#wendip-week

IT'S HERE.

Maybe NSFW. Rating is T/M, but nothing’s really explicit. My Wendip Week story for the prompt “Naughty and Nice.” And, writing too fast, I called Soos’s family by the wrong name originally! Sorry, dawg!

Naughty (but Nice)

By William Easley

Pioneer Day was the perfect date for their visit. Wendy and Dipper were attending college year-around—he’d already finished his B.A. degree in only two years, and he was now working on his Master’s, and she would have her bachelor’s degree in hand in another four months—but Pioneer Day fell on July 6, and they had an extra-long weekend vacation from college down in California, so the timing was ideal.

Also, it was a good time to visit for other reasons. One plus was that Pioneer Day drew everyone, and that meant everyone, downtown. The Shack was closed and all the family, even Abuelita and the Ramirez kids, were in town, and no tourists would come wandering up the drive. Grunkles Stan and Ford had sailed off somewhere on another expedition. Mabel and her new husband were enjoying a two-week trip to Ireland, their honeymoon.

So, Dipper and Wendy had the Shack, privacy, and most important, each other.

In the dappled shade of the bonfire clearing, Wendy stretched languorously. “What was that, our third time?”

“Mm. Let’s count it up: Once up in my old attic bedroom.”

“Check. That was good except for the splinters.” She rubbed her butt and made a face.

Dipper nodded. “Probably should have used the bed. Then once on the counter next to the cash register.”

Wendy punched the air. “Yes! I always wanted to do that! More fun than driving a tank!”

“And now here in the grass, where you once told me you were too old for me.”

Wendy lay on her side beside him, lazily stroking his bare chest. “Guess I was wrong, huh?”

He nuzzled her. “So glad you were.”

“Well,” she said with a contented sigh, “What with starting college so soon and all, we didn’t ever get a honeymoon, but this kinda makes up for it.”

“Morning’s getting on. Let’s get dressed,” Dipper suggested.

She pouted. “Aw.”

“You don’t want to kill your husband before our third anniversary,” he said, kissing her.

She still didn’t make a move to retrieve her scattered clothing. “Where should we go next? Lake?” Wendy suggested. She really liked the water.

Dipper shrugged. “We could try it, but I’ll bet there are people around, swimming and boating. How about that hot spring up in the mountains?”

“Mm. Too far to hike,” she said. “Being back in Gravity Falls makes me want to be all lazy and irresponsible again.”

“I . . . think we covered the ‘irresponsible’ part,” Dipper said, chuckling. “Hey, hand me my shorts, please.”

“I would,” Wendy said, making no visible effort, “but—ugh!—I can’t reach them. She grinned. “You can roll over me and get ‘em for yourself, though.”

“Um . . . I think I can stretch.”

A few minutes later, fully dressed, they strolled down the Mystery Trail, hugging each other in the way Dipper used to think sappy when he was younger and saw teen couples walking linked like that. “So,” he said, “next year I’ll have my Master’s. Think you could stand it if I stayed in school another two years for my doctorate?”

“Stood it so far, dude! I’ve decided I’m gonna take that one-year master’s program in environmental science myself. Shouldn’t be hard—I’ve already taken the undergraduate equivalents of most of the courses for the comp-exam track, got an A in all of them. Normative is two years, but I’ll bet I can nail it in a year and a half, tops.”

“I’m betting a year. Go for it,” Dipper said. They stood in front of the Shack, holding hands and just looking at it. “Same-y, but different-y, as Mabel says.”

Wendy hugged him. “Yeah, Soos has the place really fixed up nice. It’s nearly twice the size it was.”

“Top tourist draw in Oregon last year.”

“Soos and Melody are so happy. Didn’t he want seven kids?”

Dipper grinned. “Yep, one to love for each day of the week.”

“Well, four more to go. They’ll make it!”

He kissed her cheek. “We’ll get started ourselves whenever you want. What next?”

She sighed. “Let’s go back inside for a last look around. I just love this old place so much.”

“Um,” Dipper said, “I think I might need a little more recuperation before—”

She bumped him with her hip. “Nostalgia, man, not lust! C’mon, just one more walk-around.”

They sauntered through the Museum, laughed at the Sascrotch—Soos had recently given him new designer underwear—and then, on impulse, dug out the electron carpet—“What do you think, Dip?” Wendy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe some other time,” Dipper said. “Right now, it would seem, I don’t know, kind of weird.”

She laughed. “When were you ever worried about weird, big guy?”

Hey, they’d been married for nearly three years, so what the heck. Then, having swapped bodies, they roamed around a little more, joking and laughing and somehow feeling completely at home in each other’s skins. “Time to change back, I guess,” Wendy said in Dipper’s voice.

They had returned to where they left the carpet, in the gift shop, and everything seemed quiet, empty. Dipper, in Wendy’s body, said mischievously, “You know, I just might change my mind about that weirdness bit. I just realized there’s still one place we haven’t visited.”

“Huh?”

He twitched the curtain aside. “Roof time! Roof time!”

Wendy, in his body, laughed. “Up where we might be seen?”

“Don’t lame out on me!” Dipper said. “You know you want it!”

“Pret-ty naughty,” she said, but she climbed the ladder.

I ought to work on my butt muscles, Dipper thought, climbing up behind her and seeing his body from the rear. They emerged on the roof—Soos had nailed the S of the Mystery Shack sign permanently to the shingles, so the sign still read MYSTERY  HACK, just as they remembered—and they scrambled to Wendy’s old retreat on the flat roof over an attic dormer window. The cooler was still there, but some storm in the intervening years must have blown away the lawn chair.

“You really up for this?” Dipper asked, beginning to take off the flannel shirt and wondering about how to unhook a bra by reaching behind. “Not too weird for you, is it?”

“You darin’ me?” Wendy asked with a broad grin as she shed Dipper’s vest.

He said, “Sure am—Mr. Pines.”

She arranged their discarded clothing into an improvised pad and said, “OK, then let’s see how the other half lives—Mrs. Pines!”

They attracted a woodpecker’s beady-eyed interest, but at least no Gnomes. And later, lazing up there in the late-morning sun, Dipper said, “You know, we shouldn’t have done that. It was really very, very—”

“Nice,” Wendy insisted. “Nice in a whole different way, but man! In fact, now I’m curious. I’d like to swap back and, you know—climb back up and try for double nice!”

The carpet got a lot of use that day.

The End

Sorry I didn’t post this yesterday I’ve been extremely busy so I apologise, but lets get on with the story!

I’ve not always had the ‘greatest’ relationships lets say, a lot of my boyfriends were usually just full of themselves or just a bunch of assholes.  Most of them however would leave me after meeting my father, manly Dan.  My dad is known to be the most manliest person Gravity Falls has and impressing him was no easy thing to do either. 

“W-Wendy I’m really nervous” Dipper spoke, his nerves getting the better of him. 

