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Mabel Pines, artist, dreamer, creative, high school senior, and lovable scamp, was a pretty simple person.
Ae really was! Mom always described it as going to the beat of aer own drum. Trends and fads came and went, but ae always knew what ae was about. Aer dreams were of sculptures, glitter, screenplays, and themed parties; of making, not being. Ae was always exerting the Mabel effect on the world without much introspection - one layer deep. What people saw was what they got.
Things really weren’t complicated. If ae liked something, ae wore it. If ae pictured something, ae made it. If aer family needed help, ae helped. If Waddles wanted a midnight jam sesh, then Mabel was simply obligated to give it to him.
So this new feeling squirming around in aer chest was confusing. It wasn’t often that Mabel had trouble pinning down what a feeling meant.
Mabel was no stranger to gender dysphoria, but the way Dipper described it was always different than aers. When they were 12 and Dipper came out to aer as a boy, ae realized that there was an extra layer atop aerself, like cheesecloth wrapped between aer and the world. It was a relatively simple thing to remove the disconnect by coming out as genderqueer and moving around in the world like that. Misgendering hurt - it felt like that cloth was back, smothering aer from sight - but other than binding occasionally (and ae always knew when it was one of those days), ae sat with aerself in comfort, now. Ae was sparkly and pink and glittery and not a girl, and that was that.
Dipper’s dysphoria, on the other hand, was all-consuming when it got bad. He would self-isolate to avoid being seen. He would obsess over every inch of his face, over his height. He was never without a binder and had to be coaxed to take a break plenty of times. He had a mental map of how he needed his body to be, and knew intrinsically how off it was. He was always pushing and pulling to make that part of him appear.
Ae had helped him, over time, to manage it - sensory distractions, safe outfits, impromptu haircuts in the bathroom at 1AM when the curls brushing the back of his neck suddenly drove him to despair. Hormones and surgery were always going to be in Dipper’s future, and while Mabel resolved long ago to fight anyone who got in the way of what aer brother needed, it wasn’t something ae personally understood.
Or so ae thought.
Once they were newly 17 and ready to take on the world, the Pines twins had finally convinced their parents to take advantage of Dad’s stupid good insurance and start Dipper on testosterone. Mom and Dad had hemmed and hawed, quibbling about this study or that, until Mabel and Dipper peppered aggressive informative pamphlets around the house that drove home the point: Dipper needed this. And so he got it.
Now, 6 months in, Dipper was metamorphisizing.
His voice was scratching into lower registers; his shoulders were filling out; a ghostly mustache was taking shape. He was over the moon. At every call with their Grunkles, there was something new to comment on with glee, something tiny and incremental and precious: increased hunger, a bit more muscle in his arms. Finally, Dipper was coming into himself. Every day he became more sure, more confident.
It was amazing to see him so happy. He had to keep stopping Mabel from throwing a party at every little milestone. Ae did put together an all-night rager to coincide with his first dose, with his express permission, and the sheer amount of joy and caffeine present could have felled a horse. Ae was there when he was nervous about administering his first shot, and when he needed someone to fight a pharmacist that was dragging their feet.
This was the role Mabel was born to play - support and care for aer favorite person in the world. So what was this something slipping under aer skin? Why did ae catch aerself standing in front of the mirror, pushing and pulling too? Wondering how aer own body would change, if, if? It probably wouldn’t be very different from Dipper, but the fact that it was so easy to picture didn’t assuage aer curiosity like it would if this were just a passing thought. Instead it made the feeling burrow deeper, needle harder.
It wasn’t like when ae felt the need to bind. It was more elusive. More unsure. It was harder to pinpoint, because ae couldn’t just put on a binder and see how the result felt; instead ae had to snatch split-second daydreams out of thin air and pin them to a mental corkboard like Dipper with one of his conspiracies. Was that attraction to that guy actually jealousy? How come satisfaction washed through aer when ae hit low notes singing in the car with Dipper? Was there anything more to aer affinity for silly costumes with fake facial hair?!
Mabel Pines, artist, dreamer, creative, high school senior, and lovable scamp, thought there wasn’t much else to aer. Ae thought that anything else left uncovered was revealed ages ago, and that the only step ahead of aer now was the lifelong journey of settling into aer skin, of affirming that yes, yes, this stocky body with its brown curls, reddened cheeks, dimples, and curves was aer genderqueer home.
