Sir Waddles, Esquire

We are pleased that this blog is once more under original ownership! The purpose of this blog is to preserve the ramblings of a fancy pig and provide for a far more warm and welcoming location for said ramblings. Welcome one and all! (Please note: This blog contains Pinecest.)

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Do you kniw if Love is not time's fool will ever be continued? I loved reading it as it was originally published, and I would love to see more.

Love Is Not Time’s Fool is a strange beast. I have it pretty much mapped out, and I actually like what I am doing with it. I just lost momentum on it.

Further, I’ve given it a re-read after quite some time, and while pieces are there, I am NOT pleased with the execution.

There’s a good chance I will return to it, but I believe that will require something of a re-write what already exists, and that is always daunting. I can’t make any promises, but you never know. I’d love to get it finished.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Do you have an AO3 by chance? Just because it's a more permanent place to save fic, and "Storm Warning" is the greatest ever and I need it forevermore?

Thank you so much for the compliment on ‘Storm Warning”! I have a particular fondness for that piece.

I do have an AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirWaddlesEsquire(At this time, it is a work in progress. Please excuse the mess.)

And, just for you, here is the link to “Storm Warning”. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22133452

[sevralships]

A gift illustration for my beloved, @sirwaddlesesquire , depicting a scene from his beautiful one-shot fic “Storm Warning”! Hands down one of my all-time favorite Pinecest fics from one of my all-time favorite people!

[sirwaddlesesquire]

What a truly undeserved honor that I and my writing has received in this art work! @sevralships is a great friend and a greater artist, with talent to go around. Storm Warning is a silly little thing that fell out of my head, but with this piece of art, it has at last been redeemed! Thank you Sev'ralships. You are the best!

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Still an undeserved honor and Sev'ralships is still the best.

[sevralships]

A gift illustration for my beloved, @sirwaddlesesquire , depicting a scene from his beautiful one-shot fic “Storm Warning”! Hands down one of my all-time favorite Pinecest fics from one of my all-time favorite people!

[sirwaddlesesquire]

What a truly undeserved honor that I and my writing has received in this art work! @sevralships is a great friend and a greater artist, with talent to go around. Storm Warning is a silly little thing that fell out of my head, but with this piece of art, it has at last been redeemed! Thank you Sev'ralships. You are the best!

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Loved the Stars

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

- Sarah Williams

Dipper Pines knows what it is to be in love. It’s a shooting star across the pitch black sky.

It’s the sudden explosion of light, illuminating in its radiance. It’s the streak of brilliance, spinning and twirling as it makes its journey, incandescent beams trailing behind and touching all that it passes. It’s the new capability of vision presenting the opportunity to drink in sights previously unknown. It’s the captivation caused by flash-point intensity.

It’s her.

In back-alley bars, old men and rough men, their clothes and their prospects as faded and tattered as their stories, warn him of his folly. They caution him, that he is too young to know of love, that his naiveté and his dreamer’s whimsy have led him down a fanciful path. They tell him tales of going steady and drive-in movie theaters, of sweethearts and summers spent at the beach, of beaus and of letters home from the war. This, they cajole, is how you love. This, they remonstrate, is how you know it is love. This, they exhort, is how love is properly done. He listens and he thanks them and he pays for their drinks. And he knows that they are wrong. It may not be how things were done, but there was a world of difference between how things were done and how things just simply … were.

She had appeared so abruptly. She had always been there, of course. A perk, or maybe a quirk, of being born five minutes apart. But one day, she was there. Like a sudden blaze of fire across an empty canvas, she grabbed his attention and he could not look away. She was everything. Her presence was intense and total, dominating his every waking moment and the entirety of his sleeping as well. She lit up his entire world.

She was a force of nature, a swift bolt of wild color that improved on anything, no matter how dim or bleak it might be and he was no exception. She was a pagan goddess, resplendent and savage, noble and free, and he was an eager worshiper. She was a celestial being and he was happy to be caught up in her tail, basking in the white hot sparks she left like puddles after a storm.

In mid-town coffee shops, lawyers and capitalists, their suits pressed and their ties crisp, pause in their industry and mock him for his folly. There are exchanges of barbs and taunts, the presumption that a jovial grin and a jabbed elbow may soften the invective contained within.  They inform him of the locations of topless bars and nameless backrooms, of street corners and hourly hotels, of unfettered dance clubs and liberal-thinking coeds. And if he is too timid to visit any of those, they smirk, he could at least have the balls to tell her. He joins in on the banter, even giving some of his own, knowing all the while that only he is privy to the cruelest joke of them all.

He tells her all the time.

Sometimes it is in line with the propriety of a moment and sometimes it is by finding an opportunity to espouse it. But he will often look her in the eyes and pronounce that he loves her. The words, which when within him are a melody of exultation and ardency, sound hollow, course, and foreign when exposed to the space around them. She will reply that she loves him too, and he knows that she means it as well.

But there is a chasm of disparity between what they each say and what they each mean. With each exchange of those three little words, this crevasse grows deeper, even as it already leaves him shuddering at its expanse and its treachery. Because while she helped create it, at least her assistance was inadvertent. His was purposeful. She stands upon the edge of the precipice and she does not know it, unaware of the looming fall which threatens to swallow her whole at a single misstep; be it a misstep of hers, or a misstep of his. She remains on the escarpment where he has placed her, heedless and oblivious of its danger, as he remains in the ravine where he has placed himself, conscious and embracing of its safety.

Betimes a call of warning will well up inside of him, imperative and demanding, and he can feel himself begin to shout, only for the cry to die on his lips.

For as he stares up at her from this abyss of his own creation, she is apparent, discernible, unmistakable, and he cannot bring himself to disrupt, fearful that this may be his final chance to observe it all. Her beauty, composed not of the odist’s limpid eyes or pallid face, but rather of the blaze of self-assurance and the gleam of irrepressibility. Her nature, one of bubbles and glitter, of midnight coffee and comforting talks, of helpless exuberance and thoughtful chagrin.  Her character, unabashedly frank and unapologetically extravagant, freely given without question and without regard for what might be taken. Her stance, her smile, her poise, her laugh, her intellect, her allure, and a thousand other things that are uniquely hers. Most of all, her gaze, forever on the horizon, sweeping and seeking as it searches for what comes next.

There are times when her gaze falls upon him, and he is breathless in the sensation of being stripped to the core, of being laid bare, of being utterly exposed. He is certain that everything inside of him, all of it, must be freely discernible; written in his face and in his eyes. In these moments, he is afraid. For even when he is sure that it is all revealed, he cannot bring himself to hope. Instead, in these moments, he feels only fear; the fear that now she must see and the fear of what exactly it is that she now sees.

But her gaze moves on. And he is left to wonder.

Does she know him, as he knows her? Knows the gentle swaying of her movements, knows the soft shadow which a midsummer sun creates by playing across her dimpled cheeks, knows the sound of her thousand and one sighs and their thousand and one causes?

Does she think of him, as he thinks of her? In the reflections of the bitter dregs of last night’s dream, the vestigial remnants of exquisite bliss interrupted by morning’s routine? In the idle musings of a second’s pause, a respite of warmth snatched from the otherwise apathetic day? In the deep hours of the night, when shame takes a backseat to desperation and ruminations on lips and skin and touch and breath and heat will no longer be ignored?

Does she view him, as he views her? She is consistency: vivacity and indomitability, glamor and charm. She is contradiction: eminence and indiscretion, havoc and harmony. She is felicity itself, an axiom independent of all else. She is the source, wondrous in its possibilities, and she is the conclusion, absolute in its finality.

He is not sure. Maybe he does not wish to be sure. If he’s honest, maybe he does not care, in the treacherous manner that is the wanton abandonment of good sense. For here there is a touch of beauty and perfection. So long as he imagines himself content instead of complacent, considerate instead of cautious, commiserate instead of contemptable, then he can create for himself an ethereal eternity. Because if it never truly begins, then it can never actually end.

So he is left wondering. And so her gaze continues moving on.

It always moves on. Even after it returns to him for a time, it never lingers long. With each successive departure, her gaze moves further and further away. It is the ellipses of an empyrean that was never truly bound by gravity to any object it orbits. He knows there will come a time when that orbit ceases all together. He dreads that day. He welcomes it.

And he does nothing.

In late-night sushi haunts, colleagues and peers, their eyes bleary and their spirits buoyant, try to convince him of his folly. Outwardly educated but inwardly timid, their bookshelves full but their suitcases empty, they quote tragic poets and golden-age starlets, tweed clad professors and insightful sitcoms, weary philosophers and folksy country musicians. He laughs at each one, raising his cup before slamming it back. And each time, as even the liquor, undiluted and acrid, fails to dull the sharp burn of the yearning inside of him, he is made certain that their confidence is ignorance. Ignorance that they will dismantle his delusion, ignorance that they will at last unmask him, ignorance that one man’s practiced wit is comparable to another man’s artless and persistent being.

Where others might aspire for her to hear the songs of his heart or to see the affection rife in his words, he does not. To have even allowed himself the smallest of wishes would be to create obligation upon her. And what he gives her, he gives freely; a devotion as unequivocal as it is unavailing. He knows that it is not wasted.

As he stumbles out into the street, he looks up. The canopy of night above him is bejeweled with a million tiny stars. Their twinkling existence is enough to make any man notice and revel in the beauty of such a sight. He is no exception, for the sight of this dusky tableau moves him dearly. Not because of the spread of numerous stars, vast and incomprehensible, but because of the knowledge that one star, the only star that ever really mattered, is not there.

And so…

The shooting star continues on its journey, that sudden flare of illumination rapidly receding as it passes over the horizon, leaving behind only the now unfamiliar inky black sky.

His soul sets in darkness.

The sense of abandonment and of singular solitude is so pure as to be nearly heaven itself, and it can only be embraced anew each and every day.

He will rise in perfect light

He closes his eyes, breathes in the stillness of the moment, reflects on the all-encompassing nature of the void above and within. There is futility and indignity in attempting to keep that light in his life, and he will indulge in neither. He is at peace.

He smiles.

He has loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Announcement: the Return of Sir Waddles, Esquire

About a month ago, the blog of “sirwaddlesesquire” suddenly disappeared. No explanation was publicly posted, it was just gone. Some of us in the fandom knew the reason, at least partly, but the departure had to be made quickly. But as a result, all of the contributions of this talented writer were lost, deleted with the blog.

Behind the scenes, I (your humble anonymous servant) petitioned to preserve the work of our porcine colleague. I asked if the existing archive of stories could be sent to me, which I would post on his behalf.

To my delight, Sir Waddles agreed. I found that the old blog name was available, so I grabbed it. After receiving the collection of files, I made new posts so you can enjoy them again. Scroll down to find them and a new Master Fic page.

In fact, more than that, he said he’s been itching to write again! So ... Make sure to check out his brand new fic, From Whence We Came. As always, this is excellent quality stuff.

Finally, here are a few paragraphs from our esteemed friend.

Like the first blizzard of winter, Great Aunt Mildred, or the Hebrew Deity while visiting Egypt, I have returned to darken your doorsteps once more….

It is with as much humility as I am able to muster that I announce my work will once again be available for viewing and reading on Tumblr. I wish to give everyone my assurance that this redux blog is being updated and maintained with my permission, and that any original content thus uploaded is indeed created by myself. However, due to a quirk in my personal life, I will be a supplier of content only. I will not be the administrator nor the owner of the blog itself. Regardless, I have every confidence in the individual who will be running this blog, and know it will be given every chance to play a role in this delightful fandom, whatever that role may be.

I am cognizant of the fact that my previous sudden departure may have raised questions, and perhaps even concern. I would like reassure all that I am well and nothing is too terribly remiss. The unfortunate reality is that my Tumblr blog became a potential liability for my livelihood, in part due to its content and in part due to its very existence. Quite simply, due to the risk, the entire thing had to go, and I was forced to act accordingly. Even now, with the return of my content to Tumblr, I must maintain my distance, and cannot have anything resembling ownership or control of this redux blog. It is my hope that this can be understood, or, if not, at least tolerated.

I apologize to any of my readers, fans, and friends who were affected by my abrupt disappearance and prolonged absence. I acted in the manner I thought best for myself, and I am positive it was the correct call. I hope this measured return can assuage some manner of hurt or concern. Please feel free to reach out through this blog. The response may not be quick but it will be sincere.

In his final moments, Oscar Wilde famously announced that “Either that fancy pig goes, or I do.” As I am sure you are aware of, Oscar Wilde is no longer with us; his words and his wisdom lingering but oft forgotten. Which means that I, SirWaddlesEsquire, am here; free once more to share my own thoughts and musings with all of you. For that, I must beg your forgiveness. There is no justice in this world, and I am truly sorry.

And as always, thanks for reading.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Master Post

Oh, hello! *Closes leather-bound book* I didn’t see you there! Please, do come in and make yourself comfortable in my library. Pull out a volume, find a comfy seat, enjoy the weirdly un-moving fire in the fireplace-prop. And stay awhile!

*Disclaimer* All work linked in this masterpost was created by me, SirWaddlesEsquire. All work so linked is to be considered fictional (unless otherwise stated), for non-profit (unless otherwise solicited) and immaterial (unless otherwise found). NSFW work will be frequent and marked by the appropriate chapter/section/fic. Any issues with these works or with the author themselves should be directed to said author’s attorney: SirWaddlesEsquire.

That being said, this is a blog to practice writing. To that effect, any and all feedback is welcome in any and all forms: be it general comments, constructive criticism, or straight up insults. The author would love to hear from you! Thank you.

MULTI-PART STORIES

Love is Not Time’s Fool: A Pinescifica Story

A random encounter with Pacifica Northwest creates possibilities previously unconsidered; by all parties.

Table of Contents

Preface Part I – Wild Nights                 Wild Nights Prelude       Chapter One: Tomorrow’s Problem (NSFW)         Chapter Two: Reasonably Priced “Two-for” Deals       Chapter Three: An Evening at Chez Pines (NSFW)           Chapter Four: Afternoon Business Meetings       Chapter Five: Observations and Comparisons: A Nature Documentary       Chapter Six: A Miniature Ocean (NSFW) Part II – Nothing Else but Secret Love           Nothing Else but Secret Love Prelude       Chapter Seven: Shades and Hues               Chapter Eight: Forthcoming       Chapter Nine: Forthcoming       Chapter Ten: Forthcoming       Chapter Eleven: Forthcoming       Chapter Twelve: Forthcoming Part III – Our Love is a Harsh Cord                 Forthcoming! Part IV – Dreams Under Your Feet                 Forthcoming!

ONE SHOTS/DRABBLES

“Love is Not Time’s Fool” AU

The following One Shots/Drabbles aren’t part of the main “Love is Not Time’s Fool” story, but take place within the same world. They’re not required to understand the plot, but are sort of bonus chapters.

The Palm Tree Luau Resort - A Pines twins getaway to the nation’s most desirable vacation location. Takes place before the series. (NSFW - Pinecest)

A Midnight Conversation - Communication is important in a relationship. Takes place between Chapter Three and Chapter Four. (NSFW - Pinecest)   Par for the Course (forthcoming) - You aren’t playing your opponent, you’re playing the course. (NSFW - Pinescifica)

Other:

Thunder Road - “The screen door slams, Mabel’s dress waves. Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays.” (Pinecest)

Silence in the Big City - A new city, a new rooftop. (NSFW - Pinecest)

Sound of Water - Homework in the form of seventeen syllables. (Pinecest)

The Surest Aid - Contemplations by street lamp. (Pinecest)

Storm Warning - An evening of solitude interrupted. (NSFW - Pinecest)

Selfish Sacrifices / Selfless Seizures - A companion piece with @pinetreeoverme (Pinecest)

Saudade - What can be better than being awakened in the middle of the night? (NSFW - Pinecest)

From Whence We Came - “All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.” - James Thurber (Pinecest)

Loved the Stars - “Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” - Sarah Williams (Pinecest)

Shout out to @edward-or-ford for the excellent advice in formatting and Mobile-friendly-izing one’s Fiction Masterpost. This post can be used for linking, and will be updated regularly.

As always, thanks for reading!

[sirwaddlesesquire]

From Whence We Came

TW: Implied Long-term Verbal and Physical Abuse, TW: Mild Derogatory Language, TW: Incest

This story deals with Pines Twins that have suffered abuse and neglect from both parents. The twins have also witnessed their parents’ maltreatment of each other, which is an incredibly damaging and difficult thing to witness and internalize from a young age, to say nothing of understanding how to process such things going forward into one’s own life. There is an implication of physical abuse, as well as very obvious verbal abuse. If any of this is difficult to read, it may be best to steer clear of this story.

The author would like to remind all readers that, while we are invariably to some degree a product of our past experiences, they are NOT determinate for those of our future. No matter where you are, no matter who you are, no matter what has been done to you, you are a special person in your own right, and you are worthy of love. Do not ever, ever, ever doubt that.