“Don’t worry I’m sure he’ll like you, hopefully...” I laughed halfheartedly and Dipper didn’t look amused. 

Dipper was coming over to my house to meet him, we’ve been seeing each other for a few months now and I thought it would be good to tell my dad. 

My dad has known Dipper since the first time they met Four years ago in Gravity falls which is good but when it comes to boyfriends my dad is different. 

Before I opened the door I turned round to Dipper “Listen dude just be yourself, don’t fret about it” I smiled at him and he nodded.

I could tell he was still shaky but he’ll be alright, hopefully. 

COUNTDOWN: 2 DAYS.

This coverart was commissioned for a novel-length fanfiction project that I've been turntabling in my head for a good couple years. I've put portions of it to paper (or Word, rather), and thanks to the kindness of many a pro bono editor, it's finally ready to peek its head out into the the light of day.

A YUGE thank you to my cartoonist buddy, "Buff," whose illustrative talents breathed some tangibility into the story via the featured image. There are many more acknowledgements to make, and they will come in due time, when the story is uploaded to fanfiction.net on Thursday, 6/15/2023, no later than 8pm ET. (The link to which will be its own separate post, on the day of.)

For now, I humbly introduce you to the world of this alternate Gravity Falls continuity with its summary:

A brush with time travel leaves Dipper entangled in a new mystery, while an old rival schemes from the shadows. Everything is different, now: he and Stan can't see eye-to-eye. There's more to Wendy than it seems. Mabel, as always, is the wild card, but it's Dipper who has to answer: what does he truly want? And how much will it change him?

Though this story is obviously meant for the fandom, you'll likely have a more immersive experience by re-visiting this small handful of GF episodes:

*"Time Traveler's Pig" *"Fight Fighters" *"Little Dipper" *"Summerween"

You are welcome to DM me here, or for an even faster response, PM me on fanfiction.net. (My penname is Ricky Roma's Cadillac; https://www.fanfiction.net/~rickyromascadillac)

Until then, take a quick moment to favorite this and give me a li'l follow, that way you can be one of the first to know when the story's live!

(by William Easley)

My story, written for Wendip Week 2017. Prompt: Meet the Parents

(August 30, 2017)

The next day would be Dipper's eighteenth birthday.

And Wendy Corduroy couldn't sleep. Because.

Because of a lot of things. For a change, Dipper and Mabel weren't riding back to Piedmont on a bus, or driving themselves, or even flying down on an airplane. Instead, their dad and mom were coming to pick them up here, in Gravity Falls.

Because, though Wendy had met Mr. and Mrs. Pines many times—and though Mr. Pines especially was fond of her and talked her up—tomorrow she'd meet them in a whole different way.

Because "Mom, Dad," Dipper would tell them, "this is the girl I'm going to marry."

And—what?

Normally Wendy could stick her chin out and deal with anything, from a chimera to an animated mummy to a ghost. Normally she was fearless. But tonight—

What if Mrs. Pines brings up the age thing?

No, I'm twenty, he's eighteen, big deal! My dad was younger than my mom when they married! Dipper says his mom's six months older than his dad, too. She doesn't let anybody know that, though.

And look at Ford and Stan! Decades, man!

But—Dipper's always been his mom's favorite. What if she, like, hates the idea and disowns him? I couldn't come between him and his mom. So—what will I do then?

She tossed and she turned so much that finally she couldn't stand it, got up, dressed, and quietly left the Corduroy cabin.

Maybe a walk in the woods would calm her. She walked straight back from the house, down a path through the woods that led to a shallow tinkling creek, crossed the creek on a tree trunk her dad had felled and then adzed off level to make a rough bridge, and started an upward climb that came out on the treeless crest of a hill.

She noticed how quiet it was—no insects, no owls, no wind. Bright moonlight making everything silvery and blue-shadowed.

Standing alone, with her arms crossed, Wendy stood there looking at the distant lights of town, bathed in the glow of a full moon, directly overhead—Must be midnight.

"No," Dipper said. "Later, I think. And the moon's really only just past first quarter. I think you're dreaming."

"Dude!" She turned around. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

Dipper shrugged. "I think I'm dreaming, too."

They embraced, and it felt warm and real enough. She leaned her forehead against his. "I still got two inches on you, Dip," she said fondly.

"You wear flats to the wedding," he said. "I'll wear heels."

That made her laugh. "Is this real?"

"I . . . don't know. We'll talk about it tomorrow and see who remembers what."

"This is weird, man. I never had a dream this intense."

"Nice weird, though," he said. They kissed, and that felt real too.

They heard a cough and looked around. Wendy wasn't surprised—though probably she should have been—to see Archibald Corduroy standing there, just at the edge of the forest. He had both eyes and looked younger than he had appeared to Dipper years before. And he had no axe embedded in his head, either, which improved his looks.

"Great-great granddad?" she asked.

He smiled and nodded. "Wendy. Someone wants to see you. I said I'd make the introduction. Hello, Dipper. Sorry about that turning you into wood thing."

"It's OK, man. You had issues."

"It's been a pleasure watching my little descendant here grow up to be a fine woman. And I know you're going to be a good man." He waved off anything they might have said in response and turned and beckoned. "Come on," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

From the forest at the foot of the hill walked—another Wendy.

"What?" Wendy asked. "Dude, who—"

"I'm your mother," the woman said softly as she stopped a few steps away. "Not the way I looked the last time you saw me, all wasted and sick. This is the way I looked when I was your age."

Her red hair was a lot shorter, but otherwise—they could have been twins. Like Wendy, Mrs. Corduroy wore a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. "Wendy, Dipper," Archibald said, "this is Wendy's mother, Mrs. Amanda Blerble Corduroy."

Wendy said, "Oh!" She stepped forward. "I—can I touch you?"

Mrs. Corduroy smiled and spread her arms, and Wendy rushed into them. "I missed you so bad," Wendy said, her voice muffled.

Her mother stroked her long hair. "I've been watching you," she said softly. "I was never very far away." She raised her hand and gestured, and Dipper came over shyly and grasped it. "Mason Pines," Mrs. Corduroy said. "Or shall I call you Dipper?"

"Whatever you want, ma'am," Dipper said.

Then Wendy's mother embraced them both at once and kissed first Wendy, then Dipper. "I want you to know you have my blessing," she whispered. "I want you to tell Dan that, too." Her voice became a little sad. "I can't appear to him, you see. He misses me too much, and it would break his heart. But tell him you saw me and that I still love him just as much as I ever did."

Wendy stepped away—not far—and stared at her. In a weeping and laughing voice, she said, "You know what? I never knew your last name was Blerble before you married dad! Not until, like, two years ago! See, Dad wouldn't ever tell me my middle name, just that my initial was B."