On second thought, maybe ae had a little more finding to do.
“Grunkle Stan?”
“Yeah, sweetie?” Came the crackly voice over the phone. “What’s - hey!” A crash erupted over the line, followed by some apologetic shout that must be Great Uncle Ford. It was confirmed when Stan admonished, “Sixer, the kid’s calling, can ya hold on a sec?” To Mabel, they said, “I’m putting you on speaker.”
That wasn’t what ae really wanted - ae had wanted a one-to-one with aer Grunkle Stan for a reason - but ae managed an excited affirmative. After all, ae would never say no to checking in with both aer grunkles.
“Greetings, Mabel!” Ford panted. It sounded like he had been running. “It’s great to hear from you. We’re a bit in the middle of - Stanley! Don’t just-”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a pulse gun shot off with a keening whine. In the distance, something roared in pain.
“Hi Great Uncle Ford!” Mabel chirped. “Sorry, is this a bad time? I can call back!”
Ford started to agree, but Stanley steamrolled him. “Nah, it’s a great time! We’re pretty much done here.”
“Only because you shot the specimen with a beam strong enough to level a forest! How are we supposed to get intact skin samples now?” Came Ford’s muffled griping.
“Shit, was that what this was for? I thought -” The conversation dissolved into a blur of shuffles and wipes against the phone mic as Stan pulled the phone away from their face. Then came the repetitive crunch of dry grass underfoot, overlaid by the familiar, grounding cadence of aer grunkles’ indistinct arguing.
Mabel listened to the horrendous ASMR happily. If ae closed aer eyes, it was almost like ae was there with them, traipsing through some wilderness, crumpling grasses and accidentally obliterating monsters. Ae kicked aer feet against aer bedframe and waited.
Finally, Stan pulled the phone back up to face range. “Sorry. Whaddya need? We’ve gotta do some science junk real quick but we’re about to head back to the boat, if you wanna have a video call instead.”
Quieter, from a distance, Ford said, “Thank goodness, there appears to be an untarnished stretch of skin here. Stanley, could you - ah, thank you.”
They sounded busy. Mabel had called Grunkle Stan like a ship seeking the guiding beacon of a lighthouse, but aer resolve softened now that they were actually on the phone. Something in aer shrunk away like relief. “I don’t need anything!” Ae assured. “I just wanted to chat a bit, but it sounds like you guys have your hands full!”
“Heh, maybe a little, but really, we can make time -”
“Don’t worry about it! We’ll just catch up at our usual call. Bye Grunkle Stan! Bye Great Uncle Ford!” They both started to return the goodbyes, but Mabel had already hung up. Ae stared into the call ended screen and worried at the bedazzlements on aer phone case with one thumb. Eventually, ae lost the staring contest and chucked aer phone onto the bed, flopping down beside it with a sigh.
Most things about Mabel were unapologetic. It wasn’t hard to be honest and genuine when ae happily believed in aer truth. No, aer lies were usually about someone else, not aerself. Preserving someone’s feelings, making sure people were happy even if ignorant. That usually backfired, and was definitely something ae was working on - and that wasn’t why ae had lied this time and said ae didn’t need anything.
That feeling under aer skin hid away in shame.
The thing was, ae wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t hard at all to picture what aer parents would say. Things were rocky when ae first came out to them, in a way that was painful and confusing and maddening.
Mom and Dad were dismissive of both of them in different ways. While they bought Dipper his first binder and started using his pronouns more often than not, they also didn’t acknowledge that his name was Mason. They brushed off the bullying that ramped up when he began using the boy’s bathroom. They thought they could just weather the change like a storm, and when it was over, the dust would have settled without their input. Until they got their heads out of their asses, it was Mabel who confronted the school principal about the unaddressed bullying. It was Mabel and Dipper who broke into the secretary’s office and changed Dipper’s name in the system (that one hadn’t stuck, but just encouraged them to keep doing it until the school gave up. Grunkle Ford hadn’t shown up with a blaster on his hip, but it was a very near thing).
