, you could say." He lied. "Though it was foolish of her to think she had a chance with me. I've never cared about another person enough to think of them in that light." This one was the truth. It was.

Mabel made a weird non-committal noise, "Hm, respect you say.." She trailed off before her smirk shows itself again. "You're getting sof- OW DON'T HIT ME" She whines, rubbing her upper arm where he whacked her.

"Roll your eyes all you want Mason. Let's see who's dinner gets poisoned next."

He sighed, "At this rate, sister dearest-"

All of a sudden, his finger started to burn with a familiar sensation. 

The delphinium.

His heart skipped a beat as he realized she must be angry – angry at him, angry at their argument, angry at the accusations he had hurled at her.

He looked up at Mabel, who stared at him curiously. "Huh. I've never seen that look on you before."

Remembering he had cut himself short with no explanation, he internally cursed but doesn't let  it show. Instead he pursed his lips, as if to insinuate he was just mildly interrupted by his sister again. "What are you talking about now."

"I don't know you look like.."

"Like?"

"Like.." she paused for dramatic effect. "Like you're about to shit."

Alright. "Noted. I'm heading to my room now."

"To shit?" 

"NO." He purposefully hits her shoulder as he stalked past her, hurrying back into the mansion. She follows next to him, her hand reaching for the cookies. Before he could swat her hand away,  a new surge of emotion flooded his senses as the delphinium detected something unfamiliar in the woods with Northwest. Something ominous, something dangerous.

Due to his abrupt stop, Mabel knocks her face into his shoulder blade. "Ah, fuck! Ow! Shit!"

Without a word of explanation, Mason starts his dash into the forest but Mabel slams the gates shut. Not this shit again. "Mason, wait! Where the hell are you going? What about my cookies?!"

This is not the time! 

Mason tries to budge the doors open but Mabel forces them shut, thinking they're still bantering. She reaches for the cookies and Mason blurts out the first thing he could think of.

"They're not for you. It's poisonous." He states, rushing into the forest. Mabel doesn't stop him anymore, watching his silhouette disappear into the woods.

She stands still for a bit, but soon her frown grows.

Mabel was immune to poison. She knew, without a doubt, her brother knew this too.

Something weird was going on.

As Mason hurried through the dense foliage, his mind raced with worry. He had to find Northwest before it was too late. But as he pushed forward, another thought nagged at him; he fucking slipped up with the poisonous thing. Mabel was going to get suspicious.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the troubling notion. He'll worry about that later.

His steps quickened as he navigated through the forest. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gripped him, the fear of what lurked in the shadows, threatening the safety of the girl he had just fought with. 

As he pushed deeper into the forest, his senses heightened, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs setting his nerves on edge. He called out for the Northwest, his voice echoing through the trees, but there was no response.

Then, he saw her – a flash of blonde hair amidst the tree trunks, her silhouette illuminated by the sun setting between the clouds, filtering through the branches above. Relief washed over him as he rushed towards her, his concern outweighing any lingering resentment from their argument.

"Pacifica!" he called out. "Are you alright?"

Pacifica blinked in surprise at Mason's sudden appearance, her guard momentarily lowering when she realized it was him. Then followed by a crossing of her arms defensively after realizing it was him.

She had a taekwando stance ready before she saw me, Mason noted in his head.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, annoyed.

"There was a.." Mason trailed off. He quickly scanned the area to find..nothing. There was nothing. No danger. The only danger he had coming was the daggers Northwest aimed at him with her glare. He wanted to curl into himself from embarrassment; now it looked like he just chased after her for no reason. What the fuck was the delphinium sensing? 

"Well?" she pressed.

"There....um." He cleared his throat, attempting to regain some composure. "The. The cookies, they're good."

Her lips formed a thin line, unamused "You finally tried them?"

"Yes." He lied. He was on a record today it turns out.

Pacifica stared at Mason, her disbelief etched plainly on her face. "Hah. Yeah right. I don't believe you," she scoffed, her tone laced with skepticism.

Mason felt a pang of guilt as he met her gaze, a stark contrast to the easy smiles she shared with everyone else. He didn't care about that, it's just. Well. Her doubt cut deeper than he cared to admit, reminding him of the divide that he had formed between them. He gazes down at the now slightly crumpled paperbag in his hands.

'It's for the mission,' Mason reminded himself, steeling his resolve. 'Nothing else.'

With a sense of trepidation, he brought the cookie to his lips, his movements slow and deliberate. The rich aroma filled his senses, and the flavors exploded on his tongue, mingling with the bitter taste of apprehension. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing with each passing moment. Yet..nothing. No poison. No familiar (thanks to Mabel's antics) uncomfortable sensations settling in his stomach. It was merely just a chocolate chip cookie.

Embarrassment washed over him as he glanced at Pacifica, her eyes wide with surprise. They were both standing in the forest as she watched him eat a fucking cookie. This felt as stupid as it sounded.

The silence granted him a chance to finally explain himself, "..We have poison testers at the mansion. I have a stronger immune system to poison, but i'm not completely exempt." He took a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing the crumbs off his lips. "I...miscalculated. I wasn't aware it was abnormal."

He watched her reaction turn from shock to understanding. Red began to dust her cheeks, probably from embarrassment. 

"Oh." Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, a hint of something unfamiliar lingering in her tone.

Mason shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the awkward silence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He opened his mouth to speak, to break the tension that seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog.

"I'll be sure to... refrain from asking you to test for poison, I-" he began, his words halting as Pacifica's voice cut through the quiet like a sharp blade.

"I'm sorry!" she interjected, her tone laced with genuine remorse. "I didn't even... think about that. I went ahead and assumed things."

And she had. Mason knew it, understood it, yet as he watched her pout deepen and saw the tremble in her voice, all he wanted in that moment was to spare her any more pain.

"No... you meant well," he reassured her, his words coming out in a rush now, fueled by a sudden urgency to ease her distress. "We are both accustomed to different lifestyles. It would've been illogical for you to know about poison testers. It was a lapse in judgment on my part."

Once he started speaking, he couldn't seem to stop, the words pouring out of him in an effort to soothe the raw emotions swirling between them. He watched as Pacifica's trembling subsided, her sad expression softening with a glimmer of gratitude.

The tension that had hung between them dissolved, replaced by a newfound understanding. They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of their previous conflict lifting like a veil. Pacifica bit her lip, her gaze meeting Mason's with a hint of uncertainty. "So, will I be seeing you next Monday?"

"If my schedule aligns," It always did.

Pacifica's triumphant grin lit up her features, her confidence infectious. "Alright then, friend. Don't worry, you're lucky to have me as your first friend-"

Why was she always so confident about that fact?

"-I've noticed all your not-so-stellar efforts at friendship, and I'm here to help you."

Mason's brow furrowed in confusion at her unexpected offer. What efforts is she talking about? Did she mean his visits to the Mystery Shack? The initial manipulation he had employed? He cursed inwardly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in their dynamic.

"What... do you mean?" Mason asked, his curiosity piqued yet guarded.

"I'll teach you how to make friends, of course!" 

What?!

Chapter Text

"Are you serious?"

Mason let a sigh escape his lips, irritated. The foreign sound he had woken up to turned out to be his ringtone - his phone vibrating under a layer of dust when he found it. He didn't use it often. Not out of any particular reason, he just didn't really see the point. There simply wasn't anyone worth contacting.

"Northwest do you realize the time? Do you have a death wish?"