"Oh, Dan can be so stubborn! My father was Henry Ward Blerble," she said. "My grandfather welcomed Dan into the family. My father, well, father thought Dan was too young and too poor for me and didn't. And Dan was an awfully proud man. I saw my father often enough after Dan and I were married, and he knew I was happy, but he went his way and Dan went his. The two of them never spoke, and even when we were poor, Dan wouldn't accept any help from him." She touched Wendy's cheek. "But don't be concerned about yourself. I have it on good authority that Mrs. Pines is going to be very happy with your announcement, darling. Stop worrying."

"Thank you, Mom," Wendy said.

"Dipper," Mrs. Corduroy said, "Don't you be afraid tomorrow. Just tell your mother, while you hold Wendy's hand. Just say it: We're in love, and we're going to be married. She already knows Wendy's good for you." She winked. "We mothers know more about love than you young folks think we do."

Archibald led Dipper off a little way and let the womenfolk have their talk, as he said. Archibald spoke of the forest and how much and how little it had changed in the last century and a half. Dipper listened. And some time afterward—too soon—Wendy came and took his hand and they turned and the ghosts were gone.

"I guess we have to wake up now," Wendy said sadly.

"I guess so. I love you so much."

"I love you, Big Dipper. More than I can say."

And mumbling, "More than I can say," Wendy opened her eyes and realized she was in bed. The clock's display said it was nearly three in the morning. Her phone chimed—Dipper's ring. She rolled over, got it, and thumbed it on. "Hi."

"Uh—hi. Wendy, sorry for calling this late. I just woke up. I had this dream—"

"I was there," Wendy said. "I know."

"Uh—on the hilltop? And we got your mom's blessing?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah. We did."

His voice sounded joyful: "It was real."

She gently corrected him: "It is real."

"Yeah," he said. "It is real."

And that was all they needed to say.

Written for Wendip Week 2017. Prompt: “Handcuffed together.” Lightly crosses with the Harry Potter universe.

By William Easley

1

"Allow me to be quite clear," the Minister for Magical Law Enforcement told Dr. Mason Pines and his wife Dr. Wendy Pines. "If it were solely up to me, I wouldn't have called you in at all. However, the homeowner in question is an American—as well as a highly-qualified witch—and has requested your aid specifically."

"We understand that, Mrs.—uh, I'm sorry, how should we address you?" Dipper asked.

"Minister is the preferred term. However, as we are in the same line of work, 'HG' will do.""

"Thanks, HG," Wendy said. "I'm Wendy, and you can call my husband Dipper."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a code name," Dipper said smoothly. "Now—this client—"

"Mrs. Abigail Merriwether," the Minister said, picking up her glasses to read from a memo. "Formerly of Salem, Massachusetts, has lived in the UK for, let's see, ten years, suspects there is an unfriendly ghost in her home." She put the memo down. "Please understand, Mrs. Merriwether's husband Hugh is a mu—a non-magical person. For reasons of her own, she prefers that he not know of her special talents."

"If she's a witch," Wendy said, "couldn't she handle a ghost?"

"Ah, but this is not an ordinary ghost," the Minister said with a smile. "Here is a card with the address for you. However, I shall have a car take you there. Exorcize the phantom, and the Ministry will pay your expenses. Now, as to fee—"

"No fee," Dipper said. "Consider it a case of international cooperation."

"Well," the Minister said. "Isn't that nice." Before they left her office, she seemed to thaw a bit. "Do you know," she said, glancing at Wendy, "I just realized you remind me a bit of my sister-in-law. She's a ginger, too."

"Really."

"Yes, and quite a nice woman. Well, is there anything else you require."

"If it's not too much trouble," Wendy said, "since we had to fly on a commercial airline, I would like to request something that I wasn't allowed to carry aboard."

"And that would be?"

"An axe," Wendy said. "I've looked at British axes, and I would prefer an Eversteel 3000 felling axe, 85 centimeter handle, 1.75 kilogram head."

The Minister frowned a little as she wrote that down. "Why do you need this to take care of a ghost?"

"I believe," Wendy explained, "that every woman should carry an axe. Oh, and I'll need a Handleman leather scabbard, too, with bandolier harness. I won't be taking them back to America, so I'll return them to you when this job is over."

"I'm sure we'll find some use for them," the Minister said. "The Armory will send out for your, ah, implement. They're quite efficient. Be ready to leave in an hour."

2

"How is it?" Dipper asked as the self-driving car let them out at the curb—kerb, whatever—in a reasonably suburban stretch outside of Metropolitan London. The houses here were miniature estates, most of them brick, standing in spacious grounds—say half an acre or more each.

Wendy moved her shoulders. "It's OK. It'll do. But it's like British food. Not quite the same."

He told the car, "We'll call when we've finished." The car did not respond verbally, but purred away.

"Quite a house," Wendy said.

"More like quite a tower with a little house built onto it," Dipper replied. The brick cottage looked cozy, but adjoining it on the right was a massive three-storied tower with a round observatory-like dome, looking completely out of place, as if it had wandered there from one of the castles dotting the English landscape and had settled down for a snooze. Surrounding the spacious yard was an eight-foot-tall fence of black wrought-iron.

"Let's see if our client is in," Dipper said. He pressed the call button on the left pillar of the wrought-iron gate.

A moment later, a hologram of a thin, gray-haired man in a pale blue blazer and a dark bow tie appeared. "Yes?" He had a British accent, even with just that one word.

Dipper smiled. "Hello, sir. Are you Mr. Merriwether?"

"I am."

"I'm Mason Pines, and this is my wife Wendy, sir. We're former students of Dr. Merriwether's, and when we let her know we'd be vacationing in London, she asked us to visit. May we speak to her?"

"Ah—sorry, she's not home yet. But yes, I recall her saying something about visitors. Just a moment, I'll buzz you in."

The gate clacked, they went inside and up to the door, where the man stood, having just opened it. "Please come in, young people. Would you care for tea?"

Dipper glanced at Wendy. "No, thank you, sir. When will your wife be home?"

"Oh, any time, any time. Would you care to wait for her in her little workshop? She most often takes her guests there."

"That will be fine," Dipper said.

"This way, then." He pottered around, opened a door, said, "No, pantry, lose my own head next," and then found the right one, a stairway leading down. "She says it's cool in the cellar," he said. Go along, go along, I'll follow. Not so spry on the steps as I used to be, you know."

They descended and the first thing Dipper thought was It's like the Shack—more cellar than house!

The second was It's a trap! Against the wall near the stair was a workbench with carpentry tools on a pegboard—but the rest of the cellar was a cellar, stacked with tidy piles of odds and ends, with wiring and pipes hanging from the overhead joists. No workshop.

He spun, Wendy caught his flash of thought, and she reached for her axe.

"Ah-ah!" The man stood on the stairway, holding a wand. "Now, I cannot kill you—yet. But I can't have you inconveniencing me as I question Mrs. Merriwether, so pleasant dreams!" He waved the wand and things turned black.

