#Dipper picks up the language pretty quick as these things go

[tswwwit]

Consorts/concubines/wife turning out to be backstabbers being really common in the demonic world, especially the ones higher in the social ladder, and some demons expecting dipper to be a traitor/backstabber. So demons that had a grudge against bill tried to communicate with Dipper that they're on his side for the betrayal, and dipper who is just starting to learn demonic writing doesn't understand all the subtext and metaphors.

Random Demon:"yes.. With someone so close to bill on our side, our plan will be complete!"

Dipper trying to decipher who is this guy that keeps sending him these cryptic letters and what does he mean by saying "To kill a no leg lizard with fangs is to make a trap with big mouth bird beak and the anger of mice thousands":

Very true! Lovers and partners turning out to be backstabbers is likely pretty common in the demon realm. And idioms and cultural references are super confusing, if you don't have the reference point!

Dipper's left reading about his opportunity to "Be the Urk'lagash of toe tickling' and immediately being

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Their Girl

Loosely based off of several cases that have, unfortunately, taken place in schools.

Mabel defends herself when a boy touches her, only to be the one to get in trouble. Not on her grunkles watch.

~~~~~~~~~~

“In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the - Anyone? Anyone? - the Great Depression, passed a - Anyone? Anyone? - a tariff bill. The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act, which - Anyone? Raised or lowered? - raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue for the Federal Government.”

Mabel leaned back in her desk chair to stretch. It was cold in the high school, but luckily her seat was right in the sunshine, warming her up like a lizard on a rock. Her baggy yellow sweater fell off her left shoulder and she let it without giving it much of a second thought, then watched some birds on a tree as the Economics teacher droned on.

“Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? It did not work, and the United States fell deeper into the Great Depression.”

Tenth grade was too young to learn about something so boring. This was for suckers who paid money for it, like college students. Mabel held her breath to keep herself from snorting over her own inner thoughts. Grunkle Stan would be proud of her, she thought, and her thoughts wandered to him and Grunkle Ford, until she was snapped back into reality. Literally.

“Today, we have a similar debate over this, anyone know what this is? Class? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? The Laffer Curve.”

A boy behind her (his name slipped her mind at the proper moment) was playing with her exposed bra strap. It felt like he had grabbed it, barely pulled it back, and let go. At first, she thought maybe it was an accident. Unlike, but possible. But then it happened again, this time the boy pulled the bra strap far enough that when he let go it slapped against her skin a little. It didn’t hurt, and the teacher’s boring voice drowned out the noise, but still.

“Anyone know what this says? It says that at this point on the revenue curve you will get exactly the same amount of revenue as at this point.”

Mabel turned around sharply at once and gave him a deadly glare. “Stop it.” She whispered firmly.

The boy grinned menacingly, and sneered just as quietly, “Make me.”

Mabel whipped her head back, making sure her long ponytail hit him in the face, but though her actions stopped him for a moment, soon he was back to pulling on her bra strap, each time pulling back farther and farther.

“This is very controversial. Anyone know what President George H. W. Bush called this in 1980? Anyone? Something-D-O-O Economics. Voodoo Economics.”

A loud snap sound echoed, a yell of pain and aggravation, and then Mabel Pines stood so sharply her chair fell backwards, turned around, and punched the jerk in the face, left-hook boxing style.

“Ms. Pines!” The teacher scolded loudly.

The whole class was on the edge of their seats. All the kids had seen what happened; the ones sitting closest to the pair had been well aware of what was going on since the beginning. While they were hopeful the jerk would get what’s coming to him, they all knew that wasn’t likely. Not under the most sexist teacher’s nose.

“To Mr. William’s office. Now.” He growled.

“But he was touching my bra!” Mabel defended. “He was invading my personal bubble even though I told him to back off!”

“It’s a very small classroom, Ms. Pines. And maybe he wouldn’t have touched it if you didn’t have it out for the whole world to see.” The man said coldly and pointed to the door. “Now please leave my classroom.”

Mabel knew there was no point in defending herself. She did a quick glance around the room to see if anyone would defend her, but no one looked ready to jump into the line of fire. She understood why. This guy had a bad reputation. Mabel loudly stuffed her notebook filled with doodles into her backpack, took it and her small purse, and stomped out of the classroom.

She did manage to catch the blood coming out of the boy’s nose and grinned.

At Mr. William’s office, the sweet secretary with old-lady glasses offered her a mint and was very nice to her. But soon Mr. William entered the room and had Mabel enter his office. Apparently the teacher had called ahead so Mabel didn’t have to tell the principal what happened, leaving the girl to feel like she was walking into the Lion’s Den.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper left his Robotics class to meet up with Mabel, who normally would be leaving Economics, so they could walk to their last class, Language Arts 10, together. Economics emptied pretty quickly thanks to the boredom, so Dipper was a bit confused when he didn’t see his twin sister out in the hall, and wondered if she was in the bathroom.

He saw a fellow student who shared Mabel’s Economics class, Rose, leave the ladies’ room, and so he asked, “Hey Rose, is Mabel in there?”

She shook her head. “Nah, didn’t you hear? She got sent to the office for punching Jeremy.”

Dipper grinned with pride, but it quickly went away; Mabel would only do that if Jeremy was doing something. “What’d he do?”

“Smacked her with her own bra strap.” Rose pulled down the neck of her t-shirt and demonstrated, “Like this.” And she pulled her bra strap and let go, making it snap.

“Are you kidding me?!” Dipper yelled and his eyes landed on the teacher to his right, standing with his arms crossed and looking out for rule-breakers.

The young man growled in his throat like an angry dog, ready to tell the jerk off, but he felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone while Rose walked away. Dipper calmed down a little, sighed, and walked to the lockers to lean against them as he responded to his newest text. He had no intention of going to Language Arts. He’d be on his way to the office soon enough in case his sister needed him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford re-read the maps and plans for Spring Break with an exciting grin all over his face. Soon the kids would be out of school and take a bus to the pier where he and Stan had docked the Stan O’ War II, then they would sail alongside the California shore, fishing, sailing, and occasionally swimming, for a whole week. They had been planning this since the holidays, when they had all facetimed for five hours while the old sailors were on the shores of the Netherlands. The kids had practically begged to go on the boat with them, and so they agreed to sail alongside Russia and visit California, planning to then re-visit Alaska quickly before sailing down to Oregon for the summer.

Stan climbed up from the cabin below as he pulled on his white t-shirt. “How much longer until the kids are free from prison?”

Ford rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “Ninety minutes. And it’s a twenty minute drive, so it’ll be about another two hours, Stanley.”

The youngest of the pair by fifteen minutes groaned and collapsed on the couch. “I could always hotwire a car and we could see them now. We can pretend one of us died and so we need the kids now.”

“Stanley, no.”

“Stanley YES!”

Ford chuckled and rolled up the map. “Text them if you miss them so much.”

“Maybe I will.” Stan snorted and pulled out his phone to text in the group chat. “Surviving okay, kids?” Just a casual greeting, and he and Ford were pleasantly surprised to get a little buzz back not a minute longer.

“Not really.”

Stan raised an eyebrow while Ford had his back to him and was organizing his papers. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Little dots appeared and reappeared. Stan knew what that meant. Dipper was being careful how he answered. Stan decided to check, and sure enough Mabel hadn’t even seen the texts yet. When he got a small paragraph back, Stan nearly crushed his phone in his fist. “WHAAAAAT?!”

Ford jumped a foot in the air and held his chest. “Christ, Stan, what…”

“Check your phone, Genius! We’re going to Piedmont. NOW!” And Stan slapped on his beanie and stormed out of the cabin of the ship with a slam of the door.

Ford picked up his phone, which had been lying face-down on the table, and once he was caught up on messages, he matched his twin’s anger and made sure his ray gun was in his blue hoodie as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, letting Mr. Williams go on his tangent. According to the school nurse, she had broken Jeremy’s nose. Good. That’s what he gets for touching her. But apparently Mr. Williams disagreed, saying things like how her actions were unlawful and that she had no right to punch another student.

“Under no circumstances should you ever punch a fellow student, Ms. Mabel.” Mr. Williams said firmly.

“But he was touching me!” Mabel quickly injected, in some effort to defend herself. “He was pulling on my bra strap and smacking me with it! And I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Mr. Williams snorted as he reached into his desk. “Well maybe next time you won’t wear such revealing clothes? How else are people supposed to pay attention to the lesson?”

Mabel felt her heart drop. She looked back down at her sweater, her purposely baggy yellow sweater that she had knitted herself a few months ago. This sweater - in fact, none of her sweaters - had ever been a problem before. Mabel plucked at her top and said in a quiet, timid voice, “But I made this.”

Mr. Williams glanced up from what he was writing for a second, before mumbling bitterly with his cold eyes on his paper, “Let the professionals make your clothes, okay? If you don’t want to find yourself in trouble then try wearing suitable clothing.”

Mabel felt her entire face turn red. She was so angry and so hurt and she saw no possible way out of this, so she decided to bite her lip and hide the lower-half of her face in her sweater, shrinking in her seat and lifting her yellow sweater up a bit.

“Now, I am giving you three weeks of detention.” Mr. Williams said. “Two for violence and invading a student’s personal bubble, and one for breaking dress…”

The door opened sharply. Mabel turned and her jaw was wide open to find her great-uncles at the foot of the office. At first she was jubilant to see them again, but then terrified to see them so angry. She had never seen them so mad. She knew they could be scary when they wanted to, but they had always seemed like soft old teddy bears to Mabel, what with their fluffy gray hair and warm hugs and squishy tummy-tums to snuggle against. Mabel was a little unhinged to find their faces darkened with anger. She could see a vein popping out of Stan’s forehead. Ford appeared to try to be collected, but his aura was as black as an imploding star, matching his brother’s quite well.

Mabel stood on shaking knees. Her uncles softened, ignoring the cold look Mr. Williams was giving them, and Stan was at her in an instant, with Ford right behind him, rubbing her shoulders and looking over her. “Mabel, sweetie, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to Moses if that…”

“I’m okay, Grunkle Stan, I promise.” Mabel soothed, trying to smile, but she was still really nervous. “I… Wow, it’s great to see you guys, I missed you, but why are you here?”

“Dipper contacted us.” Ford said softly. “Said you were in trouble. What exactly happened?”

“She pu-...”

“I didn’t ask you.” Ford growled at Mr. Williams. Mabel actually shivered. She was so used to hearing a smooth, warm, comforting voice come from him, that hearing it growl like an animal like that startled her. “I am talking to my niece.” His eyes moved back on Mabel and he was instantly much warmer and not as scary. “What happened, pumpkin?”

“I was in Economics when this boy, Jeremy, was plucking at my bra strap.”

“Please show us exactly what he did.”

“Does it matter?!” Stan snapped. “He touched her!”

“Stanley, please,” Ford gave him a firm look, then returned his attention back to their girl. “Humor me.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. She had pulled her sweater down so it had covered both shoulders and sagged a bit on her chest. Now she moved it so her left shoulder was completely exposed, and she pinched at her strap. “It started like this,” She barely lifted it up, having little effect or sound. “But then after I told him to stop, he did this.” And Mabel pulled back far enough that when she let go it made a harsh slapping sound against her skin.

“Wait a minute,” Stan had caught a glimpse of it the moment she lowered her sweater. He gently turned her to look at the back of her shoulder, and he saw red. Literally. Her skin was reddening from the aggression. Not enough to swell or require ice, but enough to indicate just how invading and violent the action had been.

Stan was growling in his throat. He squeezed Mabel’s forearms reassuringly and said, “We’ll handle this, pumpkin.”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Williams said firmly, still acting professional and snobbish. “Your niece here has violated several school rules and even went as far as to break a student’s nose.”

“You did?” Stan asked and patted her back. “That’s my girl!”

Mr. William’s nostrils flared. “Gentlemen, that is not what we should be teaching young…”

“While breaking cartilage is unfortunate, sir,” Ford said coldly, stepping forward, “It’s abundantly clear that she was only defending herself. Not only did the boy have no right to touch her, in any sense, in any manner, she was even gracious enough to give a verbal warning before she acted as she had to to get the boy to stop.”

Mr. Williams crossed his arms over his chest and snarled, “Well maybe if she hadn’t dressed in such a distracting way Mr…”

“Oh HELL NO!” Stan marched forward and slammed his fists down on the desk so hard he actually left cracks in the wood from the impact. “YOU’RE NOT PLAYING THAT GAME, ASSHOLE! NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH!”

Ford made no attempt to silence his twin. In fact, he was smiling cunningly, like a policeman letting his dog go after the target. He gently walked Mabel to the door and ushered her outside. “Why don’t you wait outside, my dear? Dipper is waiting for you with a snack and some water to calm your nerves, you look a little shaken.” He said quietly.

Mabel dipped her head and smiled, unable to find the words, but Ford understood and closed the door after her.

Dipper was, in fact, there with a package of peanuts and bottled water in his hands for her. They sat in the cool office, listening to the conversation. While exact words were muffled by the walls and door, it sounded like Stan and Ford both were yelling and cursing at the principal. While Dipper and Mabel probably should have been more nervous, they weren’t; they were calm and they both knew that everything would be okay.

About half an hour later, just when the old men’s throats were getting a little sore, they left, leaving Mr. Williams to try to kill a small fire on his desk. Stan swiftly pocketed his lighter and smiled warmly at his kids. “Let’s ditch this hellhole.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was sipping some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows while Dipper was in the shower and her uncles elsewhere on the boat. She rubbed her shoulder with her free hand, elbows on the table, as she thought about the day. While she was grateful to not be in trouble and that the whole situation was over, it didn’t feel over. At least, the feelings it gave her hadn’t gone away.

The door opened and she smiled to see her favorite uncles coming inside. “Hey there, pumpkin.” Stan greeted warmly, but grew a little concerned. “You okay?”

Mabel blinked and tried to make a more convincing smile. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“That principal rattled you pretty good.” Stan pulled out a chair and sat next to her, rubbing her back. “C’mon, what’s on your mind?”

Mabel looked down at her hot drink, sighed, unsure of how to properly express her emotions, but managed to settle with, “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Ford said firmly and stood on her other side. She looked up at him and the old scientist said, “What happened to you was completely unfair and should never be tolerated.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. “It’s just that… not only should Jeremy not have touched me, but you’d think people would have my back for defending myself, but… they made it seem like it was my fault…”

“Mabel Pines,” Stan moved his hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently. “That was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You dress how you want and punch any guy that touches you if you don’t wanna be touched, and don’t let anyone tell you you should act differently.”

Mabel smiled weakly and nodded. “Okay.”

Stan chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.”

“Now hold one minute, Stanley.” Ford teased and wrapped Mabel up in a one-armed hug, making her giggle and hug him around his waist. “You were always terrible at sharing. She’s my girl, too.”

Stan smeared playfully and tickled Mabel’s ribs to loosen her grasp on Ford, pulling her into a big bear hug as she laughed. “Nu, uh. My girl.”

Mabel rolled her eyes as the twins only kept up the charade for another minute, filled to the brim with appreciation and power.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?  

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities.  And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,”  He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.” 

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff​ @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon​ @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione​ @mariaenchanted​ @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

[thehelleniclunarwitch]

Teenage Promises (Eddie Brock x Reader)

Prompt: As teenagers, a boy and a girl agree to marry if neither have by their 35th birthday. Follow the boy as he attempts to sabotage every relationship the girl has till then. 