It was slightly different for Mabel. Mom and Dad fought aer on every front, from the mere concept to the specific things ae wanted to do about it. Aer gender was a question of “confusion” and “we think you should wait and see” and “sweetie, you know you don’t always have to do what Dipper does.” When it mattered, like always, their grunkles picked up the slack. They bought aer binders when Mom and Dad had turned the request around on aer as a “self-esteem issue”. They gave aer parents a talking to when they learned how ae wasn’t being believed.
And of course, there was Grunkle Stan in particular, who gave Mabel hope. Aer heart clutched fondly around the memory of a summer evening sitting out on the Shack porch, Stan telling aer that ae was going to grow old just like they did. That a genderqueer Mabel Pines forever and always had a place in this world. Stan had spread out Mabel’s future, had unfolded origami insides from aer twisted-up fear of a life ae didn’t yet have the self-assurance to picture.
Stan would know what to say right now. They would be able to untangle the ugly knot weighing heavy in aer chest. A few good words would transform everything.
So why had Mabel hung up? Had insisted on hanging up? Why did this new thought run away from the light and bury so deep?
“Blargh!” Ae slid off of aer bed and onto the carpet with a more violent thud than necessary.
“You alright?” Came aer father’s distant call from downstairs. He didn’t sound too invested - mysterious noises came from Mabel’s room pretty often.
“Yeah! Just somersaulting.” As good a reason as any. Ae had technically done half of one, anyways.
“Okay!”
Ae blew a strand of hair out of aer face and sighed, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars and sparkly stickers that adorned aer ceiling. It would be nice to be in space right now. Or in Sweatertown. Wherever this amorphous blob of a feeling wasn’t.
Someone knocked against the door in a quick double-triple pattern - aer and Dipper’s code to tell each other it was them. The doorknob creaked when it turned. Dipper poked his head in and looked down at Mabel’s sprawled form with mild interest. “Hey. Done breaking the floors? Mom wants us to help get started with dinner.”
“Ughhh, okay.” Ae grunted and rolled upright. “As long as I get to choose the dessert after!”
Dipper snorted. “I don’t think you have that privilege anymore after last time.”
“Hey! Visionaries are often unappreciated for their time. My sweet-savory hotdog ice cream combo was inspired!”
As they bickered down the stairs, Mabel left a piece of aer behind for now, tucked under aer blankets and the glow-in-the-dark night sky.
Dinner had been a good enough distraction. After that, a new scrapbooking endeavor pulled Mabel pleasantly out of aer head for a couple hours. But now the clock struck one a.m., and Mabel wasn’t creating or moving or enjoying art or playing with Waddles. No, ae had slipped under aer covers and the glowing stars hours ago. Ae was entirely still.
Breathing into the night, ae followed the fake stars with aer eyes as aer brain did cartwheels and somersaults of its own.
What would ae look like on testosterone?
Did ae want to look different?
(Yes, came a soft whisper. Ae just wasn’t able to take that feeling out of the dark and name it until now.)
What if aer parents’ disbelief was justified for once?
What would aer parents say?
(Ae knew what they would say. Ae pictured it in scorching detail. It wasn’t great.
They had once used aer ex-favorite animal, unicorns, as proof that ae was too feminine to hate being called a girl. Who knew what else they deemed aer too feminine for?)
Why was the idea of hormones so intriguing? Ae ate glitter for breakfast. Pink was a personality trait. Wouldn’t hormones go against that?
Would Dipper be mad?
Would aer friends be confused?
Where was the fear coming from?
(Was the fear right?)
Would this take people away from aer? Ae knew ae was a lot to understand, to handle. Would this confuse or upset someone enough to leave?
(If aer parents hated the idea, would ae have to be the one to leave?)
At that, ae sat up, wiping at aer face and blinking into the dark. The neon pink of aer alarm clock read 1:25. Ae only had a vague idea of where the grunkles were right now; Grunkle Stan might be awake, or might not. That question barely registered. Ae was already slipping socked feet into sneakers, pocketing aer phone and earbuds, and tugging a crocheted blanket from Candy around aer shoulders. Ae tried to be as quiet as possible, but left a sparkly scrunchie on the hook by the back door to signal that the creak of the hinges was just aer if Dipper came down to check. They had learned the hard way years ago that late-night noises scared him pretty bad now.
Thoughts continued to pound against aer head like rain as ae crept out the back door onto the porch.