3

Well, when you think it's a ghost, you don't go into the fight prepared to battle an evil wizard. "We should've brought Mabel, dude," Wendy said, rattling the chain that held them together.

"Even if she weren't pregnant, I'm not sure that would have helped," Dipper told her.

Here they were, in the basement, stripped to their underwear and handcuffed together.

With magical handcuffs, the chain behind a floor-to-ceiling pipe. The space between the pipe and the wall was maybe eight inches—too narrow to squeeze through.

"What did he do with our clothes?" Dipper asked. "Did you see?"

"Nope," Wendy said. "Last thing I remember, he flicked that stick at us, and boosh! Here we were, stripped down and chained up. Any ideas?"

Dipper looked up. "Well, these may be magical handcuffs, but the pipe's an ordinary three-inch water pipe. Think we can climb it?"

"Dude, this is Lumberjack Girl you're talkin' to. I can climb it. What about you?"

"I'll do my best."

They were not ordinary handcuffs—the chain was about a foot long. On one hand, that gave them a little freedom of movement. On the other, it didn't give them all that much. They had to climb practically wrapped around each other, facing each other, with the pipe between them. "Yes!" Dipper said after they had nearly reached the top, eight feet from the floor. "Look! The pipe makes an L-bend! If we can loop the chain over the horizontal run—"

"We can get to the wall over there—"

"And maybe you can reach down to the tool bench with your toes—"

"And snag the hacksaw hanging there! And then we can saw through the chain!"

"Maybe!"

A few things stood in their way, though. Or, more accurately, hung in their way: three equally-spaced hanger straps, about four feet apart, that supported the horizontal run of the old pipe, perforated metal bands that hammocked the pipe and then were screwed to the joists overhead.

The pipe sagged with their weight, though, and because the house was an old house and the plumbing was aged and the straps had been manufactured in Birmingham, UK, in 1919, when there was a steel shortage, the first one snapped.

And that rendered the question of the hacksaw moot, because without its support the pipe gave way, too, and broke free from the upright. And water gushed from the upright in a soaking shower.

"Dude, it's cold!" Wendy complained as they staggered through falling water.

"At least it wasn't a sewage drain," Dipper yelled. They sloshed over to the tool bench, where Wendy grabbed the hacksaw and, after a moment's hesitation, Dipper picked up a hand sledge, a five-pound hammer. They hurried to the stairs, where Wendy sawed at the chain.

"Any progress?" Dipper yelled. "The basement's flooding pretty fast!"

"Yeah!" Wendy said. "I've worn all the teeth off the saw! What's wrong with you?"

"Your bra's so wet," Dipper said, "that's it's pretty, uh, translucent."

"Right now, we got other worries. Let's see if he locked the door."

The evil magician had not. "Come on, dude," Wendy said. "We have to find him."

"I know where he'll be," Dipper told her. "The tower room. Under the dome. Way up at the top. He locked us up as low as he could because he was going high."

"Figures," Wendy said. "Wish I knew what the son of a witch did with my axe!"

"I got it figured out," Dipper said. "The lady who thought it was a ghost was really being harassed by this guy—bet you he's not Mr. Merriwether at all. Somehow, he got past her defenses and got in, and now he may be torturing her."

"Let's go, dude!"

They found the tower and the spiral staircase leading up. They crept up on still-damp bare feet. They heard angry voices from the top. They paused outside the door. Dipper held up the hand sledge and whispered his intent.

"Could work," Wendy whispered. "But we gotta get all the way inside!"

"See if the door's locked."

It wasn't. From the room, they heard a woman's angry voice: "You can kill me, but you'll still never learn where it is!"

"There are worse things than killing!"

"Now," Dipper said, and they stepped through the door.

The wizard jerked around. He had tied a woman to a chair and had been menacing her with his wand. Now, his face furious, he raised the wand and began to yell, "Avada—"

"Go!" Wendy yelled. She stepped away from Dipper. They jerked their arms forward. They had hooked the sledge hammer over the chain by the head. They hurled it forward, as if they were a human slingshot.

The wizard was unable to finish whatever spell he'd started because a heavy hand sledge-hammer hurtling at the speed of 75 miles per hour tends to make enunciation difficult the moment it knocks out all your front teeth and renders you unconscious.

"The wand!" the woman shouted. "Get the wand!"

Dipper and Wendy ran forward, she scooped it up, and she asked, "Now what?"

"Give it to me and I'll unbind these ropes," she said. It was difficult, because her hands were behind her, but she twitched the wand and said, "Solvite!" The ropes dropped away.

Then she tied up the still-unconscious man. "Thank you," she said. "You are the young Americans my friend Dr. Pines recommended?"

"Wendy and Mason Pines," Dipper said.

"Why are you naked? That's a nice little navel ring you're wearing, Mrs. Pines."

"Thanks," Wendy said. "It was sort of my first wedding ring!"

"He stripped our clothes off," Dipper said. "Hit us with a spell that left us in our underwear and put these cuffs on us. Down in the basement."

"This is Makoto," Mrs. Merriwether said. "British, of course. Good thing, I suppose. If he were American, like us, he probably would have vanished your underclothing, too. He is seeking—well, never mind, a magical object, and if he found it, he could kill anyone, anywhere, without fear of retribution. Now the wizard court will deal with him."

"Um—your basement is filling up with water," Wendy said. "We had to break a pipe to get free."

"Hm." The woman went to a table and picked up a slimmer wand. "This is my own," she said. "It obeys me much better than Makoto's does. Speaking of which—" she snapped his wand in half. "That will take care of him!"

She waved the wand and spoke a rapid-fire series of spells: Restituo! Harefacio! Operiemur! Nothing visible happened, but she smiled and said, "There, all repaired, all dried, and we should find your clothes downstairs. Just a second now." Then she materialized a phone, made a quick call, and asked, "What's the time, Mr. Pines?"

"I suppose it's about noon," he said. "My watch is gone, too."

"Oh, of course. Well, we have to wait just a few moments—ah, no we don't, they are here."

With little flashes of air, three men in robes appeared. "Hello, Abbie!" one of them said. "What's the row—bloody hell! Hello, Miss!"

"Ronald," Mrs. Merriwether said firmly, "I told the Ministry Makoto would try! Here he is. Take him away and remember—you are married!"

"She's beautiful, though," the man said with a grin. "All right boys, let's take this scrote in custody!" The other two grabbed the still-unconscious Makoto and they all four vanished.

"Come," Mrs. Merriwether said, tucking her wand away somewhere in her dress. "My husband will be home in a matter of minutes, and he doesn't know about any of this. And he mustn't."

Their clothing lay in a heap in front of the cellar door. "But we can't get dressed until you take off these handcuffs," Wendy said.

"There is a problem," she confessed. "This is a dark spell, and only the man who cast it can take it off. However, I've broken his wand, and he will not be permitted to use magic again anytime soon."

