1: Acacia gets the biggest bow and arrow that she can. And when I say big I mean taller than her and capable of killing the French during a castle siege. Willow gets some fire pots which are meant for performing not killing oh my god. Hank gets a staff, because the boy knows his strengths, and he’s good with stick like things.
2. They do. But for obvious reasons they drive out to the course in Bend.
The first time the triplets played “SpinDip”, they were still too young to quite grasp what they’d started.
They just knew it was hilarious.
They had been throwing stuffed toys at each other, a loose sort of game that three year olds come up with, when a throw went wild.
It smacked into the back of their uncle’s head, and all three triplets hissed in a breath, just old enough to know hitting others was Bad.
But the momentum of the toy knocked their floating uncle forward until he was pretending to be angry at them while bobbing upside down, arms crossed and tails dangling by his head and top hat still firmly in place, to their squeals of delighted laughter.
Then he reached for them, still upside down, and the triplets scattered, shrieking with laughter as they were hunted down and tickled into submission by the world’s most powerful demon.
Or, Miss Willow Pines has one hell of a dream. Thank you so much to @marypsue for all the help!!!
———-
Everything around her was grey. The waving grass, the sky,
the small copse of pine trees (and single apple tree) in the distance, the
carpet she was laying on over the ground, the sun and butterflies… everything
was blessedly drained of color, and she existed only in a world of shades and
tints.
It felt like a balm upon her soul, and Willow felt herself
begin to relax at last.
Ever since Uncle Dipper had saved her life when she had
Auriga, her Sight had begun to grow stronger with each passing day. Stronger
and- she ground the heels of her palms into her eyes- harder to control. Every
day it took longer and longer for her to construct the mental shields that kept
the majority of others’ auras out of her head.
Every day those shields seemed to crack and break easier and
easier, no matter what she and Uncle Dipper did.
She curled up into as small as a ball as she could on her
blanket. Here she was no one’s mother, no one’s daughter, no one’s sister, no
one’s niece. No one’s protector. Here she was only Willow, and here she could
freak out as much as she liked about the slow dissolution of her way of life.
She tried to focus on the designs woven into the rug, how they sharpened in
detail near her body and faded away as they went to the edge.
(how it was growing harder and harder to hold on to her
self, her being, harder to keep herself being washed away by the people around
her)
Willow wasn’t usually one to wallow in self pity but a tear
trickled out of the corner of her eye. Uncle Dipper had no idea what to do, no
matter how much he lied to her that he was sure he’d come up with something.
She wasn’t scared of death but the destruction of her mind, of everything that
made her her–
“Oi, what’re you doing laying on that rug? That thing could
be filthy for all you know.”
The triplets lingered, mainly because Willow was pausing to fish something out of her backpack.
“Gingers do not have souls and that’s final!” The third grader stamped her foot down.
Another third-grader set his hand on her shoulder and added, “Yeah. Just look at the Pines.”
The second-grader tried to cross her arms and pout, but raised her arms to her forehead as she did so. Some of her red hear crumpled in the motion.
Hank caught his older sister’s scheming grin moments before she confronted the group.
“You’re right, but we don’t need ‘em.” Oh, boy. “We take other peoples’ souls when we hug them,” she pointed to a denser gathering of freckles around her nose. “That’s where we get our freckles.”
Hank looked from the shocked kids’ faces to his sister satisfied smirk. “Come on, ‘Casia.”
He regretted speaking up; all eyes turned to him and they widened even further. Why did he have to have the most freckles out of his siblings?
Acacia gave herself a few seconds to fight the laughter and put on a strait face. “But we don’t just hoard the souls,” she started.
“No, they have o̴̡̡t͏҉͝he͡r̀ uses.” A new voice finished.
“Are you guys ready to go?” Willow zipped up her backpack and looked at her siblings. She saw the other kids and tilted her head. “Are you okay? You’re really blurple.”
“No,” Acacia snickered, “I think they need a hug.” She winked at the second grader.
The third graders promptly ran like their lives depended on it. Stretching out her arms, the second-grader ran after.
“Perfect!” Acacia looked up at her uncle and grinned. “I’m ready to go.”
Several months later, a pair of classmates cried out strong, “NOOO”s when the triplets hugged their teacher goodbye on the last day of school.
Had another thought, this one for older Mabel who can’t go out to bash cults as much as she starts to get older, mainly due to pains and things from a lifetime of cult bashing. Probably realizing after one particular cult bashing that her back starts to ache and she’s not hitting as hard and she’s kind of down about getting old. So her kids decide to get her something special A tricked out Pickup Truck; A large forward grill rammer, reinforced plate with enough heat resistant charm to power through a dragon’s breath, Dwarven made roll cage and engine, Rainbow Chrome Finish, also a little emergency button called Rainbow Road and Cupholders And an emergency summoning circle in the bed of the pickup truck basically she might not be able to fight as well but now she can car bash through people. The Rainbow Basher. http://transcendence-au.tumblr.com/post/129904841107/rainbow-basher-mabels-new-ride
AN: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZS0WIQI7UU this is the music I’m hearing for the last third of this fic. So for an enhanced experience, come back up and open this up when you get there. 😉
Mabel fell into the couch at the Library, and oof, even that hurt.
Getting older was the worst.
She hadn’t realized how it was creeping up on her, but she’d found a streak of grey in her hair last week (she’d brushed it off as a consequence of having three kids and a demon brother, then proceeded to tickle Dipper until he cried when he tried to tease her about it. He had streaks to match, now. Twins forever.).
But now…she knew she’d hit that cultist, but he hadn’t gone down with one hit like they used to, when she was younger. Yeah, she’d taken him out, but she was sore now, and her back was complaining at her in a way it hadn’t before.
Old wounds were starting to hurt, too, on rainy mornings, and she understood now why Grunkle Stan had so much trouble moving some mornings.
And it was only a month until her and Dipper’s next birthday. She’d wanted to do something big, a real blowout bash for turning fifty, it wasn’t that old!
Here ya go! If you like this and you want to commission a piece of art or writing from me, my commission info can be found here! I’m currently unemployed and need the extra cash.
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