Can we get more of that pastel Wybie and punk Coraline au?
Mel and Charlie were a little wary when Coraline showed an interest in Punk culture, but they supported her and go along with whatever her punk heart desires, even if it means dressing in leather themselves
Mrs. Lovat had no problems with her grandson being a pastel, especially when he knits her and her friends the softest sweaters and his pastries are sent from Heaven
Coraline has been wanting to protect this boy ever since he almost ran her over with his pastel purple bike
Wybie is Coraline’s personal heater. The boy wears a ton of oversized sweaters, so he’s naturally warm
If Coraline sees a unicorn plushie, she’s buying it for Wybie. Same goes for Wybie when he sees skull jewelry
Coraline will always put her leather jacket over Wybie when it starts raining, then he’ll dry her off when they get home
Here’s what they order when they go out for coffee:
Coraline: Black Phantom Frappuccino that’s as dark and bitter as my soul
Wybie: Unicorn Frappuccino with extra rainbow sprinkles and whipped cream
They combined each other’s styles once and ended up looking like Pastel Goths
Wybie is physically incapable of swearing and all of his “curse words” are adorable
‘Cherries’ when he means ‘Shit’
‘Child of a pleasant lady’ when he means ‘Son of a bitch’
‘Kindly step away’ when he means ‘Fuck off’
‘Fudge’ when he means ‘Fuck’
Coraline is doing everything she can to prevent Wybie from hearing real curse words. Kind of hard when he’s over at her house
Mel: *Burns her hand* Oh, son of a-!
Coraline: *Quickly covers Wybie’s ears*
Their school uniforms are all grey and boring, so after some thorough reading of the school dress code, Coraline and Wybie added their own flair to their uniforms (Mainly just pins, headbands, and cute shoes)
They always prank their bullies at school
Coraline’s pranks usually involve floor wax, itching powder, fake blood and limbs, the basics. Wybie’s pranks involve a bucket of glitter, pink paint, and decapitated stuffed animals (Not his, though)
Somehow, they never get caught
Coraline would lose her shit if Wybie met her old friends from Pontiac. (We’ll call them Stormy and Henry)
Stormy has gotten into fights more times than she can count, has painted the popular kids’ lockers black, and Henry is always pranking the teachers and smokes behind the school. She’s not letting them ruin her boy’s cotton candy aesthetic, but they’re visiting today
She’s prepared to fight tooth and nail if those two do anything to her innocent friend. But she was not prepared for…
Stormy: CORA! *Hugs Wybie* WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS CUTIE?! God, I wanna smoosh his face!
So Stormy has a soft side for pastels, but what about Henry?
Stormy: Henry, isn’t he just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?! Look at him!
Henry: … *Blushes* Yeah.
Once, at an amusement part, Coraline had to drag Wybie into the haunted house… She came out with white hair and a thousand yard stare, and he came out looking bored
The Mystery Kids!
Much to Coraline and Raz’s chagrin, Lili and Mabel ADORE Wybie. Mabel and Wybie are always seen knitting sweaters together, and Lili likes to make flower crowns with him
Raz tries to confront him about this, only to go blind from Wybie’s smile
Coraline will carry Wybie bridal style when they’re running from an anomaly
Wybie: Jonesy, I can run just fine!
Coraline: I don’t care!
Wybie rarely ever gets hurt or sick. When the others aren’t feeling well or they go monster hunting where any of them getting hurt is inevitable, he’s their nurse and carries around a bag like this
Coraline will always fake an injury if it means having Wybie take care of her
Norman goes to Coraline for fashion advice because apparently, Dipper’s into punks. (Wybie threatened Dipper with cupcake withdrawal when he heard that)
Dipper got a nosebleed after his makeover
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Cocoon (MK Secret Santa)
Summary: At some point, Coraline realized she’s awake. And no one else was.
Word Count: 947
At some point, Coraline realized she’s awake. It was a gentle awakening. No grating beeps to interrupt something bizarrely pleasant, no terrible monster to launch her back into reality. Just a sudden realization that she’s no longer sleeping for no good reason.