"Then we're stuck like this?" Dipper asked. "Me in shorts, and my wife in—what she has on?"

"No, no," Mrs. Merriwether sighed. "There are ways, but they take time. The fastest—well, no, it costs too much."

"What?" Wendy asked.

"Well—there is a payment. You see, each person has a defined lifespan, and except for magic, it cannot be extended. We can't predict what our time is or foresee the future, but let's say one of you will live for another, oh, fifty years, and the other for sixty. A demonstration of commitment will vanish the handcuffs. If you agreed to blend your lifespans—then one of you will gain five years of life, but the other will lose the same amount of time, and you would both pass on in fifty-five years, at the same moment. But as I say, we never know. Suppose one of you has only two years, the other eighty! That's a terrible price."

Dipper took Wendy's hand and looked her in the eyes. Their chain jangled. They both smiled.

"Do it," they said together.

4

Later that week, Dipper said, "Well, it's five years late, but we finally got our honeymoon!" They were standing in front of Hexcombe Priory, a ruin that once had been the most haunted spot in England. It had a lot more history than the Mystery Shack, and the tour had been interesting, but Grunkle Stan could have made it more fun.

"And I got my axe back," Wendy said. "Shame I couldn't keep it. It had a really nice balance!"

"Well, now I know what to get you for our next anniversary," Dipper said. They kissed. He stroked her lovely, long red hair. "Do you regret what we did?"

She grinned, wrinkling her nose. "Nope. You?"

"Actually," he said, "I'd never thought about it before—but to live our lives together and leave them together—that might have been something I would have wished for."

"So love still binds us together," Wendy said, squeezing his hand. "For life and afterward."

They kissed, and Dipper whispered, "Always and forever."

by William Easley

(Wendip week Day 4: prompt is "The gang finds out.")

(August 19-25, 2014)

Tambry was the first. She and Wendy had met over in Morris at a chic little restaurant for lunch to talk about a million and one details about Tambry's and Robbie's wedding (which was still ten months away, but you can never be too prepared) when Tambry suddenly gasped and said, "Omigod! Who gave you a ring?"

Crap! I forgot to take it off! But, trying to keep her cool and pass it off as no big deal, she said, "This? It's a friendship ring. Just a little silver band, see? No diamond."

"Wendy," Tambry said, her eyes aglow. "You do NOT wear a friendship ring on the third finger of your left hand! Dish!"'

"Aw, it's really not anything that big," Wendy said, shrugging. "It just fits my left hand better. I hardly ever even wear it. Just a sweet gift from a guy I kinda-sorta like. You're right, though. I should force it onto my right ring finger." She pretended to have difficulty screwing it onto the finger, though actually it fit equally well there. "I'll probably have to soap this to get it off."

"Who?" Tambry demanded, shoving her chicken salad aside and leaning over the table, her gaze drilling into Wendy's.

"Nobody you know," Wendy countered, shifting a little in her chair.

"Dipper Pines," Tambry said. "OMG, you and Dipper—you're engaged!"

"Not so loud!" Wendy said. The Bon Ton in Morris wasn't exactly crammed with people who would recognize her—Gravity Falls folks in general thought the citizens of Morris were stuck up with no reason for being so, and few Fallers ever came to Morris unless it was to visit someone in the hospital or to consult a specialist doctor. "We're not engaged!" Wendy insisted. "Well, you know. I mean, we've talked about it, sort of, but the age thing, his parents, my dad, you know, a million things—"

Tambry took her hand in hers. "Wendy, this is Tambry here. You know what? I have this sharp memory of one time when we were, like five? And you saw this boy and told me he was cute? And I told him what you said, and you pushed me off my bike?"

"Yeah. . . I sort of remember," Wendy said, frowning.

Tambry squeezed her hand. "Girl! That kid was totally a dupe of Dipper Pines! Looked just like him!"

Wendy had no mental image. She mainly remembered feeling guilty for shoving her best friend to the sidewalk. "How do you even remember that?"

"I always remember cute guys," Tambry reminded her. "Oh, this is so great! He'll be such a cool husband, always whisking you away on wild adventures—"

"Nothing's settled!" Wendy said firmly. "We've talked, that's all. We—"

"Are you doing it?"

"—just have to, wait, what? TAMBRY! He's fourteen! Of course not!"

"He's a mature fourteen," Tambry said. "And won't he be fifteen in like two weeks?"

"Yeah, but—"

"You know what the guys we know were like when they were fifteen!"

"Well—he's not like that. And we've promised each other to wait and—see if this can—maybe in time, we don't know—look, just promise me, hand to God, that you won't tell a soul!"

"I promise! Oh, Wendy, I'm so happy for you," Tambry said with tears of happiness in her eyes.

And it was totally a coincidence, or maybe in the grand scheme of life it wasn't, that Mabel's farewell summer-ending sleepover went on that same night.

Candy, Grenda, and Pacifica came over to the Shack, Dipper swapped bedrooms with Mabel—because the attic was the right size for a mob of four girls—and in the course of the evening somehow a game of Truth or Dare eventuated.

Well, at sleepovers they always do, don't they? But I wanted to use a fancy word. Anyway, somehow Mabel (who always went for the dares) unaccountably decided on "truth" at one point. Candy asked her, "Is there remaining a place in Dipper's heart for Candy?" She didn't actually have a real crush on Dipper, but as she had said a few times, "I would not kick him out of my baenang if I found him there." That means "knapsack," by the way. Candy can be odd.

Mabel teetered indecisively. She knew she couldn't tell the whole truth, but this was Truth or Dare, and it was a sacred obligation, practically, to be a little bit honest. She said as comfortingly as she could, "I'm sorry Candy, Dipper loves someone else."

"Oh," Candy said. "That small sound you hear is my heart breaking in three equal pieces, each weighing one hundred grams!"

"It's Wendy," Pacifica said, her voice flat, her face expressionless.

"I didn't say that!" Mabel protested.

"I know it's Wendy." Pacifica looked sad, not angry. "Everybody knows it has to be Wendy."

"Hey, Pacifica," Grenda said in an effort to give her a little comfort, "if it's any consolation, Marius has an eligible cousin who's a baronet."

"How old is he?" Pacifica asked.

"I think eleven. But he's single!"

"Worked for the redhead," Pacifica muttered. However, she didn't sleep much that night.

So by the next morning because of Tambry, Robbie knew, and the guys in the band, and then of course Lee and Nate found out, and their girls, and Soos got wind of it from someone who dropped into the gift shop, and . . . you know how it goes. And you've probably played the game "telephone."

And that was why on the following Wendesday, Wendy discovered she was secretly married and three months pregnant with twins. Or that was what Lazy Susan told her, congratulating her and advising her on the best things to eat while expecting.

And that was why Dipper was totally confused when on Thursday afternoon Gideon Gleeful saw him downtown, walked up to him, and said, "Well played, Dipper. Well played. But you just remember, now, if you get a mite out of line, she can break your arm!"