"Oh you and your threats. They're getting old." She chastised, diminishing his words to mere banter.

His eyes flitter to the clock on the wall. "It's 8.32a.m." 

"Yes exactly! The day has started. The sun's waving hello-"

"Why are you calling me?" He cuts her off, already tired of the conversation.

"I told you! It's to start our operation get-dipper-a-friend-who-isn't-pacifica-"

"How did you even get this number?" Only a select few had his number, people she'd never have any relations to.

"A girl has her ways." How maddeningly cryptic.

"It's 8.32a.m."

"You already said that one?"

"I'm aware. I just wanted to stress how diabolical this whole situation is." Mason rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, resisting the urge to yawn. He started walking to his bed, wanting to resume his sleep. "Look, I'm not sure who you think you're talking to, but i had a late night yesterday."

"Doing what?"

"I was-" He caught himself. "Why would I tell you?"

"You almost did though."

"Goodbye, Northwest." 

"Wait!! You're not getting out of this one! We need to get you a friend remember?"

He gives in to the yawn, sitting on his bed. This felt a bit improper; calling while he was on his bed. Did people usually do this? Why did this even matter? God it is way too early for this. "I don't remember agreeing to this."

She giggled. Uh oh.

"What is it?"

She still giggled a little. "No, it's just- heh- i figured you'd say that so I'm already on the way to the manor to pick you up!"

"WHAT?" That certainly woke him up.

"Woah I didn't know you could scream like that.."

He cleared his throat, knowing the maids outside could've heard him. He walked over to his closet, then to his window, then back to his closet - unsure what to prioritize. 

"Okay, calm down. I can hear you freaking out. I stopped walking, geez. You really don't want your sister to know you're friends with me, huh?" She joked, but her tone had a hint of something deeper. Usually he'd pick up on that (not really) but he focused on the fact that she stopped walking. Good.

"I'll head to you."

"Okay b-"

He ends the call and sighs again. It's fucking 8am.

Victor had been a chauffeur for most of his life. Initially, he had rejected working for the Gleefuls, but with bills to pay and a family to raise, he couldn't afford to be picky. Despite the terrifying experiences, the pay had always been good for the past 23 years.

He'd been a driver for the youngest of the family for 14 years. Sir Gleeful had never been an early riser - engrossed in research for long hours of the night - or whatever he gets up to when cooped up in his room. Victor learned not to pry, knowing the consequences of curiosity. But one thing was certain: Sir Gleeful never left the house this early unless his sister forced him or when he had a rare morning errand (Sir Gleeful would never admit it, but Victor reckons that he bought a video game)

And so today, Victor was sipping his coffee as per his routine when he spots Sir Gleeful stepping out of the front door quietly, almost tripping on his own two feet. He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly stressed. Victor's room always had a better view of the outside so he could attend to his employer as soon as required to - that's why he had kept his steady job after all - so he downed his coffee, grabbed his coat and rushed outside.

"Sir." Victor bows politely. (though if he saw Sir Gleeful flinch, he was mindful to not speak a word)

"Oh. Victor. Perfect. Same place as the weekly schedules."

Mystery Shack again, he notes.

"Right away, sir."

Mabel awoke with a start.

Her shoulders soon relaxed when she recognized her room - the chaotic array of makeup strewn across her dresser, the potion books scattered haphazardly on the table, the faint glow of the AO3 tab she was reading left open on her phone - and she exhaled in relief.

The same nightmare had plagued her again. Her brother's trembling hand clutching hers, his pinky tapping a rhythmic tune onto the back of her hand as a silent plea of reassurance. Their parents berating her for her hair length, her posture, for being imperfect, not enough, never enough; their words slitting wounds onto her skin. And eventually so did their hands.

Breathe.

She hated mornings like these. They always left her feeling raw, vulnerable, exposed in a way she despised. Vulnerability was a luxury she couldn't afford, not in a world where weakness was preyed upon. Clutching the bedsheets tightly in her fists, she berated herself, her inner monologue a chorus of self-reproach because get a grip, get a grip, get a fucking grip. 

Mabel repeated the word like a mantra, willing herself to calm down, to push the memories back into the recesses of her mind where they belonged. Soon enough, she reclaimed the familiar emptiness she usually woke up to. Yes, this is how things should be - controlled, composed, unshakeable.

With a determined shake of her head, Mabel hops off to the shower, banishing the remnants of her nightmare to the depths of her mind. As she dressed, the discomfort of her vest against her skin grated on her nerves, a constant reminder of her distaste for the constraints of her wardrobe. Sweaters would be a welcome change, she mused, a small rebellion against the expectations placed upon her. Maybe in another life though.

Opting to distract herself, she made her way to the dining table for breakfast, her meal already laid out for her. Per her routine, Mabel always ate alone – once a foreign concept, now a welcome escape from the world she lived in before. Yet, as she reached for her glass of milk, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Mason's absence was glaringly obvious, a nagging reminder of the secrets he kept, the walls erected between them. The empty seats surrounding her seemed to mock her, a tangible reminder of their fractured bond. Logically speaking, Mason was probably still asleep. Though even if he wasn't - it didn't matter. Their bond simply wasn't same anymore..

Crack.

The sound echoed in the silence as the glass shattered beneath her fists, the mix of milk and blood staining the pristine floor. The maids rushed to the mess without hesitation, their impassive expressions betraying no hint of concern. Her eyes trail to her palm, the droplets of blood trickling down her wounds. Mabel couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment, as if she were an outsider looking in on her own life. She observed the maids through narrowed eyes, not a single one flinching at the shards that continued to wound her skin, probably joyous that she was in the catastrophe in the first place. She didn't take offense to this. It was a dog-eat-dog world, and she had long since learned to find solace in her pain.

She rose from her seat, the shards of glass digging into her palm, the pain a welcome distraction from the chaos swirling within her mind. With practiced ease, she made her way back to her room, her steps steady, her resolve unyielding.

Sitting at her work table, she pulled open the drawer, retrieving a pair of tweezers with a steady hand. She bit down on her lip as she extracted the glass shards from her palm, refusing to let a single wince escape her lips.

At times like these, her thoughts tend to wander back to that first encounter with a certain white-haired boy. She was no older than 7 could still feel the weight of her tears, the fabric of her seafoam dress clinging to her damp skin as she fled the stifling confines of the party. Lost and adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces, she had no desire to find her way back, no yearning to return to the judgmental gazes of her parents and their guests. Their glares had felt like insects crawling beneath her skin, a relentless itch that begged to be scratched, to be torn away.

And then, amidst her tears and sniffles, a glimmer of kindness appeared in the form of a simple napkin.

She looked up to find a boy, his genuine smile reaching the freckles dusted across his cheeks. His blue eyes filled with concern as he glanced at her. Not like the impassive looks her maids casted. Not like the hatred glares her parents shun her way.

"Are you okay? " he had asked.

Mabel closed her eyes, immersing herself in the memory.

After tending to her wounds, Mabel made her way to the bathroom to clean the cut on her palm, applying the healing potions with practiced precision. As she replaced the bottle on the shelf, her gaze fell upon the locked drawer in the corner of the room.

With a mixture of trepidation and longing, she pulled open the drawer, revealing the object she had kept hidden for years – the turquoise napkin, still folded neatly as it had been on that day. She had washed it in secret, preserving it like a precious relic, a tangible reminder of the kindness she had encountered in the midst of her despair. Or more specifically; him. She had never dared to use it, never allowed her fingers to brush against its soft fabric. It was still folded, just like when he gave it to her.