Her eyes were still closed. Static buzzed faintly from somewhere in front of her. She’s warm, and comfy, and wrapped in something thick and soft. Something’s pressing against her to her left, pinning her left arm to her side, and a different thing has wrapped around her right arm on her lap, holding it in place. It didn’t make sense to panic, didn’t feel right somehow, but the sensation reminded her of being restrained, of being helpless, alone, weak, useless, and it opened a big enough pit in her stomach that she opened her eyes.
It’s dark, until her eyes adjusted. Static’s coming from the tv - cheap, old, and miraculously still functioning - casting a dim glow over her and the rest of the room. She’s in the center of a large, fading yellow, slightly musky, very familiar recliner. The recliner that should be thrown out by now but nobody’s heartless enough to do it.
The thing to her left pinning her arm was Wybie. He’s sleeping soundly, leaning bodily against Coraline, lips parted like he’s a snorer, but he’s not. The other thing holding her right arm was Lili. She’s sleeping too, her head laid across Coraline’s lap, her hands wrapped possessively around Coraline’s arm, cuddling with it like it’s her personal teddy bear. It’s goddamn cute. They both were. And then there was Raz. Sleeping too - sleeping real good, in fact - but you wouldn’t think so, because the little monkey’s somehow balanced himself on the recliner’s right arm, as if he hasn’t already proven himself to be one of the best acrobats in the world. Showoff.
There were four shapes at the base of the recliner too - not actually on it but still leaning against it. Two with identical brown hair, one with curly red, and one with pointy ash-black, like the hair’s a spike trap or a drawer full of forks. Fork hair’s in the middle, flanked on each side by the brown hairs, while curly’s lying against her left leg, buried under the biggest, ugliest, comfiest, warmest Christmas sweater you’ll ever see.
And then it all came back to her.
Winter break. She and the rest of the MK somehow managed to convince their parents to spend one weekend in Gravity Falls. Soos was all too happy to let them bunk in the Shack. Raz got his tongue stuck on the totem pole. Disgusting, delicious pizza for dinner. Neil dared himself to stuff twenty marshmallows in his mouth. Someone brought out a Monopoly set. Mabel almost killed Wybie. They picked straws on who got to choose what to watch for movie night and goddamn Dipper pulled the short straw. Made them watch some ‘intellectual’ nonsense that she and the rest had a grand old time roasting while the little twerp sat there fuming. Guess the movie outlasted them in the end, and no one bothered to get up before passing out.
Coraline smiled. Good thing no one did. It’s nice. It’s more than nice. It’s more than what words could describe. If Coraline’s feeling particularly sappy, and she was, then she’ll say she could stay like this forever.
But she knew she’ll regret it in the morning if she let Wybie sleep on her arm and Neil on her leg all night. So she slid her left arm out from between her and Wybie and wrapped it around his shoulder to pull him in closer. Close enough that the matted ends of his hair tickled his left cheek. Then she wiggled her left leg free from behind Neil. The little bundle of fabric and love toppled over to one of the twins. Someone mumbled an incoherent phrase and stirred.
“Sorry,” Coraline whispered.
“Coraline?” A voice asked. Norman’s. Not surprising. He’s always been a light sleeper.
“Hey. Don’t mind me. Go back to sleep.”
Norman grunted. Adjusted how he’s leaning against the recliner a bit. Coraline surprised herself by how much she wished he didn’t just mess everything up. “What time is it?”
“Don’t know.” And frankly, don’t care.
“Shouldn’t we move to our rooms?” Honestly, they should. Soos put a lot of work preparing those rooms.
But still, Coraline giggled. No offense to Soos. “And ruin this?”
Norman must’ve thought no one saw him, but Coraline did. That cheeky little glance to the twin on his right. So that one’s obviously Dipper.
If only Norman could see the smirk on Coraline’s face. “Come on. You’re comfy enough.”
“Yeah,” Norman agreed after a moment of silence. He leaned back against the recliner, relaxing the best he could in his position, a sneaky arm winding around Dipper to pull him just an inch closer. “Good night, Coraline.”