And it was also why on the following Friday, when they got together alone for their last movie night of the summer, Wendy said morosely, "Dude, everybody in town thinks we're doin' it!"

"I know," Dipper said. "Stan's already jumped me and I had to deny everything. I explained and swore him to secrecy, but I'm not sure even he believes me. It's crazy."

Wendy sighed and leaned against him. "You know what, dude? We might just as well go ahead and do it."

Dipper's mouth felt as dry as the Mojave at high noon in the middle of a summer when a persistent high-pressure area over the Pacific deflected the usual wind patterns and kept the air depleted of moisture. He felt simultaneously excited and terrified and stammered, "Um—but—but we made a promise—"

Wendy tickled his chin and smiled at him from six inches away and in a husky voice asked, "Don't you want to, you know, do it with me?"

"Yeah! Of course. I do. I really do. But—but—you know. It's too soon. Uh. Do, do you want to? With, uh, you know, with, uh, with me?"

"So bad!" She hugged him and he felt the warmth of her sigh on his neck. "And that's exactly why we're not gonna. Stay strong, Dip. Three more years from the last day of this month, man!" she pushed away but reached to hold his hand. "Hang tough, dude. We good?"

"Yeah. We're good," Dipper said, squeezing her hand and trying to control his heart rate. For a minute, it had zoomed way up there.

She broke the hug but kept her arm over his shoulders, and he reached up and held her other hand, too. She sighed. "OK, man. My fault. I was wearin' that silver ring you had made for me in the ghost town, I slept with it on my finger the way I do sometimes, and then that morning I forgot to take it off, and somebody saw it on my finger and jumped to conclusions. So—hope you won't mind this—since I don't want to hide the ring away in a drawer, but also don't want to wear it, like, in public where people will see it, I—well, I got a piercing. So I can always wear the ring where nobody will see it."

"I—whatever you want to do, Wendy. After we got those matching henna tattoos on the last day of Woodstick, I'd even get a matching piercing if you asked me to."

"Not necessary, dude," she told him. "OK, you're privileged, 'cause we won't see each other for a long time after the end of the month, right? And 'cause you did give it to me. And 'cause I love it, and you. So—here, this is my solemn pledge to you that I'll be ready the moment you are."

And she showed him just where she wore the ring.

(A story of mine on fanfiction.net that happens to fit the prompt “Fake Relationship” for Wendip Week)

Fireworks at the Lake

By William Easley

(July 4, 2014)

1

"Wendy," Manly Dan rumbled, "I want to talk to you."

Lounging on the sofa on the back porch of the Shack and nursing a Pitt Cola, Wendy glanced at her dad and immediately thought, Oh, shit! He had that you're-in-trouble look in his eye. But she forced a smile and said, "Sure, dad. Uh, you want another beer? I'll run and get you one—"

The Fourth of July barbecue was into its second phase, after the games had ended, before the sun sank low enough for people to head out to the lake for the fireworks. Manly Dan and the boys had showed up a little late, but he'd made up for that by eating five cheeseburgers, three barbecue sandwiches, a pound of fries, half of a ham, and a quart of coleslaw, along with four beers.

Now he climbed up onto the porch—it creaked—but then jerked his thumb at her and said, "Let's go somewhere more private."

They walked through the side yard and into the woods, just a few steps. The murmur and laughter of the ongoing Independence Day party at the Shack still came drifting on the sultry air. Wendy tried again: "If you want me to get you another beer, it won't take me a minute—"

He grabbed her arm before she could start toward the house. "Naw, I wanna know what you were doin' runnin' around kissin' every boy in sight."

"What?" she asked, blinking. "What gave you that idea? I haven't—"

Dan scowled down at her, making her feel about five years old. "You tellin' me you ain't kissed a boy?"

"When?"

"Today! When'd you think? You sayin' you ain't kissed no boys today?"

Wendy shook her head. "No, I'm not saying that—but it was just one, and it wasn't even—"

"Out in public?" Dan growled. He pounded one gloved hand against a small pine tree, which broke and fell over.

Wendy held up her hands. "Dad, please! Calm down, OK? Do you want to hear what happened? 'Cause I'll tell you if you'll just give me a chance!"

"Go ahead," Dan said. He snapped off the trunk of the pine tree he'd punched out—granted, it was only a young one, but it had been twelve feet tall already—and moodily broke the remainder of the trunk into smaller and smaller pieces.

With her gaze on the mutilated wood, Wendy said, "OK, I kissed Dipper Pines, right? Once, and on the cheek! And that was 'cause we'd just won the three-legged race!"

"Oh, just a little kid?" Dan asked, visibly relaxing. "Toby didn't say that. What is Dipper, nine?"

Wendy chuckled. "Little older than that, Dad. He's in high school now. But we won the race—"

"By how much?"

"I dunno. 'Bout fifteen, twenty feet ahead of second place. We were way out in front!"

Manly Dan actually laughed. "'Cause you dragged him along on the ground! You did, didn't you?"

"No. I didn't have to. Dipper's a pretty good runner, Dad. Don't you remember, him and me have been running together every morning?"

"Oh, yeah, trainin'. Didn't I hear he was a track star or something?"

"Yeah, down in California. State high-school JV champion in the hundred-meter sprint. We surprised everybody. Nate and Lee have won the three-legged race for the last two years, and we left them in the dust, man!"

Dan's face clouded. "But then you kissed him where people could see and all!"

"Dad," Wendy said, "I remember five or six years ago when in front of the whole crowd, you kissed Tyler Cutebiker at the Fourth of July games!"

"That was only 'cause we won the relay race!"

"Yeah, and you just won it 'cause you picked him up while he was still holdin' the baton and carried him and it both over the finish line! But you kissed him, and there was even a photo on the front page of the Gossiper!"

"That was different!"

"Well," Wendy said reasonably, "isn't this different?"

"No! This is the same!" Dan bellowed. "I was kissin' a teammate! You was kissin' a boy!"

"Who was my teammate!"

Dan blinked, processing that. "Oh, I kinda see what you're drivin' at. And you won by fifteen, twenty feet, huh?" Pride and anger warred in his face for possession.

"We whupped everybody," Wendy said with a grin, borrowing one of his words. "Just like you, Dad."

Pride seemed to win. Dan dusted all the splinters of the pine trunk off his hands. "Well. Glad you run such a good race, then. But I better not hear of that kinda behavior again."

"Stop talking to Tony Determined, then!"

"Toby."

"Whatever! Even if you call him Bodacious T, you can't believe everything he says. He's still a gossiper."

"He's on th' television! People on th' television don't tell lies."

"Dad!" Wendy said. "If you're going to believe people who love to tattletale instead of believing me—"

"Simmer down, baby girl. I believe you. For now. But don't you go kissin' on every boy you meet, you hear me? I don't trust your judgment. That guitar player, that Robbie Valentino, now—"

With a sigh, Wendy told him, "Robbie is old news, Dad. He's going with Tambry now."