Ae settled on the old porch swing that had seen better days, drawing aer feet up, knees under aer nightgown and blanket drawn tight around aer. The June night was balmy, moved gently by a soft breeze. Bugs buzzed around the light hanging by the door.
Sniffling, ae slipped in aer earbuds, clutched aer blanket, and hit video call on Grunkle Stan’s contact. Ae just wanted to hear their voice. Maybe ae wouldn’t even tell them what was eating at aer.
The call rang out for long enough that Mabel considered cancelling. Just in time, though, Grunkle Stan answered, sleep-rough face popping into view, squinting. They fumbled their phone, cursed, and then the video cut out. Quickly, the call went dead and erupted back to life with a wider camera lens, showing the gentle light and wood panelling of the Stan O’ War II’s kitchen, Stan seated at the table. They must've switched the call to the McGucket laptop aer grunkles usually used for their weekly video chats. Mabel had tried to show Stan once how video calls worked on their phone, but they had gotten close enough to running the phone over with their car that Mabel had to concede the laptop was good enough.
“Hey, pumpkin,” they said as quietly as they could. The porthole behind them showed a black sky. “Everything alright?” Their hair was bed-tousled, bangs flopping haphazardly and shoulder-length strands flying every which way. They wiped sleep out of one eye.
“Ugh, sorry!” Ae winced. “I thought you’d be up already! I forgot you guys were in the Atlantic.”
“Do I look asleep to you?” Stan laughed. “Ain’t that bad. Some people actually wake up at this hour. Only recently did I finally convince Poindexter not to.”
That made aer smile a little despite aerself.
“‘Course, I’d always pick up. You know that.” Stan leaned out of their seat to fiddle with the coffee maker slightly out of frame. “Want me to get Ford too?”
“No, that’s okay. Thanks for picking up.” Ae slotted the fingers of aer free hand through the gaps in the blanket’s lace stitch. “I actually wanted to talk to, um, just you.”
“Finally,” Stan grumbled good-naturedly, still modulating their volume. “My vast life experience and wealth of knowledge is being respected by the youth!” Off-screen, they punched a button with a force that shook the table, making the laptop screen shudder momentarily in response. Begrudgingly, the coffee machine rumbled to life. “What can I do for ya, kiddo?”
“Um.” Ae extracted aer fingers to wipe at aer cheeks again. “I guess I’m scared.” Even the vague admission loosened that knot just a little.
The levity dissipated from Stan’s face. Grave eyes met aer own. They peered through the connection and straight to aer soul, or so it felt. “Snuck outside, huh?” They noted. “How’s the weather over there?”
“Warm, but not too warm. No rain. Kinda nice actually.”
“Good. You comfy?”
Ae nodded with a sniffle.
Stan nodded back in approval. “What’s spooking you?” They poured from the fresh coffee pot into an old chipped mug, taking care to keep movements quiet. Mabel wasn’t sure if the deliberation was for aer benefit or a sleeping Ford’s.
“Promise not to be mad?” Why did ae say that? Why would Grunkle Stan even be mad?
Stan looked at aer like ae had two heads. “I won’t be mad, Mabel. Well, unless there’s somethin’ to be mad at on your behalf. That I’ll gladly do.”
Mabel laughed weakly. “It’s not like that! It’s… I don’t know why you’d be mad, never mind.” Ae focused on the black porthole behind Stan instead of their face. “You, um, y’know how Dipper’s on T now?”
“How could I not? Kid won’t shut up about it,” Stan smiled. “Real happy for him. Could stand to miss some of the details, but eh.” They waved a hand. “What about that scares ya, pumpkin?”
“It’s not about him, not really. I’m super happy for him!” In the post-midnight silence, the dark hung over their call and muffled the world. Ae huddled deeper into aer blanket, tired eyes straining. Where were the words for this? The concept itself was so simple, but saying it was like pulling teeth. “I just… it got me thinking.”
While the rest of aer words spun in their cocoons, Stan nodded and made an encouraging noise. They took a long sip of their coffee and rubbed their thumb along the mug handle.
Mabel sighed. “I think… I think I want that too. Hormones. Testosterone.”
The air had aer thought now. It was out there, flitting about with the moths and bugs around the porch light, hanging stark against the pitch black night.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Stan said simply. “Wanna talk about it?”