“Smooth,” Coraline said, and greatly enjoyed how hard Norman tried not to crumple in embarrassment. “Night.”
Not that she’s in any position to make fun of Norman for taking advantage of the situation. She’s perfectly aware of how hypocritical she’s being, as she pulled Wybie in just a tad bit closer. Only difference was nobody’s watching her. That’s Norman’s mistake.
With her lips curled into a small smile, Coraline laid her head back, closed her eyes, and not very long after, returned to sleep, wrapped in a cocoon of warm bodies, of friendship and love, of bonds that has been tested by fire and emerged on the other side stronger, tighter, unbreakable. A cocoon to chase all the monsters and nightmares away.
The MK crew held a private Secret Santa event just between us crewmembers, and this is what I made! Would have made it longer, maybe added some extra details, but I ended up not having as much time as I thought to work on it. Hope y’all can still enjoy it. It’s just a short and fluffy thing to end the year on.
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Dipper and Norman, #50
Thanks for the prompt!
It was a rest stop like any other in the Northeast. Just a gas station with some picnic tables, surrounded by deciduous woodlands. But the car pulled into it all the same. Two young men—partners in work, partners in life, and partners not infrequently in actions of questionable legality (although “crime” was such a strong word)—then set themselves up at one of the picnic tables, producing sodas and sandwiches from a cooler.
Laying out a map of the Northeast, Dipper gestured towards a sizeable splotch of green in upper Pennsylvania. It was labeled “Alleghany National Forest”, its shape vaguely reminded Norman of an elephant’s head (with an upraised trunk), and it was clearly the epicenter of a wide swath of red post-its marked with names and some rather recent dates. “As you can see, we’ve got its—his? her? their? whatever—probable location pretty well pinned down.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Norman replied around a bite of sandwich. His tone was deadpan, as it usually was (perhaps an occupational hazard of being a Medium … or of spending most of his time around the Pines family and their own special brand of insanity). “Practically pinpoint accuracy, in fact. Only … 1000 square miles of untamed woodlands for us to search.”
“Pff! Untamed,” Dipper scoffed with the kind of elitist scorn only heard from people who hail from west of the Rockies whenever the subject of Appalachia’s wilderness is broached. “Right. Which means we might get as low as three bars during our investigation. How perilous. Besides, it’s barely even 800 square miles—I checked.”
“Of course you did.”
“But, nah, I think I’ve actually narrowed down the location even further. To riiiiiight … here.”
Norman craned his neck to read the spot his friend tapped (after lifting aside the veritable blanket of red post-its covering it, as it was the center of the epicenter). “… Squirrely Stars Campground. Huh. That why they call this thing ‘the Squirrel Hill Golem’?”
“Nah, that’s because the first sighting was in a neighborhood of Pittsburgh called Squirrel Hill.”
“… You’re yanking my chain. You’ve gotta be.”
“Nope.” Dipper gestured to that segment of the map. “Read it and gape in bewilderment. But, considering Pittsburgh has a massive Jewish population and that’s one of its major sectors, sorta makes sense a Golem would first come outta there. My research suggests it was a Rabbi named Mahara Chelmman who made it back in 1997 (although she wasn’t a Rabbi at the time she made the Golem), but that’s not 100% verified; could’ve been two other people.”
Norman considered that, and it all sounded reasonable enough. For a given value of reasonable, at any rate, since he was dealing with a Pines here. A very negotiable given value of reasonable. “… So did the Golem run off from Pittsburgh a la f-Frankenstein’s Monster upon being rejected by its … Um. How ‘bout we just use a Third-Person, Singular ‘they’ for now?”
“Works for me.”
“Okay. Yada-yada, Frankenstein’s Monster rejected by their creator?”
That got a shrug in response. “Hard to say. Most accounts suggest everyone was cool with them. They might’ve just, like, decided they wanted to live their own life? It was the 90s …”
“So they ran off into the woods of Northern Pennsylvania for the next … twenty-ish years. Sure. Why not? Lots of mud out here—Golems do need m-mud, right?”