The soft tinkling of the piano flowed throughout the dining room. It somehow managed to soar over the general babble of a dozen conversations, present without being domineering, as participating voices faded into abstract white noise due in part to their number and in part due to their volume. Crisply dressed waiters and waitresses, their pressed uniforms matching the cloth napkins present at each place setting, marched along with distinct purpose. In the avenues of space between tables, they stopped here and there to attend to the various needs of a patron. Subdued lighting from the extensive chandeliers lit the room, assisted by the candles placed at each table, their glow sufficient yet intimate. It was all clearly designed to create a comforting atmosphere, where one might be able to relax and be carefree for a time.

It freaked the hell out of Dipper Pines.

From a table in the back corner, he sat, gazing out at the other diners, and feeling supremely out of place. Maybe it was the fact that he was wearing a suit. He only owned the one; purchased straight off the rack at a discount department store, its pallid grey color and awkward fit a clear contrast to the image of sophistication the article of clothing was supposed to express. Just the fear of how ridiculous he must look made him pull absently at his collar, convinced he likely hadn’t correctly knotted the single tie he owned. Maybe it was the place itself, as well as the company such a place attracted. A distinct flavor of the ‘upper crust’, a distinction that seemed to have no set system of rules, a distinction unclear in whether it was awarded or whether it was claimed, a distinction that evoked too many intentionally obfuscated memories.

Maybe it was the reason he was here at all, sitting at this restaurant. In many ways it was difficult to rationalize why he was here, among this sort of people, this carefully orchestrated atmosphere, this affectated culture. This anathema. Everything about it was difficult. So why was he here?

Dipper snuck a glance at the person occupying the seat next to him and, just as it did every time he stole such glances, his heart fairly skipped a beat.

She was flawless. Not in the ways of magazine covers and conspicuously absent blemishes. Rather, her flawlessness could be found in the intangible, abstract ways.  Her vivacious nature; playful and grave at the same time. Her effortless affection; caring and devotion without thought. Her smile; slower to appear than once it was, but still a constant despite the years. She was flawless in all the ways that required more than a single word to describe and more than a single thought to recognize. In all the ways that so few ever managed to fully appreciate. In all the ways that maybe only he truly could. In all the ways that likely only he ever had.

No, there could really be no question why he was here. For when it came to her, there could be no question of how far he would be willing to go. It was her. It always had been, and always would be her: his twin sister, Mabel Pines.

Dipper reached out slowly, his movements careful, and enveloped her hand with his own. He watched as she paused for a moment, a hesitation that he know only he would have recognized, before turning to face him, her eyebrows raised in a question.

“Are you sure that you’re alright? How do you feel?” he asked her, his voice one of gentle prodding.

Mabel nodded her head before shrugging her shoulders slightly. Dipper understood the feeling. It was likely one which they shared at this moment. With a motion smoothed by practice, he raised her hand and planted a kiss on each of her knuckles before pressing his lips to her palm. He watched as her face softened, that smile he adored so much finally spreading across her face. It tugged at his heart-strings. It crushed them mercilessly.

“We’ll get through this,” he told her. “We’ll get through it together. You know that, right?”

Mabel glanced away, her gaze dropping to the table. She nodded again, slower this time. “I know. Like we always have, every time before. It’s just…” her voice drifted off.

“Yeah,” Dipper agreed. “It is just.”

The two shared a quiet moment of contemplation, the amicable silence a small measure of comfort at last.

Giving her hand a squeeze, Dipper sighed. “Mabel, I love you.”

She squeezed his hand back. “I love you t-“

Her words died as her face suddenly went blank. One moment her face featured her customary smile, the next it was completely absent of any emotion at all. As if it had never existed in the first place. Instead, she just stared forward, at the front of the restaurant, her entire body rigid.

Dipper was familiar with this particular occurrence. He understood all too well. What’s more, he knew that he was no different. He could already his shoulders begin to tense and his back straighten, with the faintest hints of a headache beginning behind his eyes. There could be only one cause of Mabel’s sudden change, or of his own.

After giving one last comforting squeeze, and receiving one in return, Dipper quickly dropped Mabel’s hand, as if severing the connection. Then, mentally chastising himself into stillness, he too stared forward. Together, the two watched. They tracked the approach of a man and a woman as they made their through the dining room. The man brushed past the wait staff and the other patrons, striding in a manner that was effortlessly imposing. The woman followed behind, her posture slightly hunched. Finally, they came to a stop at the other side of the table, and Dipper and Mabel stood up in greetings.

There was a moment of silence, awkward and just a beat too long, before Dipper broke it. “Hi dad. Hi mom.”

Their father smiled. Where some men offered a smile, Douglas Pines made it an imperative. It settled on his face, the corners turning up to lend a carefully intentional edge to the expression, as much as he would deny it. Of course, that mindful calculation was present in nearly every aspect of their father. The three-piece suit; impeccably tailored, entirely in fashion, and designed to instantly catch the eye. The full head of hair; its style slick with product and undoubtedly costly, its balance of brown and grey exactly right. The body posture; a stance consisting of thrown back shoulders, a leveled chin, perhaps a hand in the pocket, all of which as if to demonstrate carefree assurance. In fact, everything about Mr. Pines hinted at a predilection for predacity; if one knew where to look. And Dipper knew where to look.

“Mason, Mabel,” Mr. Pines said cheerfully. “We were pleased to get your invitation for this evening. It made your mother very happy, you know, to hear from you two again.”

As he spoke, Mr. Pines pulled a chair back from the table, and their mother primly took the proffered seat. Estella Pines was beautiful. She had always been a striking woman, a sense of classic elegance composed in the manner of high cheek bones, a slender neck, and long limbs. Combined with the right evening dress, stately coiffed hair, and an opulent necklace, the presented sense of delicacy was undeniable. As she came to a rest in the chair, Mr. Pines carefully pushed it into place. Estella Pines said nothing.

“Yeah, well, we were glad --” Dipper began, but was cut off by his father.

“I must say, it’s a much nicer place than the usual course of fare you two drag us out to.” Mr. Pines looked around the dining room as he spoke.  “Dare I hope that you are beginning to come to your senses? In that regard at least?” He flashed his smile again, and took his own seat.

Dipper could feel himself tense at the comment, a feeling which he was all too accustomed to. To distract himself from it, he turned and politely held the chair for Mabel as she sat. Of course, Mabel didn’t need any help. She and Dipper had fallen into several back-and-forths about how he did not have to do such things and how she was perfectly capable herself, thank you very much. They both knew that the squabbles were never about the actual individual act. Still, in the moment, Dipper had to help Mabel into her chair and, thankfully, Mabel made no comment.

Assured that Mabel was settled, Dipper turned and gestured to the waiter, who was standing ready. Dipper had made sure to arrive early and seek out the individual who would be their waiter for the evening. It was a chance to ensure that the waiter was in on the plan and was up for assisting in the various steps. It was also a chance to give warning. The waiter had given his assurances that everything was under control and nothing could go wrong. Dipper was sure the waiter did not realize just how wishful that line of thinking was.

Still, the waiter caught Dipper’s gesture, and quickly made his way over with the first step of the plan. Stopping at the table, the waiter nodded to Mr. Pines, smiled at the ladies, and gave a slight bow to Dipper. The bow allowed the waiter to hold out the tray he was carrying, displaying to the table the three glass flutes of bubbling, pale-yellow liquid. Dipper plucked two of the flutes up and handed them to his father and mother, taking the last for himself. The waiter nodded once more and began to make his retreat.

Raising his glass, Dipper cleared his throat. “I, uh, I just want to say --” But he was once again cut off by his father.

“What is this?” Douglas Pines demanded, sniffing at the drink. “Champagne? Why would you order us champagne?”

“Well, I guess, um,” Dipper stammered. “I thought it was, well, appropriate for the --”

“And why doesn’t Mabel have a glass? Why wouldn’t you get your sister some as well?” The question was pointed.

“Mabel doesn’t drink, dad.” Dipper couldn’t prevent the small sigh from escaping. “You know that.”

“The hell she doesn’t. This is unacceptable.” And putting the flute back on the table and turning in his chair slightly, Mr. Pines began to snap his fingers. “You there, waiter! Come on back here! Chop chop.”

“Dad, no, don’t.” Dipper began, but it was too late. The waiter quickly reversed his movement and appeared once more at the table.

“Yes, sir?” The waiter’s voice was unfailingly polite. “May I assist you?”

Dipper made to speak up, desperate to tell the waiter no. But his father beat him to it. “Yes, it’s this champagne stuff.” His father’s tone was one of reproof, with no effort to disguise it. “We don’t take to such fruity things in this family. You understand, I am sure.”

It wasn’t a question. “Of course, Sir.” The waiter’s smile didn’t falter.

“So why don’t you go ahead and take these back.” Mr. Pines plucked the flute from his wife’s hand and handed both back to the waiter without looking in the waiter’s direction. “And instead, bring out a bottle of white wine for the ladies. Something light, something in season, something Italian. You’ll make the right choice, I am sure.” While once again not actually a question, this time the statement had a tone behind it; a suggestion of what might occur should Mr. Pines’ assumption be unmet. “And some scotch for me and my son. Macallan. 25 year. Neat. And do be quick about it.”

A snap of his fingers made clear that Douglas Pines considered the conversation over.

The waiter shot a look at Dipper, who could only shoot what he hoped was a look of apology back. With a blank face, the waiter nodded once, bowed again, and retreated. Dipper rubbed absently at his forehead, positive that his headache was spreading. Then, realizing that he was still standing, and that his father was staring at him, Dipper quickly dropped his hand and sat down.

For a moment, no one at the table spoke. The twins’ father continued to stare at Dipper, a look of consideration on his face, his fingers tapping idly at the tabletop. Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper could see that Mabel was also looking in his direction, her hands folded in her lap and her expression careful. Mostly careful. There was a slight hitch to an eyebrow and she chewed slightly on the barest corner of her lip; signs that gave her away if you knew to catch them. The twins’ mother looked down at her plate, her face was devoid of any emotion. Dipper was fairly sure she’d been doing so since she had first taken her seat.

Conscious of the stretching moment, Dipper once again cleared his throat. “Right, well, thank you dad. Now, as I was saying --”

“I really do wish you would come join me at the firm.” Mr. Pines spoke right over his son. “I simply do not understand why you insist on wasting your time at that magazine. You make practically nothing, and the place isn’t exactly going anywhere. There’s no future there.”

The clicking of Dipper’s teeth as his mouth snapped shut was then followed by the gritting of those teeth. It had to be the hundredth time his father had brought this subject up. Which meant it would soon be the hundredth time Dipper had explained why his father’s statements weren’t accurate. Even as he reopened his mouth to reply, Dipper wondered what the setting for the hundred-and-first time would be.

“First of all, dad, I can’t just join your firm. You have to actually go to law school first to become a lawyer.” Even in his frustration, Dipper made sure to keep his tone respectful. “Second, I actually really enjoy working at the magazine. I love all of the …”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Douglas Pine’s waved his hand dismissively as he interrupted. “We’ll set you up with an interview with Jenkins over in transactions. Jenkins and I go way back. We’ll get you working with contracts, and the like. Maybe some research. You’ll love it down there. Books and paper everywhere, plenty of work to keep you busy. It’ll be like when you were in high school. Always with your nose in a book, always getting excited about the dumbest things. You remember? It’s no wonder you never had a girlfriend!” Mr. Pines barked his laugh. No one else at the table joined in.

“They weren’t… they weren’t dumb.” Dipper couldn’t keep a touch of petulance from creeping into his voice, and he hated himself a little for it. “They were perfectly legitimate, and it helped me…”

“Actually, now that I think on it, it’s the perfect time. We just fired that screwball over in litigation. Asked to take on a pro bono case. Pro bono. Waste the firm’s time and money. Not a damn charity, are we?” Dipper couldn’t be sure if his father was actually expecting a response, and so he didn’t say anything. He just watched his father. “Damn right we’re not! Now, where the hell is that waiter?”

The twins’ father quickly raised his hand to gesture. Beside him, the twins’ mother flinched.

Luckily, before Douglas Pines could begin snapping again, the waiter arrived, his tray now laden with four new drinks. Two wine glasses contained the white wine and two small tumblers held the amber colored scotch. The waiter quickly placed the wine glasses on the table in front of Mabel and their mother. Their father accepted his glass from the waiter, a pleased smile appearing on his face. Dipper accepted his as well. The waiter hesitated for a moment before looking to Mr. Pines. After Mr. Pines nodded once, the waiter beat a hasty retreat.

“Well then, I think this calls for a proper toast.” Douglas Pines stated, lifting his glass. “To success.” His gaze scanned the other occupants of the table, expectant.

Their mother did not look up, did not budge, did not react. Mabel quickly looked away, as if the wall were suddenly very interesting. She made no movement to reach for her glass. Dipper watched as his father’s scrutiny returned to him. There was a weight to that gaze. One that Dipper was all too acquainted with. So, repressing a sigh before anyone else could hear it, he lifted his glass to the toast, mumbling a ‘to success’ of his own.

Mirroring his father, Dipper took a sip of the drink, tilting his head back as the strong liquor forced its way through him. Bitter, unpalatable, and uncomfortably overbearing, it was not to his taste at all. The temptation to cough threatened to overcome him, but he resisted. He knew better than that by now.

“Ah, now that’s more like it,” the smacking of lips announced that Mr. Pines was indeed pleased. “And that’s another thing, now that I think of it. Working down at the firm would do wonders for your success with the ladies!”

Beside him, Dipper could feel Mabel stir before returning to stillness. He carefully put his glass down, considering his next words. He needn’t have bothered.

“Ha! Oh yes!” His father continued. “Yes, I daresay you could use all the help you can get in that department, couldn’t you, boy? What with your frivolous book and your ridiculous work, you probably wouldn’t know your way around a woman if she drew you a map! That is if she noticed you enough to draw you one in the first place!”

Once again, Mabel stirred at his side, this time gripping the arm of her chair, her knuckles white, before she schooled herself to rigidity once more, placing her hand back in her lap.

“But you put a man in a suit, you give him some actual respectability, and all those choice little fillies out there start lining up!” The following laugh was one which others would categorize as full of malice. But Dipper knew it wasn’t. Malice required an intent to be cruel. Douglas Pines lacked such an intention. Douglas Pines simply was. “It’s like I was telling my secretary, Cynthia the other day…”

At this Mabel started, nearly forcibly shooting up from her seat. Dipper watched in surprise as her head swung around and, for the first time in the evening, Mabel made eye contact with her father.

“Cynthia is your secretary?” Mabel’s voice was strained as she asked the question. “Not Cynthia … Derkins?! Please don’t tell me it’s Cynthia Derkins!”

Mr. Pines was clearly taken aback. “Derkins?” He paused to think of a moment. “Um, why yes, I do believe that is her last name. How… how did you know that?”

“Because I went to school with Cynthia Derkins.” Mabel hissed from between her teeth as Dipper stared on wide eyed. The look on his sister’s face was almost unrecognizable. “She was in my grade. She came over to sleepovers all the time. Sleepovers at our house. She was over often enough that you said she was practically your second daughter!”

Mabel was leaning forward in her seat, wringing her napkin in her lap. Dipper found himself studying the look on her face. It definitely wasn’t her normal look. It was animated, and not of fear. But rather anger. Righteous anger. He quickly turned to study his father. His look wasn’t his normal one either. It was cautious. Perhaps even with a hint of hesitation on it. Dipper was thoroughly confused.

“We still talk, dad, Cynthia and I.” Mabel’s tone was bordering on accusatory now as she continue to lean forward, staring at her father across the table. Their father actually began to shift backward in his seat. “She’s been telling me about a man she’s been seeing. A married man. So, an affair. A torrid affair, to hear her tell it. A torrid affair full of expensive gifts and sweaty sex. Sweaty sex often at the office. Because that man she’s seeing, the married man she is banging? Is her boss.”

Mabel fairly spat her final words at her father, the weight of them unmistakable to Dipper. She was glaring now, practically raised out of her seat and halfway across the table, one hand on the table, the other clutching her napkin and resting against her abdomen. Dipper glanced over at their father. He was fully back in his seat, seemingly leaning away from his daughter’s assault, his hands resting on the arms of the chair and his face studiously absent of emotion. For once, Douglas Pines said nothing.

The apparent stalemate stretched for a moment. Dipper found he had no idea how to react, no idea how this could have happened, no idea what came next. But apparently Mabel did. Because she turned away from their father and looked at their mother instead. Her expression turned to one of consolation and her tone became one of pleading.

“Mom, please, don’t do this anymore.” Mabel stared imploringly at the Mrs. Pines. “You know what Dipper and I have been through! What you have been through! What he has done to us. You know. Please don’t let this continue. Please don’t let him do it, do any of this, to any of us anymore. Please. This is the proof you need. Please. Please. Please!”