Mabel heaved a broken sigh, her fists clenching at her sides, her teeth gritted in frustration as she locked the drawer again with its contents still safe inside.

It doesn't matter what everyone thought their first encounter was. The moment they locked eyes at the Gleeful Twins' Magic Shows - Mabel recognized him almost immediately. She knew those kind blue eyes everywhere. At a moment of vulnerability when Mason had confronted her she excused that she fell for his rare shade of white hair. She couldn't care less what an outsider thought of their relationship. She knows Gideon recognizes her too and that's all she cared for.

She would make Gideon Pines love her. She knows he does. He could. It was meant to be, it had to be – destiny dictated as much.

For the first time in his life, Mason Gleeful didn't have an answer for his question.

The journey to his destination dragged on, each passing mile stretching into an eternity; perhaps because his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his long-forgotten bed. Nevertheless, it afforded him the opportunity to contemplate.

He was becoming too embroiled in this scheme.

Why was he allowing himself to be dictated to by some haughty commoner girl? All for a few strands of her hair? To appease his sister's potion-making whims? Was it truly worth it?

The answer was simple: No. No it was not.

Mabel Gleeful may have possessed greater social finesse compared to her twin, but she was still a force to be reckoned with. In a household steeped in their shared history of poison and familial intrigue, no one emerged unscathed. Initially, Mason sought revenge. Pacifica Northwest had provoked him with her taunts, igniting a fury within him that demanded retribution. Coincidentally, he had also taken note of his sister's growing infatuation with Gideon Pines. A lock of Pacifica's hair could elicit that rare, genuine smile from his sister, whom, buried deep, deep, very deep within him, he may have cared for. She hadn't been dragging him to as many events lately - thank god - but he knew the anniversary was approaching. She would require a distraction.

"You didn't do this to make friends. You're not seeking friendship. That's beyond your capacity, Mason Gleeful," he reiterated to himself like a chant, observing the Mystery Shack sign loom into view. He hadn't apologized for friendship back then. He had apologized to manipulate her into relinquishing strands of her hair. And after that he would expose her to the sting of betrayal.

As he stepped out of the car, his gaze immediately fell upon the blonde. She was fussing over a pig, of all things, speaking to the creature as if it were sentient. Every so often, she would laugh and coo at it, utterly oblivious to the presence of the Gleeful. Mason watched as her laughter shook her shoulders, the sound of it akin to a symphony to his ears.

His palms clenched into fists, the pressure so intense that his skin broke, drawing blood. Perhaps he wouldn't inflict harm on her in return. Physically, that is. Not that he had intended to, but in kind.

That wasn't him softening.

It was simply a strategic move.

For himself. To himself.

After all, they had already struck a deal involving the delphinium flower, hadn't they? And that had earned her trust. More deals would only further solidify that trust, which would then...what would it...?

"Oh, Dipper, you're here!"

Time slowed to a crawl.

Her smile, bestowed upon him with a warmth he had never before experienced, enveloped him.

He'd seen this smile before. It was the same one she gave to her brother , or her beloved Grunkle Stan. This smile was genuine; it crinkled at the corners of her eyes, reached her ears and it drew him in instantly.

And for the first time since their weird relationship, that smile was directed at him.

This was...for him?

The realization sent shockwaves through his senses. Mason's thoughts ground to a halt, the world around him blurring into insignificance. His mind turned to mush as he watched her approach, her hips swaying, her sapphire eyes like a mesmerizing current washing over him. Had she always been this beautiful? Why hadn't he seen it before?

Something inside him was trying to get him back on topic, to revert back to his calm composure to excel the mission but he was simply too...captivated. It felt so blurry. Her lips moved, forming words he failed to register - Oh fuck. She was asking a question. She had definitely asked him something. He was slowly snapping out of it, taking note of the curiosity behind her eyes. How long had be been looking?!

Don't panic. Just ask her what she said. Or answer very passively. Say something, you look super fucking weird, stop standing there, Just SPIT it out, you big oaf!

"Uhh," He said smartly.

Her laughter snapped him out of his reverie, and he found himself pursing his lips in embarrassment. Mentally chastising himself, he nodded in agreement as she suggested they head inside to escape the chill.

With a nod of his own, Mason followed her lead.

Chapter Text

He wrings his hands together and stands awkwardly by the door, his eyes roaming around the room. Her room replicates something similar what of his sister's room - an organized mess. But Northwest's room is filled to the brim with her knick-knacks, a burst of colors brightening every corner while his sister's is dominated by a dull palette and reeked of poison. The only thing they have in common is the clutter of clothes on their bed.

"Oh shoot!" Pacifica curses, following his line of sight. She hastily yanks her clothes and shoves it into the closet before hurrying back to her previous spot. "Uhh, you didn't see that."

Pacifica watches the hesitant look dancing in Dipper's eyes, as if her room is garbage itself. Geez, she even cleaned up today. What was his deal?

But she considers him and his get-up, and bites her lip nervously. How are you supposed to host a house guest that's wearing a suit probably worth a gazillion dollars? Do they even know how to sit on floors? They're probably used to thrones or whatever the rich do aren't they?

The two share an awkward silence - Pacifica, not knowing where to lead him and Mason, having never been invited to someone else's room before.

Mason makes the first move, taking a deep breath as he trudges into the unknown (a girl's room that isn't his sister's) and his eyes scan the environment—sharp objects, exit points—as he walks in. The window above her bed casts a warm glow into the room, and Mason almost gets distracted by the way it illuminates her golden hair.

Stop that, he chastises himself.

"You have a pig?" He asks, seeking distraction.

Thankfully Pacifica takes the bait, "Oh yes! You must've seen him outside. I won him at a fair - well it wasn't really winning since there wasn't a competition, but yeah." She starts one of her rambles, picking up a small portrait from her shelf. She practically bounces in excitement as she shows him the picture of her and the pig, a beauti- ahem, a wide smile plastered upon her face. "Looks that's me and Mr. Pig! Yeah I don't really have a name yet for him..."

Pacifica watches him with bated breath, unable to read him.He cocks his head, "Why keep a pig?"

"Hm?"

"Why not cook it?"

She gasps in horror, "You can't seriously be asking that! He's my pet, Dipper!"

"Gleeful. But what benefits does it provide?"

"What the hell are you talking about? A pet is a pet! It makes me happy!"

"Does emotional benefit overpower food resources? I believe the lack of income in your family would require you to use whatever you can get."

She goes silent, mouth agape; the portrait in her hand long forgotten. She takes a few steps back, his words filling up enough space between the two - harsh and ignorant. Past Pacifica would have slapped him, berated him and kicked him out. And honestly? past Pacifica was well in her right to do so.

But present Pacifica is trying to teach her friend how to be normal, so she dampens her temper, heaves a sigh, and places her portrait back down.

"See this is exactly what I was talking about, you dunce." She purses her lips and almost rolls her eyes at the confusion painting his features. She grabs the bean bags from the corner and throws the white one to him. "Alright sit down. We've much to discuss, bone head."

"I don't appreciate these insults-"

"Zip it."

Mason glares back at Pacifica but remains silent (p̶e̶r̶h̶a̶p̶s̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ i̶n̶t̶i̶m̶i̶d̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶) and hovers over the round object. 

He didn't have the chance to say it before but he hadn't the slightest clue what the fuck this was.