Pairing: Eddie Brock x Reader 

Minor pairings: Roy Harper x Reader   Pietro Maximoff x Reader   Connor Kent x Reader    Dick Grayson x Reader

Minor Characters: Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Pietro Maximoff, Connor Kent, Dick Grayson

Fandom: Venom, Marvel, DC

Warning: Language

*Sixteen Years Old*

The pair lay in the back of his truck under the night sky. Y/n pointed at the sky above them.

“There! I found the Little Dipper first,” She grinned.

Eddie glanced over at her with a small smile.

“Hey, let’s make a promise,” Eddie said.

Y/n dropped her arm down next to her as she looked over at her best friend.

“What kind of promise?” Y/n asked.

Eddie took her hand in his. The two of them weren’t shy about displaying their love for one another. They had been best friends since they were three years old. Y/n tightened her grip on his hand as Eddie sucked in a breath before talking.

“Let’s promise each other that if neither of us are married by thirty-five then we marry each other,” Eddie said.

“Do you have that little faith in us?” Y/n asked with a chuckle.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Are you that repulsed at the thought of marrying me?”

This time it was Y/n who let out a soft chuckle.

“No, it’s not repulsing,” Y/n said.

Eddie sat up on his elbows. “So is it a deal?”

Y/n bit at the bottom of her lip.

“Deal,” Y/n said as she shook her friend’s hand.

*Eighteen Years Old*

“Wait, really?” Roy asked.

“Yeah, her dads don’t want to exactly tell her no because she is their only kid, but they are pretty strict about no dating,” Eddie said.

Jason chuckled behind him. Eddie glanced back at his best friend and gave him a sour look. Jason rolled his eyes but took the hint to fall quiet. Roy was also his best friend and should at least warn his friend that Eddie was head over heels in love with the girl, but all of this was far too entertaining to say something.

“Steve and Bucky are legends. They’re terrifying. I don’t need them coming after me because I asked their daughter out on a date,” Roy said.

“That’s why I’m just giving you the fair warning,” Eddie said.

“Thanks, man, I guess I should call Y/n and break it off,” Roy said.

“Yeah you do that,” Eddie agreed.

Hunching his shoulders forward, Roy quickly left the locker room with his lacrosse bag and pulled out his phone.

“Dude, your desperation is showing,” Jason commented.

Eddie wheeled around to glare at his friend.

“One word to her and I’ll tell Y/f/n that it was you who spilled the coffee on her brand new laptop and not some random stranger at the coffee shop,” Eddie threatened.

“Dude, low blow,” Jason said.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t mess with me,”

Jason sighed and shook his head. The familiar ring tone that belonged to Y/n began to echo through the locker room. Eddie pulled out his phone and a small smile tugged at his lips at the sight of Y/n’s name flashing across the screen.

“Gotta go, my girl is heartbroken,” Eddie smirked.

“You sick bastard,” Jason scoffed.

Eddie only grinned as he answered the call bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Hey you,” Eddie answered.

Eddie grabbed his bag as he turned on his heel to leave.

“Roy broke off the date?” Eddie asked.

Jason shook his head once again as he picked up his own bag and began following his friend out of the locker room.

“Of course I can pick up ice cream and come over,” Eddie said.

Jason nudged Eddie on the shoulder to let his friend know that he was heading towards his own vehicle. His own girlfriend, Y/f/n was leaning against his bike waiting for him.

“What took you guys so long?” Y/f/n asked as Jason dipped down to kiss her hello.

“Roy broke the date off with Y/n,” Jason said.

“Shit, I should call her,” Y/f/n said.

“Don’t worry about it, she called and Eddie and he’s already on his way,” Jason said.

Y/f/n looked up at her boyfriend. “You’re pretty calm for having one of your best friends break another one of your best friends heart,”

Jason only smirked. “Maybe I already have it handled,”

“Oh really?” Y/f/n asked.

“Yeah, really, now can we go? I’m starving,” Jason complained.

“Right, cause you’re going to waste away,” Y/f/n teased.

Jason pushed the helmet down on her head before climbing on his own bike. Glancing across the parking lot he watched as Eddie hang up the phone and climb into his truck.

Eddie waved towards Jason before pulling out of his spot and whipping out of the parking lot.

Eddie knew that Jason would rag on him more later on, but right now his best friend needed him. Deep down, Eddie knew this was wrong that he shouldn’t sabotage her chance at happiness, but Eddie truly believed that he was the key to her true happiness.

Eddie stopped at the corner market down the road from Y/n’s house to pick up her favorite ice cream and a box of tissues. He quickly paid for the items and then continued his way down to the Rogers-Barnes household.

Bucky was the one to answer the door.

“Are you going to get her to stop crying? Nothing we do is working,” Bucky asked.

Eddie held up the bag of ice cream and tissues. “I’m on it,”

“Thank god, she’s upstairs,” Steve said rounding the corner.

Eddie kicked off his shoes and then took the stairs two at a time. He found Y/n curled up in her bed. Eddie jumped onto the bed next to her. Popped open the ice cream and then let his friend rant and rave to him about stupid Roy Harper.

*Twenty One Years Old*

“Thanks for meeting me. You’re her best friend if anyone can give me insight for this date it’s going to be you,” Pietro said.

Eddie gave the blonde a soft smile. “No problem at all,”

“So tell me about Y/n,” Pietro said.

“Well, she’s an independent woman. She hates the whole chivalry thing. Don’t open doors for her. Let her pay the bill, act like you’re not into her. That whole chasing thing is lame to her.” Eddie explained.

“Growing up with two dads must have taught her that,” Pietro said.

Eddie had to press his lips closed tight to keep from bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“Yeah, Y/n’s never been the damsel in distress and she isn’t going to start now,” Eddie said.

“Okay, okay, I think I’ve got this,” Pietro said.

“Oh, but she does hate making decisions. So make sure you order dinner for her,” Eddie said.

“What kind of things does she like to eat?” Pietro asked.

“She’s a meat and potato kind of girl,” Eddie said.

“Great, thanks Eddie, this was really helpful,” Pietro said.

“No problem, good luck tonight,” Eddie said.

Pietro shook Eddie’s hand and then excused himself.

“You know it was shitty when you did it to me and it’s still shitty that you’re still doing it,” Roy said coming around the corner.

Eddie looked up at his friend. “I know, but,”

“You love her. I just don’t understand why you don’t tell her,” Roy said flopping down next to her.

“This way is much more fun,” Eddie grinned.

Roy shook his head. “You’re going to get caught. How do you think she’ll take that?”

“I’ve been careful. She’s not going to find out,” Eddie said.

“Dude, your big mouth is the reason I found out anyway,” Roy pointed out.

“No, years had gone by and I figured you had the right to know,” Eddie corrected his friend.

Roy rolled his eyes. “Whatever dude, but if the day comes Y/n finds out I’m going to happily sit back and watch her kick your ass from here to China and back,”

Eddie scoffed. “You’ll be eating those words when she’s walking down the aisle at our wedding,”

“Whatever you say, dude,” Roy said getting up.

“You have little faith in me friend,” Eddie said.

“No, you’re too cocky for your own good,” Roy said before walking away and leaving Eddie alone with his own thoughts.

“Mark my words!” Eddie shouted out after him.

Later that evening, Jason, Y/f/n, Roy, and Eddie all sat in Y/f/n and Y/n’s apartment watching a movie with their takeout still on the coffee table in front of them.

The door to the apartment flung open, Y/n stormed in and then slammed the door behind her. Y/f/n was quick to her feet.

“Was it that bad?” Y/f/n asked.

“He was twenty minutes late, the door slammed in my face, ordered me a bloody steak, didn’t let me say one word all night and then made me pick up the almost hundred dollar bill,” Y/n snarled as she kicked out of the heels Y/f/n had picked out for her.

“Jesus, that doesn’t sound like the Pietro I know,” Y/f/n said as she walked over to her friend.

Roy and Jason both looked over at Eddie who was trying very hard not to smile.

“This is honestly such bullshit and so confusing. I never thought he would be like that,” Y/n said.

Y/f/n wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder.

“I’m going to pour you a giant glass of wine and then we can have a bitch fest over chocolate in my room,” Y/f/n said.

“Hey! We’re watching a movie,” Jason exclaimed.

“And my best friend needs me,” Y/f/n said with a growl.

Once the girls were gone Jason looked over at his friend.

“Thanks for the cockblock. I hope you’re happy,” Jason said.

“Oh, I’m stoked,” Eddie grinned.

*Twenty Five Years Old*

Connor Kent looked over at Y/n.

“Wait, you really think that your dad could beat my dad in a fight?” Connor asked her.

“There’s no competition,” Y/n blatantly replied.

“My dad is Superman,” Connor said matter of factly.

“And my dad is Captain America. He’d wipe the floor with your dad,” Y/n said.

“Okay, so we can’t be civil about this?” Connor asked.

“Absolutely not,” Y/n said sitting back with a huff.

Connor sighed. The two fell silent. He pulled out his phone and kept it hidden under the table.

To: Eddie Brock

I thought you said she’s a big fan of my dad?

From: Eddie Brock

She’s a huge fan.

To: Eddie Brock

She just told me her dad would wipe the floor with my dad

From: Eddie Brock

You're his son. Did you really think she’d admit that to you?

To: Eddie Brock

I guess I didn’t think of it that way.

From: Eddie Brock

You can save the date

To: Eddie Brock

How?

From: Eddie Brock

Tell her how much you admired the Avengers for taking down Thanos

To: Eddie Brock

Thanks

Connor slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“You know I’ve been meaning to tell you what a great job the Avengers did taking down Thanos a few years back,” Connor said.

Y/n paled.

“What? What did I say?” Connor asked.

Y/n stood and tossed down her napkin onto her plate. “You do realize that I lost my godfather, my aunt, and one of my best friends, right?” Y/n said.

“Y/n, wait, I’m sorry,” Connor began stumbling over his words.

“Have the great rest of your night,” Y/n hissed.

“Y/n!” Connor exclaimed.

“Tell your dad I said hi,” Y/n growled before storming out of the restaurant leaving a baffled Connor Kent behind.

Y/n called Eddie and told him to man the ice cream she was going to need a lot of it.

*Thirty Years Old*

“I’m going to kill your brother!” Eddie roared.

Jason didn’t even bother to look up from his book.

“Which one?” Jason asked. “I have a pack of them,”

Eddie swatted the book out of Jason’s hands.

“Dick Fucking Grayson just took my girl out for dinner,” Eddie spat.

Jason threw back his head and laughed.

“Ooh a little too close to home now, huh?” Jason asked.

“Yeah for you, when you’ll have to attend his funeral,” Eddie snarled.

Jason shook his head.

“Call of your hound, Jay, before you have one less brother to annoy,” Eddie threatened.

Jason sighed. “If I do will you man up and tell her already?”

“Do it before I get arrested for murder!” Eddie ordered before storming away.

Jason rolled his eyes as he pulled out his phone.

To: Dickhead

Yo

From: Dickhead

What? I’m on a date.

To: Dickhead

You do know that Eddie is in love with Y/n, right?

From: Dickhead

What?

To: Dickhead

Yeah and if you don’t ditch that date he’s going to murder you.

From: Dickhead

Fuck we just ordered.

To: Dickhead

It’s your life. I gave you the warning.

“Hey, everything okay?” Y/n asked.

Dick’s head snapped up from his phone.

“Uh, yeah,” Dick hesitated.

“You sure?” Y/n asked.

“Actually, I think I made a mistake,” Dick said.

Y/n cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Y/n asked.

“I thought I was over Kori, but the more I sit here with you it’s obvious that I’m not,” Dick said.

“Um, wow,” Y/n said in shock.

“Sorry, Y/n, but I can’t do this,” Dick said before leaving her alone at the table.

Jason looked up from his book once again.

“That son of a bitch!” Y/n shouted.

Jason winced. Y/n set her eyes on Jason.

“Your brother is a real piece of work!” Y/n growled.

“Now, Y/n,” Jason began.

“Don’t you now Y/n me,” Y/n snarled.

“Hey what’s with all of that shouting,” Y/f/n asked.

“Take your pregnant self back in that room. I don’t want the stress of you witnessing your husband's murder to harm your baby,” Y/n growled.

“And why are you going to kill my husband?” Y/f/n asked.

“Because his good for nothing brother just left me alone in a restaurant because he’s supposedly not over Kor,” Y/n said.

“You kill my worthless husband and I’ll go kill Dick,” Y/f/n said.

“Now girls,” Jason said.

Both sets of burning eyes turned on him.

“Right, my brother is in the wrong and I’ll kill him myself,” Y/f/n quickly corrected.

“Smart decision,” Y/f/n said.

Once Jason was gone, Y/n followed Y/f/n into her bedroom. She curled up next to her friend and the two fell into a Netflix binge while Jason took care of his brother.

*Thirty Five Years Old*

“Happy Birthday!” Eddie shouted as he burst into Y/n’s apartment.

Y/n stood there, her arms crossed, and a glare already settled on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Y/n asked him.

“Uh, no,” Eddie said.

“You do know that I figured out your whole plan years ago, right?” Y/n said.

Eddie’s heart dropped but he had to play all of this off.

“What plan? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie said.

“Roy, Pietro, Connor, and Dick. They were all so great leading up to my date,” Y/n began.

“Girl, I have no idea what’s your rambling on about,”

“They did everything exactly wrong. The complete opposite of what I like. The boys never went to Y/f/n for advice on me, Jason wouldn’t help, but you, you would be more than willing to play the best friend part,” Y/n said.

Eddie gulped.

“So, admit it, did you sabotage all of my dates over the past years, even the ones I didn’t even mention?” Y/n asked.

Eddie stayed silent.

“Edward if you know what’s best for you-you'll start spilling,” Y/n growled.

Eddie sighed. “Yeah, I did,”

“Why?” Y/n exploded. “All I’ve ever wanted was to get married and have kids. You have purposely ruined all of my chances at being happy,”

“It’s because I’m selfish,” Eddie said.

“Clearly,” Y/n hissed.

“But you don’t understand why,” Eddie said.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you remember that promise you made me when we were sixteen?” Eddie asked.

Y/n’s facial expressions softened as the memory came back to her.

“Let’s promise each other that if neither of us are married by thirty-five then we marry each other,” Eddie said.

“So what, you sabotaged all of my dates over the years so you could marry me?” Y/n asked.

“Isn’t it obvious, Y/n? I’ve been in love with you way before we made that deal,” Eddie said.

“Eddie,” Y/n sighed.

Eddie held up a finger as he dug around in his pocket.

“I mean come on Y/n I can’t be the only one to be blamed here. You could have fought tooth and nail for any of those great guys,” Eddie said.

“What are you trying to insinuate?” Y/n asked.

“That deep down you love me too,” Eddie said.

“Eddie,” Y/n said with a roll of her eyes.

