Fertility Goddess Dipper

"Another offering for you, mistress!" The bright little voice tinkled as it landed on Dipper's pudgy belly, protruding from under his shirt, a dash of dust shaking loose onto Dipper's gut as the dainty feet perched onto his outie.

"Ok, guys? I brought this up before, I'm not-" before Dipper could finish his protest, a sandwich was jammed into his mouth, as tiny delicate hands began massaging his cheeks and chin, encouraging him to chew.

"This is a sandwich from the pixies of the lower grove. It is made of stone ground wheat bread with only the finest ground acorns and freshest, juiciest jammed berries. And we even cut the crusts off!"

Dipper mumbled something as the tiny technicolor figures continued to massage him, urging him to "eat! eat! eat!" Dipper's eyes glazed over in response to the symphony of flavors, and the gentle hands of the androgynous pixies, as he leaned back into the nest of leaves and feathers he hadn't left for a week. He'd correct them soon enough. Then he'd leave. After another offering. Or two. Then he'd tell them he wasn't a fertility goddess... little realizing, in his heavy-lidded, indulgent haze, that the pixies' friendly smiles were turning markedly sinister, and that his own skin was slowly beginning to take on a bright green tone. He scratched his hair, shaking loose some stray pixie dust mingled in amongst the dandruff, swallowed, yawned, and rolled over, nestling his head on his soft hands and doughy arms as he drifted off to pleasant dreams of offerings yet to come.