“It helps. Makes it easier for them to, like, heal or regenerate and such. Anyway, I’m thinking you will infiltrate the camp and blend in there—”
“Squirrely Stars,” Norman couldn’t help but smirk at the dumb name.
“—to find out what the people there know, maybe interview some Ghosts, too, if there are any. It’s where the highest concentration of sightings are clustered, so someone’s gotta be able to give us something workable.”
Norman nodded his assent. “Makes sense. I’m g-generally better at talking to people—”
“Right? Those were my thoughts exactly!” Dipper hastened to agree.
“—and not like you can communicate with Ghosts 97% of the time, anyway. What about you, though? If I’m doing the people-work at camp, what’re you gonna be doing?”
“Trek around the area out a ways from the camp. See what traces of the Golem I can forestry up. Footprints, magical energies, that sorta thing. Leg-work while you do the people-work. Also makes sense, right, since I’m better at that kinda stuff anyway?” Dipper asked. In a tone of voice that was … almost leading.
Which instantly made Norman a bit suspicious. But there wasn’t anything in that assessment either of them could disagree with, so he had to concede, “… I suppose you’re better at all the, um, stuff out in the woods—”
“Great!” Dipper was already halfway back to the car. “Let’s get moving! I’ll drop you off there.”
***TWO HOURS LATER***
PARKED OUTSIDE THE ENTRANCE TO A DIRT ROAD BENEATH A SIGN READING “SQUIRRELY STARS CAMPGROUND WARNING: NATURIST PROPERTY”
“Okay, but WHY do I have to be NAKED?!” Norman shrilled at the young man he had, until roughly five seconds ago, thought would always be his partner in life. Whereas now he was thinking that young man was about to be his former partner in life. Because he might kill him. Just straight-up murder him with a hefty tree branch or a sharp rock or maybe his bare hands.
Being a Medium meant their relationship wouldn’t have to end at death, true, but you couldn’t exactly call someone your “life partner” if they were dead. Especially if because you killed them by repeatedly smacking their face into the steering wheel or hurling them right into the sun or strangling them with their own seatbelt. That tended to sour most relationships.
“Look, I realize—”
“WHY does ANYONE have to be NAKED?!”
“Because it’s a nudist colony. Or … Well, maybe ‘nudist resort’ is more accurate?” Dipper mused aloud to himself. “Meh. Either way, ‘cause that’s the no-dress code here.”
“But WHY do I have to be NAKED?!”
“How else are you gonna infiltrate and then blend in at a nudist colony and/or resort? C’mon, man, you gotta think logically about this.”
“Yeah, but … WHY does ANYONE who is ME have to be NAKED?!”
“They prob’ly won’t talk to you if you’re not,” Dipper explained, his manner reasonable enough. For a given value of reasonable, at any rate. A very negotiable given value of reasonable. “Like, you’d make them uncomfortable .”
“Oh, well, I c-certainly wouldn’t want them to be uncomfortable!” Norman retorted witheringly.
“It won’t be for long. Just long enough to, y’know, fit in a little and scrounge some info.”
“Never worried about fitting in before,” Norman grumbled. “Don’t see why I should start now. Anyway, if this’s so easy, why aren’t y-you doing it?”
“You said it yourself: You’re better at talking to people, I’m better at ‘all the stuff in the woods’.” And Dipper couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across his face as he quoted him.
“… I hate you soo much right now.”
Dipper shrugged. “That’s fair. But, seriously though, it’s safer this way, too, ‘cause I’m Jewish.”
Norman blinked. Then he blinked again. “… What?”
“I’m Jewish, so the Golem won’t try to hurt me if they’re acting, like, confrontational.”
Norman shook his head. “Okay, no, I’m calling bullshit on that.”
“Dude, you know I’m Jew—”
“No, yes, I know you’re Jewish,” Norman snapped impatiently. “I mean I’m calling b-bullshit on that being some sorta, like, pseudo-mystical-religious-ethnic protection from Golems.”
“Golems exist to protect Jewish people,” Dipper countered, a little condescendingly. “They, like, physically can’t hurt us. Everybody knows that—it’s the first thing you learn about Golems.”