“And you’re just too afraid to admit it,” Eddie said.

Y/n scoffed, but then fell silent as she watched Eddie get down on one knee.

“If I’m wrong you just have to say so,” Eddie said.

Y/n’s eyes widened.

“But if you’re wrong, which god I hope you are, then will you marry me?” Eddie asked as he opened the small black box.

“Oh my god,” Y/n whispered.

“You’re the love of my life and I want to spend the rest of my life with. I want you to be my wife and I want to give you babies lots and lots of babies,” Eddie said.

“Shut up,” Y/n said.

Eddie closed his mouth.

“God I hate when you’re right,” Y/n said.

Eddie broke out into a smile.

“So is that a yes?” Eddie asked.

“Yes, you idiot, I’d love to marry you,” Y/n grinned.

Eddie slipped the ring on her finger before picking her up and spinning her around. Sure Eddie could have done this a little easier, but this was way more fun and a lot more satisfying. But hey they were both getting their happy endings and that’s all that mattered.

[raphaelsplinter]

|| Get to know RAPHAEL SPLINTER who’s TWENTY-TWO years old and a SENIOR in college majoring in LAW. He is from NEW YORK and is often times mistaken for ARON PIPER while others say he reminds them of RAPH from TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES. ||

heyo all, my name is pepper, and after spending way too long getting distracted and watching jenna marble videos sdjksdjk Here I Am to introduce my grumpy problem child, raph ! a bit about me i guess, i’m a pinterest addict and a big fergie fan, i can only wink with both eyes (still counts tho right?) and i love b99, the good place, and umbrella academy. alright down bellow will be a bit about My Boi and some wcs i have for him ! please * youtuber vc * sMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON if you’d like to plot and i will come running okay? okay 

tl;dr for those who don’t want to go through this whole thing, he’s the raph you loved and knew from tmnt except he’s bifurious, been to juvie, and had a period of his life where he was a vigilante. 

to start before i forget here is his pinterest board ! blood tw though !

Raph has always used his fists to solve his problems. Violence was as natural to him as breathing, something he’d been turning to since before he can remember, and truly never really learnt how to stop. From punching kids who bugged him on the playground to picking fights with jerks who looked at him funny, Raphael was, and likely always will be, a bit aggressive. Quick to anger and even quicker to throw a punch because of it.

It was his adopted father who decided to help him channel this anger into something constructive. At first Raph thought it was stupid. After all, he already knew how to punch somebody, he didn’t need to know how to do it with gloves on. But at his father’s patient insistence, Raphael tried it, and unexpectedly (at least to Raphael) it helped. Yes, Raph was still eternally in a bad mood, but now when it all got too much and his anger felt like a noose around his neck, he had something to turn to rather than the first person who ticked him off.

But it wasn’t long until Raph didn’t just have boxing to turn to. Not just karate and taekwondo either, no, somehow Raph accidentally stumbled into an even more unexpected outlet. You see, Raph’s sense of justice was almost as strong as his anger, and that was maybe the one thing he and his family all shared, the one thing they all had in common, even his father. None of them could just sit back and allow someone else to get hurt, and it was that sense of justice that led Raph into some light pseudo vigilantism. It wasn’t anything big or, hell, organised. Honestly, the way it started was with Raph hearing something suspicious in an alley, going in guns-- or rather fists-- blazing and taking care of it himself rather than calling the police. But the thing was, it became a pattern. It became a choice. It got to the point where Raph would go out at night and roam the streets, waiting to see if anything was going down, waiting to step in. And it was New York, after all, it was the cesspool of the earth, something was always going down. Almost every night through most of his teenage years Raph would come home with bloodied knuckles and bruises, hurting like hell and having to hide it all from his family but… he felt good. He felt lighter. Doing what he was doing then, it felt better than just punching someone to punch somebody. It felt like he was actually helping people, like he was using his anger that only ever seemed to hurt people to actually do something good for once. For a while Raph thought that he was truly doing what he was supposed to be doing. That he had found his calling (although he would die before saying that out loud. Too damn cheesy).

Until of course, predictably, everything went downhill. Using his anger as a tool seemed like a great idea, and it would have been, if he knew how to control it. How to wield it like his dual daggers or his fists. But he didn’t. And because of that he slipped up, let his anger get the better of him, let it overflow one night and went too far. It didn’t matter than Raphael was stepping in between the guy and the girl he was harassing. It didn’t even matter that the girl defended him. The police didn’t care. He nearly put the guy in a coma, and he was pressing charges, and those charges landed Raph in the slammer for a whole year.

Luckily Raph was spared being charged an adult by the fact that he was seventeen at the time. While he did get a record, and lost a year of his life to the incident, it all really could have been much worse. He was able to see his family every once and a while when he had visitation. And he was able to continue school from in there. Juvie, as horrible as it was, was almost like the wake up call he needed. It was the push he needed to realize that he couldn’t let his anger control him. He needs to learn to control it.

So he’s learning. Slowly and grudgingly through mandated anger management. In all honesty, he hates it, and he slips up all the time, but he keeps going to his appointments. He keeps coming back, and he figures that must count for something.

Getting into university with a record wasn’t exactly easy, even with Raphael’s grades. Yeah, Raph was no Leo or Don but there’s not much else to do in juvie but workout and study, so that’s what Raph did. Found out he was actually pretty decent in school when he actually put the effort in and had no other options. Not that most universities or colleges even cared. Raphael had stubbornly convinced himself that he didn’t even want to go (after all, he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do with his life, whether that be opening his own boxing ring or becoming a personal trainer, so he might not even need university in the first place) ( and because being angry was so much easier than being disappointed) until he got the offer from Corona. And yeah he thought it was stupid, and kind of shady, but... he didn’t really have any other options, and his brothers were going too. So he figured why not.

Raph decided to study law because again, why tf not. He minored in italian language and literature because-- well you get the drill. Honestly, if you were to ask Raphael about his major he would simply shrug, grumble, or give you the finger, but after being on the wrong side of the law for so long he wants to know it. In all honesty, Raph doesn’t trust cops or a lot of law enforcement, he thinks a lot of them are incompetent and stupid, and if he has his way, he’s going to be apart of changing that and maybe show these morons how it should be done.

HEADCANNONS

I have a headcannon that Raph took up italian when bored out of his mind in juvie, actually didn’t find it that hard, and he’s just been continuing to learn it and find it pretty damn easy here in Corona. I will say though, Raph isn’t the best student. He isn’t the best with authority figures who aren’t his father (the single and only authority figure he respects) so he tends to be rude in lecture, and ditch a lot, but he aces all his assignments so the professors can’t complain.

Raph is a smoker (both weed and cigarettes) and he doesn’t really care what anyone has to say about it. He figures they’re his lungs to ruin.

Raph has a sleeve at tattoos down his right arm, and an earring in his left ear.

Tends to work out/spar while he’s stressed.

Is a kind of impulsive and aggressive drunk, but also very loose and warm too if that makes sense, he can go from happy to angry at the drop of a hat.

He’s very protective of his youngest brother Mike, and that protectiveness can sometimes extend to other people younger than him. He doesn’t care for the most part, but Raph will always stick up or look out for the little guy, even if he does so grumpily.

The biggest potty mouth in the world omg, like it was hard for me not to curse while writing this while in his head space. He needs a swear jar.

Has some abandonment issues and identity issues due to the whole adoption thing but yk it’s chill he’s trying to chill dkjdfjk

THICK new york accent love this for him

WANTED CONNECTIONS ;  literally almost forgot to put these oof sorry y’all i’m a fool

friends ; raph is hella antisocial so i’d say there’s maybe two spots for these but i would love for him to have some people he actually like Semi likes to be around yk that would be cool (4/4) vanellope, merida, shego, dipper !

annoyance ; someone who bugs him. this is pretty self explanatory but this could be like a big brother/younger sibling kind of situation or it could just be someone who gets on his Last Nerve mabel !

someone he looks out for ; someone raph is protective of! this could be because he thinks of them as a younger sibling, or because he just feels the need to watch out for them and he doesn’t know why. we can plot this out ! rosetta & daphne ! (2/?)

an ex ; raph despite his moody ass, does tend to date even if it’s kind of rare. this could be someone who dated raph for whatever amount of time and maybe it well or maybe it went horribly. 

a past hookup ; self explanatory i think but raph has more hookups than actual relationships so if anyone is interested this is open to f / m / or nb! (1/?) angelica !

a fwb ; again self explanatory and open to all genders ! shego !

a soft spot ; someone who raph has a soft spot for for reasons that can be plotted. this grump is just a little less grumpy around them for reasons idek yet i just figure this could be fun. (2/2) rapunzel & boo !

a sparring partner ; someone who raph turns to when he physically wants to fight. friends with benefits except the benefit is fighting lmao flynn & vanellope !

enemies ; someone who raph hates, and it’s mutual, or maybe it’s one sided ! slightly !

stoner buddy ; coraline !

i think that’s it for now but i’m always willing to brainstorm tbh hit your girl up !

[amillionsmiles]

quantum mechanics, smirks, and other complications of the universe (Pidge/Lance)

Summary: It’s the littlest things that are hardest to measure. Pidge tries anyways. A/N: birthday fic for @flusteredkeith !!! you know how much I love you and basically every other fic I write ends up dedicated to you anyways but here’s a lil something short and sweet set in the canon universe <3 have a beautiful day~~ A/N2: partially inspired by this art by @shiros-sugar !

[Read and review on Ao3] or continue under the cut.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle says this: the more you know about the position of a particle, the less you can know about its momentum, and vice versa.

Pidge’s Field Guide to Her Friends (Version 2.0, after extensive beta testing) says this: in precisely ten ticks, Lance will approach the tall, four-eyed, four-armed alien with a wink and a pick-up line.

Sure enough, the experiment begins right on time.  Lance saunters over, all long limbs and diamond-edged smile, leaning casually against the pillar to deliver his pièce de résistance: “Are you from space?  Because your body’s out of this world.”  

Based on Pidge’s calculations (after all, a scientist is only as good as the notes she keeps), this line has a 67% success rate.

The alien looks at Lance, all four eyes staring at him blankly, before excusing itself from the conversation.  Pidge turns around to hide her snicker, taking out her palm pad so that she can update her data.  The column keeping track of “overtures made” goes up from 27 to 28.

“What are you doing?” Hunk appears at her shoulder.

“Testing a hypothesis.  Have you ever thought about how Lance is kind of like Schrodinger’s Cat?”

Hunk strokes his chin. “Not really. Explain.”

“The cat is both dead and alive until you open the box.  Lance is both charming and not until he opens his mouth, and then he’s just… not.”

“Hey!”  This comes from over her left shoulder; Pidge nearly jumps out of her skin upon realizing that the topic of their conversation has… decided to join the conversation.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you talking about me behind my back,” Lance pouts.  “Not cool, Pidge. I thought we had something.”

“Sorry, I’m taken by science.”

Lance snorts and rolls his eyes, bumping her on the shoulder before his attention gets caught by the arrival of a new prospect.  In no time, he’s jumped right back in, and Pidge wonders, briefly, what that must feel like.  To throw yourself into something without any idea of where the chips will fall.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Hunk smirking at her.

“What?”

The grin widens.  “You think he’s charming.”

*

“Psst, Pidge!” Lance accosts her on the couch, draping himself over the back of it to speak right in her ear.  “I need your help.”

At this point, Pidge is proud to say that she’s gotten better at managing her reactions to Lance sneaking up at her.  Coolly, she closes her laptop, turning over her shoulder to ask: “With what?”

Lance shoots her a cryptic smile, shoving his hands in his pockets as he moves around the couch to stand in front of her.  “Come with me and you’ll see.”

Several scenarios flash through her mind.  1) Prank—a bucket rigged to spill on her head.  2) Surprise—Lance is a generous person, after all, and he did joke once that he was going to knit her a sweater.  3) Lance actually needs help.

Statistically speaking, it’s probably option three.

Sighing, Pidge gets to her feet and follows him out of the room.  Lance whistles, hands braced behind his head and elbows jutting out in the air as he leads them, cheerfully, through the halls.  They come to a stop in front of a set of doors, the scent of manure hitting her as they slide open, a low moo echoing from inside.

“Kaltenecker,” Pidge gasps, feeling immediately guilty.  “I forgot.”

Lance has already crossed the room in a few quick, easy strides, bringing a hand to Kaltenecker’s flank.  She moos again, turning toward him slightly; Lance raises an eyebrow at Pidge, gesturing her over with a slight tilt of his head.

So Pidge goes.  It makes her feel bad, wondering if Lance has been checking up on Kaltenecker all this time without her. Cautiously, she reaches toward the cow; Kaltenecker nudges against her palm gently, nostrils puffing warm air, nose slightly wet.

��There, see?” Lance is saying, stroking Kaltenecker’s side.  “Mom didn’t forget about you, she was just busy.”

It takes a beat for the words to hit. “Mom?”

Lance scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish.  “I mean, it felt weird to refer to myself as just the owner—that’s so cold, you know?  I figured we’re basically like Kaltenecker’s parents, so you’re Mom and I’m Dad—” Halfway through, Lance breaks off. “Okay, now that I’m saying that out loud and to your face, it sounds pretty weird.”  

“A little.”

“I mean, if you have an alternative…”    

Pidge purses her lips.  “Why am I the mom, anyways?  Why can’t you be the mom and I be the dad?”

“Fine, I’m the mom,” Lance says, not missing a beat.  They hold each other’s gaze for a solid ten seconds before a laugh bubbles up Pidge’s throat, and then she’s snorting into the back of her hand while Lance snickers.

“Who gets custody if we fight?” she asks.

“Hunk.”

“That’s actually what I was thinking, too.”

“Good to know we’re on the same wavelength.” Lance grins.

Kaltenecker snuffles against her hand again, and Pidge says: “Lance?”

He pauses his motions, tilting his head.  “Hm?”

“We should do this more often.”

Lance’s brow furrows. “The accidentally adopting a cow part, or the taking care of Kaltenecker?”

“Just—hanging out,” Pidge says, and she doesn’t know why those two words summon a burst of heat to her face, but she turns away slightly to hide it, not wanting Lance to get the wrong idea.

“Yeah,” Lance says, maybe a touch too quickly.  “Yeah, of course.”

*

“Lance.  Laaaaance.”

“What—dammit, Pidge!” says Lance, scowling as he turns his face straight into the finger Pidge has poised by his cheek.  “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

In the aftermath of their bout of Killbot Phantasm 1, Pidge sets her controller down and sprawls out on her back, the metal flooring cool against the base of her head.  There are a host of things to attend to: checking up on Green, helping Hunk in the kitchen, trying to advance another level in the Altean language training program.  But, for whatever reason, she wants to prolong this moment.

“You’re just a sucker,” she teases, folding her hands on her stomach.

Lance joins her after a beat.  The hair on her scalp prickles at his nearness.  “Enjoying the view?”

There’s nothing much to look at, just the cavernous arches of the ceiling.  Pidge traces a beam with her eyes, wondering briefly about what the rest of Altea’s architecture must have looked like, before she asks: “Lance, were you any good at spotting constellations?”

Matt had been good at it.  She remembers lying on a picnic blanket, sandwiched between him and her dad.  The stars glimmering to life one by one, the strength of their light growing as the night wore on, deepening.  Making a game of who could find Orion or Perseus first.