And what did she say? Sit? Maybe it had some sort of mechanism to turn it into a chair? His guesses are thwarted when she simply dumps herself in her purple bag-thing in a huff, the object foaming up and hugging her body. Would that happen to him too? Germs at every inch and cranny just prodding his skin? He didn't want that!

"What are you standing around for?"

"I'd..much rather stand."

She looks at him.

He looks at her.

She stifles a laugh, looking to the side. He raises an eyebrow but she's quick to follow with a reply, "You don't know what that is, do you?"

He feels his cheeks grow warm from embarrassment, trying his best to quell it down "I certainly do."

"Uhuh sure, sit in it then."

"I'd rather not."

"Dipper, don't be fussy. It's just a puff."

"P-pahff?" He tests it out on his tongue.

His cheeks turn a darker shade of red when she graces the room with another laugh. She wipes a tear from her eye and sits up after a bit of a struggle. "Here, I'll help you out." was the last thing she said before grabbing him on the shoulders, startling the brunette.

"Wh- uh?-"

"Sit!" She exclaims, pushing him down.

In her defense, it was the first time she'd seen Dipper blush.

So who'd fault her for wanting to tease him a little? The splash of red on his cheeks was a pleasant contrast from the prim and proper way he held himself.

However.

However.

She hadn't meant for them to end up in this position.

Her upper body weight rested solely on her arms; the same arms that had cage him in. It was an uncomfortable strain on her shoulders, but his hot breath on her lips distracted her from the ache - her eyes mindlessly trailing across his collarbone as it peeks from behind his shirt and the bead of sweat trickles down his temple-

And she wasn't necessarily religious, but jesus fucking christ.

He looked way better up close. 

This was way different from the last time he had slammed her against that tree in the woods, when they still despised each other and she wanted that guy to suffer but now she...well. You can say she hates him a little less, because they're friends goddammit! 

She blinks and lets her eyelids stay closed a little longer, hyping herself up. This is normal, she repeats in her head like a chant. You're friends, don't make it weird, you're just being friendly. After her mini scolding session, she gathers the courage to open her eyes and flashes him one of her smiles.

"See! Just a puff. Isn't it comfy?" 

"Uhmgh," Uhmgh?

She giggles at his reply and gets off him; the poor guy is still wide-eyed and a little disheveled, she had probably crushed his bones too. Yikes. She had to stop acting like such a teenager and grow up! So what's with a little skin. People wear swimsuits all the time, it's summer, Pacifica Northwest.

She watches him a little longer, trying to gauge a reaction but he simply stares into the distance, wide-eyed. After a while, he reverts back to his normal expression and turns to her. "So, the discussion?"

"Right!" Pacifica exclaims, settling into her own purple puff with a huff. She grabs her pen and journal from the dresser—a purple princess themed book with a number lock, something she hadn't bothered to replace because, honestly, it was still cute.

"Let's start with something simple." She flips open the journal, poised for answers. "The first day I met you, you were hiding from your sister. You kept coming back to the shack—without her knowing—and you still do. So, why?"

He had the gall to widen his eyes a fraction as if he was shocked she asked the most basic question of all - and focuses his gaze on her purple rhino plushie on her bed instead. Conversations with Dipper were mostly filled with long silences, she notes, and she had to learn to be patient for him to reply.

While he had a stare-down with her innocent plushie on her bed, she took the distraction as a sign to gaze at him again. His collar was crooked from the fall, she should fix that before he notices and charges her a bazillion dollars later.

"Consolation." he finally says. She cocks her head in question, urging him to continue.

"On our first meeting, you regarded me as someone that you thought was 'better' than my sister." If she didn't know better, his expression had turned a little solemn at the thought but she brushed it off, "I'm not the best with apologies, but i understand frequent visits can ease us into conversation. Like the one now."

She hums in understanding. "So you don't approve of your sister's actions?"

He rolls his eyes and sighs, leaning into the puff (Pacifica thought he looked quite comfortable now). Crossing his arms, he aims a frown at her, "That dolt? Of course not. All the foolish things she's done; of which most I'm being dragged around to - all for this stupid guy that she's barely even met."

"What if she just likes him genuinely?"

"I don't care what she thinks, her behavior bringing embarrassment to the Gleefuls! I don't understand why she's so entranced by him either. All he does is mutter and trip over himself, I mean there are clearly better suitors we've met from social events. And what's with that hat he's always wearing? Is it to keep his secrets? Or to hide his hair? I don't trust people whose hair is bigger than their head. I don't trust him to be near my sister."

A pause.

Pacifica watches as Dipper grows a little restless from the unexpected silence, as his eyes finally meet hers. "What. What is it."

"I don't know.. I thought you twins were kind of these. Separate entities. And while I'm not far off, you have normal traits sometimes. Like sometimes you're just a protective brother."

"I am not a protective brother." he says almost immediately.

"I don't trust him to be near my sister."

"I don't sound like that."

"I don't sound like that."

"Stop that."

"Stop that."

"I'm not humoring you."

She snickers at the situation, startling him. Her expression dims towards something understanding and she smiles, "Alright then. Understood. Apology maybe accepted."

"Maybe?"

"You're still weird, Dipper."

"Gleeful. Anyone ever told you it's not very nice to call people weird?"

"Anyone ever told you it's not very nice to make people hallucinate themselves bleeding?"

Another pause.

"..Touché. I'll take the maybe then."

She crosses her arms, "Why did you do that to me anyway? I don't think I ever knew."

He exhales a sigh, "What is this, a therapy session? Must you ask everything?"

"It doesn't hurt to be a little curious when you had me convinced I was dying!"

"You weren't even hurt. Where's the harm?" And at that, Pacifica had to pick her jaw off the floor.

Calm down Present Pacifica. This is not worth it. It's okay.

'No you are worth it, Paz!' yells a mini Pacifica with devil ears, poofing into existence on her shoulder. 'What kind of friend is just an asshole to you!'

'You have to be patient with him. Baby's first time making friends and all that.' argued the angel-wings Pacifica on her other shoulder.

'EXACTLY. Are we saying it's okay for him to just diminish his friends' self-worth?!'

Huh. You have a point.

'Hey, don't get distracted Present Pacifica!'

“The harm is that it fucking sucked, Dipper,” Pacifica spits, her voice laced with frustration. She crosses her arms tightly, frowning. “You don’t just cast spells on people because things don’t go your way.”

“Gleeful,”

“I’m serious,” she snaps, cutting him off before he can deflect. The shift in her mood is palpable.

Sensing the tension in the air, Mason adjusts his posture, sitting up straighter. He levels her with an unsettlingly calm stare. “Do I joke? It didn’t leave any scars, did it?”

Pacifica’s eyes narrow. “Just because the scars aren’t visible doesn’t mean they’re not there. It was messed up. How many times have you done that, anyway?” Her voice falters as uncertainty creeps in. She hesitates, but her curiosity forces the question out. “How many people have you hurt?”

Mason tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with that unnerving, detached air. “How else would I punish people, Pacifica Northwest?”

Before she can even gather a response, he stands abruptly and moves toward her, his presence suddenly imposing. Her pulse quickens, and a chill runs down her spine, reminding her of the first time she saw him use his magic, back in the woods. That same cold, dangerous energy clings to him now. The room feels smaller, and her body tenses, but she refuses to back down.

He looms over her, his voice soft but sharp. “You seem to have all these questions as if you know the right answers. Let’s hear it then.” His eyes are no longer warm—they’ve darkened, now resembling dried blood. His gaze is unnervingly fixed on hers, piercing straight through her, forcing her to hold her breath.