They made it sound so easy. A few more tears slipped out and ae muffled an ugly noise that threatened to escape.
Grunkle Stan’s brow furrowed in worry. “Whoa, Mabel -”
“No, yeah,” Ae laughed wetly even though nothing was funny. “Maybe? Um.”
“This why you called earlier?”
Ae nodded. “Yeah, but I chickened out.”
Stan grunted. “Self-preservation can be good. You just weren’t ready. You ready now?”
“Uh-huh.” Ae took a shuddering breath. “I just now realized… I mean, since I can see how things change for Dipper. It’s not that I want to be a guy or anything. It’s just that I want those changes too.”
Stan hummed.
The thoughts gained the weight of a stone as soon as they left aer mouth and became real. Now that the gate was open, more and more came tumbling out. “But I don’t know why. I mean, I’m not a girl, but I know how I come off. I love earrings and ponies and bright, sparkly clothes. My yarn stash looks like a Build-A-Bear threw up. And I like that about me! I like being this way!” Aer breath caught. “But sometimes I-I … the fact that I have to pitch up to sing along to Sev’ral Timez makes me sad. Sometimes I wish I had stubble? And I’ve been ignoring those feelings for so long that I thought they kinda didn’t matter. But seeing Dipper do it…”
“Makes it real?”
“Yes!” Ae swallowed the volume, keeping one eye on the darkened windows lining the house’s second-floor bedrooms. “You get it, Grunkle Stan.”
“Course I do,” they said. “Had no idea I could be like you n’ Dipper ‘til, well, you showed me. Didn't realize I had the option ‘til I saw it.” They rubbed their neck, almost sheepish. “Thought I knew myself, ha.”
“Me too,” Mabel murmured.
“It'll be alright, sweetie. You don't gotta rush anything. We're here for ya and if you decide this is what you want, we'll be just as excited and obnoxious as when Dipper started, trust me.”
The way they said it was forgone, like it wasn't weird for living glitterbomb Mabel Pines to take T. Like it would be just another thing about aerself. Like if ae decided to start hormones, ae would be trusted with that choice.
Unlike the myriad ways aer parents didn’t trust aer with aerself.
That was it. That was the dark core around which aer worries swirled. There was more, of course, about being sure, about explaining it to others. But that was the worst of it.
Mabel screwed aer eyes shut to stop the waterworks, but it didn't really help. Stan's support was permission. The want peeked out shyly, like the rain had stopped. When ae spoke, it was almost a whisper. “What if-” Ae bit off the question. Mom and Dad’s response was no mystery. Instead, ae said surely, “Our parents won’t like it.”
“Why not? They helped Dipper do it, didn’t they?”
They did, begrudgingly. But Dipper was a boy. It made some kind of sense. Mabel never made any sense, not to them, not about this.
“I heard Mom crying about not wanting to lose both her daughters,” was what came out.
“What?” Stan’s eyes sharpened protectively. “When was that?”
“Maybe a year ago?” Ae made a wobbly frown. “But I can’t get it out of my head. I don’t wanna…” Don’t want to finally go too far for them? Be the last straw? The thought trailed off.
“Listen, kid.” Stan put aside their coffee mug and leaned in. “They’re family. It’s hard. I get it. If my parents were still around when I realized my own junk…” They looked somewhere off-screen, forehead wrinkling with tense brows, but seemed to pack away the emotion quickly. “Well, whatever I chose to do woulda hurt someone, and it wouldn’t’ve been an easy choice. But you got a lotta people in your corner, who all want you to be happy. Your friends an’ family in Gravity Falls wouldn’t blink. Hell, if you need to get out of Piedmont I’ll come get you myself, Alex and Michelle be damned.”
“Really?” The idea of being at home among the pines and the weirdness lifted aer spirits. Of coming to Gravity Falls as just Mabel, not Mabel-the-lost-daughter or Mabel-the-once-a-girl, but Mabel-the-sentient-rainbow-who-was-on-T-now-by-the-way. Aer parents’ thoughts and worries always fell off aer shoulders past Gravity Falls’ bounds. “Grunkle Stan, they’d probably put out an Amber Alert.”