“Not really,” Lance admits.  “I could basically just find the Big Dipper and…that one swan one.”

“Cygnus?”

“Yeah.”  Lance is quiet for a beat, and then he adds: “It makes sense that you’d be good at them.”

Pidge frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“I was just thinking of what you did with your Galra finder—”

“Technically, it wasn’t made to find them, just to predict their most likely locations—”

“Okay, predictor, whatever,” Lance says, nudging her slightly with his elbow. “But that’s the point, right?  You find patterns. You connect the dots.”

This last part is said…differently, somehow, and Pidge turns her head, startled to find Lance already looking at her instead of the ceiling.  His face is frighteningly close, lashes dark against the smooth, tan skin of his cheek.  For the first time, Pidge notices the gentle slope of his nose, how it would only take a few inches for her to bump against it, to touch foreheads.  A small adjustment.

Lance’s lips part slightly. To take a breath, or say something else.  Something that’ll ruin this between them, whatever this is, and Pidge can’t take it, would rather not have her hypothesis confirmed.  (I think of you like—)

She jolts away. Sits up. Something flashes across Lance’s face, too quick to catch.

“I forgot—I promised Hunk I’d help try to translate some of the Altean ingredients in the kitchen today.”

“Yeah.” Lance doesn’t miss a beat.  “Yeah, you should go.”

At the doorway, Pidge pauses.

A theory: it will hurt if she looks back.

It’ll hurt more if she doesn’t.

She risks a glance over her shoulder. Lance is still lying on the floor, hands braced behind his head, now, staring up at the ceiling.  His cowlick is more evident from this angle, like a little sprout. She imagines squashing it flat with her hand, then squashes that desire, too.

*

The quandary of quantum mechanics: when you get down to the tiniest level, the very act of measurement affects what you’re trying to measure. Hence the inability to know for certain both things at once—momentum and position, for instance.

Memory is a little like that, too.  Pidge has read about it—how every act of recollection alters it, slightly.  And with the number of times she’s replayed certain moments—a joke made over their communications line, but just for her ears; a brush of fingers; the upward tick of Lance’s eyebrow; a razor-thin smirk shot across the dinner table—well, her data’s skewed now, isn’t it?  

Some things don’t make any more sense under a microscope.  You can spend all night turning them over in your head, and the harder you look, the more they seem to shift, made inscrutable.  It’s the difference between observing things and actually living them, maybe.  The risk of getting too close.

*

Pidge excuses herself from the celebration after a few rounds of mingling.  She’ll dive back in later, but it’s looking to be a long night and she needs to recharge.  Some people draw their energy from others; Pidge, on the other hand, has always preferred programming to people.

Jespora’s two moons are bright, the stars scattered between them like tiny jewels on black velvet.  There aren’t any constellations that Pidge can recognize, here, so she entertains herself with drawing some of her own.  The quiet reminds her of sneaking out onto the roof of the Garrison, tuning in to the chatter of the universe.  Ears straining for answers, Matt and Dad somewhere out there, still. Send me a sign.

“So, you come out here to rock out?”

The voice is right in her ear.  Pidge flails, and it really is like they’re back on the Garrison roof—Lance crouched over her, a single eyebrow raised.  The only difference is that they’re both wearing formal wear, this time, and the collar of her suit suddenly feels too constricting.

“Something on your mind, Pidge?” Lance presses, settling down next to her.  He stretches his legs out, leaning back on his hands.  No hesitant “Can I sit here?”  Lance just slots himself into place, buoyed by an easy self-assurance that Pidge envies, sometimes.

Pidge eyes him warily, reorganizing her body into her earlier cross-legged position.  Careful not to accidentally brush against him with her knee.  She’s not used to being this aware of her limbs around Lance; yet another thing that snuck up on her, before she knew what to do with it.

“I just needed some space,” she admits.  “Sometimes it feels like…like there are too many people to keep up with.”

Lance reaches over, gently fixing the tassel of one of her epaulettes.  “Yeah, I get it.”

“You’re good at this stuff, though,” Pidge says, forcing herself to be still under his attention.  “Talking to people, making them laugh…” She trails off, hugging her knees to her chest.  “Why’d you come out here, anyways?”

At her shoulder, Lance’s fingers pause.  “Honestly? There’s this girl I wanted to hang out with, but she bailed.”

Pidge snorts.  “Typical,” she says, proud that her voice comes out with its usual blend of sarcasm and annoyance. Green with envy. Never have her paladin colors been more apt.  But Lance is never going to get a read on her, not if she can help it.

She can still feel his attention on her face, though, which is all wrong.  Pidge is the one who keeps track of everyone, categorizes strengths and weaknesses, takes notes.  Lance’s job is to crack jokes and come up with dumb team slogans and—

Lance sighs.  It’s the heavy, long-suffering sound of someone giving up. Giving in.

“You have no idea who I’m talking about.”

“Um, no, was I supposed to be keeping track?” Pidge retorts.  Rhetorical question, since she does. Keep track. Not that Lance has to know.  Pidge pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering if it was the tall alien lady with the pink eyes and blue hair buns.  Probably.

“It’s you, Pidge.”

The ground tilts, just a fraction, beneath her.  This isn’t part of any mathematical model she could fit to their interactions, not something she could have predicted.

“What?” she says, a little shrill.

“It’s you,” Lance repeats, blue eyes boring into her, and she wants to ask him about what that means.  If he has some sort of plan in his head for where to go from here. If it’s just a spur of the moment thing, a whim that’ll fall, unspoken, through the cracks, forgotten by morning.  Pidge thinks all this but doesn’t have the right words to formulate around them.  Just sits.

It’s such a Lance thing to do.  Offer up vulnerability without any meditation on what it might cost him. Say something simple and leave her spinning, still caught up in the uncertainty of it all.

In the end, though, it comes down to a simple truth.  Like wave-particle duality or the law of universal gravitation, this is what Pidge knows: Lance will do his best to catch her as she falls.

“So what do you say, Pidge?” Lance gets to his feet, offers a hand.  “It takes two to tango.”

“You’re so weird,” she finally manages, wrinkling her nose, but she lets him pull her up, lets him spin her out with a flourish, connected by their hands, until somehow they end up pressed close in the moonlight, her head resting against his chest.

She can hear his heartbeat, thumping just a tick too fast.  Unexpected, but right, somehow.  She swallows.

“Interesting.”

“Good interesting?” asks Lance, vulnerable beneath his teasing.  Both smug and uncertain, as only Lance can be.

“Unclear,” Pidge considers, tilting her head to blink up at him.  “Needs more data.”

Lance chuckles and hugs her tighter, her chin digging into the knobby bone of his sternum, and Pidge smiles, too, a particle firing in the dark—unsure of when this feeling started or how fast she’s been barreling into it but knowing, down to the electron, that her heart is exactly where it should be.

[videogamelover99]

Waking Days Ch. 2 - Rift

A/N: Finally, after a two month hiatus! To be honest, this chapter was a lot more difficult to write, mostly because there’s been, ahem, other fandoms that’ve grabbed my attention as of late. Also the content. As you may have noticed, I’m a lot more into character interaction than any real plot. Plot just helps give more character interaction, in my opinion, so writing a chapter that’s mostly plot and little character development is hard. That’s it. That’s my excuse. 

hopefully though, this chapter would be worth the wait. As usual, I take any questions you guys wanna ask about the state of the fic, if anybody’s worried or confused or just wants to gush with me about fandom. 

AU by my pal @doodledrawsthings. Based on Flat Dreams by @pengychan.

Thirty years took a great toll on his memories, but Ford still remembered this place. Dimension 52 rested in the back of his mind, even as he fled from one universe to another, meeting hundreds of people, places, and searching frantically for a concrete way of stopping Bill. It was one of the few worlds he knew that truly meant him no harm, where his stay wasn’t stained with loss and terror and Bill’s chaos. Years of voyaging had left his memory of this place faded and washed out like a watercolor painting, and remembering little details grew harder and harder, but as Stanford set foot into the temple, it was like he hadn’t even left.

One wouldn’t call the temple of Jheselbraum the Unswerving messy. It was cluttered, yes. There were jars and bottles of various herbs and alien substances on top of books and papers, something that closely resembled a simple chalkboard hidden behind a shelf, notes and equations written down on it in several different languages, the handwriting quick but precise. A stack of long unused books and scrolls were covered up with a tapestry of what looked like a pink, frilly amphibian. It was cramped and a bit overzealous, but in no way chaotic. There was a system, where everything had its place, and while Stanford could not even begin to understand what it was, the owner certainly could. Who was now standing in front of the already mentioned tapestry, regarding the two men.

“Stanford!” the woman smiled in greeting, all seven of her eyes crinkling upwards. “I’m so glad you’ve made it.” she then turned to Stan, something almost teasing in her gaze. “And Stanley, you’re even wearing pants. I’m flattered.”

Stan scowled at the floor, and Ford didn’t miss the way his face reddened in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah, try to embarrass me some more, would ya?”

…

Mabel walked through the door, only to trip on a huge encyclopedia and almost fall flat on her face. The girl caught herself in time on the doorframe, casting a puzzled look on the rest of the attic. Books and papers were scattered around the room, some mathematics textbooks and some atlases, as well as a whole collection of chewed up pens. Uh oh, nerd alert.

“Broski? You there?”

Dipper was sitting on the edge of his bed, devouting another poor writing utensil. He was holding one of the moleskine notebooks the Grunkles sent him for christmas, the ones with the mysterious vibe that unsurprisingly matched Grunkle Ford’s old journals. Around him was a nest of crumpled up, ink-stained papers.

“No, no, that can’t be it...Maybe Vigenere…?”

Mabel rolled her eyes at her brother’s muttering, striding up to him and waving in front of his face. “Hellloooo? Earth to Dipperrr? Nerd-bro, come in!”

Dipper pushed her hand out of the way, annoyed glare already forming on his face. “Mabel! Can’t you see I’m-” His voice died in his throat at his twin’s startled face, voice immediately softening. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. I just- Bill and his stupid rotten tricks!” The teen threw the notebook on the floor, coming up to rub his face with both hands. “I’ve been at it for hours and I still don’t know if it was a joke or not.”

Mabel carefully picked up the notebook, turning it over to look at the crumpled pages.

16°-18°, < 24°

“Did Bill give this to you?”

Dipper briefly uncovered his face to stare accusingly at the numbers. “More like threw it over his shoulder. And I still don’t get it, is it some sort of code? I tried longitude and latitude, but that leads to nowhere.” The younger twin buried his face in his knees, letting out a frustrated noise. “Bill with his stupid riddles and tricks. It probably doesn’t even mean anything, and he’s just laughing at me chasing some pointless garbage.”

“Hmm.” Mabel flipped the notebook upside down, then to the side, but no grand breakthrough seemed to hit her. “Well, you wanna know what I think?”

“That I should take a break?”

“Wow, see, twin telepathy!” the girl grinned, closing the moleskine and putting it back on the table. “You know what we should do? Go to town and get some food, that’s what. We haven’t been to Greasy’s in like, forever! And you can’t live off an ink diet, Bro-bro, trust me, I’ve tried.” The girl tugged Dipper to his feet, the other twin  already smiling awkwardly. “And hey, who knows, maybe you’ll get some brilliant strike of genius afterwards!”

“Yeah,” the boy looked away, then reached for Wendy’s hunter hat, the one that was hanging dejectedly on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right! I’m right most of the time, after all.” Mabel grabbed him by the arm, the kids giggling as they rushed down the steps, Mabel skipping every other one and almost sending both of them crashing down.

“Mabel, be careful!”

“Hey, it’s not like we-” Mabel froze, casting her eyes toward the gift shop, where a familiar nasally voice spouted its daily dose of rants and nihilism. Though it wasn’t that voice that got her attention, despite its desperate effort to do so. No, it was the other voice, the one it seemed to be arguing with. “Oh no, not him.”

Dipper frowned. “Is that Gideon?”

“Right okay, we can still use the back door. Or climb out the window.” The teen proceeded to do just that, already half-way up the windowsill.

“Come on, Mabel! You know he’s at least trying! The least you could do is give him a concrete ‘no’.” Dipper, sounding uncharacteristically sympathetic, tugged on his sister’s leg. “And the door’s right there.”

She froze, staring at the far side of the room, where, indeed, was the location of the front door. “Whatever, it’s more dramatic if I-”

“Mabel.”

“He kept sending me those creepy letters back home! You don’t understand, he perfumed all of them!”

“Mabel.”

“And, I mean, I love chocolate, but I’m pretty sure those had some serious love potion magic in them, they were even sparkly-”

“Mabel.”

“OKAY, FINE!” Mabel yelled loud enough for the whole Shack to hear, the walls echoing a little at her outburst. The twins froze, an awkward silence falling on them both. Suddenly, the voice that Mabel had dreaded so much to hear burst through the hallway. “Mabel, my sweet, is that you?”

The girl sighed, her voice a lot softer than before. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Happy?”

“Sugar Pie, are you there? I was just telling this bumbling little fool that-”

“You sure you wanna use that insult specifically, shortstack?”

“How dare-”

Mabel burst through the door, trying to look as haughty as possible. Dipper followed closely behind, awkwardly casting his eyes on the scene. Gideon was busy having a death stare with Bill, the latter having a definite advantage in height while the former looked a lot more alive on his feet. Wendy leaned over the cash register, looking bored as she watched the two bicker at each other, chewing what looked like a total of 5 slices of gum. There was no one in the giftshop, which wasn’t unusual being this close to closing hour. What else wasn’t unusual was the look of utter adoration that boomed on Gideon’s face the moment his eyes caught Mabel’s. “Mabel my Sweet! It’s so nice to see you. You know, your Grunkle Stanley is so generous to allow even cretins like these,” the cast a thumb at Bill, who looked more and more livid by the second, “To work here! Must be a Pines thing, such kind, kind people, yes…”

“Laying it on a bit thick there, huh, pal?”

“Silence, peasant!” Gideon snapped, “I will not be insulted by someone with an employee name tag!”

“Are you sure I can’t drop-kick him?” the demon mock-whispered to Wendy, who shrugged apathetically.

“If you wanna face those goonies he’s got by the door then go for it, dude.”

Said goonies were leaning on both sides of the door frame, both looking like they could lift up a whole truck, both bored as hell.

Dipper shuffled awkwardly to stand next to Wendy, while Mabel came up to Gideon, her face set in an accepting frown. “Hi, Gideon.” The ten-year-old smiled, reaching for a hug. The girl skillfully avoided it, reaching out instead to shake his hand. She grimaced at how sweaty it was, wiping it off behind her back. “Uh, can you maybe call off your, uh, friends?”

Gideon nodded eagerly, seeming dazed. “Of course, of course.” He snapped his fingers, and the three tattooed bulky dudes disappeared out the door, the friendly ding following suit.

Bill seemed to look a lot more eager. “Great, now can I drop-kick him?”

“No, Bill,” Mabel took a deep breath, backing away slightly at Gideon’s invasive stance. “No, you can’t.”

The lanky man raised an eyebrow. “Really, because it looks like I’d be doing ya a fav-”

“Bill Cipher??”