More emotion leaked into Mabel’s voice, and Dipper caught the tiniest glistening at the corner of her eye, a hint of what might soon appear.

“You know. You know and now you can walk away. We’ll all walk away. And then it will be over. Please.” The last word was whispered.

Slowly, Estella Pines raised her head, fixing her gaze on to Mabel, her daughter. Their mother’s face was a study in composition; posed, precise, and postured, and all of it deliberate. It was by looking into her eyes that one could usually discover the facade. For usually they were flat and devoid of all emotion. But not at this moment. In this moment, they fairly glittered with emotion. Hatred.

“Sit down, you fatuous, vapid, nonsensical, puerile child!” The pure venom in their mother’s tone nearly made Dipper gasp, and he could see Mabel freeze into motionlessness. “You have absolutely no idea how the real world works, nor of relationships, nor of love. It is completely inappropriate for you to attempt to comment on things you do not understand, and likely never will be able to. So quit embarrassing yourself and, more importantly, quit embarrassing your father. Do everyone in this room a favor and sit down right this instant and be quiet!”

Dipper stared at his mother. He knew Mabel was staring too. From the corner of his eye he could see their father straighten in his chair, the smile returning once more to his face. Their mother glanced between the two of them. “Honestly, if you weren’t my child, I would never associate with you.” And with a definitive motion, she returned her gaze back to the table.

Mabel stared for a moment longer, before throwing herself backwards with a violent motion. Her chair was knocked over, but she clearly paid it no mind as she backpedaled away from the table and, dropping her head to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself, fled the room.

Dipper instantly made to follow her, but the sound of his father clearing his throat brought him up short.

“You know better than to pay any attention to your sister’s outbursts, son.” Douglas Pine’s voice once again carried the same confident tone, the sneer in it audible even if his smile was perfectly polite. “She’s always been like this, as I am sure you remember. A willful child. For the life of me I cannot tell what went wrong there.”

He shrugged, and Dipper could tell that his father had already dismissed the incident from his mind. Dipper watched as his father reached for his glass, took a long sip, and placed it back once more. And then, as Mr. Pines was returning his arm back to its original position, he seemed to hesitate a moment before moving it over and giving Mrs. Pines a pat on the knee. Exactly one pat, and then his arm was back in place.

“Now.” Douglas Pines turned his attention to Dipper. “We were talking about you joining the firm.”

Dipper stared at his father, Douglas Pines’ face a mask of perfect assurance. Dipper stared at his mother, Estella Pines’ face a mask of perfect reticence. Dipper stared at both of his parents and heard only silence. It was the silence of this moment, composed of expectation, repudiation, and satisfaction; sharp and immediate. It was the silence of these years, composed of disdain, absence and neglect; debilitating and abiding. It was a silence that was seemingly absolute, having wrapped around its participants and spread, enveloping everything, slipping into the cracks of their very being. It was a silence that was unquestionable.

It was a silence that Dipper was going to break.

“I will never, ever join your firm.” His voice was calm and steady, even surprisingly so. “The idea of being a lawyer like you sickens me. To wake up each morning, with all the potential a new day brings, and to instead spend your day affirming your pretentious sense of self-worth and engaging in self-serving cynicism, inflating your own ego at the expense of people whose entire bank account is worth less than your suit and tie. The idea of spending my time actively attempting to cheat and scam people sickens me. The idea of sitting in a room with other similarly arrogant degenerates who share your capacity for reckless dehumanization sickens me. The idea of being anything like you sickens me. To the point of utter revulsion.”

The smile disappeared from Douglas Pines’ face, replaced instead by a frown and something stormy behind his eyes. “Now you listen here, boy.” He pointed a finger at Dipper. “I will not…”

“No, dad, you listen here.” Dipper cut him off, and felt a sense of immense satisfaction at the look of surprise which flashed across his father’s face. He seized on that satisfaction, using it to make his tone harder. “Because I am done listening to you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m done ever being around you. I would love to sit here and tell you all of the things that are wrong with you. The ways in which you are a bad person. To say nothing of your complete inability to be a decent parent or a husband. But what would the point be? You tell people these things in the hope that they will change, that they will become better.”

Dipper couldn’t prevent a touch of sadness from creeping into his voice. “But you will never change. You lack the capacity. You lack the basic human ability to understand just how truly fucked up you are.”

“And you have no idea how much you have probably fucked up your children, your son and daughter. How truly close to the precipice you have put both of us, how truly great our potential to be broken is.” He looked away for a moment, collecting himself, before looking back. His father just stared at him. His mother just stared at her plate. When Dipper spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “Even if you did, would you even care?”

Dipper shook his head and stood up. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. We’ll make our own way. You know, we really always have, because God knows we could never rely on either of you. I guess we always kind of hoped that might change, one day. I know you will call that hope, that desire, that need a childish one. You may be right. Then again, we were children. But not anymore.”

Tossing his napkin on the table, he fixed both of his parents with one last look, hoping that it conveyed the extent of his disdain. “I wish I could say it was lovely to see both of you again, but I think we can all agree that would be a lie. I’ll expect you to pick up this tab, since you so embarrassingly seized control of it anyway. So I guess this is goodbye. And good riddance.” Dipper leaned down, bracing his fists on the table as he gazed into his father’s eyes, reveling in the hate and rage and enmity that roiled within him. “If you ever contact Mabel or me again, if I ever see you again, if I even think you are going to try and make an appearance in our lives again, I will kill you.”

And with that Dipper pushed himself back up straight and walked away from the table, his head held high. He did not look back.

Dipper walked through the door in the back of the dining room, making his way through the hallways, passing the occasional wait staff and fellow patron. Finding the door he was looking for, he stepped through and entered the courtyard. The restaurant was fancy enough to turned the courtyard into a beautiful garden scape, with a small pond and waterfall taking up an entire corner. The courtyard wasn’t advertised, and most of the diners probably didn’t know about it. But Dipper did. It had been one of the steps in tonight’s plan.

Mabel was sitting on a bench next to the pond. Exactly as he had suspected she would be. The gentle bubbling of the waterfall could be heard, the only sound in the space. The soft lighting of the courtyard played across her deep brown hair and along the little patch of pale skin, exposed by the strands of hair she had tucked behind her ear. She sat slightly hunched over, the positioning both protective and vulnerable, and Dipper could see that she was looking at a small photograph she held in her hands. She was so breathtakingly beautiful that Dipper couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

He walked over and sat beside her on the bench. She offered no reaction to his sudden presence, except to lean against him, her head against his shoulder. He adjusted himself slightly to make sure she was comfortable, and put an arm around her to hold her. They sat like that, together in companionable silence, a sense of tranquility pervading the courtyard. For the first time that evening, Dipper felt at peace.

“Well, that didn’t exactly go to plan, did it?” Mabel’s question was more than a little rhetorical. “You didn’t show me it, but I know you had one of your complicated listy-things for this evening. I can’t imagine finding out about dad’s cheating or me running away from the table in shame was on that list.”

Dipper gave his twin sister a reassuring squeeze. “There were a lot of things on that list, a lot of steps to the plan. But yeah, those things were not.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Not that I can really claim surprise. When has anything with our parents ever actually gone to plan?”

Mabel didn’t join in his laughter. “Dipper, what are we going to do now?” She asked.

“Same thing as we’ve always done.” Dipper attempted to put confidence into his voice, for Mabel’s sake. “We keep moving forward. We keep moving forward together. We don’t need anything else. We never did, right?”

“Yeah, but …” She hesitated a moment before whispering, “but we were supposed to tell them tonight.”

“I … yeah. I know we were.” Dipper said sadly, his voice low as well. “I’m so sorry Mabel. I don’t know why I thought that was a good idea. It was stupid of me.”

“No, Dip, we both --” Mabel’s tone was conciliatory, but Dipper quickly interrupted her.

“But now we don’t have to!” He spoke excitedly. “I told them off, both of them. I told them both that we never want to see them again, and that they are horrible people, and that we don’t need them. So we don’t have to think about them ever again.”

“Okay, I mean, that sounds good in theory, but  --”

“More than good, it sounds great!” Dipper continued. “Oh Mabel, you should’ve seen it, the look on the old man’s face. I think I really showed him, finally gave him a taste of his own medicine. . And it felt so good, to finally put him in his place, to cut him out forever.”

“Dip! That seems, I don’t know --”

“Don’t you see Mabel!” Dipper exclaimed, cutting her off. “This is finally it! I know you’re scared, but that’s okay. I’m a little scared too. But we’ve made it this far, and together we can do anything! This is for the best. You have to see that, surely!”

Mabel said nothing. She just stared down at her lap.

Dipper noticed this, and looked at her with concern. “Hey, hey Mabes.” He gave her a little shake.

She still didn’t say anything, so he tried again, tenderly brushing more of her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong? I thought you would be happy about this decision.”

Mabel was quiet for a moment longer. “It’s not the decision, Dip. It’s that you made it without me.”

The implication of her statement was clear, and Dipper couldn’t think of what to say.

Mabel continued. “And now, here you are, explaining to me why it was the right thing, and I can’t get a word in edgewise because you keep interrupting me. It’s exactly like what dad does.”

There was no accusation in her voice, but Dipper felt his stomach drop.

“And now here I am, being silent and blank and feeling like the right thing for me to do is just not do anything. To just depend on you, like I always have. Just like what mom does.” Her tone carried an immense amount of sadness. “And I know that’s wrong, that I shouldn’t feel that way. I know that. But it’s just so hard to fight against it. I’ve been told something all my life, shown something all my life. I’m not sure I know how to just … stop that. It’s so difficult, and it scares me. It scares me so much.”

Her words pierced Dipper through his heart. All he could think to do was gather her into his arms and hold her tight. It was either that, or begin to cry. She accepted his compassion, pushing herself closer to him and relaxing into him. They remained that way for some time.

Finally, Dipper managed to speak. “You aren’t her Mabel. You could never be her.” He knew that his desperation was evident in his voice, and he fervently hoped she understood just how strongly he felt. “You are kind and compassionate, vivacious and cheerful, smart and funny and sweet and so incredibly unique as a person. You don’t depend on me, we depend on each other. That’s the difference. You are wonderful and deserving of love. You are a complete rejection of everything she stands for, and I adore you for it. Please don’t ever doubt that. There is no one else like you, Mabel. There never could be.”

He cleared his throat with a little cough, and could hear Mabel sniffle against his arm.

“Thank you, Dip.” She whispered. “You aren’t anything like him either. You actually care about people and you think of others, to the point you actually put them before yourself. I’ve never seen anyone so loving or amazing as you. He could never do what you do. You work so hard at everything, and have a job that you don’t do for social standing or anything dumb like that, but because you actually enjoy it and are passionate about it. I’m so proud of you.”

It was impossible to hold back the tears now, after hearing such words from the woman he loved more than anything. By her gentle shaking, he could tell Mabel was crying too. So, holding each other, they cried together.

“Dip?” Her voice was hesitant.

“Yeah Mabes?” He asked.

“Do you love me?” It was a tentative question, full of vulnerability.

“More than anything, Mabel.” He tried to convey just how strongly that was the case.

“How much do you love me?” This time, her tone was a little playful, and he smiled, recognizing the routine now.

“So much. To the moon and back.” He gave the correct response, rote by endless repetition.

“And how long will you love me?” She asked the final question with all the gravitas it deserved.

“For all of this lifetime, and for all the rest.” He gave the promise with the utmost sincerely, though there was a slight smile on his face. It felt good to speak their familiar mantra, a back and forth they had shared since the beginning. It made him feel as though everything would be alright. The feeling bolstered him, and he reached into his pocket, fumbling for the little black box he knew was there.

“Do you think mom and dad ever said the same thing to each other?” Mabel’s voice was small but she spoke her query earnestly, a slight edge of steel present in it.

Her words brought him up short. Dipper was fairly sure their parents had never expressed such sentiment. Or, at least, had never expressed such sentiment and meant it. Even if that were the case, however, the thought wasn’t exactly a comforting one. Slowly, he removed his hand from his pocket.

“I don’t know Mabel.” He told her honestly. “But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re saying it now, and that we will keep saying it. Always.”

Mabel adjusted herself, sitting up straight and holding the photograph so that they both could see the picture contained on it. It was a small photograph, and grainy, the blacks and whites seemingly random and scattered and unintelligible. But if he looked close enough, and maybe squinted while holding his head at an angle, Dipper could just make out the little arms and a leg with a tiny foot at the end. The white text in the bottom corner proclaimed “27 weeks, female, Cassie.”

“What are we going to do now, Dipper?”

It wasn’t really a question, but he answered it anyway. “I don’t know, Mabel. I don’t know.

The two sat, staring at the photograph and holding each other, until long after the restaurant had closed.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Saudade

Mabel is still awake when he rolls over for a midnight ‘treat’.

It still happens occasionally, despite these many years. Years spent knowing each other, spent committed to the other, spent building a life together. Every young couple thinks they will buck the stereotype-slash-reality of the sex slowing down as the relationship goes on. Just as every young couple seems to think that less sex equals worse or ineffectual sex. The folly of youth. Neither are true. And unplanned nighttime interruptions like this one are a good example of that.

Because as she feels his hand slid up her bare leg and nestle itself just so between her thighs, her body starts to come alive in a pleasing way. And even if she lacks the same levels of passion from her youth, she can take consolation in the fact that he knows the buttons to push.

She’s awake, but she lays still, her eyes closed. This way, she can bask in the attention just a little bit longer. This way she can just relax into the feel of his hands on her, the feel of his warm body next to her, the feel of all of this. This way she can focus on it and on him and on everything, so that nothing slips by her.

This way, she can indulge him in a little fantasy of his. One that, even if he won’t admit it, she knows is there. When it’s like this, he gets to play the part of the conquering hero, claiming, or perhaps even taking, what he wants. There’s a small part of him that takes a particular delight in the idea, the action and the motivation behind it so unlike his normal self. She enjoys doing things like this for him. He does so much for her, after all. More than she could ever have reasonably asked for. And she’s always looking for ways to repay that, even if she knows it won’t ever truly be enough.

Eyes still closed, she feels him shift, bedsprings creaking softly as his familiar weight is now on top of her. She adjusts herself slightly, legs slightly parted and hips moved forward, in order to assist him and ease any potential difficulty in his efforts. It’s an expected dance step, this particular dance having been played out many times before, the tune written in whispers, touches, and in sighs.  

In many ways, it’s everything that she imagined in the idle fantasies of youth. There is a modest house, colonial style, with a walkway and flower beds. They even have the white picket fence. A little beagle named Skip runs circles in the yard, and though she still can’t tell if the name was picked ironically or not, she has to admit that the dog is cute. There’s a two car garage, his-and-hers sinks in the master bathroom, and the entire kitchen in granite. Her artwork hangs on the walls.

Sure, the man she has made this life with is a bit different than those she would have pictured in her daydreams. But to be fair, she had been just a youth when she had concocted those images, her reveries fueled by a combination of animated musicals and teenage boy-bands. The man sharing her bed exhibits none of the qualities she has idealized in the past. Which is a blessing for several reasons.  

And sure, maybe the children are unexpected. But it should be obvious why those are a surprise.

As he thrusts himself inside of her, steadily working himself into a rhythm, she lets out a small murmur of appreciation. It feels nice. It’s steady, and it’s comfortable, and it’s known, in the same way it always has been, from their very first time to every time since to now. Finally, she can take it no more. She has to look, has to gaze upon him. So she turns, opening her eyes and seeking him out.

In the dim light of the room, his bright blue eyes gaze back.

It’s a shock. Every time, despite the years now spent gazing into and being scrutinized by his eyes, it’s still a shock. His eyes are kind and patient and benign. But they are also muted and mild and dull. They look upon the world the same way they look upon her: with conjectured adoration, sincere but dispassionate.

They are nothing like those other eyes. Those other eyes which she expects to see; aches, longs, needs to see. Even despite the fact that she should know better by now. Those eyes are gone. Those eyes are ardent, calm, keen, intelligent, haunting, and all-encompassing. Those eyes carry the weight of a depth that only she had the ability to explore. Those eyes are hazel, intimate and familiar because they are a mirror to her own. And those eyes are gone.

She wants to close her own eyes.

She wants to closer her own eyes because she seems to recall a time when doing so was a symbol for love making itself. Intense, torrid, urgent. Her forehead flushed, her skin aflame, her every nerve ending like molten embers. Indolent, languid, exacting. Her mind adrift, her head thrown back, her limbs limp. Unthinking, unquestioning, uncomplicated. Her entire body held just right, her entire being in a state of bliss, her entire existence coalesced into something ethereal and cosmic. Those were times when closing her eyes was almost a mandate, with her unable to do aught else but willingly surrender.