Pacifica’s mind races with thoughts, but every potential retort freezes in her throat. She wants to scream at him—Why would you punish anyone in the first place?—but the intensity of his stare locks her in place. Then, his eyes flick downwards, and she almost flushes at the sudden attention. Her heart hammers in her chest, but her body refuses to move.

“Gone quiet, have we?” he mutters, his eyes narrowing slightly. She flinches when his gaze snaps back to her face. “Here’s a word of advice: practice precaution. If you think I’m mean or dangerous, stop trying to befriend me.” His voice lowers into something colder, sharper. "And to answer your question; you cannot expect the townsfolk to stick by your rules from words alone. Look around you, Northwest. Does it look like your words have done any damage so far?"

The moment his taunt settles in, Pacifica snaps out of her trance, gritting her teeth.

Something about Pacifica Northwest? She wasn't a naturally angry person. She liked to see the good in people. She believed communication can solve even the biggest of issues, because understanding each other is the first step to any relationship. But Dipper had a tendency to rile her up to no end, and to criticize the importance of words? As though he had high skills in the social world? Who the hell does he think he is!

"Fine! I'll use my fucking words." She stands up, her confidence flaring back to life as she closes the distance between them, flipping the tables on him. “Tell me this, Dipper—why the hell do you want to rule Reverse Falls so badly? What could you possibly gain from ruling over people you clearly don’t care about?”

Her words hit him like a brick. For the first time in their conversation, he’s quiet. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, his pupils widening. She recognizes the dangerous turquoise glow in his eyes—the same unsettling shift she saw the first time he used his magic on her. His necklace flickers, gaining the same eerie color.

Of course, his reaction to a simple question would be extreme. What else was new? Pacifica holds her ground, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of it all. How did it even come to this? Would it always be fighting when it comes to the two of them?

"Seriously? Using your magic against me? Real mature. Here you called me out for being foolish but you don't seem so bright yourself."

Mason’s magic fades at her taunt, his necklace dimming as though he’s reined it back in. She smirks, knowing she’s gotten under his skin. She liked having that power over him.

“Northwest…” he begins, his tone dark with warning, but it only fuels her determination.

“I’m going to make this clear so we can avoid more of your tantrums—you don’t scare me, Mason Gleeful.” Her voice drops to a whisper, venomous and intimate. “Not your magic, not your little god complex, and definitely not your reputation. So quit throwing fits and stop running from the idea of us being friends, because I swear to God, I’ll make you admit you like me if it’s the last thing I do.”

She lets the weight of her words hang in the air. As friends. as friends. as friends.

She doesn’t break eye contact, and for the briefest moment, she swears she sees him gulp. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. This egotistical, insufferable boy was actually intimidated by her—and she liked it. There’s a strange thrill to it, knowing she has the power to fluster him. Something about him had always intrigued her, but now? Now it felt like they were playing a game. A game of secrets and sharp words, with the stakes rising higher each time.

Talking to Dipper Gleeful felt like diffusing a bomb—careful, meticulous, and always one wrong move away from disaster.

Reluctantly, Pacifica takes a step back, allowing the tension to ease. “I think we’ve gotten a little off-topic,” she says, giving them both space to breathe.

Dipper blinks, as if snapping himself back into the present. “Right. Um, well…” His voice trails off, and he falls silent, the previous intensity now replaced with an odd hesitation. Was he mad? She can’t tell. A moment ago, he seemed so clear, so easy to read, but now he’s slipped behind an unreadable wall.

Pacifica bites her lip, her eyes flicking to the side. She can’t let things end like this, not today. It’s always a battle just to get him to talk to her, and this was supposed to be a rare moment where they could actually bond. It can’t fall apart now. It just can’t.

“Northwest, I think I should—”

“Do you want to play a video game?!” she blurts out, louder than intended. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she cringes. He’s probably going to roll his eyes or shut her down, or worse, not even know what a video game is. He doesn't even know what a beanbag is, for crying out loud-

“Video games?”

Oh.

Pacifica clears her throat. “Uh, yeah, I have a few.” She fumbles slightly as she pulls out her console, handing him a black controller. She watches, mesmerized, as his eyes light up with sudden interest. He stares at the controller in his hands like it’s some kind of fascinating artifact.

Is… this real? Pacifica’s mind races. She’s never seen Dipper look like this. Not in all their time together. There’s a childlike curiosity in his gaze, and she can’t stop herself from watching, barely able to process what she’s seeing.

She shakes off her daze, pulling open a drawer. “You probably don’t know any of these games, but—”

“Street Fighter Zero 2.”

She freezes mid-motion. Oh.

Pacifica slowly turns back to him, her eyes landing on the Street Fighter Zero 2 case in his hand. He’s fixated on it, completely oblivious to her shock. Should she say something? Point out that he clearly knows what this is? Probably not, especially after their argument. Besides, he’s so absorbed in the game that he hasn’t even realized how excited he looks. Actually, now that she’s thinking about it… why is this kind of… cute?

Pacifica glances at him again, her eyes catching on his pursed lips and the gleam in his eyes. It takes everything in her to hold back a grin. She can’t help it—he looks so genuinely excited, so unguarded, and it’s ridiculously adorable.

“Yeah, we can play that,” she says, her voice a little gentler than before.

“Now?” he asks, a little too quickly.

Pacifica stifles a laugh, his eagerness practically radiating off him. “Do you want to play it now?”

He nods aggressively and Pacifica nearly melts on the spot. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from cooing or, God forbid, pinching his cheeks. Instead, she just nods, trying to act calm and composed when internally she’s squealing at how freaking adorable he looks.

“Okay,” she says, busying herself with setting up the game, acting like a responsible, good, considerate friend—when really, she’s trying not to lose it over this unexpected soft side of Dipper Gleeful.

Chapter Text

He had never been so absolutely obliterated. 

Turns out, playing video games in the solitude of your secret bunker during rare moments of spare time doesn't compare to someone who practically lives with spare time.

"Hey, I have stuff to do too!" Pacifica had argued. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered after she beat him every single time. Twenty-seven rounds straight.

"One more," Dipper says, gripping the controller as if his life depends on it.

"That's enough, Dip." 

"Northwest. One more." 

"Girl..." she trails off, glancing at him with a look that screams disappointed mother. "Give it up. I'm better than you. Face it."

Dipper leans in, turns her head towards him, and holds up one finger. "One. Just one more."

She smirks. "We've had eight 'one more's."

"This is the last."

"...And three 'this is the last's."

"Northwest..." His voice cracks slightly, a desperate whine slipping through. She nearly caves because oh my god that's so freaking cute??

"Dipper, no! Come on. We'll play your game another time." She's already setting down her controller, when—

He freezes, sucking in a sharp breath.

Pacifica's eyes widen, eyebrows raised in realization. "Ah." She lets the sound hang, playful as ever. "You just realized you let that slip, didn't you?"

His lighthearted expression vanishes, replaced by a glare. "Northwest, if you tell anyone—"

"Yap, yap, yap," she interrupts, rolling her eyes and patting his shoulder dismissively. "Oh no, Dipper Gleeful plays g-g-games?! The world is in PIECES."