"Yeah, I heard about them, too." He sounded angry.

"Well, they don't exactly hide it," Wendy said.

Dan sniffed and gave her a quizzical look. "Prob'ly shouldn't tell you this, might give you ideas. But you listen here." He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper: "Tambry's folks were goin' to a movie one night an' they got about fifteen minutes away from their house when Mrs. DiCicco realized she'd left her purse at home. So they drove back, and there set Robbie's car parked in the driveway. Her mom slipped inside quiet-like and caught them on the living room couch, and there wasn't no doubt about what they'd been up to, judging from what they weren't wearing."

Wendy felt her face getting hot. "Tambry never told me that," she admitted. "But you don't know the whole story, either, Dad. You'll hear the rest of it soon enough, so I might's well tell you. They're engaged, Robbie and Tambry. They're getting married as soon as they graduate next spring."

"Gives him no right to do what he done to her!" Manly Dan bellowed. "That coulda been you, baby girl! I don't want nobody tellin' me you have to get married 'cause of some boy doin' you like thataway!"

"Not gonna happen," Wendy assured him.

He grunted, and for a few seconds they were silent. Then he asked, "You goin' to the lake with us?"

"Nah, my boss offered me a ride out. Then he'll drop me off at our house after."

"Soos, you mean?"

"Sure. He's the manager."

"Not Stanley Pines?"

"No, Soos Alvarez. You know Soos, Dad. Married to Melody, they got the little boy?"

"And Dipper ain't goin' with you?"

She shrugged. "He and his sister will probably go over with Stanley and Stanford. Maybe they'll bring dates."

"They're too young for datin'!" Manly Dan said with great assurance.

"I think they're like sixty-seven or some deal," Wendy said.

Dan blinked. "Oh. I though you meant the little ones. Dipper an' what's-her-name."

"Mabel."

"Yeah, them."

"I don't know what plans they have," Wendy said. "I may run into them at the lake, or I may hook up with some of my friends there."

"Not Robbie Valentino! Nor Tambry DiCicco! They're bad influences!"

"OK, geeze, Dad, I may just hang with Mabel or something."

Dan sounded far from satisfied: "And I may check on you. Just to see who you're runnin' around with."

Which was pretty nearly exactly what Wendy figured. And dreaded.

2

Later that afternoon, up in the attic of the Shack, Dipper groaned, "Oh, man, I didn't know people were gonna make such a big deal out of one kiss! And it wasn't even—you know."

"No, it sure wasn't in our top ten, dude!" Wendy said with a grin.

She, Mabel, and Dipper were sitting on the floor of Dipper's room, away from the laughter and shouts and the sounds of eating out in the yard. "You got a top ten?" Mabel asked, her eyes wide. "Show me! Show me! Show me!"

"Nah," Wendy said. "We'd be a bad influence on you."

"I don't know about that," Dipper said. "Before now, I've heard suspicious sounds from around the corner and when I got there, I spotted Mabel and Teek in a clinch!"

Mabel wilted a little. "Won't happen today, though. Teek's not gonna be at the lake. His folks are driving over to Portland for the big waterfront fireworks show. He invited me, but after all the craziness that happened today with that dumb crystal ball, I gotta take a breather."

Wendy nudged her. "Well, Mabes, I told Dad I'd prob'ly hang with you at the lake, so there's that at least. If you even want to go, I mean."

"Yeah, I want to go! I love fireworks. Maybe we could go out on Soos's boat with him and Melody and Little Soos."

"Yeah," Wendy said.

"What's wrong?"

"Well . . . thing is," Wendy said, sounding moody, "I don't believe it's a real good idea for me an' Dipper to be seen together, even if we're in a group and chaperoned. Not with Dad on the warpath like he is right now. This summer I've already been in trouble with him because I was hangin' out at the Shack too much."

"I thought that had all blown over," Mabel said.

Wendy shrugged. "Kinda has. I worked out a way to make sure the wolves were all fed on time."

"You got wolves?" Mabel asked, her eyes bugging. "I've got pigs! Wolves and pigs—what's happening here? We totally have to get them together—"

"I don't think she means real wolves," Dipper said, his voice not sounding happy.

"No, dude, I meant my dad and brothers!" Wendy said.

"It's a metaphor," Dipper added.

Mabel tilted her head. "Like in poetry?"

Her brother sighed. "Yeah. Kinda."

Mabel turned to Wendy. "Oh, man—wait—your family's not werewolves, are they? 'Cause that would be so cool!"

"Not as far as I know," Wendy said, laughing. "Dad and the guys just eat like wolves. And smell like them too, most of the time. Anyhow, yeah, Dad ragged on me about not being home in time to clean and cook and all, but I worked out a schedule, and Dad agreed finally that I'm responsible enough now—Assistant Manager of the Shack an' all—so I deserve some free personal time. 'Cept he sneaks around and asks around about what I'm doin' and checks up on me!"

"Bummer," Mabel said. "Hey, Dip, what's wrong with you?"

Dipper had been leaning back against his bed, but he slumped forward now, arms wrapped around his bent knees, huddling as though gathered into himself. If he'd been wearing a sweater, he probably would have turtled into Sweater Town. "Aw, it's that I've been looking forward to seeing the fireworks with Wendy," he admitted. "Last year we saw them together, and it was special."

"First real kiss special," Wendy said.

"Ooohhh!" Mabel murmured. "That's why Dipper wrote on the Fourth of July in English class when we had to do a 'My Favorite Holiday' essay!"

"You did? That's sweet, dude," Wendy said, reaching out to rub Dipper's back.

He leaned against her. "Yeah, but—if we can't even see each other tonight. . . I mean, it's kind of an anniversary and all."

Mabel said, "Fear not, Broseph! The course of true love won't stumble over its own feet and fall over like a tree Manly Dan has chopped off at the roots! We'll come up with a plan!" She booped Dipper. "Now, those were metaphors!"

"You hate making plans," Dipper pointed out. "You make fun of Mom and me all the time because we always make plans!"

"Exceptions prove the rule! Let me think, let me think—hey, Brobro, can I chew on a thinking pen?"

"They're in the cup on the table," Dipper said. "Help yourself."

Mabel not only chewed on it meditatively, she gnawed it. Then she giggled. "Ink! Blaarrgggh!" She stuck out a purple tongue. "Okay, that helped. Maybe we can find a way to get you two together for your anniversary. But you're gonna owe me if I can pull it off."

"Sure, whatever," Wendy said.

"Better hear her out before we agree to anything," Dipper cautioned.

3

Manly Dan drove the boys to the lake as the sun was going down. Half the town was already there, and the other half were coming in. He wandered through the crowd—easy because he was a crowd on his own, and he towered above everybody else on the beach—and watched families spreading beach towels and tablecloths or setting up folding chairs for the big fireworks display.