She wants to close her eyes because then she can deny the existence of her tears. Tears not fully formed yet, but whose eventual existence is foretold by the tickling sensation at the corner of her eyes. Tears that once started will be impossible to stop. Tears that must be hidden, before they betray everything: betray it to him and to her.

She wants to close her own eyes because she wants to pretend, if just for a little longer.

But she doesn’t. Now, she keeps her eyes open.  

Because she wants to see everything. She wants to take him in, in this moment and in all others. She wants to memorize all of him that she can; the soft contours of his body, the listless feel of him against her, the sweat caught in the dark hairs of his back, his round and obeisant face. She wants to retain the cruel and merciful knowledge of this life they have created together, a half-baked interpretation of what once might have been but now was all that could ever be, the finality of this fact both uplifting and devastating. She wants to fix in her mind this feeling that now rises inside of her; grey-scaled love, vitiated adoration, and crippling gratitude. She wants to embrace so tightly that it becomes a part of her very self all that he is, all that she now is, and all that makes the two of them what they are, together; the various pieces swirling around them both like salvage caught in an eddy.  

Because she didn’t do this before. Before, she allowed herself to live only in the moment, reveling in the neglect of affection, the freedom of belonging, and the absurdity of certainty. Before, she took and she gave without any thought to the meaning behind those actions, to the possibilities they may create, to the consequences. Before, she took it for granted, making an assumption that it would always be there and that there could never be anything else; an assumption that has been proven false time and time again.

Because she’s already lost Dipper. Permanently, completely, eternally lost him; the resulting void within her infinite and immutable.

With each passing day and night, her previous lack of mindfulness results in another fragment of memory, touch of emotion, or spark of connection slipping away from her, the void growing just a bit vaster.

And she loses him all over again.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Selfless Seizures

A companion piece to @pinetreeoverme‘s Selfish Sacrifices.

The air in the house is somewhat stifling, warm and stuffy. As he considers the fire in the fireplace, it feels as if the room is closing around him. Still, it’s nice to be amongst family, all of them pressed closed as they chat idly about the holiday season. He doesn’t see his family enough anymore.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he stiffens, turning to see his father. “Dipper?” his father asks, voice light. “You’ve been pretty quiet all evening.”

“Come on, Dipper!” Mabel shouts. He can practically hear the grin he knows she is wearing. “Just a little further to the top!”

He tries to catch a glimpse of her, leaning back and craning his neck. “Slow down!” He calls out, short of breath. “You’re going to fall if you keep climbing so fast!”

The girl appears to consider the rock face, and he wonders, not for the first time, what she was doing. Mabel always had some new plot in mind, and, more often than not, he was dragged along for the ride. “Slowpoke!” She shouts as she starts to climb. “Come on, I know your noodly arms can keep up!”

That comment gets under his skin. “They’re not noodly anymore!” And he quickly starts climbing the rocks after her to prove it.

They weren’t, and that’s just one of many signs of his growing up. He’s done a lot of maturing recently. One of them has to.

His father moves so that they are standing beside each other, the two Pines men both gazing at the fire. “You okay, Dipper?”

Dipper offers what he thinks is a convincing smile. “Yeah, I’m totally fine.” He keeps his voice level. “It’s just a long flight over here, you know?”

His father grimaces, his brow furrowed. “You’re always a little withdrawn whenever you are home, now. Are we really that uninteresting?”

“No!” Dipper is quick to protest. “Not, it’s not that at all, dad. It’s just …” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Adulthood, running the TV show, bills. Blech.”

“I see,” his father said, his tone one of careful doubt. “Well, it’s nice to see you bring your girlfriend home. Mabel has always been the one with the relationships, and your mom and I were starting to wonder …”

“Holy moly,” Mabel says, awe in her voice. The two of them gaze down from the top of the mountain.

Dipper has to admit that it is an impressive sight. The fir trees and rugged hills of Oregon stretch out before them like a vibrant painting. Gravity Falls can be seen; rebuilt and renovated to be better than before. He knows the spot where the Mystery Shack is, even though it is hidden by the foliage. He pictures his Grunkles, playfully arguing back in forth in the manner of older siblings, their conversation light and fun. He is glad that Stan and Ford are back together again, even though he feels a pang of envy for their relationship.

“Wow,” he says just to say something. “That’s one hell of a view.”

His sister turns to look at him, wiggling her eyebrows in that weird way. “It is … but I’ve seen a better one.”

He carefully keeps a look of confusion on his face, though it’s a façade. He isn’t confused. In fact, he had suspected for awhile. And now here they were. She steps forward and gives him a solid kiss, right on the lips.

It’s one thing to expect it. It’s another to actually have it occur. He starts a little in surprise. The kiss lingers for a moment before she breaks it off.

“I love you, Dipper. I mean… I really love you.” The statement is earnest and childish.

He isn’t sure how he feels about being proven right. He isn’t sure how he feels about being kissed. He definitely isn’t sure how he feels about what comes next. He’s the planner, the man who came up with solutions. But for this? He has nothing.

So he steps forward and returns the kiss.

Dipper’s frown stops his father short, and he quickly attempts to explain. “Not that we were concerned or anything,” he states unconvincingly.

The younger man sighs. “Yeah, it’s nice to have a real girlfriend,” he says softly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting a long time, doubting it would ever happen. It’s nice to be able to have someone else to focus on, you know?”

“Of course,” his father replies, somewhat sardonically. “And would that have anything to do with why you’re avoiding Mabel?”

“Are you sure about this, Mabes?” He asks. He knows his voice is cracking a little.

She plants another kiss on his lips, playful and silly. “C’mon, Dippin’ Sauce. It’s nothing to be afraid of.” There is confidence to her words, and he wonders just how much of it is mere bravado.

“I just … this isn’t something we can take back, Mabel.” He can’t keep the concern from his tone. She has to understand that, right? Even after all this time, surely some of the enormity of the situation must have seeped in. “I don’t want you to wake up in a day or a week or a year and think that this was a mistake.”

His vest is being tugged at as she grins. “It’s been a year, brofriend. I know I’ve been getting antsy, which means you’ve got an entire anthill gnawing at you by now.”

He begins to panic a little, even as he is becoming resigned. It has been a year. A year of stalling and diffusing, of constant efforts to figure things out. Nothing has come to him, and as each day has slipped by, he has allowed himself to hope just a little more. “Reaaaaal sexy imagery there, Mabes.”

In one fluid movement, she pulls off her sweater, and she is now nude from the waist up. His eyes widen in surprise and shock. So, here they were.

“Is this imagery any better?” She asks, her face still wearing that insufferable grin.

Even he can’t deny a body’s natural reaction.

“I’m not avoiding Mabel!” Dipper growls, shooting a glare at his father. “That’s not what is happening at all.”

His father just gives him a quirk of the eyebrow. “Really?” The question is firm. “You’ve barely said more than hello to her all evening, and haven’t even glanced her way once. You’ve been with your girlfriend the whole time.” He rubs at his forehead, looking at the floor. “I just don’t understand what happened between the two of you. You used to be inseparable.”

“Nothing happened between the two of us,” Dipper says, knowing it was a lie. “People grow up, dad.”

“Whoa,” Mabel says, panting. She’s curled up against his chest. “That was really something, broham.”

Inside, a pit has opened up in his gut. A thousand thoughts chase each other around his head.

“Yeah,” he can barely manage to whisper. “It was something.”

He can see her frown out of the corner of his eye as she attempts to look at him. “You okay, brosef?”

No, he thinks. He grinds his teeth. How could he possibly be okay? “I’m fine.”

A hint of panic appears on her face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I know I got a little wild there, but you seemed to … oh jeez, Dipper, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean-“

“It’s not you.” He cuts her off. He can’t listen to her anymore. He can’t be here anymore. He can’t… “I can’t do this anymore, Mabel.”

“Can’t… Dipper?” Her voice is a whine. She has tears now, at the corner of her eyes, and he can tell she’s trembling. “Make more sense, Dipper.”

Make sense? He stands, donning his clothes and doing his best to avoid her gaze. How can anything possibly make sense? He has tried, he really has. An entire year’s worth. Of trying, of hoping, of wondering that if there was just a little more, something may become clear.

“I can’t anymore, Mabel, and I’m so so sorry about that. I thought if we had sex, if we did that, I’d finally feel what you feel for me.” He drops his head, unable to handle any chance at eye contact. The guilt sits in his stomach like a stone. The anger at being made to feel guilty courses through his veins like fire.

“But I can’t pretend to love you like that anymore, Mabel. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He turns to leave, hearing the ringing sound of the past year, the worst year of his life, come crashing down around his ears.

“Yeah, alright,” his father sighs, shoulders slumping. “If you say so. Try and a talk a little more to your family though, ok? We all want to hear from you.”

He’s about to turn around when he stops and delivers the harshest blow yet. “Mabel included. I think Mabel more than anyone.”

Dipper waits until he’s walked away to clear his throat and wipe at his eyes. Yeah, Mabel wanted to hear from him. The girl who always did whatever she wanted, who danced around without a concern in the world, who moved on without a second thought. She had her charm and her spirit and herself. Mabel was happy. So here they were.

Why would she want to hear from her uptight brother, the boy that thought he could make himself love his own sister?

“We tried, Mabes,” Dipper whispers to the fire, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sad smirk. “Wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

“I tried to love you.”

He probably always would.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Storm Warning

If the approach of the car hadn’t disturbed the stillness of the moment, then the crisp breeze that had sprung up certainly would have.

It had been a typical autumn evening. The golds and reds and oranges of the changing leaves had been matched only by the impending sunset casting the sky into a pleasant, if austere, fiery haze. Occasional flickers of soft light had revealed the dogged efforts of the last few fireflies of the season, their labors admirable in the face of an inexorable prominence of a setting sun. And everywhere, a harmonious serenity had alighted upon the world. It was the kind of evening one spent on the porch, lazily rocking in one’s favorite chair, a mason jar of whiskey in one’s hand, and nothing on one’s mind.

Dipper Pines had done exactly that, settling into what he imagined would be yet another evening spent in solitude.

But the tinkling of the chimes and the rustling of the leaves announced the increasing strength of the wind, the air swirling around him and rising goose bumps on his arms. To the east, clouds of slate and onyx began to form, a sharp contrast to the warmth in the west. And as the world started to sway in gentle motion, a practical and economic compact car pulled into the drive, the crunching of gravel beneath the tires just audible over the other sounds around it before the vehicle parked. There was a moment’s pause as he considered the car, wondering if whoever was inside was considering him back. But the moment was broken by the opening of the driver’s side door and the emergence of a familiar figure. Hazel eyes, so similar to his own, stared at him from across the distance.

“Heya, Dip,” Mabel Pines said cautiously. “Long time no see.”

Even as irritation flowed through him, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He’d tried so hard to get away from it all. He thought he’d succeeded. The freeing abandonment of so many obligations and connections, the upheaval of a cross-country move, the ditching of most things electronic. It was all designed so that he could fade into a warm and enveloping obscurity. And here was his twin sister, auburn hair shifting in the emerging breeze, bright pink sweater and purple skirt odd against the earth tone backdrop, flats completely out of place in the sod and the mud. He knew the stance she held well; he’d seen it nearly every day growing up. Shoulders thrown back and stiff, feet set in a manner taught by a certain boxing grunkle, her chin raised in challenge, and a fierce look of determination on her face. She stood in defiance of everything around her. He had surrounded himself with anonymity and she had rampaged right through it.

Dipper said nothing, but let the smile grow. It was actually good to see her again. It had been forever.

“You know,” she called out, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s customary to invite a guest in.”

“Technically, according to ‘Etiquette in Society’, the distinction of guest can only be conferred on one who was invited by the host. Not by themselves.” He chided in response.

“Do those manner books of yours say anything about what to do when the host is being a butt-face?” The insult was classically childish.

“Have you seen the portraits of those Victorian gentlemen?” He asked. “I’m pretty sure they were all butt-faces, all the time. So if anything, the rules apply double in that circumstance.”

The two twins held the stand-off for a minute, glaring at each other across the distance. It was Dipper who broke first. It always was. He began laughing, and it was only a beat before Mabel joined in.

“Come on up here, Mabes.” He said with sincerity. “You’re just in time to watch the rest of this sunset. They’re gorgeous out here.”

Mabel sniffed in an exaggeratedly prim manner before crossing the rest of the drive and stepping onto the dirt path and following it up to the porch. She ascended the steps and dropped herself into the rocking chair next to his. The Pines twins both looked out towards the horizon, enjoying the bright hues being painted on the sky. For a while, they were quiet.

“So what brings you out here?” Dipper finally asked, the simply worded question belying the torrent underneath.

She must have sensed that, because she turned to him and gave a smile that was clearly meant to be innocent. “Why, I came to see you, dear brother. Of course.”

He snorted in disbelief, and she gave him a look of acknowledgment that was apologetic.

“Okay, okay. So that’s not quite true.” She hesitated, an action he was not used to her performing. She almost seemed at a loss for what to say, her eyes unfocused as she dropped her head and stared at her lap. She even wrung her hands. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her do that before. Finally, she took a deep breath, and the words began to spill out in a rush.

“It’s just, no one’s heard from you for a while, Dip. You had moved to San Francisco and we were all so excited for you. You were starting your high-powered career, you had your woman, and you were going to make it in the big city. And we all thought you had! Every time we talked on the phone, you raved about all the great things you were doing. All the pictures you put online were of amazing things. Everything was great! You were so happy there. We were so happy for you.”

She traced her fingers along the arm of her chair. “Then one day, out of the blue, you announce you were dropping everything and going to New Hampshire. New Hampshire, Dipper! No warning, no heads up, not even an explanation. Just one day gone, off to the other side of the country. And we … we didn’t hear from you again.” The tip of her forefinger made aimless circles as she glanced up at him from underneath her bangs. He looked away, starting to feel guilty. “I mean, I’m all for giving someone space. But this was kind of ridiculous.”

“How did you find me?” His voice was a touch hoarse.

“I had to call in a favor from Pacifica. She owed me big time from that fashion week fiasco.” There was subtle pride in her words. However, the emotion vanished with her next sentence, the expression turning instead to one of contained sorrow. “It sucked that I had to get a third party to find you, bro. It sucked big time.”

“I’m sorry, Mabes. I really am.” The guilt sat in his stomach like a stone. He tried to think of what to say. “I just, you know, had to get away from it all. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Couldn’t take what anymore Dipper!?” His sister’s exasperation was evident. “You always do this, you know. You get all up in your head. You get worked up and freaked out, until it builds into something out of control, making you do something drastic. Like moving to New Hampshire!”

She rubbed at her forehead. “And anytime someone tries to talk to you about it, you only give little cryptic answers. Like right now. Little answers that don’t actually reveal anything. So they have to drag it out of you piece by piece. It’s almost as if you’re ashamed or something. Frankly, it’s exhausting.”

The emotion in her tone caught him off guard, her sad sincerity making him feel even worse. “Sorry.” He mumbled. It was all he could think to say.

Mabel gave a sympathetic smile and reached over to pat his arm. “It’s ok, bro-bro. I don’t mind, really. It’s just how you are. I get that.” They shared a mutual look for a moment. “But just this once, can you please just tell me what happened? You had everything! And now you’re here, with nothing. You went from being surrounded by people to being completely alone.”

His laugh, sharp and sardonic, split the evening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his twin recoil in surprise and shock. He felt a small measure of satisfaction at the reaction.  

“No, you’re so wrong. That’s not it at all. I went from being completely alone to being wonderfully alone.” He explained, the edge to his tone apparent even to him. “You can’t understand how it feels to have people and activity and life all around you. And to be in no way connected to any of it. To be utterly detached. To be forsaken.”

“But…” Mabel began, but a harsh shake of his head stopped her. He knew what she was going to say.

“Catherine left me. One day we were talking about what new furniture we needed in the living room. Then the next day, much to my astonishment, we were having the ‘splitting up’ conversation.” He chuckled darkly, the sound grating. “I say conversation. It was more a dictation. From her to me. And then that was it. It’s incredible, really, the difference between knowing one person in the city and knowing nobody.”

He gazed out over the front lawn, running his eyes over the land he now owned. The grass sloped down until it reached the edge of the copse of trees that ran along the property. It was good to be among trees again. The city was ugly, all concrete and blacktop, grey slabs of artificial aspirations closing in around him until he felt like he was drowning. Trees didn’t do that, not in the same way. Trees made him feel small, sure. The green and brown monoliths towered, unmoving and seemingly eternal. But it was different. He couldn’t help being small compared to the trees no more than the trees could help being small compared to a mountain.

“I know it looked like I had everything. That was kind of the point.” He ran a hand through his hair, nervous about the confession he was about to make. “I did all I could to give you and the family that impression. Carefully selected pictures put online. Practiced sentences on the phone. False cheer everywhere. In some ways, I’m pleased to learn that it worked so well. In other ways, I’m devastated.”