Mabel didn’t think there were enough question marks and exclamation points to properly convey the fortune-teller’s surprise. Completely forgetting any plan of wooing her, the boy’s beady little eyes fixing themselves on the man in question. A small grin spread across his face, and Bill’s eyes narrowed, as if daring him to say something. And say something he did. “Oh, my stars! If it isn’t Bill Cipher himself! Though I admit, you are looking a bit different these days. Though I feel like you’re lacking something. Say, a sailor suit?”

“Still mad about that one, huh, kid?”

Wendy snorted through her gum, seemingly at the mental image of Bill in a sailor suit. “Welp, time to close. I’m going home. You guys take care of these two disasters.” The red-head locked up the cash register and left, shooting the twins a parting wave as she did. It was kind of startling, how easily the 16-year-old accepted that the guy that turned all of her family into stone last year was now hanging around the Shack, but Mabel supposed she was dealing in her own way. Cool on the outside, maybe having a mental crisis on the inside. If anything, she could relate. Wendy had accepted Bill the same way you accept getting gum stuck in your hair: irritating and uncomfortable, but hard to get out.

Now that the teen had left, Gideon seemed to have gathered more courage. He turned to Mabel once again, clearing his throat and straightening his tie. “Now, I know you’ve only just recently arrived in town, but I was wondering if you could-”

“Uh, actually,” Mabel looked away, shifting from side to side, “Me and Dipper already had something planned. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Oh, that’s-” The plastered smile on the boy’s face twitched, like it was hard for him to keep it on, “Wonderful. Tell me all about it when you get back, okay?”

The girl sighed his overly-hopeful tone, not being able to stay cold after hearing it. “Sure, okay.”

Gideon kept smiling at her, seeming to expect something. Dipper cleared his throat, saving her from another awkward moment. “Uh, you kinda have to leave, man. We’re closed.”

“Oh right! Of course, of course.” the boy’s overly-gelled head turned to Bill, who’s been smugly quiet the whole time. “Doesn’t he have to leave as well?”

“He’s living with us, actually. Long story.”

“I...see…” Gideon’s eye twitched at that news. Still, a forceful smile stretched on his face, and he clasped Mabel’s hand in his own. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, my queen.”

“Uh, thanks, Gideon, you...really don’t have to.” Mabel retrieved her hand, quickly hiding it in her sleeve.

“But I want to.” He beamed at her proudly. Behind him, Bill put his hands around his neck in an over-the-top choking gesture, making the girl snort quietly through her nose.

“Bye, Gideon.”

“Bye, bye, Sugar Plum!” Gideon retreated, waving at Mabel as he swung open the door, the two goons he had outside picking him up and hosting him on their shoulders. The door swung closed with a loud squeak, and the twins let out a shared breath of relief.

“Man,” Dipper shook his head, “And I thought he’d be, y’know, better after the whole redemption biz. I think he just got more creepy.”

Mabel nodded, wincing as Gideon waved at her from the window. “After all that, I think I prefer ‘Shooting Star’.”

She blinked as Bill made a strange noise from behind, almost forgetting that he was still there in the first place. It was weird, how easily she got used to his overwhelming presence. Like someone placed a pack of dynamite in the corner and everyone just accepted it. “Hey, Bill?”

“What.” The demon scowled, already retreating into the house.

“Do you wanna, you know, come with us? To Greasy’s?”

Bill stared. Dipper stared. And Mabel quickly wondered what on earth possessed her to say that. “On second thought-”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely not.” Dipper piped in, looking like he’d just dodged a bullet.

“Wow, I wonder what part of ‘getting along with the guys whose town I completely trashed last time’ is a good idea.” Bill continued, looking annoyed and tired, “Sorry, kid, getting lynched by an enraged mob isn’t something I’m looking forward to in this lifetime.”

“Well, now you’re just overreacting.”

“Yes.” The demon deadpanned, leaving the shop with an air of finality.

“I don’t get it.” Mabel frowned, “He was fine with the shopping trip.”

Dipper shrugged, “There aren’t many people there that we specifically know, Mabel.” the boy tugged on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get food.”

...

Getting food was the easy part. Lazy Susan greeted them with open arms, insisting that the meal was on the house. “Now that you two sweethearts are back, it’s only fair if I treat ya to something.” The woman left, spilling coffee everywhere as she did, and if there was one thing Dipper could think of that came out good from Weirdmaggedon, it was the reputation their family got because of it. Gee thanks, Bill.

Mabel was in the process of shoveling as many pancakes in her mouth as it was physically possible, finishing it off with strawberries and syrup. “I could get used to this.” She mouthed over her food, grabbing the glass of milk.

“Yeah,” Dipper sighed, picking at his bacon dejectedly. He wondered if he should have gotten coffee instead, possible addictive consequences be damned. He saw Grunkle Ford drinking it in gallons a day, and the guy was like, 60. It should’ve been fine. He was going to highschool in September anyway, and from what he’s heard from Wendy, coffee is the only thing overworked students survive off.

“Hehy, Bro-bro, waht’s wronhg?” Mabel wolfed the rest of her pancakes down, before asking, “It’s not that stupid code again, is it?”

“Ugh, Mabel!” Dipper pushed away his plate, leaning on his elbows. “I thought this would help me with it, but I’m just more confused! I can’t stop thinking about it!”

“Sorry,” he added, when he saw Mabel wince at his tone, “I shouldn’t have-”

“Nah, it’s okay. Bill’s still a jerk.” Mabel grinned at him.

“The biggest jerk.” Dipper piped up.

“In the whole universe!”

“Multiverse.” he corrected.

“Wow, way to make a guy feel special.”

Dipper jumped in his seat. Bill was suddenly appeared out of nowhere, leaning over their table, hands folded smugly under his chin. How hadn’t he noticed the demons sooner? It was irritating, how easily he still spooked them despite being just as flesh and blood as everyone else. Talk about speak of the devil.

"Yikes, what's with the sour look, kid?" Bill grinned, shuffling into the seat next to them. "Ya look like a Meeseeks that's been alive for a day too long."

“A what-now?”

“Oh right, your dimension hasn’t reached the torture-induced-slavery-is-totally-okay level yet.” Bill shrugged, grabbing a strawberry from Mabel’s plate and popping it in his mouth. “Fun fact, human rights aren’t necessarily better the more advanced the civilization gets. Makes you think, huh?”

“What are you doing here, Bill?” Dipper scowled, raising his head to glare pointedly at the demon. “Weren’t you, like, scared someone would recognize you?”

“I remembered that the people here are as dumb as a log.” Bill frowned. “And I wasn’t scared. You don’t get a plan of wrecking the whole multiverse in order by being an idiot, is all I’m saying.”

“And then have it be wrecked in turn by two twelve-year-olds?” Dipper, bit back, feeling smug as Bill sputtered in his seat.

“You guys, look!” Mabel nearly leaped onto the table, pointing at something behind them. Before Dipper had a chance to wonder if there was something there of if she just wanted to end their bickering he froze.

There was indeed something. Really weird.

“Okay, so some guys just like to wear big cloaks. And look suspiciously like that Blind Eye cult. Maybe they’re cosplaying.”

“Cosplaying.” Bill echoed. “Kid, half of the people living in this dump don’t even know how to turn on a computer.” The demon’s eyes were narrowed, cautiously following the two cloaked figures that disappeared on the other side of the diner. “I know the irony of this is gonna set ya off, kid, but I don’t trust them.”

“You didn’t trust the speck of dust that was on your sandwich last week.” Mabel pointed out, finishing off the last of her meal. Still, her gaze was trained on the two guys in costume, not leaving them for a second even as she drank her milk.

“You humans die out of every little thing, you know that, right?” Bill sounded defensive. “How’s I supposed to know that wasn’t some kind of poisonous spore that would kill me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be all knowing?” Dipper but back with a grin.

“Yeah, like I’d waste a minute of my unlimited lifespan looking at something as dumb as moss.”

“Guys, they’re leaving!” The two shady dudes got up from the booth, grabbing a to-go bag and exiting the diner, the door swinging back with an unwittingly cheery ding.

The three shared a glance. “Do we follow them?” Mabel breathed, jumping in her seat with anticipation.

The boy frowned, feeling hesitant despite the nostalgic excitement that was pooling in his stomach. Do they? On one hand, having a new mystery would not only be a refreshing start on their summer, but would distract him from the irritating headache that was that stupid code. On the other hand, there was Bill.

Bill, who met Dipper’s indecision with an annoyed roll of his eyes. “Yikes, what happened to Mr.’selling your soul for a dead laptop’?”

“I-”

“Cool, let’s go!” Already making up her mind Mabel dashed after the two figures, leaving Dipper gawking at her from the booth, Bill shrugging and slowly following behind.

“Hey, wait!”

…

“Do not touch that.” Stan retraced his hand, hiding it behind his back at that icy tone. Something told him he shouldn’t mess with her. That lady could be terrifying when needed to be, the freaky seven-eyed stare following him even as he backed away from whatever doohickey the chick was so sensitive about.

“Right, no touching, got it.”

Ford sighed, shooting his brother a warning look before he followed the woman deeper into the temple. Stan narrowly avoided a precariously piled book tower, shooting a quick glance at the rows upon rows of empty vials stacked neatly on several tall shelves. The salesman in him wondered how much all this sci-fi fantasy crap would be worth online, while the Mr.Mystery asked how much of this stuff he could sneak into the Mystery Shack without any issue. That weird, glowing blue, paperweight-like rock looked promising. Problem was, the last time he stole from a witch didn’t go that well, and Stan had a feeling that this one could do much worse than take his hands. Better safe than sorry.

So the man said goodbye to the radioactive rock, rushing to catch up to his overly enthusiastic brother.

They passed more of that voodoo-type shit on the way to wherever the hell that chick was taking them, stuff that handwitch could only dream on nicking, and Stan briefly wondered how his know-it-all brother even came across this lady. Okay, so Ford was automatically attracted to all things weird, but this?

Then they entered another, more spacious chamber, and Stan dropped his jaw somewhere along the way.

In a bizarre sort of nostalgia, it reminded him of the portal in the basement, or at least the first time he’d ever laid eyes on it. It was like his brother’s nerdy tendencies were all amped by a thousand, handed a couple of tons of scrap metal and tools and left with nothing to do for a few hundred hours. Every possible free space, every nook and cranny, every corner was filled to the brim with gadgets and gizmos. An unfinished robot arm was draped across a half-dismantled satellite.

“Wow.” Stan whistled appreciatively, and felt the Oracle's gaze as she eyed him (ha ha) from the side. “I mean, not that I'm surprised or anythin’, but...wow. No wonder my bro gushed about you so much. This is like his dream come true.”

Stanford coughed awkwardly into his fist, shooting his twin a pointed look that said not now.

The purple alien paid them no mind, kneeling down to shift through the rows upon rows of what Stan could only label as sci-fi stuff, eyes trained vacantly at the objects in her hand, but Stan could see the corner of her mouth turn up in a slight smile. Finally she stood, all seven feet of her, a small, shiny gizmo clenched gently in one hand. It vaguely resembled a clock, gold-colored dials glinting between the creature's fingers. She handed it to Ford, who cradled it in his palms. Closer, Stan could see the strange carvings etched on the metal, a language that didn't even seem coherent, nevermind human. Ford gawked at the clock thing some more, before shooting his attention to the purple lady. “Is this-?”

“Oh yes, though maybe not in the form you're accustomed to.”

“Yeah, great, anybody wanna fill me in here? Cause so far all I can see is a pretty good buck on eBay.”

Jheselbraum’s eyes crinkled, a hint of a smile. “This is a chronometer. Normally designed to handle small time paradoxes, I've repurposed it to handle other anomalies as well. It should not only measure the damage the Nightmare Realm may have caused to your dimension, but hold the seams of reality together quite longer, at least until we've figured out a more permanent solution.”

Stan eyed the thermometer thingy again, squinting at it in scrutiny. “So is this like some kind of super glue to hold that hole together? Cause that's what I'm getting out on it.”

“More like scotch tape, but yes, that's the idea.” The Oracle explained, erasing Ford's look of frustration. “The device would have to be recharged every few days or so, but since the damage hasn't spread further, I think will hold for quite a while.”

“And...what? This saucer shaped thingy is supposd’ta  stop reality from screwing? Call me crazy but that sounds stupid.”

Ford shot a harsh look in Stanley’s direction, still gently calling the trinket. “I'm sure it will work.” Stan couldn't tell if he said it for himself or the Oracle next to him.

Said oracle didn't look very impressed, passively watching the two brothers bicker. “It would be wise to install it soon. I'm sure nobody wants that gap to grow any bigger.”

The two nodded.

…

“What are they doing here?”

“Shhh.”

“Ooh, maybe they’re a cult!”

“Like those Swollen Eyeballs?”

“...What?”

“Oops, haha, nevermind. You humans have way too many eye-related fanatics. Way to make a guy feel special, y’know?”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“You just did.”

“Mabel! Shh!”

The two hooded figures rounded the corner, disappearing in the dumpster alley between the post office and the barber shop. Dipper peeked at them from behind the wall, finding the two mysterious persons deep in a conversation. They talked in a low whisper, impossible for him to hear, and their hoods were on too low to see any of their faces. Despite not knowing what they were talking about, it struck the twin as odd, pretty shady even. Then again, not many people walked around in full satanic worshipper gear. So yeah, Dipper didn’t trust them, not one bit. On the bright side, at least they weren’t the feds. He’s pretty sure the last time they saw those, Grunkle Ford had wiped their memories clean MIB style. They probably wouldn’t be too happy if they ever found out.

Mabel kneeled next to Dipper in order to see some of the action. Bill just stood by, leaning against the brick wall. Maybe he didn’t care to see who those guys were. Maybe he was pretending he still could, without the need to actually turn his head and look. Either way, he suddenly looked bored, looking ready to leave, but for some reason hesitant to leave the twins alone.

Dipper turned back to the pair of shady weirdoes, leaning over his sister to get a better look. They weren’t wearing anything remarkable except the cloaks themselves, and a thin sash wrapped around each of their waists. It had some embroidery on it, now that he realized it, something that looked like writing, though definitely not English. Arabic? Cyrillic? The letters were defined yet flowing, something mimicking cursive without actually being cursive.

The hand gripping the bricks slipped.  

Dipper tumbled down onto his sister, not having realized how dangerously far he’d leaned until it was too late. The two twins fell on the concrete with a bang, Mabel groaning in pain underneath him. The two figures turned toward them, and for a second Dipper wondered if they were like the bad guys in any action movie: ready to shoot down a witness to something they didn’t want getting out. He wondered if they had some crazy magic stuff going on, or if they’d just pull out a gun and get it done quick. They did none of that.

Instead they turned tail and ran, disappearing deeper into the alley, the robes dragging after them as they did. The twins breathed a shared sigh of relief.

Behind them, Dipper heard a slow clap. “Wow, way to go. A-grade sleuthing. Real Sherlock Holmes-like. The mystery twins. I don’t think I can run out of sarcastic remarks for that.”

“You could help us up.” Mabel growled underneath him.

“Nah.”

The boy slowly got up, stretching a hand to help his sister. “Who do you think those guys were?”

“Mass murderers. The kind that use your blood for sacrifices and carve all your insides out before burning your body to appease the gods.”

“...”

“Kidding! Or am I?”