She throws him a teasing smile, but it fades when she notices his gaze has dropped to the ground. His nails are digging into his palms, shoulders trembling slightly. Her expression shifts into something softer, "Hey, I was just kidding, I'm sorry. I won't tell, okay? I promise." She reassures him, resting her hands on his. She wasn't sure why the thought of people knowing he played games was so terrifying to him, but the two were from completely different worlds. There are just some things she wouldn't understand yet, she figures. She just has to be there for him nevertheless.

He lets her hands stay there for a while before swatting them away and grunting in acknowledgement. No insults or a glare? He's learning. She can't help but be a little proud.

"Anyway," she changes the subject, leaning back with a grin, "I think we made good progress today. You had fun, didn't you?"

He shrugs. He was well aware that he wasn't good at hiding it this time around. He had just forgotten - he hadn't played video games with someone in so long. But he'd die before admitting that.

"I know you did and you're too shy to admit it." What the fuck- "But that's okay. I won't force you. That's the beauty of friendship. Come on, up top, dip dip!" She grins, holding her hand up. As expected, he simply shoots her a look and doesn't gesture to move. "We'll get those someday."

His glare remains, but there's no heat behind it anymore. He's blinking slowly now, his exhaustion creeping in after being up so early. Seeing him like this—quiet, tired, but calm—it hits her. Cute. He's just so damn cute. When did that happen?

"Northwest?" His voice breaks her thoughts.

"Pacifica."

He cocks his head, confused. Cute, cute, cute.

"You can call me Pacifica," she repeats, smiling. "I mean, that is my name."

Dipper furrows his brow, shifting uncomfortably in his white puff chair. He's been sitting in it too long, and his posture is suffering. "That would be disrespectful to you."

Pacifica rolls her eyes. "Literally, what are you talking about? Calling me by my family name is weird. Is the whole Northwest clan hiding out in here?" She jokes, waving her arms around the room. "Just call me Pacifica."

"Pa..." He clears his throat. Why won't his voice come out? He tries again, but nothing. Feeling betrayed by his own words, he decides to deflect. "Northwest, just drop it."

She looks at him in that way she's been doing all day, like he's some kind of adorable, clueless kitten. He probably is misreading it—he's never been good at this kind of thing.

"I mean, you've called me Pacifica before."

What? "What?"

"You know, when you ran after me in the woods like the end of a romcom—"

"Alright! Noted." He cuts her off, gritting his teeth. The memory makes him cringe, embarrassment prickling his skin. Damn that day. Damn his magic. Will was going to get it.

Pacifica giggles, her blonde hair swaying as she leans into her laughter. Her eyes close in delight, completely lost in her own joy, as though oblivious to the world around her. Dipper notices her long lashes, the way they flutter against her cheeks—the details so much clearer with how close they're sitting.

He watches her.

She looks at him.

He takes a breath.

You should call me Mason.

A soft smile quirks her lips and she leans further into her puff. One strap of her tank top slips down her arm, baring her shoulder. Her blue eyes painted with curiosity as she looks at him in question, "What is it? You look like you wanna tell me something."

You should call me Mason, Pacifica. I want to hear my name off your lips.

"Dipper?"

Oddly enough, when you were mad at me for insulting you; you were the most attractive I'd seen you. When you called my name for the first time in that tone of all things; I wanted nothing more than for you to-

"Hey!" She shakes his shoulder, breaking him from his trance. He blinks a few times, meeting her worried gaze. "You okay? I feel like I lose you sometimes."

"I... think I have to go." 

"Oh." Her lips pout, and his eyes flicker to them before he can stop himself. "You sure? We barely did anything today."

"Waking up at 8:32 a.m. wasn't in my schedule," he replies, voice stiff, "but I have other things lined up. I'm a busy man, Northwest." He starts toward the door.

She follows after him, pinching his sleeve, "Wait, could you calm down! Why are you leaving so suddenly? Did I do something? I thought we patched things up." Her wide, pleading eyes lock onto him, stopping him in his tracks. "Is it... the name thing? Is that one of those things you don't like? If so, I'll—"

"No, that's not it. I just have to go." He reassured her, as he did before. It comes way too easily these days. "I'll visit Thursday."

Her entire face lights up, shoulders visibly relaxing with relief. She cheers and waves him off, all smiles and bright energy, and he watches it all unfold in slow motion. Watches her tank top strap stay off her shoulder, unnoticed. Watches her try for another high-five that he doesn't return. Watches her pout and push him out the door with playful energy.

That damn strap is still off her shoulder.

He mindlessly walks back to the car, Vincent had probably greeted him at some point, he couldn't remember. By the time he blinks back into awareness, he's seated in his leather chair, locked away in the quiet of his room, his hands clasped tightly together. His knuckles are white.

What. 

The Fuck.

His hands squeeze tighter, trying to anchor himself to something—anything—but his thoughts spiral out of control.

What the fuck was that?

He's never felt this way before. Nothing in his life has prepared him for this sudden, overwhelming flood of emotions. This is uncharted territory—dangerous, unknown, terrifying.

He thinks back to when it started. The cookies. That's when it all began. The way her eyes softened in that annoyingly endearing way, that she was introducing something new. Something he couldn't control. He doesn't know exactly what it is yet, but it's enough for him to want to crawl out of his own skin. It's not like anything he's experienced before. And it's horrifying. It's too much, all at once.

He acknowledges—fine, whatever—that she's beautiful. He's not blind, after all. He's human. He has eyes. That's between him and his thoughts, nothing more. But everything else? The way she made him feel today? It's too much to handle. He actually felt...relief. 

He had fun. Fun. With her. 

It's been so long since he's played a game against anyone other than a bot. And for a brief moment, he wasn't stressed—wasn't thinking about magic or secrets or anything else that consumes him. For the first time in ages, he felt a strange kind of... peace. He had almost smiled. Almost. And that was the most dangerous part. Feeling good is dangerous. There's a reason he's always been so guarded.

And then there's... that.

He thinks back to when she cornered him, her gaze flickering downward, when she shivered involuntarily under his intimidation. But that moment—the one where she whispered that she wasn't afraid of him—the way her breath hit his skin, and if she hadn't backed away right then...

Then..what? What would he have done? What did he even fucking mean by that?

Dipper stands up abruptly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His collar is crooked, and his shirt is wrinkled from sitting in that damn puff chair. Every crease, every imperfection feels like a trace of her—like she's still there, in the room with him.

Goddamn it, don't think about it like that. Fucking creep. You idiot. You absolute moron.

A flicker of memory rushes back to him. Fourteen-year-old Mason Gleeful, sitting alone in his bunker, staring at Chun-Li on the character screen for a little too long. The figurines on his shelf—all special editions—how he'd spent what felt like hours just staring at them. For the details, obviously.

He slumps back into his chair, warmth creeping into his cheeks. His hand covers his mouth as he lets out a frustrated huff. He doesn't dare look at himself in the mirror again—he knows he's red. His thoughts whirl, sticking uncomfortably in his chest. What the hell is this? It's all so confusing. It's so much.

Books.

He needs books. Books will help him understand. 

The petal's texture felt rough underneath her fingertips, as it grinded, grinded and grinded — crumbling it into dust.

Mabel curses under her breath.

She's been off her game lately—ingredients misplaced, potions failing, and, most pressing of all, the glaring absence of a certain white-haired boy.

Her lips curl into a sly smile, though her eyes remain half-lidded, tired. It's been, what, a week? No wonder.

Sliding the crushed petals into a glass case, she places it in the corner of her table with more care than necessary, then practically skips out of her room. The path to his door is second nature to her now. Even so, the familiar route does nothing to quiet her nerves. Inviting him out was always fun, but the pretending? not very much.