Letting out a long exhale of breath, he chanced a look at Mabel. She wore an expression of concern, brows furrowed, her lips pressed into that hard line. But her eyes still had their customary twinkle, even if it was muted behind the apprehension present as well.

“The truth is,” he continued. “I only ever had the potential for everything. It was never anything more than that. It’s such a cliché, but I moved to that city brimming with possibility, wide-eyed and excited. It was everything I was supposed to want and everything I had been working towards, right? The job, the city, the woman. The life. It was supposed to be it.”

“Not even close, apparently.” He maintained the eye contact with his sister. It felt surprisingly nice to talk to someone. Or maybe more accurately, it felt nice to be listened to. “The job made me money, sure. Enough to live in ‘Frisco, and certainly enough to afford this place. But it was painful, hollow stuff. They don’t tell you about that, in school. About how little of the job is actually career, and how much of it is actually work.” His grimace was mirrored by Mabel making one of her own, and he enjoyed seeing the moment of synchronicity. “The city was beautiful in a lot of ways. But never in a way that counted. Never in a way that mattered. And the woman… well, never mind that. Suffice it to say, after all that went down and with everything else, each day was an effort. An excruciating effort that I was forced to make.”

He cut off the eye contact, looking once more towards the horizon. She was right, he did feel ashamed. How could you just admit to someone that you screwed up and that things were awful? How could you tell someone that you failed? How could it ever be okay again after that?

“So I stopped making the effort.” His words were clipped. “I found this place listed online. The trees remind me of Oregon and our childhood summers spent there. But gentler, less severe. There’s no one around for several miles. I dropped everything and came here. I’m decidedly alone, yes. But in a way that I never could have been back in ‘Frisco. In a way I deserve: for better and for worse.”

He considered saying more, but stopped himself. What more was there to say?

“What happened with Catherine?” She asked, a touch of concern in her voice.

“We broke up.” He replied.

“Well no duh!” He could sense her eye roll, even though he wasn’t looking in her direction, and he knew it was the very same eye roll he had received all his life. “Why did you two break up? Come on, brospeh! You were kind of head-over-heels for her. You basically moved there just for her! You had your whole life planned out. What happened?”

“What is there to say? We grew apart.” He glanced at his twin, and saw her flat look. She said nothing, just staring at him and waiting. Sighing, he contemplated his drink for a moment before taking a bracing swig.

“It’s shocking, really, just how quickly it happened. How soon after the move that things began to fall apart. It felt like I had only just arrived, like we had just begun our life together. What I thought would be the rest of my life, you know? We were together for years! And then, a few months after the move, we were done. Before you know it, she was breaking up with me.”

He scratched idly at the corner of his eye, hoping the motion would help disguise the small drop that had appeared there. “We did grow apart, really. That isn’t just one of those things people say. At the time, it definitely felt like a rough patch. But a minor one, one that you worked through, right? It’s only looking back now that I see how dire it truly was, almost right from the get-go.”

He cleared his throat slightly, remembering. “Each day communication was a little rarer. It became less of a conversation and more of a report. Those little touches you give each other, while passing in the hallway or just because you can? A hand across the shoulder, a squeeze of the waist, a hip bump? Those disappeared. We stopped showering together. I feel like that’s significant. You should always shower with your partner. And in the bedroom…”

The hints of a blush appeared on his face, evidence of the embarrassment he felt to be discussing such a subject. But he soldiered on. “In the beginning, the sex was unreal. And frequent. Damn was it frequent! And then one day, while you’re sneaking off to the study at one o’clock in the morning to ‘take matters into your own hands’, you come to realize this is the fifth time this week. You realize that number seems high, and not because you masturbate too much, but because you can’t even remember the last time you had sex five times in one week, let alone in two or three. You realize you don’t even think about it anymore, that it’s become a nightly ritual, a check mark you make on the list before you even consider going to bed. Because you know what you’ll find when you get under those covers. The same thing you’ve been finding all that month and the month before it. A shoulder so cold it could cut you.” The bitter words were practically spat from his mouth, and he hated himself a little for the disdain contained in them. “Makes all the sex that came before it seem like affectation.”

He was a little startled by the vehemence that coursed through him at those words, the emotion thick enough for him to choke on. Trying to calm himself, he looked out down the path, seeking something to distract him. Some ways away, a rabbit approached the herb garden. No doubt its tiny rabbit nose was twitching at the smells of the various herbs Dipper had planted there. The garden had been an impulse decision, brought on by his spotting of a basil plant beside the checkout line in the store during one of his bi-weekly trips into town. Next thing he knew, he had a whole variety of plants and seeds in the cart. A subsequent trip to the local hardware store had provided what he needed by way of tools and supplies. He had felt silly at first, toiling away in the soil with a copious amount of sweat on his brow. But now he affectionately referred to it as his ‘comfort garden’, a place he went to feel at peace. The rabbit searched in vain for a way through the fence that surrounded the garden. But there was none. Dipper had seen to that, making the barrier foolproof and impenetrable. So, after a bit, the rabbit scampered off in search of an easier target.

“Everyone is busy making a life for themselves. If you aren’t careful, they’ll make one that doesn’t have a place for you in it.” He tossed back the rest of the whiskey.

Frowning at the bottom of his mason jar glass, Dipper stood and stretched for a moment. He held the empty glass up to Mabel, and she nodded in acknowledgment, raising one of her fingers as a signal. He nodded back, and headed to the front door. He was halfway through the doorway when her quiet voice reached him.

“Bring the whole bottle out?”

He laughed in acknowledgment, the screen door slamming behind him. At the crack of wood crashing against wood, his laugh threatened to become a sob, and he hurried to the kitchen before she could hear it. He hurled himself into the room, leaning over the sink as great heaving gasps shook his whole body. It was an effort to force himself to breath evenly. But force himself he did, the stale air of the kitchen intrusive as he sucked it deep into his lungs before exhaling it back out.

He had never told anyone those things. He had sworn that he never would. Instead, he had opted to keep them buried deep inside, a secret shame to keep hidden, a burden to carry entirely on his own. It burned him that he had opened up and spilled the embarrassing facts of his failure to someone else. And not just any someone else; his twin sister. What she must think of him now. The disappointment she must feel. The only thing he could have said that would have been worse… he shook his head to dismiss those thoughts, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on his face to distract him.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter, he told himself. It was done, and now she knew. There wasn’t anything else to do but go have an awkward conversation about himself and his miraculous ability to ruin his own life. This is exactly why he hadn’t told anybody about where he was, why he hadn’t reached out. He had no desire to talk about himself, no wish to rehash the past. But family was family, and Mabel was Mabel. That was exactly what she would want to do. There would be no avoiding it now. He grabbed a second mason jar and the still nearly-full whiskey bottle, mentally bracing himself for the third-degree he would receive when he returned to the porch. The whiskey would help at least.

After closing the screen door slowly, preventing it from slamming this time, Dipper poured whiskey into Mabel’s jar and handed it over. He watched her nervously, but she just reached out and accepted the glass with a nod of thanks, seemingly contemplating the trees and the sky. She wore a small smile. He couldn’t help the sense that it was somewhat sad. He retook his seat, following her lead to survey the view, and refilled his own jar, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“Did I ever tell you my old art teacher’s favorite artist?”

Dipper blinked. Mabel’s voice had been soft and pensive. He had not expected the question, neither the content of it nor its appearance. “Um, no. I don’t think you ever did,” was all he could manage to reply.

He frowned in concentration, trying to remember Mabel’s old art teacher. She’d had many, over the years, but her favorite had been the one from college. He thought he could picture the old professor now; bald, with a silly pencil moustache that did not work with his round and bulbous face. The man must have sought out every stereotype because he had worn a turtleneck and a beret everywhere, even in the summer. Still, Mabel had loved him, and he really had doted on her, taking her under his wing and personally tutoring her. He must have done something right. Mabel was something of a famous artist now, of course, with paintings and various works in art galleries all over the world. Why would she be bringing him up now?

“Bob Ross.” His sister stated simply.

“The guy from public access television!” Dipper said incredulously. “I would have thought one of the Italian masters or something.”

Mabel shook her head. “He would lecture to me about how artists always fell into one of two categories. Either they put too much on their canvas, or they didn’t put enough.” She laughed fondly. “Da Vinci, Monet, Pollock; he found all of them too busy or hectic. I can hear him now. ‘The little shits saw a blank canvas and had to fill every bit of it! They cluttered up the entire painting with meaningless crap!’ Meanwhile, Rembrandt, Magritte, and Warhol he found to be too sparse. ‘What the fuck is the point of painting if you’re going to do nothing with it! Either do something, or don’t even bother in the first place!’” Her impersonation was hilariously over-the-top.

“But Bob Ross,” She raised a finger absently, as if to make her point. “Bob Ross knew what he was doing. He put exactly the right amount of stuff in the painting, never too much and never too little. And the man knew when to call it done and walk from it all, satisfied and happy.” She laughed again, though a tinge of anguish was present this time. “Crazy bastard idolized ‘The Ross’ right up until his death.  Wouldn’t shut up about him, the old coot. Ah, well.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you, Professor Grantham.” She took a big gulp of the whiskey.

Dipper mirrored her, raising his glass and taking a sip of his own. The twins returned to a state of silence. Above, sunset began to give its final endeavors. Tendrils of pink stood out amongst the oranges and yellows, the tips of the trees ablaze with the brilliant colors. To the east, the dark clouds from before had expanded, beginning to cover more and more of the sky as they rolled in, seemingly unrelenting in their movements and their desire to overtake the light in the west.

“So is that what you think about us, Dipper?” Mabel’s question was sudden and pointed. “That we’re both just making our own lives, and there isn’t a place for the other anymore?”

“Wait, what?” He groped for words, confused by the sudden transition. “That wasn’t… I mean, what I said… it wasn’t about you!”

“No, I didn’t suppose it was.” She replied coolly. “It’s been pretty apparent from all of your actions recently that very little is about me.”

He recoiled as if she had struck him. “I… are you mad at me? Seriously?!”

She sighed, the exhale of breath raw and heart wrenching. “Honestly, I don’t even know anymore, Dipper. I don’t know what to think and I don’t know what to say. You’re so distant, in ways that I never anticipated.”

He glanced away, not wanting to look at her while receiving this abuse. Focusing instead on the now black clouds rolling onto the horizon, he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Try as he might, he couldn’t.

“I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been the perfect sister or human being.” Her voice was small, almost as if speaking were a trial. “I’ve been off jetting around the world, moving from one tour stop to another. It’s a mess of promotions and unveilings, and I’m aware it takes up way too much of my time. Even this visit, this one right here, is only possible because my next gallery event is in New York and I had a little time beforehand to sneak away. I’m not there enough, I know.”

“And I know now that you’ve had a pretty shitty time. I wish I’d known that earlier, but I guess the important thing is I know now. That sucks big time bro, and I’m sorry about that.” She took a long, drawn out breath. “But don’t you pretend for one goddamn second that you couldn’t have called me. That you couldn’t have made even the barest amount of effort to get in touch with me, and that I wouldn’t have done all I could to help you. I would have done my best. I would have done everything.”

“I figured you knew that. I mean, I was counting on it, should I ever need you to do the same.” Her voice grew quiet. “The fact that you didn’t, that I had to come all the way to stupid New Hampshire, makes me think I can’t rely on you. God knows I’ve needed it. God knows I’ve needed you.”

She finished her glass and said nothing more. He said nothing, because he knew that she was right.

They both sat in stony silence for a while. Dipper alternated between staring into the bottom of his jar and sneaking glances at Mabel, trying to gauge her mood. Mabel, for her part, maintained her contemplation of the sky, seemingly remaining steadfast. He would drop his eyes back down to his drink, peek up at her again, before returning once more to his glass. The silence continued.

“Do you remember that time in high school when you laughed so hard in art class that you pissed yourself?” He suddenly found himself asking. He wasn’t even sure why he asked it, but he rushed ahead anyway. “You had to run into the bathroom and you hid in one of the stalls. Next thing I know, I’m getting, like, a hundred texts in biology class, asking me to go home and get you a change of clothes.”

“I was so embarrassed,” came the slow response from his twin. “Cynthia Derkins told the funniest story about her dad catching her in the backyard with Tyler Williams and I couldn’t help myself. I laughed until I peed my pants.” She shot him a look, clearly catching his amused grin. “It wasn’t funny! You had to get those clothes for me. I sat next to Justin Pemberton in the next class and he had the sweetest smile! I couldn’t sit next to him with pee-soaked pants!”

He let out a bark of laughter. “That’s right! Man, I do not remember what I told Ms. Shineheart to get out of class, but I do not think she believed me. That was easily the fastest I ever drove home and back. Surprised the old station wagon handled it, to be honest.”

“Did I ever thank you for that?” She asked, her voice curious.

“You baked me cookies.” He replied. “And said something about setting me up with Kimberly Kline. Not that you ever did.”

She made a face. “I’d say I’m sorry, but frankly you dodged a bullet there. She got really weird sophomore year. What with the mascot incident and all that.”

“Yeah, but her butt was pretty cute.”

Mabel slapped his arm at the comment, and he jabbed her playfully with his elbow in return.  They both laughed.

“Remember the time you punched Ernie Jackson in the face and you got suspended for a week?” She asked. “You punched him right in the hallway, in front of everyone! And you had to hide both the suspension and the injury to your hand from mom and dad?”

“Yeah, I do.” He could remember the incident vividly, the rage he had felt in the moment and the way Ernie’s jaw had felt like iron beneath his fist. “I think you were the one who rushed home and stole the letter from the school out of the mailbox, so that they never got it. And then I would just go to the library all day, pretending to be at class. You’d come and hang out with me during your lunch break. How’d we hide the injury though?”

“I would play nurse at night, after they had gone to bed. Bandage you up in the bathroom and all that.” She said. “I think you just kept your hand in your pocket whenever you were around them. What did you hit him for anyway? Do you remember?”

“He called you a slut. So I punched him.” Dipper replied simply, taking a sip.

Mabel snorted. “It isn’t the word I would use. But he wasn’t exactly wrong.”

He choked on his drink, coughing and spluttering before peering suspiciously at his sister. She merely gave him a smirk, raised her glass, and slammed it back. All he could do was shake his head and return the gesture. The whiskey burned as it snaked through him.

“Remember when Susy Osborn dumped me during junior prom?” He inquired, uncomfortable with the memory. “Right in the middle of one of the slow dances?”

“Yeah, she was a real bitch.” Mabel spat the world with disdain.

“Yeah, she kind of was.” He agreed. “Still, it was pretty brutal. I had worked up so much courage to even go to that stupid dance. To have that happen … But then you ditched the after-party you had been invited to in order to watch old kung-fu movies with me in the basement. We stayed up all night. That was really nice.”

“Plus, I graffitied her car.”

“Plus you graffitied… wait, that was you!” His twin gave him a wink. “But there was a swear in it and you didn’t swear back then! Also, it was really mean!”

She shrugged. “What better way to avoid suspicion then?”

He blinked at her, stunned, before raising his glass in a salute.

“Remember the time in college where I had to take a science lab, and I stupidly chose a robotics course?” She reached for the bottle to refill her glass. “I gave up like halfway through the semester, and didn’t even know when the final project was due. Then one day I got a package from you. Inside was a fully built little robot that could take a dog on a walk.”

“Or a pig,” he added in.

“Or a pig,” she allowed. “Point is, I got an A in that course. And it was all thanks to you.”

“Oh geez. I would say that it was nothing, but I just remembered what I had to do to get that robot built.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I had to play in Randall Turner’s Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons game. I got there, and it was just a bunch of fat, white guys roleplaying their fantasy sex with goblins and elves.” He drank the rest of the amber liquor in his jar in one gulp. “That may have been the moment I knew I needed therapy.”

She patted his hand sympathetically. “It sounds awful. But you know that’s false. The moment we both knew we needed therapy was when we walked in on mom and dad doing it.”

“Oh god!” He bolted upright in his seat. “Why would you bring that up?”

“Mostly for that reaction you just gave.” She cackled, leaning back in her seat as she took another drink. “But seriously, do you remember that?”

He nodded. “We heard the creaking of their bedsprings, and we didn’t know what it was. We thought there was something going on, so we decided to find out.”

“You grabbed a baseball bat!” She gave him a shove, still laughing. “When was the last time you had even swung a baseball bat?”

“T-ball.” He said, letting her push him. “In, like, kindergarten. But it could have been anything! I didn’t know!”

“And instead, instead,” Mabel was laughing hard enough now that she clearly was having trouble getting the words out. “Instead, we pushed open their door and there was mom, bent over the bed. And dad, giving it to her from behind!”

He groaned, scrubbing his hands across his face. “Thank god they didn’t hear us or see us. That would have been a nightmare.”