Dipper dusted himself off, watching Mabel do the same, and cast a last look at the now empty alley. “We should tell Grunkle Ford.”

…

The track back to the Shack was long and exhausting. The heat of June weighed on the twins’ backs, making their movements sluggish and lazy. Bill trodded behind them, acting like he didn’t mind the weather, but Mabel could already tell he was just as uncomfortable, the way his mouth was forced in a tight line, sweat beading just above his eyebrows.

It was late-afternoon when they finally reached the Mystery Shack, the sun just peaking over the shingled rooftop, casting the attraction in a fiery glow. The house cast a long shadow over the driveway, bathing them in merciful cool. Mabel squinted at the front porch, seeing her two Grunkles sitting on the couch, deep in some kind of debate. The silhouette of the third visitor was just visible behind Grunkle Stan’s large frame, hands folded on her lap. The girl heard Bill draw a sharp breath behind her.

“Nora?” Dipper called out, running to meet the three.

Mabel spared a glance Cipher, who looked more and more uncomfortable by the minute. His face did a pretty good job of not letting it slip, but the way the demon dug his nails into his shirt made it clear he didn’t want to be here.

She wondered about that for a moment before shrugging it off, turning to follow her twin across the gravelly driveway. Nora smiled when she saw the two approach, but there was something going on. Ford looked somber, even more so than he usually was, and Stanley was too grumpy for it to be any good. Honestly, it looked like the two old men were trying to hide something.

“What’s going on?” Dipper asked, shooting a look to Grunkle Ford, hoping to glimpse at least something in his gaze. But the man’s face remained blank.

“Everything’s fine, unlike you two. Jeez, you kids take a tumble down a garbage dump?” Grunkle Stan hurriedly changed the subject, ruffling Dipper’s hair affectionately.

“Grunkle Stan-”

“Seriously, you guys have been acting really weird for a while.” mabel piped up, folding her arms and glaring at her uncles as effectively as she could. “What’re you hiding?”

“Probably that giant hole in reality.”

Any other time, Mabel would have taken this as another of Bill’s nonsense remarks. But the way the two old men suddenly tensed spoke volumes. Nora looked like she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes, looking to the side with an annoyed frown.

Stanford looked like he was struck by lightning, his eyes impossibly wide. “How did you-”

“Well, first off, I’m not blind, despite how much I feel like it.” Bill bit back, a grin on his face, seemingly enjoying the other man’s distress.

“What were you even doing there?”

Bill shrugged, inspecting his nails. “Looking for my hat. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Stan deadpanned, already looking like he’s accepted everything. “Ya got some kinda need for that stupid thing or what?”

The demon bristled, hands clenching at his sides, when Nora suddenly got up, silencing all three of them. “Is this really necessary? Because I’d prefer to avoid the drama.”

Bill took a step back, while Grunkle Ford looked no less calm than before. “I- what if he-?”

“What if I what? What’d ya think I’ll do? Get back my powers? Fat chance that’s happening.” Bill bit back, fists still clenched by his sides. The oracle sighed, moving away from the scene and coming to stand next to Mabel, the annoyed look growing more pronounced.

“You wanted to destroy the world, and now suddenly that plan’s all done and forgotten? Please,” Ford got up, looming over the demon, who looked no more willing to back down. “I know better than to fall for that-”

Cipher burst out laughing, catching the scientist off-guard. “Destroy the world, why in the seven hells would I wanna do that??”

“But- you-, why would you-”

“BECAUSE I LIVE HERE, GENIUS!”

Ford grew silent, eyes wide. Mabel turned to the oracle, only to find her gone, not a trace of her left. Grunkle Stan noticed the same thing, coming up to pull the two men away from each other before they could do something stupid. “Right, okay, shut up. Both of ya. The lady already left, and honestly, right now I kinda wish I could do that whole vanishing trick too.”

Bill shook himself, snapping out of whatever funk he was in, Stanford breathing heavily next to him, but no longer looking like he’d kill him.

That’s when Dipper finally spoke, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Grunkle Ford, what are you talking about?”

Grunkle Ford sighed, looking away briefly before coming to meet the boy’s gaze. “I have something to show both of you.”  

[ceslatoil]

Louder Than Words

A fic that I thought of a few days ago. I finished it recently, I’m not sure I’m totally happy with how it came out, but it’s here if you’d like to read it. It’s also on my Ao3.

The cafe was rather slow that morning, which was fine, Fiddleford hated crowds almost as much as he seemed to love going to brunch. Ford blamed this newfound passion for gourmet breakfast foods on Puck; the dratted creature thought of himself as an epicurean chef, and so Fiddleford’s diet had gone through a cataclysmic shift as his new servant created more and more fanciful dishes for him to eat every day. Ford couldn’t complain, seeing Fidds happy and well fed brought him nothing but joy, even if it did come at the cost of paying seventeen dollars for an omelette.

The peace of the little cafe was interrupted when one of the servers lead a party of three to a table adjacent to theirs; two women, both almost identically nipped and tucked, and a young girl Ford vaguely recognized as one of Dipper and Mabel’s friends. The little blonde Northwest girl��� Ford was ashamed to admit that he didn’t quite remember her name. (Prudence? Penelope? Petronella? Oh well. He’d ask Mabel again once he came back from the date.)

He quickly pushed the thought to the side– Fidds was passionately describing a new invention he’d had in mind, an energy efficient toaster that would be a first in a line of eco-friendly kitchen appliances that would make the current models obsolete. Ford smiled contentedly as Fidds became increasingly excited about the project the more he spoke of it– sure, his voice was getting a bit on the loud side of things, but Ford couldn’t help but adore Fidds when he had these sparks of innovation about him.

It wasn’t until Fidds accidentally spilled some of his mimosa on his beard that Ford noticed anything odd. For whatever reason, the two women at the other table seemed to find the incident hilarious, giggling nastily as Fidds straightened the delicate glass back  on the table right side up. Ford thought he saw the Northwest girl roll her eyes at the two women, muttering “Mom, Aunt Melania, get a grip, it wasn’t even that funny.”

If Fidds had heard them, he had chosen to ignore the laughter. He excused himself, stating that he was going to wash up in the restroom. Before he left, he took one of Ford’s hands and gave it a brief, gentle kiss. As Fidds disappeared to the other side of the restaurant, Ford absolutely swelled with affection. This elated feeling was squelched, however, by the sneers the other women were giving him.

Didn’t these women have anything else to do besides gape at him all day? Ford wasn’t the most socially adept person, but he was quite sure that, in most dimensions, staring at a complete stranger was considered pretty rude. The girl had enough sense to be embarrassed by her family’s behavior. She mouthed “sorry” to Ford, shaking her head as her mother took a sip out of her champagne flute, a haughty smirk still etched across her stiff, plastic face.

Ford gave the girl a quick nod; he understood what it was like to have obnoxious parents. Deciding that he didn’t want to look at the women any more than he had to, Ford turned his attention to the cocktail menu that stood on a delicate silver stand in the middle of the table. As he was scrutinizing the Matcha Mint Julep, he heard one of the women whisper with all the delicacy of stampeding rhino, “Doesn’t it make you sick to your stomach, seeing the freaks out like that?”

Ford did not look up from the menu, though his insides turned to ice at these words. Did he really have to go through this today?

“It must be difficult for you Prissy,” said the other woman, tossing her brunette tresses to the side as she spoke; Ford had a brief image flash of a show horse rearing its head back, main blowing in the wind as it whinnied. “Seeing the old fool who bought your home running around town with whatever degenerates he can find.”

This wasn’t new– Ford had been called his fair share of slurs in his youth and even into late adulthood. ‘Degenerate’ was almost classy by typical bigot standards. He wouldn’t rise to their mockery. Over sixty years worth of constant insults, from his hands to his nose to just about every other nit-picking fault lesser people would find in him, he’d learned to ignore it all. Showing people like Prissy and Mel that they hurt him would only let them win. Besides, Fiddleford was probably the most intelligent person in the building. Let them think what they want.

“It’s nothing Mel– money can’t always buy class,” said Prissy, folding her arms across her chest.

Well you’d certainly know, thought Ford, as you don’t possess either.  

“Such a waste, though,” sighed Mel. “Why are all the hot ones gay?”

…. What. Ford made the sort of face normally reserved for when people caught scent of freshly laid manure on a hot summer day. She went out of her way to insult him, then dared say she found him attractive?   Disgusting. The girl, stuck between her mother and aunt’s cringe-worthy conversation, dropped her head to the table with a mortified thud.

“Honey, keep your forehead off the table, we’re in public,” snipped Prissy, pushing her daughter up right with one hand.

“Who knows,” Mel continued, eying Ford hungrily, “Maybe I can try converting that one.”

If the french toast I just ate hadn’t cost almost twenty dollars I would vomit it all over your botox infected face right now. He clutched the cocktail menu tightly in his hand, almost crumpling the delicate paper as he stared intently at the options. Clearly these women were delusional.  As soon as Fiddleford comes back, he was going to pay for the check and leave. He didn’t have to put up with this, no one should.

“Please,” said Prissy disdainfully, “Do you really want the hillbilly’s sloppy seconds? Have some respect for yourself, Mel, he’s damaged goods.”

“Mom,” the Northwest girl looked about as livid as Ford felt, “Stop being so embarrassing.”

“What’s embarrassing is the fact we’re barely scraping by and that loser hobo is now living in our home,” sniffed Priscilla, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “If things were in their proper place, we’d still be living like royalty and he’d be down in the slop with his mutant boyfriend where he belongs–”

 SLAM.

He had knocked over the chair he was sitting on when he had stood up, skidding the furniture across the floor as he turned to glare at the women. Mel gave a horrified laugh that died on her lips when she saw the murderous glare Ford was giving them. Pacifica was also glaring, not at him certainly, but at her mother, who met Stanford’s gaze with chilly resolve, daring him to say something to her. She was going to get her wish– he would curse, insult, deride her in every language he knew on this earth and dimensions beyond. How could she even dare say these ungrateful things about Fiddleford this way, he’d helped save her along with millions of other people last summer! He’d only lived the way he had in the past because of Ford’s own stupidity and arrogance, it wasn’t something Fidds could help! Fidds deserved all the happiness in the world, who would even dare try to take that away with their petty insults? The witch! The she-devil! The absolute–

“Darlin’?”

Fiddleford’s voice brought him back to earth. He blinked, turned to see his dearest staring up at him, alarmed by Ford’s sudden temper.

“Is everything all right,” Fiddleford asked, taking Ford’s hand into his own, trying to get Ford to calm down. Ford blushed, he was making a scene. Ford smiled sheepishly at Fiddleford and, without paying the others a bit of mind, bowed to kiss his beloved tenderly on the lips.

“It’s nothing,” said Ford once he had pulled away. “Let’s pay the check. I think I heard some rats making noises in the restaurant. We shouldn’t come back until they’ve managed to get rid of all the vermin.”

Fidds glanced over to the the women sitting down at the table, two of whom were glaring at him, while the third, the stretchy one’s daughter, tried to suppress her giggles. He didn’t have to be an engineering genius to figure out what probably happened.

“Sounds about right,” Fidds agreed, taking Ford by the arm. “We’ll just start having brunch at home from now on. It’s a mansion you know!”

“I think I might have caught that,” said Ford, winking at him as they left to pay at the counter. As they turned the corner, Ford caught a glance at Pacifica– that was it, Pacifica!– giving him a small thumbs up, a gesture he returned.

[dipifica]

need help/new story!

hey everyone!!! i know ive been m.i.a. when it comes to the fanfic scene but i have the first chapter of a new story and its......a 10 things i hate about you au! i love this movie a ton and really love the idea so i thought i would try it out! under the read more below is the first draft of chapter 1! i dont usually do this but i would totally appreciate any comments or suggestions on this first chapter (also if you want more/would read until the end, etc.) since im busy and have been having personal problems i feel it would help me be motivated if people were interested! this is a rough draft so things can change but for sure couples are dippica (dipper/pacifica) and wenbel (wendy/mabel) ages are moved around as well but only so i can have the whole gang in high school at once. anyways yeah! please tell me what you think!

Wendy Corduroy adjusted her baseball cap for the final time before deciding that, eh, that will do. She had never been one for nervousness, frankly she considered herself to be one of the chillest people she knew (except around family, but who was stress-free around their family ever?), but today was a brand new day full of brand new people in a brand new place.

Wendy and her family has moved to Gravity Falls only a month ago because the work was good for her lumberjack father. With the world moving faster and faster everyday, Wendy’s father couldn’t seem to keep up and decided a quieter, more rustic town would do well for the entire family. Luckily, the Corduroy children weren’t incredibly disappointed. Wendy was a starting her senior year somewhere new, but she tried to look on the bright side. If she loved it here, she will be happy, and if she hated it, hey, she’s in college next year anyway.

She got an E-Mail the night before instructing her about the school’s transfer policy, each transfer student would be assigned another student to lead them around the school, answer questions, and be a “friend” although Wendy knew well that the school couldn’t make her be friends with anyone. Still, she thought it was somewhat unnecessary, the school wasn’t huge and she was a senior, the last thing she needed was to look lame asking someone younger than her about her school.

“Name, please?” A man asked her as she approached the main office.

“Wendy Corduroy.” She stated, the school was a lot smaller than her last with far less students. Maybe her adventure would turn out to be a dud after all.

“Gideon Gleeful?” The man called to a group of student leaders. Wendy turned to see no one answer, than out from the corner a boy with white hair, dressed business-casual stood up.

“Yes, sir!” He replied.

“Your transfer. Wendy Corduroy, this is Gideon. Gideon, Wendy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Wendy shook the boy’s hand thinking how he even looked too young to be in high school.

“To you as well.” Gideon replied.

“If you have any questions, Gideon will answer them for you. Now, go ahead and start the tour. Next in line?”

“Right this way, Ms. Corduroy.” Gideon exclaimed.

“Wendy is fine, thanks. You are…..chipper.” Wendy chuckled. “If you don’t mind me asking…how old are you?”

“I’m 15 years old!” Gideon seemed to get somewhat angry. “I’m a sophomore this year at GFHS and I am so sick of people asking my age…” He muttered.

“I’m sorry, dude.” Wendy apologized. “You know, it’s good to look youthful.”

Gideon sighed. “Not when you are trying to get a girlfriend. Well, let’s start the tour anyway, you are gonna need a lot of help from me!” Gideon perked up and started his journey down the south east hall, Wendy trailing behind him.

—

“And that wraps up the English department. Next we have-“

“Gideon, can we just end the tour here? I think I’ll figure it out.” Wendy slumped over and sat down in front of a locker. Her feet killed as Gideon insisted on taking the stairs everywhere.

“We have so much more to see, Wendy!” Gideon exclaimed. “We still have the art wing, the back alley, the make out tree!”

“I really think I’ll catch on.” Wendy sighed and hung her head.

“‘Cuse me?” A perky, girl’s voice called from above. Wendy pulled her head back to see a beautiful young girl. “So sorry to bug you but you are blocking my locker.”

“I-uh…yeah. No, I’m sorry.” Wendy picked herself off and moved out of the pretty girl’s way.

“Hey, don’t be!” She smiled. “Are you new? I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Yeah, I am. Wendy Corduroy.” Wendy stuck her hand out.