"May?" she calls, rapping her knuckles against his door, the nickname lilting on her tongue like a charm. "Get up, Mason! It's late. Play with meee!" Her words drip with mock impatience as she follows up with another series of knocks.

The silence that answers her is expected at first—Mason never answers immediately. But as the moments stretch longer, her playful grin fades, replaced by a faint shadow of worry. He's been out a lot lately, more than usual. Maybe one day, she thinks, he'll invite her to come along. Like they used to.

But well, pigs don't fly, do they, Mabel?

She shakes off the thought, puffing out her cheeks in frustration. Whatever! He knows she can unlock his door if she wants to anyway. As she fishes through her sling bag for a potion, Will suddenly pops itself into existence next to her. She almost jumps (which would've been embarrassing) but she recovers with a roll of her eyes, "You little brat. How'd you get out?"

"U-uh, I'm terribly sorry Miss, I know you trapped me in the forcefield but Master had just summoned me-"

Her fingers tighten around the bag. So he can invite Will and not his own fucking sister?

Grinding her teeth, she glares at the little demon, who immediately shrinks under her gaze. Her fist raises to bang on Mason's door, but Will's trembling voice interrupts her.

"Master said to tell you, um..." The demon hesitates, his translucent form flickering faintly. "He said, 'Not today.'"

Mabel freezes, her hand hovering inches from the wood. "Not today?" she echoes, her voice sharp and low. Not today? He asked Will to tell her that?

Something's wrong. She's known it for a while, the signs creeping in like shadows under the door. Mason's been different. First, he stopped following her to Gideon's, something he always did—even if he complained the entire way. She thought those outings were an unspoken ritual, their sibling thing. But lately, he's been skipping them without explanation.

Fine, she'd told herself at first. It's only a few times. No need to overthink.

But then there was the poison.

He hadn't given her something poisonous last week—a routine exchange between them, one she always looked forward to. In hindsight, she should be happy. She guesses. But that's not the way Mabel Gleeful worked; she loved poisons and potions; Poison meant experimentation, discovery, projects she loved. Mason knew how much she loved it. Even when he acted disinterested, she knew he was listening. He always listened.

And now this. The deliberate message through Will. Don't bother me.

He's never done that before. If he wanted to avoid her, he'd seal his door or disappear without a word, as usual. But this? This was different.

Her hand drops to her side, limp. The realization lands like a heavy weight in her chest, impossible to ignore. Does it mean there's something important afoot? Or is this—every silence, every brushed-off moment—telling her something louder and more painful?

Mason's grown tired of her.

And if she didn't have her brother, what else did she have?

Chapter Text

❝ Heartburn is a burning sensation that feels like it's in your heart, but isn't really. It's in your esophagus, the swallowing tube that runs alongside your heart. The feeling is caused by acid refluxing up from your stomach. ❞

Mason blinks. Once. Twice. His vision sharpens as his thoughts churn.

No way.

Had all the poison integrated into his system finally come back to bite him? After years of careful buildup, of conditioning, of refining his body into something untouchable—had it all crumbled to dust? Was it the cookies? The brief moment of vulnerability? Had he really left himself unguarded long enough for poison to wease itself into his veins in that short amount of time?

Leaning back in his chair, he rakes a hand through his hair and exhales slowly. Whatever happened to plot armor?

His gaze drifts to the calendar perched on his desk, the bold red circle around the date reminding him: Showtime. Again.

It feels like the last time he even spoke to Mabel was at their previous performance. Everything between then and now has been unnervingly quiet. Not that silence was inherently bad—if anything, it should be a relief—but the absence of her usual presence is... off-putting.

Shaking off the thought, he pushes himself out of his chair and heads to dinner.

Mabel is already at the table when he arrives, seated with an air of unusual stillness. Her chin is propped on her hand, her food untouched. She lifts her head when he enters, their eyes meeting and Mason has to actively stop himself from flinching at the look she offers him.

He nods slowly in greeting. 

She stares.

Sensing a weird tension, Mason takes a seat, the familiar rhythm of their meals falling into place. The staff moves in autopilot, serving their plates in perfect order. He picks up his fork. Cuts into his food. Chews. Swallows. 

And yet—nothing.

No quips. No chatter. No effortless ease that Mabel usually brings to the table.

The silence presses down.

It occurs to Mason, for the first time in what feels like forever, that he has never been the one to start a conversation with his sister. Not in a long, long time.

"Mason."

His head lifts at the sound of his name. Her voice is steady, but her expression is unreadable. Her plate remains mostly full. Even an idiot could tell something is wrong.

"How are you?" she asks.

He blinks. That's... unexpected.

"I've been fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Studying more magic. Punishing the people." He exhales. "Frankly, I don't see how that's any of your business." The words slip out automatically, but there's no real edge to them. Banter feels hollow without Mabel's usual energy. But what else is he supposed to say?

"Nothing out of the ordinary, you say." She hums, stirring her untouched food.

Mason clenches his jaw. Alright. He's probably messed up. The poison thing, then? Is that what this is about?

So what? 

Mabel being sensitive is nothing new. This shouldn't bother him. If anything, it's just another bump, and the best thing to do in these situations is to leave Mabel alone.

After a beat of silence, he asks, "For our upcoming performance, are you interested in doing anything particular?"

"Three days."

His brows shoot up. "What?"

"Let's do it in three days," she repeats, still not looking at him.

"Mabel, don't be ridiculous." His grip tightens on his utensils. "What are we supposed to prepare in such little time?"

She idly pushes her food around with her fork. Her posture is wrong—slouched, careless, unconcerned. It puts a twitch in his eye, irritation rising from some place he can't name.

"The audience is hypnotized, Mason. It's not like they're going to remember."

"Yes, but if we don't conduct the ritual properly, our magic might not—"

"It'll restore. It always does." She sighs, a heavy, exhausted thing, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Mason, I'm tired. You asked what I wanted to do. This is it."

He tries to read her, to dissect what's going on behind that guarded expression, but the more he pushes, the higher her walls rise. Punching through them would only cause more damage.

So he grits his teeth. And caves.

Having decided she's done with the conversation, he watches as she leaves the table and heads to her room, her food barely even touched.

Mason tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he watches the object twist and flicker with an unnatural light. It shifts—fog-like one second, a cascade of smooth, drifting sand the next. His frown deepens. What is that texture?

His mind doesn't just linger on the strange artifact itself but the countless hands that must have touched it before him. The tourists. The locals. The sheer filth of the Mystery Shack. His stomach twists at the thought.

If he reached out now—if he removed his gloves, let his bare fingers make contact—it would be no different than shaking their hands. The very idea makes him want to retch.

And yet, before the disgust can take full hold, an image of Mabel flashes in his mind.

Wide-eyed, beaming, positively enchanted at the thought of a new texture to experiment with. He can picture her now—abandoning whatever potion she was working on, hands outstretched in reckless eagerness. She loves moments like these. There's a particular shine in her eyes when he brings her poison, a kind of bubbly glee that overrides even her worst moods.

Mason can't tell you why she's obsessed with it. But it does make gift-giving easier.

He sighs, gesturing to remove his gloves.

"Gleeful." 

His fingers pause at the edge of his glove before subtly retreating, his hands clasping together instead. He doesn't need to turn around to know who's behind him. And frankly, he has no obligation to acknowledge them, either.