“And the worst, the worst,” she said, grabbing a hold of his arm as if to steady herself. “The worst was their faces! Mom was so bored, just staring at the back wall, resting her chin on her arms! And dad, dad was just there grunting and thrusting away, looking like he was really going at it!” She curled up on her seat, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“That is so wrong.” Dipper admonished, though he couldn’t keep a giggle of his own from sneaking out as he finished his drink before refilling both his and Mabel’s glasses. “Just so, so wrong.”

They continued, back and forth, each taking turns calling out amusing stories from their past. Times when they had helped one another, times when they had backed each other up, or times when they had been each other’s sole source of comfort in a dark time.

“Remember when…” Dipper would say, and Mabel would laugh, adding the parts that he had forgotten.

“Oh, oh, what about that time…” Mabel would call out, and Dipper would fill her in on what had been going on in his head during that particular incident.

At one point, Mabel jumped up, prancing about the porch to emphasize her point. Dipper had quickly joined her, pacing as he lectured about what had really happened. After each story, they would clink their glasses and take a drink. Dipper reveled in the sharing of memories and in the company.

Soon they were leaning against each other, looking out over the fields and up last few stars, fighting to be seen through the dark clouds that now dominated the sky. Far away in the distance, they could see rainfall, and Dipper knew that it was moving in their direction. The empty whiskey bottle lay forgotten on the floor beside them.

“Remember that time I thought I was going to be happy in San Francisco?” He asked. “And instead, I ended up in New Hampshire, thinking I would be alone forever. And then you showed up?”

“Remember that time I thought I would have to track down my goofy bro-bro in order to yell at him?” She asked. “And instead, I end up having the best night I’ve had in forever?”

He glanced down at her to find her already looking up at him. There was a second of silence as they each examined the other…

… and suddenly he’s kissing her, his mouth pressing against hers in a rush. Their lips meet, moving against each other, and it’s apparent that she is kissing him back.

There had been a time when he would have stopped her. Where he would have pushed her away and retreated, both physically away from her and emotionally into himself. A time plagued by doubts and fears, mostly of the self, and an uncompromising sense of duty to something never fully articulated. It would have been the end of this, a permanent line that he drew in the sand.  

But tonight, there is no such line. He doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question at all. He just gathers her into his arms, pulling her against him, and gives himself over to the kiss and the sudden hunger that awakens inside of him. Tonight, he’s tipsy on more than just whiskey. He’s tipsy on her, on the heady elixir that is Mabel Pines, his twin sister.

Mabel, for her part, seems to feel the same way. She’s on her tip toes, leaning into the kiss, her lips fierce against his and her arms wrapping around him. Her mouth opens and her tongue presses against him. He’s quick to allow it in, his responsive groan muffled by the immediate dueling of their tongues.

The kiss seems to last forever. And yet, all too soon, he finds himself needing to come up for air. He reluctantly begins to lean back. She mumbles her displeasure, but allows him, dropping down on her toes as the kiss is broken. She buries her head in his chest and he rests his chin against her. They both take a second to catch their breaths. When he feels a little less winded, he risks looking down at her to find her already glancing up at him. Her face is flushed, cheeks peeked and a glint in her eyes. He raises his eyebrows, questioning. She nips at his neck before jerking her head back towards the house. He nods once.

And just like that, she’s off and running, throwing open the screen door and rushing through. He’s surprised for a moment before he gathers his wits enough to follow her, tearing after her and her head start. The screen door slams behind them both. She’s giggling now, the breathless sound floating through the different rooms as she tries to figure out the way, with him chasing her all the while. She slides around a corner, grabbing on to the doorframe to make the turn. He can tell by the thumping he hears that she has found the stairs, and he takes a short cut, trying to cut her off. But she’s already climbed them, her laughter taunting him, and he rushes up on all fours like an animal.

Once at the top, he catches a glimpse of pink disappearing into his bedroom, and he barrels in after her. Apparently she had stopped just inside the door, because he crashes into her, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs. The collision knocks them both onto the bed. He feels the impact, and just as he is becoming concerned that he may have hurt her, her laughter increases, the tone slightly mocking.

He attempts to make the mockery stop, capturing her mouth once more in a kiss. This one is more feverish, the tempo rapid and the motion striving. They strain against each other, causing him to become aware of her body, pinned under him. She’s all curves and softness, and the feeling drives him wild. He breaks the kiss to nibble at her neck, working his way over to nip at an earlobe. She bucks against him fervently, and he knows that he’s found a weak spot.

Then it’s a scramble to remove clothes. She tugs at his shirt, and he adjusts himself so that she can pull it off of him. He hurriedly fumbles at his belt buckle, throwing himself violently off the bed in his haste to rid himself of his jeans, forgetting that he still has his shoes on. She smiles at this, sitting up on the bed. He can barely make her out, the room is so dark. But he is captivated as she teasingly slides the neck of her sweater down, revealing her bare shoulder. He bends, trying to take off his shoes and socks without looking away from her. She smirks and, grabbing the hem of her sweater, she pulls it off in one fell movement. She does that trick all women seem to know, contorting her arms behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra, casting the article aside with indifference. She stands, kicking off her flats and shimmying out of her skirt and underwear.

She’s before him, naked. He’s naked too. They stand there a moment in mutual nudity.

And then they meet again, falling back onto the bed, mouths seeking out any inch of skin they can find. He feels her kisses on his neck, his chest, his shoulders, her lips trailing fire across his skin. His success in pinning her hands down elicits a whine, her breath hot against his ear. He returns the favor, panting against her before kissing her hard and deep.

It is then that her hips catch his attention, writhing and squirming beneath him. He moans through the kiss, grinding himself onto her, though whether that is to stop her or to encourage her, he couldn’t say. Regardless of his intent, the result is increased effort on her part, the friction both glorious and aggravating. With an odd quirk of her hips, he’s poised at her entrance. He is suddenly very aware of the difference between what is him and what is her. He pauses ever so slightly that it’s almost a hesitation. But it isn’t, not really. There’s simply no possibility of second-guessing now. Even if there was, the way she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him down on to her would have seen to that. With one movement, he is completely sheathed inside of her.

He hisses through gritted teeth. The velvet heat that now surrounds his length is as excruciating as it is pleasurable, the immediate sensation threatening to undo him right then and there. Surely it should be impossible for anyone to be this tight or this warm or this wet. But she is; indescribably so. So he does exactly what he should do. He worships it. He worships her.

He moves inside of her, the rhythm of his thrusts slow and purposeful. She moves with him, hips twitching in languid ellipses. Her cheek rests against the sheet, the pose seemingly demure. But he knows better; can tell by the upturned corner of her mouth and the tilt of her chin that she’s merely playing coy. He delights in her playful deception.

The pace increases, as he steadily works himself into a faster rate. She matches him every step of the way, their hipbones meeting each time. At the apex of one thrust, she strikes. She catches him off guard and, with a sudden twist, her hands are freed. He manages to recover slightly, catching himself on his forearms and stopping himself from crushing her with his weight. She seems heedless of the peril, instead grasping his cheeks and pulling him in a kiss. She’s insistent and demanding, her lips hot. It only lasts a moment before she pulls him away, instead attacking his neck, biting and sucking in a way that he knows will leave a mark come morning.

It spurs him on. He’s driving into her now, each movement exacting and sharp. He seeks to prove himself, to show her exactly what she is doing to him. Because each touch of her fingers, each brush of her skin against his, each imprint of her lips is invigorating, the sensation astringent and soothing in a manner that is both confusing and utterly natural.

Her hands are running down his sides now, alternating between stroking his flanks in an encouraging manner and clutching desperately at him. Her legs, perched high on his hips, clench tighter and tighter. He can tell she’s close. He’s close too. So he gives himself over to the utter abandon, the complete need, the powerful sensation that is her which courses through his veins. Everything blurs, the only things he’s aware of are the incredible urge within, the feel of her around him, and the little mews she lets out, the first sound he’s heard from her in a while.

And in an instant, it all snaps. Her nails dig into his sides at the same time that her legs go rigid. All of her, every muscle, seems to clench and strain around him, signaling her orgasm. It’s too much for him as well. He braces himself, holding himself low over her, and gives one final thrust into her, pushing himself as deep as he can go before shuddering through his own release.

They hold themselves still, as if afraid to move and disturb the sudden stillness of the moment.  

He should tell her. The significance of what just occurred is apparent to him, definite and unambiguous in his mind. It was like nothing he has ever experienced before. Their natural, effortless coming together. Their unspoken accord as they moved as one. Their mutual understanding of what to do, what to seek, what to give and what to take. Everything that came before it was incomparable. His whole being sings with the new knowledge and he cannot ignore it. Nor does he want to. He never could have anticipated this, could never have envisioned it. And yet, at the same time, it was so unsurprising, so predictable as to be laughable. How could it be any other way between the two of them, really? He should tell her.

He wants to tell her. But thoughts come slow as his mind tries to reboot. When the thoughts do come, they are all of her. The elegance of her neck, the one he has found is sensitive and tender, as she throws her head back to laugh. The memory of whiskey on her lips, the result of those few drops which always escape from the sides of the glass, and the new desire he has to suck those drops of liquor right off whenever he might see them. Her fiery temperament, once a source of youthful frustration and sibling abutment, now a source of delight due to the reckless abandon it fuels. The flash of her eyes, the heartfelt exuberance, the whiteness of her smile, the stubborn will; a million things clamor for his attention in his mind and he tries to appease them all.

He wants to tell her. But he’s still gasping and she’s still panting as they each attempt to catch their breath. Resting his forehead against hers, he drinks in the sight of her. Disheveled hair, skin agleam with sweat, shoulders heaving, and her legs still slightly aquiver. She’s beautiful. She’s lovely and sensual and all-encompassing. And she’s here, in his arms, her face red and her body hot, evidence of the rigors they both just participated in. Beneath him, she is all warmth and invitation and compulsion, her hips making little twitching motions that create a stirring within him.

He wants to tell her. But she shoots him a grin, eyebrow cocked, and slides a leg up his own, hitching it high around his waist once more. Arousal roars through him, unexpected after the recent amorous endeavors, and he growls, enjoying the noticeable shiver that runs through her at the sound. They share a look, and he thinks it must be apparent to both of them that talk is not necessary.

So he doesn’t tell her. Instead, he kisses her, listening to the insistent demand within him and moving against her in manner that elicits a gasp and a moan. She returns his ardor in kind, pressing herself against him. Deepening the kiss, he thinks no more.

When he awoke, Mabel was sitting on the side of the bed, facing away from him and gazing out the window.

The dim light of the grey morning played across her naked skin, throwing her into stark contrast. He traced her with his eyes; beginning at the swell of her breasts as they peeked out around her torso and following the graceful contours down to her waist and over the curve of her hips. Moving on to her ass, he saw that her cheeks were pale and white, an interlude from the tan that covered the rest of her. The discovery was charming. A single dimple could be found on the left side of her lower back, and it marked his starting point as he followed the lines of her back up to her shoulder blades, pondering whether they had always been so sharp and boney. Her neck, despite its proud countenance, seemed too slim to hold up her pile of brunette curls, mussed and tangled.

She stood, the haphazard tossing and shaking of limbs likely serving as her version of a morning stretch. Bending over, she quested along the floor, and he felt himself blush slightly at the stirring in his groin at the sight. She straightened back up, her turquoise underwear in her hand. He watched as long, slender legs were slipped through the appropriate holes, the undergarment slowly eased over strong thighs and settled into place. There was a tear on one side, the fabric worn and faded.

Her skirt came next, still purple and just as out of place in the subdued tones of the bedroom as it had been outside last night. Another search along the floor produced her bra. Now that the room had some semblance of light, he could see that the bra was nude colored and plain, unadorned and practical. She did that little trick that all women seemed to know, putting the garment on backwards and fastening the clasp before turning it around to its proper orientation, sliding her arms through the strap and manually adjusting her breasts so they fit properly into the cups, one after the other. Finally, she pulled her sweater on, freeing the hair that became caught under the collar and making the little necessary adjustments so that it fit properly.

She turned and saw that he was awake, the twins making eye contact from across the bed. She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. Walking around the bed, she sat on the edge and gazed down at him. He gazed back up at her, motionless in anticipation. The moment stretched. Opening his mouth, he sought to break the tension. But the shake of her head and her finger on his lips brought him up short.

“This place suits you.” Her words were a soft whisper. “The forest, the fields, your silly little garden. So much solitude. It’s very you. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.” She blinked rapidly for a second. “It doesn’t matter. I see it now. And I’m glad.”

She looked around the room, playing idly with the collar of her sweater. “You’re better here. You’re fuller. More present. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like, once you were painted with water colors. Now you’ve been painted with oil paints. I… I  just wonder who the painter was.”

Her gaze returned to his face, and she reached up to brush the curls from his forehead, exposing his birthmark. “I’m glad you came here. I’m glad you made the change. I’ve come to the conclusion that this was the right call.” Her expression turned serious. “But you need to come to that conclusion as well. You haven’t, not really. Not yet. You sit on your porch by yourself and you wrap the seclusion around yourself like a blanket. When really it’s a chain. It’s binding you down. And you can’t see it. Or maybe it’s more like you won’t see it.”

Her hand moved to cup his cheek. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Dip. Don’t trade one cage for another. It’s fine to be alone. It’s a terrible thing to be isolated.”

Sorrow coursed beneath her words like a hidden current. The sincerity of the emotion contained there crashed through him. Sorrow and knowledge: personal, intimate, devastating knowledge. There was something there; making him certain that there was something she wasn’t telling him. Making him wonder what it was. It made him afraid.

He longed to ask her. To gather her into his arms and hold her close. To lay in bed, her body tight against him, safe. To listen to everything she had to say, about anything and everything, regardless of the subject. To ease away any and all discomfort she might be feeling. That she might ever feel ever again. The yearning burned in his chest, the demand so strong it surprised him, threatening and promising to sweep him out into that hidden current.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to think. Moments ticked by. Moments spent with her eyes boring into his, her pupils flicking back and forth as if searching for something. Moments spent in acute awareness of the warm hand against his face, the sensation both familiar and strange. Moments spent trying in vain to do something. Anything. Even a smile to tell her it would be alright. But he remained motionless, and the moment passed.

Mabel leaned forward and brushed her lips against his forehead in a light kiss. Then she stood and made her way to the door.

“Are you,” his voice was gruff, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Are you leaving?”

His sister paused in the doorway, turning back and putting her shoulder against the frame. “I’m afraid so.” There was sadness in her tone. “I only had the one night to get away from the art tour, unfortunately. Gotta get back to the old grind. Plus, I need to return that rental car to the airport. Those late fees are killer!”

He chuckled at the joke. As he was supposed to. The twins shared a look of amusement.

“I’ll walk you out. It’s the least a proper host can do, right?”

She smiled her assent, and, after he quickly found a pair of sweatpants from somewhere in the room, the two walked down the stairs and out the front door. They strode out onto the porch, pausing at the edge where the steps began. It was a grisly day. The sun was covered by black clouds, the world lit by the muted and feeble rays that managed to break through. Nothing moved in the fields except for the trees swaying in the wind. No sound could be heard.

Mabel took a deep breath, seemingly breathing in the smell of the morning and the nature that surrounded her.

“It’s a nice place, Dip.” She said, casting a look at him. “I’d… I’d like to come back, if that’s ok with you. You can give me the tour of the property, show me the local sights, maybe serve me something besides whiskey?”

“Yeah,” he replied simply. “That sounds great.”

“Besides, a view like this is exactly the kind of thing Bob Ross would love.” She slowly turned her head, surveying the surrounding area. “And I need to practice my Bob Ross. We both do.”

A quick hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a significant glance later, and she was in the car, the door closing quietly behind her. He watched the rental ease over the gravel drive. As it reached the tree line, the rain began to fall, the few drops cold as they hit his bare chest. The car disappeared, sight of it blocked by the forest. He heard the first rumbling of thunder giving warning to the approaching storm.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

The Surest Aid

It’s become something of a nightly ritual for him: gazing upon her as she sleeps, a subtle intensity behind his eyes as he tries to take everything in.

It happens at just the right time of night. The exhaustion of the day is just starting to seep from his limbs. Yet another shift spent mostly on his feet, spent in motion, spent in a controlled, hectic rush, has made him restless. It takes time for that to wear off, and allow him to finally relax. Outside, the noise has reached its usual lull. It’s never fully quiet, not here. Be it the yelling of a neighbor, the passing of the heavy rail, or the honk of a horn, the sounds are endless, weaving a tapestry of activity and commotion and life that is impossible to ignore. But at this time of night, it’s dull enough that he can let it settle in the back of his mind like a familiar memory, letting the hum around him fade into the background. And he’s alone, awake and waiting for sleep, with only himself for company. When all this happens, this perfect storm of a situation, he’s left with his own thoughts.

And that’s the problem.