“Mabel Pines!” Mabel trapped her hand and shook. Her hands were soft in Wendy’s and Wendy suddenly felt light as a feather. “You’ll love it here. Always something going on.” Mabel grabbed the book she needed from her locker and shut it. “I gotta go, but it was great meeting you, Wendy Corduroy!”

“You too, Mabel Pines.” Wendy replied, her heart dancing inside her. She usually wasn’t one for love at first sight but…wow. Mabel smiled once more and turned to join two other girls waiting on the corner for her.

“Don’t push your luck with her.” Gideon snapped Wendy out of her love-filled day dream. “Mabel Pines doesn’t date. Not allowed in fact.”

“Oh really, why is that?” Wendy asked, eyes still on the beautiful junior before her.

“Protective parents. You know, I even heard she’s not allowed to date until her brother does.”  

“Brother?” Wendy questioned.

“Twin brother, Dipper Pines. Basically the biggest dork this school has ever seen.” Gideon chuckled.

“That’s not you?”

“Watch it newbie.” Gideon glared. “No one will go out with him.”

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” Wendy batted her eyelashes.

“Ugh, Dipper is straight and so am I.” Gideon groaned. “And we aren’t that close yet, sister. Maybe you could…”

“Hi,very gay.” Wendy responded. “Plus, I’d feel bad…”

“But you were ready to throw me into the ring, huh?”

“Look, there’s gotta be some way to get her brother a date and get her to…is she gay?” Wendy asked, deciding in the moment it would be best to get that settled before she devised any schemes.

“Heard through the grapevine she’s had summer camp flings with girls and guys. So bi?” Gideon shrugged.

—-

“Ladies!” Gideon called over to two girls who did not look pleased to see him. Wendy trailed behind, listening in on the conversation.

“What do you want Gideon?” The larger girl sighed.

“Just a quick question, Mabel, straight or…?”

“She’s not into you.” The smaller girl rolled her eyes. “She can’t date, you know this better than anyone.”

“Right, right, right, that was last year. I actually am on the market for someone new.” He winked to them, which they groaned and turned their backs to him in response. “So she is or?”

“Bi, weirdo!” One yelled back.

“Wait like, she’s bi, or like goodbye to me?” Gideon yelled back.

“Like she’s bi, idiot!”

“Okay, thanks!” Gideon scurried back over to Wendy who was now crouched behind a trash can.

“You had a thing for her? Should I be worried?”

“Last year, Wendy. Last year.” He waved his hand in the air. “Although Mabel did at one time own my heart, she made it clear even if she was to date…it wouldn’t be me.”

Wendy placed a hand on his shoulder. “I have your blessing?”

“Yeah, but you have to help me find a lady of my own now.”

Wendy laughed. “Okay. In the meantime, tell me more about Dipper Pines.”

—-

Wendy and Gideon sat at the table across from Dipper’s, watching him read a book that was in a language Wendy could not understand. “Damn, you really weren’t kidding. No friends?”

“Dipper can come off as a know-it-all jerkface.” Gideon whispered. “Half of the student body thinks he’s an weirdo nerd, the other half is afraid of him.”

“Afraid of him?”

“He’s got an interest in the paranormal. Really freaky shit.”

“I mean, that’s not that weird…”

“He’s had a few incidents at school…” Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Look, by now you know Gravity Falls isn’t exactly a normal town, we are home to some weird, unexplainable stuff. Dipper…exploits it. Brings it to school. We’ve basically had a lot of lockdowns because of him. Even his perfect grades couldn’t keep him out of multiple suspensions, and causing mass panic every few months doesn’t make him that popular.”

“Damn.” Wendy breathed. “So finding someone to date this guy is going to be…”

“Impossible? Yes.”

“No one comes to mind? Come on Gid, there’s gotta be someone willing and desperate!” Wendy whisper-screamed. “Maybe someone we can even blackmail?”

Gideon perked up and suddenly smiled widely. “Oh, I have just the person. This tour is about to get way more fun than what I expected.”

—

“Her?” Wendy asked. “She’s gorgeous.”

“And my only lead.” Gideon muttered. “Play it cool.”

“I always do!” Wendy scoffed as she followed Gideon towards the beautiful blonde standing at her locker.

“Pacifica Northwest, how are you?” Gideon greeted. The girl visibly sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Gleeful, a new school year is not going to make me forget how big of a weirdo you are. Move along.” She spat.

Gideon let out a chuckle and Wendy caught on he was most certainly enjoying this. “Actually, darling,” He grinned. “I think you should be a bit nicer to me from now on.”

“Psh. Why would I ever show you any sort of kindness? Get lost.” She slammed her locker and started to move away.

“Welcome to Posh Burger, can I interest you in some fries today?” Gideon stated simply, still grinning, causing Pacifica to stop dead in her tracks.

“No. Way.” She muttered, turning back. “Listen, you-“

“No, you listen.” Gideon interrupted, pulling out his phone revealing multiple pictures of Pacifica working at a burger joint. “I’ve got proof here that Miss Gravity Falls herself, works at Posh Burger two towns over. What happened Paz? Daddy ran out of money?”

“That is none of your business! And this right now, is just about the creepiest thing you have ever done!” Pacifica rose her voice. “Delete them.”

“The students of GFHS have a right to know what their homecoming queen does on the weekends. It would take one simple click…”

“What do you want? Is that what this is, some sort of blackmail?”

“Gideon, maybe we shouldn’t-“ Wendy started, not wanting to ruin some junior’s life on her first day.

“Wendy, you are new around here, but trust me, 85% of the school population would expose this brat the second they could. I’m a saint.” Gideon turned his attention back to the blonde. “It is a blackmail thing. We want you to take Dipper Pines out on a date.”

“He’s even worse than you.” Pacifica sighed. “Why would you ever care about Dipper Pines’ dating experience?”

“Wendy’s got a thing for Mabel Pines. Mabel doesn’t date until Dipper does. It’s simple really. You date Dipper, Wendy woos Mabel, and these pictures stay safe with me. In return, Wendy’s basically my slave and you have to date Dipper in the first place. Satisfying enough for me.”

Wendy shrugged and for the first time wondered what she was getting herself into.

“You’re cruel. This is going to ruin me.” Pacifica sighed.

“I think these pictures will more so.”

“Maybe I’ll take my chances.” Pacifica glared.

“No, wait! I’ll-uh-I’ll pay you for every date.” Wendy offered.

“Corduroy, what’s the deal?” Gideon whispered.

“I’m starting a new job over the weekend. I’ll pay you for every date you take him on. And-And we won’t leak the pictures. Deal?” Wendy stuck her hand out for a handshake.

Pacifica eyed her hand, then eyed Gideon who’s finger hovered over a send button. “…Deal.” She shook her hand. “Gideon, you just made it to the top of my shit list.”

“I’m humbled.” Gideon put on hand on his heart. “As an added bonus, I’ll be your information guide. Dipper usually hangs around Lab 324 after school, I think. Best to start the courting early.”

Pacifica cringed. “Whatever.” Pacifica finally got to storm away without interruption and as soon as she knew she was alone, she let out a frustrated scream.

——-

Pacifica paced outside Lab 324, she peeked her head through the small window and saw Dipper Pines sitting with headphones in and writing quickly in his notebook. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. She tried to convince herself it was the fact this guy had almost destroyed the school and town multiple times, but she knew what it truly was, and feared fulfilling Wendy and Gideon’s task would be far harder than seducing just any nerd. This wasn’t just some nerd, it was Dipper Pines. The Dipper Pines that helped her a few years ago and showed her how horrible her parents could be. She now had to face, trick, and lead on the one who believed she could be better. She was going to prove his belief in her wrong all over again.

She thought back to the photos and sighed. It’s just this one guy. She thought. It’s not like he is a saint either. She recalled all the mean things he said about her that same day of the party.

The memory drove her to finally open the door, alerting Dipper to turn and pull his earphones out. “Pacifica.” He stated, he didn’t seem confused as to why she was there.

“Hey, Dipper.” She said, awkwardly strutting in and leaning on the table next to him. “How have you been?”

“Oh, so now you’ll talk to me?” He spat right away. Pacifica hoped he would be polite and act as if they had no past, but no one was around them to fake for.

“Don’t be like that, I was just a kid-“

“Just a kid two years ago when you refused to acknowledge my existence in front of your popular friends.”

“A lot can change in two years.”

“Yeah, but not that much.”

“Dipper, come on, I know I’ve been a real jerk to you in the past, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime. You know, like old times?”

Dipper stared into Pacifica’s eyes. “…What do you want?”

“To hang out with you.”

“No, what do you want? You choose now to suddenly rekindle our…semi-friendship almost four years after the fact? Is there another ghost in the manor?”

“No, I want to hang out, Dipper. I’m sorry if you felt like I ditched you.”

“I didn’t feel any way, you did ditch me.”

Pacifica remained silent, backed into a corner by Dipper’s words. She couldn’t argue it wasn’t true, the two had connected, even if it was a short time. By the time freshmen year pulled around, Pacifica learned fast how to survive in a bigger school: cut off the people that didn’t fit in.

“You know I’m right. You are so easy to read.” Dipper scoffed, packed up his things, and left the room.

Pacifica was left standing on her own, feeling guilty and frustrated.

[ceslawrites]

Louder Than Words

Originally appeared on my Ao3 account a while back. 

The cafe was rather slow that morning, which was fine, Fiddleford hated crowds almost as much as he seemed to love going to brunch. Ford blamed this newfound passion for gourmet breakfast foods on Puck; the dratted creature thought of himself as an epicurean chef, and so Fiddleford's diet had gone through a cataclysmic shift as his new servant created more and more fanciful dishes for him to eat every day. Ford couldn't complain, seeing Fidds happy and well fed brought him nothing but joy, even if it did come at the cost of paying seventeen dollars for an omelette.

The peace of the little cafe was interrupted when one of the servers lead a party of three to a table adjacent to theirs; two women, both almost identically nipped and tucked, and a young girl Ford vaguely recognized as one of Dipper and Mabel's friends. The little blonde Northwest girl-- Ford was ashamed to admit that he didn't quite remember her name. (Prudence? Penelope? Petronella? Oh well. He'd ask Mabel again once he came back from the date.)

He quickly pushed the thought to the side-- Fidds was passionately describing a new invention he'd had in mind, an energy efficient toaster that would be a first in a line of eco-friendly kitchen appliances that would make the current models obsolete. Ford smiled contentedly as Fidds became increasingly excited about the project the more he spoke of it-- sure, his voice was getting a bit on the loud side of things, but Ford couldn't help but adore Fidds when he had these sparks of innovation about him.

It wasn't until Fidds accidentally spilled some of his mimosa on his beard that Ford noticed anything odd. For whatever reason, the two women at the other table seemed to find the incident hilarious, giggling nastily as Fidds straightened the delicate glass back  on the table right side up. Ford thought he saw the Northwest girl roll her eyes at the two women, muttering "Mom, Aunt Melania, get a grip, it wasn't even that funny."

If Fidds had heard them, he had chosen to ignore the laughter. He excused himself, stating that he was going to wash up in the restroom. Before he left, he took one of Ford's hands and gave it a brief, gentle kiss. As Fidds disappeared to the other side of the restaurant, Ford absolutely swelled with affection. This elated feeling was squelched, however, by the sneers the neighboring women were giving him.

Didn't these women have anything else to do besides gape at him all day? Ford wasn't the most socially adept person, but he was quite sure that, in most dimensions, staring at a complete stranger was considered pretty rude. The girl had enough sense to be embarrassed by her family's behavior. She mouthed "sorry" to Ford, shaking her head as her mother took a sip out of her champagne flute, a haughty smirk still etched across her stiff, plastic face.

Ford gave the girl a quick nod; he understood what it was like to have obnoxious parents. Deciding that he didn't want to look at the women any more than he had to, Ford turned his attention to the cocktail menu that stood on a delicate silver stand in the middle of the table. As he was scrutinizing the Matcha Mint Julep, he heard one of the women whisper with all the delicacy of stampeding rhino, "Doesn't it make you sick to your stomach, seeing the freaks out like that?"

Ford did not look up from the menu, though his insides turned to ice at these words. Did he really have to go through this today?

"It must be difficult for you Prissy," said the other woman, tossing her brunette tresses to the side as she spoke; Ford had a brief image flash of a show horse rearing its head back, main blowing in the wind as it whinnied. "Seeing the old fool who bought your home running around town with whatever degenerates he can find."

This wasn't new-- Ford had been called his fair share of slurs in his youth and even into late adulthood. 'Degenerate' was almost classy by typical bigot standards. He wouldn't rise to their mockery. Over sixty years worth of constant insults, from his hands to his nose to just about every other nit-picking fault lesser people would find in him, he'd learned to ignore it all. Showing people like Prissy and Mel that they hurt him would only let them win. Besides, Fiddleford was probably the most intelligent person in the building. Let them think what they want.

"It's nothing Mel-- money can't always buy class," said Prissy, folding her arms across her chest.

Well you'd certainly know, thought Ford, as you don't possess either.  

"Such a waste, though," sighed Mel. "Why are all the hot ones gay?"

.... What. Ford made the sort of face normally reserved for when people caught scent of freshly laid manure on a hot summer day. She went out of her way to insult him, then dared say she found him attractive?  Disgusting. The girl, stuck between her mother and aunt's cringe-worthy conversation, dropped her head to the table with a mortified thud.

"Honey, keep your forehead off the table, we're in public," snipped Prissy, pushing her daughter up right with one hand.

"Who knows," Mel continued, eying Ford hungrily, "Maybe I can try converting that one."

If the french toast I just ate hadn't cost almost twenty dollars I would vomit it all over your botox infected face right now. He clutched the cocktail menu tightly in his hand, almost crumpling the delicate paper as he stared intently at the options. Clearly these women were delusional.  As soon as Fiddleford comes back, he was going to pay for the check and leave. He didn't have to put up with this, no one should.

"Please," said Prissy disdainfully, "Do you really want the hillbilly's sloppy seconds? Have some respect for yourself, Mel, he's damaged goods."

"Mom," the Northwest girl looked about as livid as Ford felt, "Stop being so embarrassing."

"What's embarrassing is the fact we're barely scraping by and that loser hobo is now living in our home," sniffed Priscilla, not even bothering to keep her voice down. "If things were in their proper place, we'd still be living like royalty and he'd be down in the slop with his mutant boyfriend where he belongs--"

SLAM.

He had knocked over the chair he was sitting on when he had stood up, skidding the furniture across the floor as he turned to glare at the women. Mel gave a horrified laugh that died on her lips when she saw the murderous glare Ford was giving them. Pacifica was also glaring, not at him certainly, but at her mother, who met Stanford's gaze with chilly resolve, daring him to say something to her. She was going to get her wish-- he would curse, insult, deride her in every language he knew on this earth and dimensions beyond. How could she even dare say these ungrateful things about Fiddleford this way, he'd helped save her along with millions of other people last summer! He'd only lived the way he had in the past because of Ford's own stupidity and arrogance, it wasn't something Fidds could help! Fidds deserved all the happiness in the world, who would even dare try to take that away with their petty insults? The witch! The she-devil! The absolute--

"Darlin'?"

Fiddleford's voice brought him back to earth. He blinked, turned to see his dearest staring up at him, alarmed by Ford's sudden temper.