“Even assuming that’s true—and I don’t assume it, in fact, I contest it—how in the 79 Hells’re you supposed, like, to prove your Jewishness (especially to a vaguely humanoid shape made outta mud)? You gotta yarmulke on under that stupid cap of yours I don’t know about?”
“First of all: screw you, my cap is iconic.” Dipper even took a moment to admire his reflection in the rearview mirror, straightened his cap ever so slightly, and made fingerguns at himself. “Second of all: I’ll just say a birkhot or something. Ooo! Maybe even one of the secret ones from the Kabballah! Though a regular one’d prob’ly work fine.”
“Oh, please, I c-could do that. Doesn’t prove anyth—”
“No, you could not. You don’t even know what a birkhot is.”
“It’s like … a prayer and magic incantation rolled into one,” Norman replied (albeit hesitantly).
“Pff! No, that’s not what a bir—”
“In fact, I’m 100% certain I’ve heard you describe birkhots exactly that way,” Norman asserted, not hesitant any longer. “Same way you d-describe the other (and I quote) ‘sorta pseudo-mystical-religious-ethnic spells and incantations and stuff’ you’ve got memorized in pre-Catholic Latin and Ancient Greek and Old Nordic for whenever we gotta deal with a … y’know, with a demon-adjacent, supernatural entity.”
Dipper considered that a moment. Then he admitted, “Okay, maybe yeah, that does sound like something I’d say. But the point—”
“HA! Vindication!” And Norman pounded the dashboard in triumph.
“But the point is, I can recite ‘בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱ-לֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הַעוֹלָם, דָיַן הַאֱמֶת׃’ at the drop of a hat—wait! the drop of a freakin’ kippah—with all the additional, apotropaic hand signs … Whereas you can’t even do a basic exorcism or protective spell in any language.”
Norman crossed his arms and sulkily looked out the passenger window. “Well, s-some of us just t-talk to the spirits and such. Like a n-normal, polite person … w-works just fine … ” Eventually, he huffed, “Why in the 79 Hells is a Golem even hanging around a n-nudist colony?!”
“A resort, I think.”
“I will murder you,” Norman stated, as if making a solemn vow. “With … an ice cream scoop.”
“Heh! Love you, too. Soo … does that mean you’ll do it?”
“You haven’t even answered my question.”
“Honestly? No clue. I just kinda assumed the Golem turned out to be, like, a pervert? But maybe they feel more at home among other people who aren’t wearing clothes? But, anyway, will you? … C’mon, Normy-warmy,” Dipper wheedled, his voice taking on a cutesy, coaxing, pleadingly singsong tone. “Pleeeease, Normy-warmy?”
“… That is ch-cheating, and you know it.”
“Pleeeease help me with this Monster Hunt? You just gotta talk to some people (and/or Ghosts). It won’t even take that long. Heck, if the people in there are anything like me, once they see you naked, their brains’ll stop working due to awestruck amazement—”
Norman grumbled, “S-soo much cheating.”
“—and they’ll be soo mesmerized by your sexy body (and beautiful smile)—”
“Why am I dating such an honorless cheater?” But, despite his protests, Norman was blushing.
“—that they’ll be compelled to do whatever you want for, like, the rest of their lives. It’ll be quick and easy. I promise.”
Feebly, Norman made one final attempt. “…But I sunburn so easy—”
Dipper reached over to open the glove compartment. Inside was a bottle of SPF100 sunscreen.
“… Fffffine. But you owe me big.”
“I’m talking, like, a solid w-week of pampering.”
“Romantic dates. Fancy cooking. Back rubs on demand—”
“Deal!” And Dipper punctuated that with a kiss to Norman’s cheek. “Now strip! Oh, but you can leave your shoes and socks on (the nudists aren’t idiots, even if they are sorta nuts). And, also, they usually use backpacks for holding onto all their stuff. What with not having pockets.”
Pulling off his shirt, Norman sighed. “Why do I keep letting you talk me into stuff like this?”
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