It happens slowly: it always does. A stray thought here. Man, work was the worst today. A moment of speculation there. Just how many more meals of Ramen noodles can I stand? An errant murmur in the back of his mind. For fun, let’s talk about the concept of success and happiness. What do these concepts mean? Do you think you are successful? Do you think you are happy…?

Bit by bit, it begins to grow. The random musings begin to sync up. That’s the fifth rejection letter this week. Their joining makes them stronger, more persistent. Is this really how you pictured things at this point in your life? The demand of each one seems to crowd him, arduous and loud. You were always the one with the plans. Where are those plans now?

Soon it’s powerful, a mix of cerebration and emotion that is almost impossible to ignore. It creates a chorus of cacophonous proportions. You know why we’re here. The chorus grows, the voices speaking all at once and in unison. You know how this happened. A thousand voices speak out together, accusatory and exacting. You know who is responsible.

The thousand voices he can deal with. He hears them every night. Just as he’s heard them every night since he was twelve years old. He’s accustomed to his own neuroses, the way they play with him and the way they make him feel about himself. Doubt, anxiety, worry. A touch of self-loathing. A lack of confidence. None of these are new to him. He knows them as if they were familiar, albeit unwelcome, house-guests. And he knows by now that he will never truly be rid of any of them. He knows this with a stark certainty that should be depressing. And it is. But he’s learned to handle them.

What he can’t handle is that one little voice. The new one. The quiet one. The cruel one. It never clamors for attention, it never competes with the others, it never becomes anything louder than a whisper. Instead, it sits in the corner of his mind and waits, seemingly full of endless patience. And then, when the timing is right, it utters a single sentence; a sentence which has proven time and time again its capability to single-handedly end the other voices and bring his head to a deafening, shocking, awful silence.

She knows too.

The sudden void within gives him a moment of respite, and, as always, he chooses to spend it gazing upon her. As if he could look away even if he wanted to. The horrible streetlamp outside their apartment has managed to stay on tonight. Its light slips through the metal bars fixed to their window, casting her in an odd pattern of deep shadow and sickly-orange. And yet he feasts upon the sight, trying, as he does every night, to cement it in his brain. Trying to capture every detail. Trying to insure this image is remembered.

He doesn’t fear losing her. At least, not in the same way he once did. There were nights, much different than these, where their surroundings had been comfortable and life had been easy. But it was the comfort and ease of childhood. It couldn’t last. The fear had always cast a pall upon them. Fear born of the possibility of discovery and of forced separation. The fear then had been in the way of austere authority and stubborn pride. Now it was the fear of abject empathy and desperate ambition. Of an untenable situation and severe reality. Of death by a thousand cuts. Of surrender. Be it hers, or be it his. He isn’t sure which would destroy him more.

He decides the new voice is right. In fact, he decides this fact anew each night, rehashing the argument and conclusion again and again. It’s impossible to deny the inference when he analyzes the facts. It was his seeming eons of hidden and denied feelings. It was he who faltered, who made a move, who gave a declaration. It was his inability to let go or walk away. And coming here and attempting whatever this is was his plan. It was all him. He knows this.

She has to know it as well. How could she not? Waking each morning in a crummy, dilapidated apartment of sparse furnishings and sparser familiarity. Working long hours each day at the only place that would hire from a situation like theirs. Walking so far on the days the public transportation is unreliable. And returning, each day, to nothing more than what she left before; him. There can be no doubt that she knows who is responsible for this.

Just as he has done every night before hand, he allows the certainty to seep through him, to run rampant through his every fiber until he is convinced of it and nothing else.

As he continues to gaze at her, he considers giving himself over to the guilt that threatens to overwhelm him.

She stirs in her sleep, tossing a little until she comes to a rest against his side and is able to curl up on him. Her body is warm, the same flush in her skin that has been there since they were children. Arms snake out from under the covers and wrap around him, clinging tight even in her dormant state. She lets out a slight sigh and a snort, a look of peaceful slumber upon her face. In this moment, it’s almost as if she has sought him out.

In that instant of contact, memories comes rushing to him in a flood. Hand holding beneath a blanket in the living room. Auburn hair, strewn with leaves of red and yellow while laughter floats on the crisp breeze. Long looks hastily ended before being resumed with mutual giggling. Quiet gasps and whispers made in the cover of darkness, ears straining for the sound of the creaky floorboard. That use of three little words in a way which was entirely new and entirely right.

There are new memories as well. Of greeting the morning with a smile, humming while pouring the remaining orange juice into a single glass to be shared by two. Of excited storytelling regarding co-worker antics and ridiculous customers, a single pin of a pig hidden to help get through the day. Of singing softly while clinging to the railing on the bus, or of skipping playfully when it hasn’t come. Of returning each and every day to present him with a strong embrace, a passionate kiss, and that very same smile which was worn at the beginning of the day.

Her hands tighten for a moment, and she murmurs his name. Nothing more, just the name. And his mind is once more cast into blissful, welcome, reprising silence.

As he gazes upon her, he reflects on the fact that the little voice is right. But he’s not alone, either in the decision or in the implementation. He has her. And she has him. There is a lot to fear. But not his capabilities nor her feelings. He can trust in both. There are bad memories, but there are good ones as well. As well as the promise of more to come. The little voice is right, but not about everything. He can handle that.

He settles into her embrace, allowing the feeling of her against him to roll around him like the familiar glow of a horrible streetlamp. As his eyelids finally begin to close, he takes one last opportunity to gaze at her and attempt to memorize it all. She’s the last thing he sees before he falls asleep. He hopes she’ll be the first thing he sees when he awakes.

“The surest aid in combating the male’s disease of self-contempt is to be loved by a clever woman.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Sound of Water

The old pond Frog jumps in Sound of Water

- Basho

As he felt is his eyes begin to cross, Dipper Pines let out an agitated groan. Dropping his head into his hands, he scrubbed at his tired eyes, the motion pushing back his hat. He hated this class. Ok, he allowed, he didn’t hate the class. He just didn’t get it. It was his senior year of college and he had still needed his writing requirement in order to graduate. Lit 2030, “World Poetry” had been the only class to fit in his schedule otherwise filled with science and communication media courses. Plus, he had figured that knowing some poetry might come in handy, should he ever meet a special lady. So he had signed up.

And was now thoroughly regretting it. At this point, maybe he had better stick to wooing women with some of Grunkle Stan’s dirty limericks.

Settling his cap back on his head, he turned the page. And paused.

However close I look, Not a speck on White chrysanthemum

- Basho

Something about this haiku stood out to Dipper, though he wasn’t sure what. He flipped to the beginning of the chapter, and reread the introduction. “The Haiku is a traditional Japanese poetry form. It utilizes a short stanza consisting of three lines, with a syllable breakdown of five/seven/five, for a total of seventeen syllables. The goal of a haiku is to display the ephemeral beauty of life, to capture just a snapshot of the world, and attempt to halt, even for a moment, the fleeting nature of everything we experience. While English translations of traditional Japanese haiku rarely maintain the syllable structure, it is important for the student to keep the proper format. The masters of haiku were Basho, Buson, and Issa.”

Scratching at his cheek, Dipper returned to the poem he had left off at. Something stirred in the back of his mind as he read it again.

However close I look, Not a speck on White chrysanthemum

- Basho

Under the poem was a caption. “Basho was the prophet of the masters. He predicted the exuberance and importance of the small things in life, using an everyday object to show what truly mattered.”

This time, he can feel some understanding. The haiku reminded him of … a certain collection of sweaters. Sweaters of every color and type, that he had grown up around, that he had seen nearly every day, that he had come to know and adore. The collection was ever expanding, to a point where, over a decade after it had begun, it nearly boggled the mind. And yet, each new creation was unique, the design fresh and clever, and the pattern perfect. When each sweater was worn, it was flawless. And at the end of the day, even after it was put away for good, the memory still lingered on.

He smiled at the thoughts swirling in his head, and tried writing a poem of his own.

After all these years, Despite a hundred sweaters – No stitch out of place!

He rolled his eyes at his laughable effort and continued with the assignment, moving on to the next page.

Early summer rain Thrusting into the azure sea Muddy river water

- Buson

This too had a caption underneath. “More than any of the masters, Buson sought to write of the four seasons. Here, he attempts to personify summer through describing the heavy rains customary during the season.”

Dipper chuckled to himself. He already had his own personification of summer in mind. It was the many hours of daylight, present in the constant smile and cheerful attitude that never diminished. It was the feeling of warmth and of comfort, present in being made to feel like he was the most important person in the world. It was the sudden rain, present in the deluge of words, expressions, and emotion, seemingly prompted out of the blue. And if that deluge sometimes muddied the waters of his mind with confusing thoughts and feelings, then at the very least it was easy to push aside and out to the proverbial sea.

With that in mind, he penned a second try.

Bright glow of sunshine Summer’s child dances for joy – And all is at peace

He grinned to himself, enjoying the particular poignancy that was his identification of ‘summer’s child’. He kept going.

Sleeping, then waking And giving a great yawn, the cat Goes out love-making

- Issa

The book gave some information on this new poet. “Issa is the most beloved master, most likely because he is the humanist. While the others revel in nature, Issa wallows in the muck that is the human condition.”

Dipper blushed even as he laughed. A cat going ‘love-making’ was a ridiculous notion. And yet… he could almost picture it. He could picture the air of luxury, like a fluffy bathrobe after a long bubble bath. He could picture the pleased yowl, like the singing of a pop-song during the primping and preparation. He could picture the smug prance, like the sultry stride and swirl to show off a flashy new outfit, picked just for the occasion. He could picture the high stepping prowl, like a saunter towards him. And then past him, a slight pause before the front door closed behind with a click.

Frowning at an unfamiliar pang and twist inside him, he wrote once more.

Exulting in pride, The cat sweeps by so quickly Flowing into night

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the unformed but clearly impatient emotions inside him, moving to the next example.

The peasant’s child Husking rice, stops And gazes at the moon

- Basho

Basho again, Dipper thought, starting to see now how the poet used simple things to show bigger, important things.

He thought of evenings spent on a small cabin rooftop, sharing the growing twilight in easy companionship. The looming fir trees seemed to hold up the night sky itself. If timed just right, it was possible to witness the sudden appearance of the stars, springing to life like fireflies dancing across the cosmos. His companion would always gasp in delight, giving a little clap with the usual enthusiasm. And when the pale moon cast its soft glow on his companion, it was as if it was illuminating perfection. The feeling would last, filling him to bursting, until the moon disappeared behind the trees.

He chewed on his pen for a moment, more in worry over the small measure of knowledge he was beginning to feel at his own thoughts than in worry over his next poem. He hurriedly scratched something down.

Under a pale moon Summer’s child gasps at beauty Forsaking her own

He quickly advanced, not wanting to pursue the sudden clarity within him any further if he could help it.

The cherry blossoms fallen Through the branches A temple

- Buson

Dipper frowned. This one seemed a bit sad to him. He knew cherry trees lost their blossoms in the fall. And while the poet was expressing their newfound view because of that fact, he didn’t think the revelation was a happy one. He knew the sentiment. He thought of his own recent autumns, and how, for the last few years, the turning of the leaves meant a return to college and a difficult goodbye in a suburban driveway. An oddly strained silence, a halting hesitation, a shuffling of feet: all supposedly resolved by a customary and traditional brand of awkward hug. But he now realized that the crisp breeze, kicking up errant articles in its path, would actually reveal more; if only for a brief instant before the wind moved on.

Gritting his teeth at the pit that had just appeared in his stomach, he wrote a new offering.

Autumn heralds change Through curtains of auburn hair Summer goddess weeps

Wishing now to finish this assignment and forget all about it, Dipper turned to the very last page and haiku.

Insects on a bough Floating down river Still singing

- Issa

With a strangled cry, the weight of everything Dipper had been trying to keep back came crashing down upon him

Of all the poems, this one made the most sense to him. ‘Insects on a bough.’ Insignificance: creatures made small by the vastness around them. For the insects, the world. For him, an emotion deep within. ‘Floating down river.’ Doom: an inescapable fate. For the insects, the crush of the swift water. For him, the crush of harsh reality. ‘Still singing’. Acceptance: joyful participation despite the inevitable outcome. For the insects, they still sang despite their hopeless situation. For him, he still loved, despite the obvious impossibility.

He cleared his throat, blinking back tears, and wrote his final and most truthful haiku of the night.

Pine Tree stands on – yet! Helpless before the sharp axe Come to make him small

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Silence in the Big City

It speaks volumes, that it’s her silence that tells him when he has impressed her.

Mabel is Mabel. Even in the big city. She is irrepressible and dynamic, going about her day with a skip in her step and a smile on her face. In all things, it’s her fierce sense of life that shines through. Much of the day is spent in an endless commentary, the narrative leaping from the crazy hair of someone they saw on the bus, to how there can be so many different types of beans in the store, to that poster for an upcoming show which has puppets. Dipper listens to all of it, letting her speak, basking in the constant words, expressions, and noises of his twin.

But as she removes the blindfold, and as she sees how he has transformed the little rooftop of their apartment building, and as she spins wide-eyed and amazed, she says nothing. And he knows that he has done well.

It had taken a fair amount of work to create this little surprise. Christmas lights can be difficult to find in the summer, after all. It also took some time to convince the super, Mr. Nowacki, to lend him the key to the roof and a ladder. Mostly because the man only spoke Polish. But he apparently knew the phrase ‘it’s for love’, because once Dipper had used it, the super’s assistance had been abundant. After hanging the lights, pushing the various potted plants out of the middle, and using an excessive amount of construction paper, he thought the place looked passably romantic. He had then gone around to all the other tenants, letting them in on the secret in order to ensure the young couple would not be disturbed. Mrs. Hernandez had thought it was wonderful, Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen had stared at each other fondly, and Chuck had given a few pelvic thrusts with a smug smile. In the end, all had promised they would avoid the roof that night, and, for the sake of the surprise, all had pledged their silence.

There is a lot of silence in the big city.

It’s the silence of a new place, foreign and hostile from that very first step off the bus, each of them clinging to the other as they crane their necks upwards in awe. The decision had been easy to make and moving away from home had been necessary. It was a fresh start, a do-over, a beginnings. It was a place to be recognized and anonymous, to be themselves and to be anyone else, to be known and unknown. It was a place for possibilities. And in all possibilities, the city is cold, it is severe, and it is uncaring, looking down in silence.

She looks at him, questioning, and he can’t help but be enchanted by her. The many tiny lights play across her enraptured face, casting her in a glow of red and greens and blues, and he is reminded that she is beautiful. He flips the switch on their pawn-shop-purchased radio, and the jubilant beats of Latin music flare to life, filling the space around them. She smiles; the nearby all-Spanish station is the only channel their little radio receives. He takes her hand, and pulls her to him, beginning to move along to the salsa beat. There’s a raised eyebrow, incredulous, seemingly to remind him that she knows he can’t dance salsa. But she trusts him, and she follows him, and she falls into the steps, and soon they are moving across the rooftop, reveling in the crackling music battling alone against the silence.

It’s the silence of a phone that does not ring, no matter how long it’s stared at. Of their parents’ refusal to call. Of parents unable or unwilling to understand the sudden 3,000 mile distance in between, the newly created physical abyss; all the while never having seen the emotional chasm that had already been formed. Formed of secret feelings and clandestine meetings, of furtive looks and hidden significance, of the inability to speak. Of quiet. And now, lashing out in petulant obstinacy, their parents returned the sentiment in kind: in silence.

The song changes and now the sound is all guitars and bandoneon, haunting and carnal. Her gaze is challenging and he meets it with one of his own. Sliding a hand to her waist, he bumps her own to his shoulder. And with a coy wink, he whisks her into a tango. They glide in delicate but exacting ellipses, and he is reminded that she is sensual. They are pressed up close to one another, the two of them flush and fitted. Her hips revolve as he spins her, a slender arm raised above her head, all of her hypnotic, and he is unable to keep the hunger from his eyes. She has hunger in her own, cheeks rosy and her bottom lip captured in her teeth. So he yanks her against him, pressing her close as they take the next turn. Their passion crescendos despite the silence.

It’s the silence of desperate love making. The kind that is initiated with a look or a touch, the usual dance of question and answer exchanged instead in a mere flash, written on skin and in a lover’s eye. The kind that begins with tender kisses and gentle hands, a caress whose affection is known by all. The kind that ends in heaving bodies and writhing limbs, an agony whose beauty is tacit only to the participants. The kind that is fueled by unrelenting need and crippling hesitance, by abject pleading and stubborn refusal, by a selfish give and a selfless take. The kind that always results in silence.

There is another shift in the music, and now it is slow and indolent, whimsical in nature and wistful in rhythm. They adjust as one, his arms going around her waist and hers around his neck. She is small in his embrace, but she holds him tight, and he is reminded that she is compassionate. With a soft bonk, their foreheads meet, and they stay there, swaying gently together. They each mirror the other, their moves in-sync and composed. She strokes his neck in little circles, the expression evident even in the minute detail. The world presses down upon them, but they remain, defiant in the silence.  