"Is everything all right," Fiddleford asked, taking Ford's hand into his own, trying to get Ford to calm down. Ford blushed, he was making a scene. Ford smiled sheepishly at Fiddleford and, without paying the others a bit of mind, bowed to kiss his beloved tenderly on the lips.

"It's nothing," said Ford once he had pulled away. "Let's pay the check. I think I heard some rats making noises in the restaurant. We shouldn't come back until they've managed to get rid of all the vermin."

Fidds glanced over to the the women sitting down at the table, two of whom were glaring at him, while the third, the stretchy one's daughter, tried to suppress her giggles. He didn't have to be an engineering genius to figure out what probably happened.

"Sounds about right," Fidds agreed, taking Ford by the arm. "We'll just start having brunch at home from now on. It's a mansion you know!"

"I think I might have caught that," said Ford, winking at him as they left to pay at the counter. As they turned the corner, Ford caught a glance at Pacifica-- that was it, Pacifica!-- giving him a small thumbs up, a gesture he returned.

[ginobsessions]

I’m very fortunate in the respect that over the past few weeks I’ve been invited to and attended some pretty fabulous gin events.  Even more interestingly, they all seem to have had one thing in common, see if you can guess the connection.

That Boutique-y Gin Company launched their new Olfactor-y range of perfume-inspired gins.  Which are designed to take you on a sensory journey from the faintly familiar to a full on immersive discovery.  The new range includes Fresh Rain Gin, Big Dipper Gin, Beware of the Woods Gin and Dead King Gin.  All of which give a sense of nostalgia and strike up images and feelings of being in a certain time or place.

Campari teamed up with Harry’s Dolce Vita during Italian Cuisine Week to raise awareness of their latest offering Gin O’ndina.  The evening was designed to transport guests back to the excitement and glamour of 1950s and 1960s Italy with the Italia ‘60 cocktail; and a menu which featured many Italian classics. (You can find details in my previous post.)

Silent Pool Gin partnered with Cambridge Audio, one of the UK’s leading audio specialists and sensory expert Professor Barry Smith, to uncover the unique relationship between sound and taste.

So the link?…

A multi-sensory approach to the enjoyment of your drinks!

**WARNING, this one is a pretty long read as I get geeky and a little over excited about it all!!**

In all seriousness though, it really is a fascinating, yet simple, concept.  Sights, smells, flavours and textures can so easily transport us to a certain place in time.  Why is it, that when you buy fish and chips on the coast they always taste better enjoyed on the seafront than further inland or even at home?  The smell of a perfume which conjures up the image of a familiar face and then confuses the life out of you when it’s not the person you’re expecting. That taste you get in your mouth when you’re not actually eating but makes you think, ooo, I’m really in the mood for…whatever it is.  I grew up in Loughborough, Leicestershire, which hosts an annual street fair each November that can be dated back almost 800 years! It’s a huge event in the town and in the run up to the event we would wait for that change in smell which hinted it was almost time.  Something changed, the first frost, a clean crispness which told you it was nearly winter and therefor almost Fair Time!

Anyway, reminiscing over, you get the idea.

The concept of the evening was for guests to enjoy Silent Pool Gin cocktails whilst sensory expert Professor Barry Smith, showcased a series of experiences designed to demonstrate how flavour can be altered by different sensory environments. The experiences were to include tasting cocktails alongside soundscapes to show what sounds enhance what flavours and how your environment can alter what you want to drink.

As the event was to be held at Cambridge Audio, and Hubby works for Focusrite I asked him if he fancied coming along too.  The guys at Cambridge Audio have a seriously cool office space, with the working area located upstairs and a great event space downstairs, featuring a wall covered in what can only be described as giant dangly sequins, another entirely covered in records and a bar shrouded in a canopy of Silent Pool Gin bottles, 224 to be precise. (I did some quick maths to be sure!)

We were given our welcome cards, shown where the nibbles were and directed to the bar to grab a refreshing G&T.  We were also advised that we had been booked into the 6:45 sensory experience session, which was being run by Barry.  Professor Barry C Smith is a British philosopher and Director of the Institute of Philosophy at the Institute of Advanced Studies at University of London.  He is also co-director and founder of the Centre for the Study of the Senses. Working mainly in the philosophies of mind, language and psychology where he works on self-knowledge, knowledge of language, the nature of taste and the multi-sensory perception of flavour.  In short, he comes with a pretty extensive wealth of knowledge and experience.

While waiting for our session Hubby and I managed to have a bit of a chat with Barry, who was absolutely lovely and explained that he had already carried out these types of sensory experiments using whisky and champagne.  He hadn’t worked with gin before so was really keen to be involved in the project, despite having more of a preference for wine than our favourite tipple.  We were soon ushered into a soundproof room, with fresh glasses of G&T and invited to grab a seat…although me being me, I grabbed a quick pic with Barry first!  The space seated around 20 people, which was the perfect amount to allow for discussion after each drink. Hang on, let me backtrack as I’ve jumped a little ahead of myself.

After explaining a little about himself, Barry described this experience as being an investigation into sound, touch and tingles, then cracked straight on with “ginvestigation” number one, which was the first of three.

We were each handed a small glass of green liquid, some type of gin and lime combination, not overly dissimilar to a Gin Rickey.  The first question we were asked was “Does music match what you’re drinking?”  We were asked to sip our drink whilst listening to two pieces of classical music.  The first piece was jumpy and fast paced, the second was far more calming.  Now time for some audience participation, which music went better with the drink.  It was about a 50/50 split on who preferred which.  Personally I couldn’t enjoy my drink with the first piece of music as it was very distracting and annoying.  The second I felt I could really sit back and relax to.  There was no right or wrong answer to the question, it was just to get us thinking and talking.

The next experience, my favourite of the three, was designed to make us consider whether touch has any influence over flavour.  We were each handed a Silent Pool Martini (made using Lillet Blanc) and two pads which were covered in material.  One was covered in satin and the other in velcro…I must confess we were all rather confused but did have a good old chuckle when the James Bond music started playing and we were told to drink and stroke.  We had to start with the satin, ensuring that we stroked it continuously whilst drinking, so off we all went.  The martini was absolutely stunning, smooth and creamy with an almost velvety feel and totally delicious.  After a minute or so we were asked to switch the the velcro and repeat the same process.  What I experienced next completely took me by surprise, after only a few moments the flavour and texture in my mouth began to change, the once creamy and smooth martini seemed entirely different.  Adopting a far more harsh and sour feel which I really didn’t enjoy at all.  Even my mouth began to feel dry and scratchy…baffled!!!

Barry went on to explain how there is a direct link between what we feel and what we taste, the idea being that our hands almost predict what our mouth is going to experience.  If we were to pick up something hard to eat, we expect the texture to be hard in our mouth, similarly if we pick up something soft, we expect it to be soft.  Our brain is so used to making these connections, that it makes these predictions for us before we even try something.  I’m pretty sure this is why I don’t like tomatoes…they have far too many textures for me to get my head around!  Therefore by stroking the velcro, we were effectively tricking our brain and confusing it.  For those of you who are interested, there was a chap called Filippo Tommaso Marinetti who, in 1932, had a book published called “The Futurist Cookbook.”  Part manifesto, part artistic joke, it outlines the eleven requirements for the ideal Futurist meal, the idea being that all aspects of a meal are important.  The cutlery, the china, the crystal, the decor, the colours, even down to the idea that “every dish must be preceded by a perfume which will be driven from the table with the help of electric fans” to enhance the taste.  It sounds nutty as anything, but honestly, give it a go at home and see what happens.  I mean with the velcro and satin, not with the perfume and fans…although you could if you wanted to.

3. For the third experience, Silent Pool Gin had been combined with Szechwan pepper and applied to the end of a cue tip.  We were asked to apply this to our tongue or to the inside of our lips and then to listen to a sound whilst watching the sound-wave.  The image of the sound-wave perfectly matched the buzzing feel of the Szechwan pepper on my tongue.  The dull tingling feeling matched the slow low sound-waves, which developed into a more prickly, pins and needles feeling that was represented by the greater peaks and troughs of the sound pattern.

I must say I really, really did find this fascinating.  I completely appreciate that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it most definitely captured my attention, AND it was right at the start of the night, so it’s not even that I enjoyed it because I was a little bit squiffy!

After this final experience we re-joined everyone else in the main room where we were the bar was still serving very large Silent Pool G&Ts.  A little later Barry discussed the common phrase…”Ooo, I’m really in the mood for…” and how usually it is the surrounding which creates that feeling.  So, theoretically it should work the other way around, meaning that (heaven forbid) we’re not the mood for a G&T, there should be some way of crafting our environment to set that mood, by recreating a setting or scenario.  This could be done through lighting, music, surroundings, anything really which plays to the other of our senses.  He tried to demonstrate the point by playing three different background noises and encouraging us to drink during each.  The first sounded like a cold windy day, the second a rainstorm (it sounded to me more like an audience in a round of applause,) and finally the sounds of a summers evening (crickets chirruping and such.)  I must say, the final sounds really did transport me to long evenings spent out on the balcony or round a pool on holiday, making me smile while I sipped my drink.  Interestingly, Hubby preferred the cold windy day sounds.  For him, he said it was reminiscent of cosy weekends in the pub or snuggled up at home.

We did another couple of sessions in the main event space, the first involved listening to sounds whilst smelling fragrance cards which had been steeped in the individual Silent Pool botanicals.  The second involved the “Festive Negroni” where we were presented with two Negronis, one red and one green (yes…green!) We had to drink each whilst listening to a different Christmas song and decide which we felt embodied the Christmas spirit best.  There were great mumbling and murmurings of which was the nicest and amusingly they were in fact both the same.  Simply white negronis (30ml Silent Pool, 30ml Suze, 30ml Lillet blanc,) with tasteless, odourless food colouring added for effect.

At this point the evening was really winding down, it was most definitely time to go home and better still, it wasn’t even close to pumpkin o’clock!  Which meant I felt super duper spritely and fantastic the next morning!

I honestly absolutely loved this event and found it to be a hugely interesting and fascinating subject.  Thank you so much to Silent Pool Gin, Cambridge Audio and of course Professor Barry Smith for such a wonderful evening.  I most definitely have some ginvestigations to carry out following this one…

    Silent Pool Gin Sensory Cocktail Experience I'm very fortunate in the respect that over the past few weeks I've been invited to and attended some pretty fabulous gin events. 

[smollittlepidge]

A Different Shade of Blue Chapter 03

Part 1

Part 2

Chapter POV focus is on Mabel this time!

As Mabel and Milah left Will's room and headed back down the hallway towards the main part of the house, Mabel took a moment to observe her sister.

After twenty years of being, well, being triplets, Mabel felt like she was pretty good at reading her siblings. Granted, she had always been better at reading Dipper, but that was simply due to the fact that Milah had always been a bit of a wild card. Mabel could never tell for certain what her little sister was thinking and this bugged her to no end.

While Dipper was insanely good at getting people to tell him what he wanted to know, Mabel's talent was through reading people. Watching and observing others to derive the information she needed.

So, not always being able to read Milah bothered her.

But, as they walked in silence, Mabel derived two things that were unusual just by observing her sister's body language.

First of all, there was a light bounce to her that she was to be repressing. Secondly, her eyes seemed more jovial than normal. Granted, they looked angry, but jovial nonetheless.

And that was all. Everything else seemed normal for Milah.

However, Mabel felt like there was something else, something unreachable that was hidden just below the surface. And the need to know what it was was like a burning fire in the mind of the eldest Gleeful triplet.

When they reached the main room, Dipper was already waiting.

His smile appeared upon seeing them and he was at the youngest's side instantly, apologizing for upsetting her. He made no mention of Will. It was as if the dream demon had never been a part of the situation at all.

Mabel rolled her eyes as they headed out, Dipper doting on Milah and giving her promises that he could never keep.

As they walked down the street-Dipper had always insisted that being out in the public was the best possible form of advertising and therefore was the best way to get people to go to their show-Mabel continued to watch Milah.

Something was different. But she couldn't tell what it was. But there was definitely something.

They had to go pick up Mabel's new throwing knives for their upcoming show. Granted, she had plenty of other perfectly good knives, but new ones were always nice.

"Ooh, look at all the pretties!" Mabel gushed as they walked into the shop.

Dipper cringed slightly. "Can you please not talk about throwing knives the same way you talk about shoes?"

Mabel gave her brother one of her sickly sweet laughs. "No can-do, brother dear." And with that she strolled up to the counter to pick up her order, all the while keeping an eye on Milah for a sign of, well, anything.

Dipper said something to Milah and she laughed and-there it was!

There was a stark difference, Mabel noticed, in the laughter Milah had just let out and the laughter she usually had. Milah's laughter was always genuine when it came to her siblings. However, the one she just gave Dipper was fake.

A quick glance at Dipper said that he didn't notice anything different.

But the eldest could tell that Milah-as hard as she tried to hide it-was furious with Dipper. But why?

The siblings headed out of the shop with Mabel still lost in thought. She was only pulled out by her brother suddenly snapping his fingers in front of her face.

"What?" she snapped, irritated that her train of thought had been broken.

"I said, are you coming with? We're getting ice cream." Dipper said, uncaring of her irritation.

"Brother dear, we're twenty years old. Aren't we a little old for ice cream trips?" Mabel asked.

Dipper gave a laugh. A sharp, controlling, uncaring laugh. "Nope. Let's go."

As they walked, Dipper turned to Mabel. "What were you thinking about anyways? It had to be something important if you were that deep in thought."

Mabel opened her mouth and then snapped it shut. She didn't know for sure what was going on yet, so why say anything? All she had for sure was that Milah was, for some unknown reason, furious with Dipper. That wasn't much to go on. If anything, saying that would most likely just set him off. Then her observations would get nowhere. It would just be better to keep it to herself until she had more information. She needed to talk directly to Milah.

"Nothing, brother dear. I just don't know if I should get a new pair of shoes for the show or not seeing as how we're already out." She said smoothly.

Dipper gave her an incredulous look and scoffed. "You have plenty already, now come on."

The triplets got their ice cream and Dipper started talking to a group of what were obviously tourists, giving Mabel the chance to talk to her sister.

"What's wrong, sister dear?" Mabel asked.

Milah looked up from her ice cream. "Huh? Oh, nothing, Mabel. Just thinking about some stuff."

Mabel instantly switched tactics.

"Do you know what happened this morning? I completely missed it. What did Dipper do?" Granted, Mabel already knew what had happened, but if she got the reaction she was looking for, she had all the information she needed.

Milah's eyes narrowed as she glared at the ice cream on her spoon for a moment before angrily shoving it in her mouth. "Dipper hit Will." she stated rather bluntly.

Bingo. Mabel had to stop herself from grinning in triumph. It was about Will. Not only did that pathetic excuse of a demon care for her sister, but her sister cared for him in return.

But to what extent?

It would be better to keep all of her observations to herself. Dipper didn't need to know...yet.

As they sat there, Mabel talking quietly with Milah and Dipper entertaining the tourists, they almost completely missed someone walking by.

But Mabel couldn't ever possibly miss him whenever he was within a five-mile radius of her.

I mean, after all, it was Gideon Pines after all.

Woo-hoo! Gideon! Don't forget to let me know what you thought! I live vicariously through other's praise!