“Eh, your parents can come get an earful from me if they really want you back. ‘Sides, I’ve evaded the cops for a pretty long time. I think I could handle it.”
Mabel giggled. “Your car’s so recognizable that the other tourist traps key it whenever you leave town!”
“Yeah, well, that’s just some friendly ribbing. I’m sure they wouldn’t rat me out if they knew I was porting my favorite nibling back home.” As an aside, they said, “Don’t tell Dipper you’re my favorite.”
“We’re both your favorite.”
“Arguable,” they shot back, but the gleam in their eye told otherwise. “Dipper’s on my shit list until he stops ignoring my texts.”
“You mean the ones asking him to download Poker Fiends Redux to win you some extra spins?”
“He’s leaving me out to dry, Mabel! Me! His Grunkle!”
Mabel had to work to keep aer laugh down now. The blanket felt less like armor and more like a comfort. Behind Stan, the world outside the porthole was beginning to gain color, clouds parting to reveal slices of orange sunrise. The smile finally stayed on aer face. “So, it’s not… weird?”
“The poker app? Nah, there are some weird people on there though -”
“No, not that! I mean, me. Hormones.” Ae gestured with one hand to the frilly nightgown with a kitten on it, the rainbow blanket crocheted with glitter-threaded yarn.
Stan looked truly baffled. “Huh? No! It don’t matter what your dumb parents think. If it - well, think of it this way.” They directed a thumb at themself. “I took boxing lessons for years, slicked back my hair like a greaser, dressed in a suit daily for longer than you’ve been alive, got body hair to rival a bear. Did any of that stop me from ending up neither? Or dressing from the women’s department? No!” They shrugged. “If I can do whatever I want in a crochety old testosterone-fueled body, you can do whatever you want in a… spry young testosterone-fueled body?” Immediately, they cringed. “Yeesh. Okay, just pretend I said that better.”
“Ha!” Ae snorted. “I think I get what you mean?”
Hormones wouldn’t be a contradiction. It would just mean aer nonbinary body ran on T. Just like Grunkle Stan’s. They both wore what they liked regardless, and were happy.
“Good, ‘cause I’m not really sure how else to put it.”
“Stanley, what in the devil are you talking about?” Came Ford’s tired grumble out of sight. A brighter light flicked on from elsewhere in the cabin and Stan winced, covering their eyes and groaning expletives. “Oh!” Ford leaned into frame. “Apologies, Mabel! Wonderful to see you first thing in the morning.” He smiled softly, crow’s feet deepening with the motion. “Am I interrupting something? It should be quite late for you right now.”
Mabel’s chest warmed. “It is, but I couldn’t sleep. Grunkle Stan was helping.”
“Oh?”
Stan gave Mabel a questioning look, and ae nodded. At aer go-ahead, Stan grabbed another mug from an unseen cabinet and poured more coffee. “Mabel was tellin’ me ae was thinking about goin’ on hormones too.”
“Really?” Ford commented with genuine interest. He accepted the mug from Stanley and effortlessly downed half of its contents in one go, then turned his attention to the laptop screen. “You know, Dipper didn’t take me up on this offer, but I’m more than happy to synthesize hormones for you both. Fiddleford’s been doing it for decades. I’m sure I could replicate his process.”
“Yeah, ask the guy who lost his brain to make controlled substances for ya. I’ve been in a similar situation and it did not go down well.”
“Well, I would assume that’s because your ‘guy’ was a drug addict trying to make more drugs. This is different. Fiddleford’s vice was the memory gun, not testosterone.”
“Something in it has got to work!” Mabel said. “His beard is glorious!”
Ford tilted his mug towards Stanley with a smirk, as if to say ‘see?’ Stan just huffed a laugh into their coffee.
Up above Mabel’s head, the real night sky twinkled. That knot in aer chest loosened, threads slipping out, the structure unwinding. It wasn’t gone, and the problem wasn’t solved. Ae still wanted to think on it a bit more, and chat about it with Dipper, and aer parents definitely wouldn’t let this slip without a well-meaning, painful conversation trying to talk aer down. But right now, the air felt good on aer face. Aer grunkles were bickering in their kitchen as the sun rose behind them. They didn’t think ae wanted something ae shouldn’t want. They just stayed close, arms outstretched to catch aer.
Mabel smiled, and let aerself be caught.