"I'm not an idiot, kid." The voice—gruff, steady, unmistakable—belongs to Stanford Pines. "Gravity Falls is a small town, and when you run a business, you hear what's hot on the rumor mill. People say they've seen you with a girl."

A slow smirk tugs at Mason's lips.

"You think I'm stupid?"

"Well, if you're inquiring..."

It happens in a flash.

A sharp whizz through the air—Mason barely tilts his head in time to dodge the brass-knuckled fist aimed straight for his skull. The force of it lodges deep into the wooden shelf behind him, the spikes embedded there with an unsettling finality. Had he been a fraction of a second slower, those same spikes would be buried in his head instead.

Still, Stan's reflexes are nothing to scoff at. The near miss leaves its mark—Mason feels the sting of a fresh cut across his cheek, warm blood dribbling down his face.

Slowly, he turns.

"Hurting a Gleeful. Bold of you, Pines," he murmurs, voice even.

Stan only clicks his tongue, shoving his hands into his pockets, eyes never leaving the boy in front of him. "That was a warning, kid." His voice is firm. Unshaken. "I know about your little tricks at those shows. I know what you did to my grandkid. I'm not letting you Gleefuls sink your claws into another. Not this time. Not ever again."

Mason's lips twitch—not into a smirk, but something smaller. Colder. "And you think this—" he gestures lazily to the thin line of blood on his face "—is the solution?"

Stan's gaze darkens. "I knew your parents, kid. Don't forget that."

The air in the room shifts.

Wendy flinches as the vase near her shatters, ceramic shards scattering across the floor. The air thickens, growing heavy with something unnatural. The lights flicker. The room turns suffocating, the temperature dropping, the floorboards groaning under an invisible weight.

Stan doesn't flinch.

But he notices Mason's pupils have changed.

And the look on his face—pure, simmering rage—is enough to freeze the room.

"Do not talk about them," Mason warns, his voice no longer light, no longer teasing. It's a thinly veiled threat.

But Stan? He isn't deterred.

He had failed once before. He had stood by, blind, when Mabel had hurt Gideon—when his own negligence allowed disaster to strike. He had promised himself it wouldn't happen again. Would never happen again.

His fists clench at his sides, but his voice is calm.

"Then stay away from my family," he says. "That's all I ask. I don't meddle in your business, you don't meddle in mine."

The silence that follows is deafening. Slowly, Mason's magic fades. The oppressive energy seeps out of the room, releasing its hold on the air.

Wendy, still clutching her magazine, peeks cautiously from behind the counter. The tension in the air has been suffocating for the past week, and with Mason around, she's only been left with more questions and zero answers.

And just to abide those wishes, another large question mark enters the shack.

Pacifica is draped in her usual effortless cool—straight-cut jeans, a tank top, and a bomber jacket slung over her shoulders. She's laughing with her two best friends, her golden hair catching the last remnants of daylight. Carefree. Unbothered. It's a taller muscular woman who spots Gleeful first -eyes widening, elbow jabbing into Pacifica's side with an urgency that nearly topples her.

Pacifica flicks her gaze toward him, those sapphire-blue eyes blinking beneath her lashes, her laughter dying into confusion.

Mason clenches his jaw.

He doesn't like this.

Being seen like this—on the heels of that embarrassing confrontation with Stanford, feeling exposed and vulnerable—it makes his skin crawl. He hates the scrutiny. The way Pacifica's presence alone forces him into some unwelcome spotlight. He hates it. He really, really fucking hated it. 

"It is you."

An unfamiliar voice cuts through the moment.

Mason turns, expression unreadable, as a girl with jet-black eyes—partially obscured by glasses—fixes him with something close to recognition.

His mind scrambles.

He should know her. He should have this information filed neatly in his mental catalog of the town's inhabitants. But after such an emotionally charged—vulnerable—moment (in his own begrudging definition), his thoughts feel sluggish. He simply returns her gaze with blank puzzlement.

"You know him, Candy?" Pacifica asks.

The name clicks. Mason exhales slowly, disguising his relief. Right. Candy Chiu. How could he have forgotten?

Candy nods, looking slightly flustered as she fiddles with her fingers. "Yes. He was there when I passed out with that girl..." She hesitates, blush deepening. "You know...the failed experiment I told you about?" Her eyes dart nervously between her friends. Grenda's mouth forms an "O" of realization before she claps her hands together, loud enough to turn a few heads.

"Oh! You mean your crush?"

"GRENDA!"

"Oops."

Mason barely registers their exchange. His mind latches onto the puzzle pieces snapping together— The Candy Chiu Mabel had raved about her just the other day. Candy Chiu, who also happens to be Pacifica Northwest's friend.

What ungodly coincidence was this?

He's always known the people of Gravity Falls. But their connections? Their personal relationships? He's never paid much attention—never found the need. Why should he care about some random girl with no remarkable traits?

But this...this is Mabel's crush? What, is she going to make Candy her next obsession? After all these years? Mason suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. What is it with his sister and finding interest in the most bland-looking people?

"Calm down, Mr. Gleeful, sir. " Pacifica's voice is sickly sweet, her tone dripping with mockery. She deliberately stresses his name, pushing at boundaries. After all, she can't be seen befriending him. But the mere act of talking to him out here, in broad daylight, sends a thrill down Mason's spine more than he'd care to admit.

"No one is taking away your sister," she continues smoothly.

His lip curls. Always a mockery with this one. "I did not imply that."

"That look on your face says otherwise," She sing-songs.

"There is no look."

"There is too!"

"You are sorely mistaken, Northwest."

"Uhm," Wendy finally speaks up, asking the question she's been yearning to know the answer for. "Do you two know each other?"

The two freeze, Pacifica's smile faltering slightly. Mason clears his throat and crosses his arms as he replies with a firm no. 

The tension in the air returns, everyone in the shack laced with hesitance to break the silence first. Alas, it's Mason who caves, taking the questionable object to Wendy to ring it up. He hears hushed whispers and an unfaltering glare digs into his back - no doubt from that old man. But he wishes, more than anything, than in between this uncertainty he could turn and discern Pacifica's expression instead. 

Wendy silently rings it up, casting a quick glance that's too smart for his liking.

"Hey."

Mason pauses his motion, fingers grazing the door handle. Stan's voice is low and gravelly, weighted with a quiet threat, "Remember what I said, Gleeful."

Mason stays still. The silence stretches taut, threatening to snap.

He lets it sit.
Linger.
Grow uncomfortable.
Let them wait.

Then, smoothly—too smoothly—he turns.

"Ms. Chiu."

He turns to Candy abruptly and she holds back a yelp, clutching her hands together for support. "Y-yes?" she answers, pupils shaking behind her thick-rimmed glasses.

"I'll be seeing you at the next show, yes?"

"Oh!" She nods vehemently, "Of course, of course!"

"Hm," His gaze flicks over her, unreadable "My sister will be expecting you." The words, though calmly spoken, press into the room with quiet weight. Candy stammers out a flurry of nervous reassurances, but Mason’s attention is already slipping.

His eyes shift instead to her friends, gifted with the sight of Pacifica next to her - her ocean orbs already trained on his, riddled with confusion and hope. She must be thinking that he's changed for the better, trying to socialize with her peers. He allows her to believe it.

Behind her Stan simmers with clenched fists; in a way that suggests a storm being held at bay.

Mason doesn’t say a word. Just gives Candy a curt nod, and spares Pacifica one last glance—cool, unreadable—before stepping out of the Shack.

The door swings shut behind him, and with it, he takes the final word.