The fireworks team had already set up out on Scuttlebutt Island, and this year they had put out a line of red-blinking buoys to keep boaters at a safe distance. The previous year one family had ventured a little too close, and a dud skyrocket had flopped down onto the deck of their cabin cruiser before exploding. It hadn't done serious damage or hurt anybody, but the four people aboard, dad and mom and two kids, had jumped into the lake and had to be fished out.

Meandering, Dan saw the McGuckets and spoke to them—Old Man McGucket, tidier than he'd been in the old days, was actually making sense for a change—and then he spotted Tats, recognizable by his head and chin tattoos, who asked him, "You workin' tomorrow?"

"Naw, layin' off after the holiday," Dan said. "Whatcha got?"

"All-night poker game, you want in. Do you?"

"Sure," Dan said.

"Awright. Back room of the Skull Fracture, eleven o'clock."

"Who else?" Dan asked.

"Blubs an' Durland, Stan Pines, Roadhog, Chains, Ghost Eyes, so far."

Dan laughed. "Well, we'll take a few bucks off of Blubs and Durland, anyhow! See you there. Want me to bring anything?"

"Snacks if you want. Got the beer covered."

"Good enough."

Dan said hello to Mayor Cutebiker, to Lazy Susan, and a few others. But he was looking for a tall redheaded girl, and he'd better not see her in with a bunch of guys. Or else.

Twilight started to come on and deepened into dusk, and then Dan heard a distant but familiar laugh. It came from the docks.

He walked through the crowd, then around past the ranger station. By the time he got there, the sky was darkening and the first stars were just visible. He saw two figures sitting really close together on the edge of one of the piers, their feet swinging.

They didn't look around as he went toward them, though for a man of Dan's size, there was no way to keep his big feet from clomping on the wood. He stopped behind the two. "Wendy."

She leaned on one arm and turned around. "Oh, hey, Dad."

"You behavin'?"

"Yeah. Me an' Mabel are just hangin' here 'cause it's a good dark place to see the fireworks from. Wanna join us?"

Now Dan recognized the girl sitting beside his daughter—the pink headband, the long brown hair cascading down her back, the sort of goofy grin. She was wearing a red T-shirt and shorts, and she waved at him. "Mavis," Dan said.

"Mabel," the girl corrected.

"Oh, yeah. Uh. So where's your brother?"

Mabel pointed out toward the lake. "Soos's boat."

"So why ain't you with them?"

She shrugged. "I get seasick."

"It's a lake."

"Lakesick. Blarrrggg!" She mimicked vomiting.

"Okay," Dan said. "You girls be careful an' don't fall off the dock!"

"It's like three feet deep down there," Wendy said. "But, yeah, we'll be careful."

"Might take the boys out in th' rowboat," Dan said. "Well—I'll be home late, Wendy. You make sure everything's locked up."

"Will do. Have a good time, Dad."

Dan turned and walked away through the gathering darkness.

"Wow."

Wendy laughed. "I know, right? You know what he's gonna do now. He's gonna take the boat out and hunt up Soos's boat and make sure Dipper's aboard."

"He sure doesn't trust you."

"Oh, I dunno. It's not that so much as it is that when Dad gets an idea in his head, it's stuck there." Wendy pointed. "Uh-huh, there he goes with the boys."

It was getting hard to see, but you could make out the rowboat heading out from the far side of the ranger station. The tall, bulky figure at the oars was definitely Manly Dan. And sure enough, he did head toward Soos's boat, which had been repaired since the Gobblewonker expedition—if by "repaired" you meant that Soos had acquired another second-hand boat and had put the steering wheel from his old one on it.

A single rocket streaked up from Scuttlebutt Island and exploded, signaling the beginning of the fireworks show. Then more joined it.

"There they go," Wendy said. "Come here."

It lasted maybe ten or fifteen seconds. When they pulled apart, Wendy murmured, "Mm. Wow! Tambry an' I used to practice kissing for when we'd start dating guys, but I never French-kissed a girl before. I think I like it!"

"Aw—"

Wendy reached out for a tight embrace. "Come here, Mabes. I want me some more of that!"

4

Dan pulled up alongside Soos's boat. "Hiya," he said.

On the boat, Stan Pines leaned on the rail and said, "Hiya, Dan. How's it hangin'?"

"Fine, fine. See ya at the game tonight."

"Oh, yeah. I'll be there."

"That, uh, that your nephew over there?"

"Huh? Yeah, Dipper, come an' say hi to Manly Dan."

The kid came to the rail. In the light from the exploding rockets, Dan saw it was Dipper Pines, all right—pine-tree hat, red shirt and blue vest, the whole nine yards. "You're gettin' tall," Dan said.

Dipper shrugged. "Never match you, sir," he said.

"Listen, I, uh, heard you an' Wendy done good in the games."

"Three-legged race."

"Yeah. Congratulations. You, uh, kissed her, didn't ya?"

"She kissed me. On the cheek!"

"Yeah, well—you gotta realize not to do that in public to girls. Ruin their reputation."

Stan laughed. "That's a good one, Dan! Hah! Ya don't have to worry about Dipper—he's still scared of girls! Right, Dip?"

The kid looked down at his feet. "Aw, Grunkle Stan!"

"Good seein' ya," Dan said.

He rowed for a better vantage point and relaxed to watch the fireworks.

He felt a lot better now. Wendy and Dipper Pines—what a laugh! Why the kid's voice hadn't even broken yet.

While his boys yelled with enthusiasm at the rockets and Roman candles and bursts of stars, Dan smiled gently, reminiscing. All those flashing lights reminded him pleasantly of the times in the woods when he'd misjudged and a limb or a whole tree had whopped him in the head.

Really took him back.

5

Wendy was giggling. "Come on, Mabel, kiss me again!"

"No way! Not until I take this off!" Dipper reached under the shirt and struggled with the sports bra until Wendy had him turn away so she could unhook it. He had to shrug out of the shirt sleeves to get the straps off, and then he pulled the wig off his head. "I felt so silly!"

"Good thing that Mabel had that." Wendy picked it up and stroked it as though it were some kind of long-haired animal. "Why'd she even buy a Mabel wig, anyhow?"

Dipper tugged his shirt back down. "For those school mornings when 'five more minutes' turns into half an hour in bed and she doesn't have time to get her hair ready. Think she looked enough like me?"

"Oh, yeah, man," Wendy said. "With her hair tucked down the back of her collar and your hat and clothes on—yeah, in this light she'd fool anybody."

Dipper sighed happily. "Well, at least we got our anniversary."

Wendy dropped the wig to the pier beside her and said wickedly, "It's not over yet, dude."

As if to underscore that, fireworks lit up the sky.

"Want to see what it's like kissing a boy this time?" Dipper said. "I've just popped a peppermint!"

She pulled him tight against her. "Oh, dude, I thought you'd never ask."