It’s the silence that wakes him up in the middle of the night, acutely aware that she is weeping. Choked back sobs and sniffles disappearing into her pillow, tears that weren’t meant to be shared. But they are, and so he goes to her, rubbing her back, resting his head against her, and offering whispered platitudes. Because what more can he do? Because his chest hurts to see her like this. Because last night it had been him, and she had done the comforting then. Because neither of them could bear it if they were left alone, left bare, left in silence.

The big city shuts down for night. The windows around them go dark, taxis begin to display their ‘not in service’ signs, and bartenders usher the remaining barflies out on to the streets. The small radio fades to white noise as the last DJ ends their shift, and the machine is turned off. The little rooftop is conspicuous, lit by out-of-season Christmas lights. On a cheap plastic patio chair, Mabel sits in his lap. She’s curled up against him, his arms firm and possessive around her, her hand soft on his chest and her breath cool against his neck. They remain together into the night as neither says a word, and he knows that he has done well.

It’s her silence that tells him he has impressed her. It speaks volumes.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Thunder Road

For enhanced viewer experience, consider listening to the following track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGBXnw86Mgc

Mabel Pines paced about her room, tugging at her dress, listening to ‘Only the Lonely’ and, as she did every night, trying not to think of her twin brother, Dipper Pines.

Their parents’ divorce had been bad enough. But this current, ridiculous Parent Trap situation was even worse. Somehow, their parents had decided the best course of action was for each parent to take a twin. And now here they were: Mabel with her mother here in Piedmont and Dipper with their father out in Gravity Falls, the twins divided by a state line, a hostile parental set, and everything that was left unsaid.  

The sudden roar of an engine and the honking of a horn drew her attention, causing her to look out her window. An old fashioned muscle car had pulled up beside the house and parked. A door opened, and a figure walked around. She could make out the tight jeans, white shirt, and black leather jacket the figure wore. Finally she could see their face, and she gasped. It was Dipper.

Her brother looked up, and their eyes met. He smiled, easy and confident for once, and waved to her. She waved back, somewhat stunned at what she was seeing. He gestured, signaling her to come down. She hesitated, long buried thoughts stirring within her, thoughts she was sure she didn’t want to think anymore …

And then was flying out of her room, down the stairs, through the kitchen and finally, blessedly outside. She heard the slamming of the screen door behind her as she glided over the porch, the evening wing picking up and causing her dress to flutter around her.

She grabbed the railing and leaned against it, looking at her twin. There was a pause, as each gazed upon the other, drinking in the sight after so long apart. Her brother kept smiling that lazy smile, and she found she couldn’t prevent a similar grin from appearing on her own face.

“What is this?” She asked, trying to sound stern. “Somethings different about you. You drive a crazy rad car, you dress all cool, and you just show up unannounced like this?”

His smiled turned almost cocky. “Bought the car from Bud Gleeful. ’65 Ford Mustang, hardtop. The clothes seemed like the natural next step, especially considering how good I look.” His look turned serious, his big eyes piercing and solemn. “And I came for you.”

Her grin faltered. Another stirring came from inside her gut. “What, what do you mean?”

“I mean you and me. I mean hitting the road. I mean together. The night is young, the sky is open, and this road behind me will take us anywhere! Let’s get away from all of it, let’s leave it all behind, and let’s just be!”

She froze. “No,” she whispered. “We can’t.” Though whether she whispered that to her brother or to herself, she couldn’t be sure.

“I get it! You’re scared. We’ve been forced to grow up too fast, and we aren’t young anymore. We aren’t kids. Look what we’ve been put through. What it’s done to us! And I know you’re struggling because of it. I am too!” He laughed, a hint of desperation in the sound and the tone bittersweet. “Come on Mabel! Where’s the girl I know? Show a little faith. In me. In magic. In the night!”

She shook her head, shocked by the sincere emotion in her twin’s voice. It resonated with her, plucking a string within her that she had long since thought silenced. There had been moments in the years past, moments when she had imaged a similar string existed within him. But he never said anything, and she could never bring herself to ask. And the string slowly grew frayed.

“Please,” he begged. “You know why I’m here. Don’t turn me away. Don’t make me go back. I just can’t be alone, by myself, again.”

Their goodbye flashed through her mind. The two of them, standing on this very porch, the space between the house and the car impossibly vast, both seemingly at a loss for what to say. They settled for an awkward silence, an amicable chuckle, and a rushed hug felt by the rough bump of foreheads as they both tried to lean the same way. She had stared out the window, in the direction he had gone, long after they had left and long after there had been nothing more to see.

“I’ve been so alone too.” She said, blinking back the tears, her sorrow making her honest. “Without you by my side, without my other half, what was there for me here? Or anywhere?”

She thought of those nights, the room dark and empty. No twin in the next bed over, no twin in the next room over, no twin at all. She thought of how different those nights could have been… and it stroked a rage inside of her.

“Why now?!” She cried out. “Where was this years ago, where was this before the all the troubles, where was this before it was too late?!” Her rage died as fast as it started, and her voiced turned into a whisper. “Before I was gone.”

She could see real distress in his eyes. “I know you’re lonely, I know you’re in pain, and I know you’re angry. There’s so many things I haven’t said to you, and I know you need to hear them. Tonight.” His voice was grave but earnest. “Tonight, when we’re free, and when we’ve broken all other promises, you’ll hear them from me. You’ll hear everything from me.”

She almost sobbed at his words. The passion was evident in his voice, and daydreams she had long thought abandoned began to reappear. But it couldn’t be. He couldn’t actually mean the things he said. This couldn’t actually happen.

“We can make it.” He pleaded. “If we run, if we ride out tonight. Together.”

She thought about it. What were her other options? She could remain here in Piedmont. Run back upstairs, hide in her bed, and stay alone with her pain. She thought of all the other boys that might come along, boys with cars of their own and boys with roses, calling out her name from the street during the night. And knew it would never be anything other than another boy she would turn away, their eyes a mere ghost of what she truly wanted.

“Please.” Said her brother again. “The car’s right here. I’m right here. What matters is right here. Everything else is out there.”

She imagined it for a moment. Sitting in the passenger seat. Putting her bare feet on the dash. Letting the wind in her hair, her auburn tresses cascading behind her. Not caring which road signs flew by, not caring what music blasted on the radio, not caring what came next. Not a care in her heart. And her hand held tight in her twin’s.

This could be it. This could be the last chance to make things real. They could trade it all, trade everything, and bet on this one decision provided by these new wheels. He was standing before her, with nothing to offer and everything to give her.

So she took it. It was a long walk from the front porch to the mustang’s front seat. Her brother held the door open, and she jumped in, enjoying the feel of the leather covers beneath her. As she sat, the weight of the decision settled upon her. This ride wouldn’t be free.

But then the door closed and her twin was sitting beside her. The key caused the engine to roar to life, and she felt the vibrations throughout her entire body. The sound pierced the quiet night. And she knew that she all the redemption she needed was beneath that hood. And in the man next to her.

“Hey Dip?”

“Yeah, Mabes?”

“Just how much Springsteen have you been listening to?”

Dipper Pines’s bashful blush was one she recalled from years ago. It felt good to see it again. And then he slammed his foot on the pedal. As the twins spun out, Mabel Pines gave a cry of joy, one she recalled from years ago. It felt good to make it again. The various installments of Piedmont flashed by as they flew past.

It was a town full of losers. And now they were pulling out of there to win.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Love is Not Time’s Fool - Preface

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love it not love         Which alters when it alteration finds,         Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempest, and is never shaken;         It is the star to every wandering bark,         Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come;        Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,        But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved,        I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

-  Sonnet 116: William Shakespeare

[sirwaddlesesquire]

The Palm Tree Luau Resort (Love is Not Time’s Fool)

A Pines twins getaway to the nation’s most desirable vacation location. (Takes place in the “Love is Not Time’s Fool” AU, prior to the beginning of the series)

For the fiftieth time this week, Dipper Pines smiled to himself and shook his head in disbelief at his current situation.

The first instance had been the luau costumes of the resort staff. While the grass skirts made of cheap construction paper and the clearly ‘bought-in-bulk’ Hawaiian shirts would have been laughable on their own, the effect was greatly magnified by the resort’s location; the Puget Sound. The flower necklaces clashed with the rocky outcroppings and frigid water of the American Northwest coast. Some of the staff seemed to recognize this, their faces embarrassed. Others seemed completely (or perhaps willfully) ignorant, and their forcible cheer was somewhat disarming. Ultimately, there was nothing for it but to play along and laugh when they couldn’t see. Something he had done every single time he had seen any of them.

Another instance had been created by the getaway itself. It was one thing to be in his last year of college and be told he was an adult. It was quite another to drop everything and travel to a weeklong getaway in Washington State. The trip had quite literally been in impulse decision, the result of the need for some time away from college and the desire to do something different. It was hard not to exult in the sense of freedom.

Currently, however, it was his twin sister’s flushed cheeks, closed eyes, and popped foot, caused by the passionate kiss he had just given her. In public. In broad daylight. In front of some dozen other individuals. For the fifty-first time this week, Dipper smiled to himself and shook his head in disbelief. And then he kissed Mabel Pines again, thoroughly, for good measure.

It truly was a different experience to engage in PDA with his sister. Their familial connection had made secrecy a mandate in their relationship. They had known that from the beginning and had become practiced at maintaining that secret. Out in the world and among others, the twins were model siblings. And if their handholding or multitude of inside jokes made them closer than most, at least it could be excused by their ‘twin status.’ But behind closed doors or when in solitude, their relationship become one of lovers; sensual, caring, and, at times, positively torrid.

If there were moments when the necessity of furtive looks, stolen kisses, and clandestine feelings became overbearing, then the chance to have Mabel in his arms at the end of the day more than made up for it.

But here, at the “Palm Tree Luau Resort”, it was different. The twins didn’t know anyone, and no one knew them. They were just another couple enjoying the cheap rates, cheaper drinks, and the resort’s one palm tree. Dipper put could put his arm around his sister’s waist as they strolled along the walkways. Mabel could slip her hand into the back pocket of Dipper’s jeans, something she said she had wanted to do since she caught the “I Love the ‘70s” music video marathon. And, most importantly, the two could kiss with the reckless abandon of young lovers anywhere they pleased. A perk they took advantage of frequently.

At the moment, the two were walking along the beach and enjoying the vibrant sunset over the waves. They were clad in their swimwear (ironically tropical swim trunks for Dipper, and a fancy one-piece suit and an un-ironically tropical sarong for Mabel), and Dipper wore his sandals. They had previously attempted the ‘walk on the beach, holding hands with one hand and your sandals with the other’ look which was always featured in those resort commercials. However, those commercials must be for actual equatorial resorts, because the numerous rocks had immediately proved too much for the male twin’s soles, and he had quickly abandoned the effort to be iconic. Mabel still refused to be anything but barefoot, though how much of that was pure stubbornness was a topic he decided not to broach.

Their walk lead them to the beach bar. Intended to resemble a Tiki hut, but made from what was clearly plywood and poorly painted PVC pipe, the small structure never failed to earn a wry smile from Dipper. That being said, the drinks were cheap and the pudgy, lei-clad bartender was always happy to the see the two Pines. Mabel had taken an instant shine to him, bestowing the name ‘Tito’ upon him at their first meeting, and using it exclusively since. She was also enjoying the chance to try new drinks, and had been working her way down the drink menu.

The couple sat down on the rickety stools and were greeted by Tito. (Dipper didn’t think he even remembered the man’s real name.)

“Dipper!” The bartender exclaimed in a horrid impersonation of an islander accent. “So good to see you again. And you brought the most beautiful island flower of all, Miss Mabel!”

Mabel preened at the praise.

“The nearest island is way out in the Sound, Tito.” Dipper said, his voice one of gentle chiding. “The nearest tropical island is thousands of miles south. Any island flower would wilt in this climate. Much like that palm tree they have here.”

Tito smiled, holding up a chastising finger. “Ah but young Dipper, that is what makes Miss Mabel here all the more extraordinary. She blooms even in the very situation no other would be able to!”

“Thank you Tito.” Mabel glowed, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

Dipper threw his hands up in playful submission, laughing. Tito laughed amicably along.

“So, Tito,” Mabel said, growing serious. “Where am I on that drink menu?”

“You are down to the last two!” Tito informed her, holding up the menu. “All that is left is the White Sangria and the Sex on the Beach.”

“Make ‘em both!” Mabel exclaimed.

“You got it.” Tito replied. “Anything for the gentleman?”

“Not for me.” Dipper held up a forestalling hand. He looked at his sister. “I’m already drunk from the loveliness of the lady beside me.”

This earned a giggle and a playful slap from Mabel, and a nod of admiration from Tito. “He can be taught!” The bartender chuckled as he began preparing the drinks.

Dipper kept his gaze on his siser, taking in her features. He may have said it with a silly tone, but his words were true. Mabel was beautiful. Not to mention big-hearted and funny and extraordinary and a million other positive traits. He constantly found himself intoxicated by the effect she had on him. How could his gaze be anything other than adoring?

She turned to look at him and opened her mouth to say something.

Dipper cupped her cheek with one hand, drew her close to him, and kissed her. A deep, smoldering kiss that both twins melted into. Mabel leaned on her brother as his other arm encircled the young woman to keep her supported. The kiss lasted awhile. Long enough that when the siblings did finally break apart, Tito had placed both of Mabel’s drinks in front of her, a knowing smile on his face as his pointedly looked away from the lovers, a pantomimed whistle on his lips.

Mabel blushed as she separated from Dipper (who could only grin with pride) and reached for the first drink. She took a long sip, then placed it back on the bar, her brow furrowed in concentration. She then took up the second glass and sipped from it. She returned this one as well, and then paused, her finger tapping the edge of the bar surface, seemingly deep in thought.

Tito watched, impassive and awaiting Mabel’s verdict. Dipper watched, amused by his twin’s sudden solemn attitude. Mabel, still pondering, took a sip from one drink and then the other, swishing the two around in her mouth before swallowing. Silently, she pointed to an empty glass behind the counter. Tito handed it to her. And, grabbing the drinks, Mabel poured them both into the empty container, combining them.

She took one last sip and sighed in contentment. “There,” she said. “Perfect.”

Tito threw back his head and laughed. “Oh Miss Mabel, truly you are a delight.” He wiped the corner of his eye. “What will you call this new concoction you have invented?”

Mabel shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll be sure to let you know when I decide.”

She hopped off the stool, grabbing Dipper’s hand with one of hers and the new drink with the other. She tugged her brother away, and he followed, telling Tito to bill their room as he was pulled away. Tito made a shooing motion, nodding his head and chortling to himself.

The Pines’ walk continued in silence, Mabel enjoying her drink and Dipper enjoying the ocean breeze. They eventually reached the far end of the beach, the small rocks which took the place of sand on a normal beach giving way to large rocks which took the place of dunes. He paused, but was pulled on by his sister as she led him around a couple of outcroppings to a more secluded section. Someone must have had a similar idea previously, for an Adirondack style chair sat alone, looking out over the water.

Mabel nudged him towards the chair, and he sat, his sister settling onto his lap as soon as he was comfortable. He rested one arm on his twin’s legs as he rubbed the small of her back with the other. She slung one arm around her brother’s shoulder, the other holding her drink as she finished it. They both stared out at the cresting waves of the ocean and the reds and oranges of the sunset, content. A final slurp as the drink was finished punctuated the quiet.

Dipper looked up, once more admiring Mabel. She swirled the straw around as she tried to get any last bits of fruity liquor from the bottom. Finally admitting the drink was finished, she carefully placed the glass on the ground and looked down at her brother. They gazed into each other’s eyes and the moment stretched.

Then they were kissing, their lips meeting in a sudden rush. The feeling of desire coursed through Dipper and his arms pulled Mabel closer to him. She brushed a thumb against his cheek tenderly. The kiss grew in intensity as their tongues met, each seeking dominance. As usual, Mabel won, the female twin purring at her victory.

In retaliation, the young man traced a finger up his sister’s spine, enjoying the way she shivered in response. Reaching the nape of her neck, he tangled his hand in her hair there and gently pulled her head back, breaking the kiss and exposing her neck to his teeth and mouth. She moaned, a hand stroking his head encouragingly. The male twin reached the hollow of her throat, giving it a quick nip before nuzzling with the tip of his nose. He grinned at his sister’s reaction, knowing how she enjoyed the aggression coupled with the gentleness. Feeling particularly devious, he began to suck.

Mabel gasped and pushed hard against his shoulders, preventing him from producing the love bite he desired. Slightly pinned by the pressure from Mabel, Dipper watched as she adjusted herself. She squirmed in his lap until she was no longer sitting in it but rather straddling him instead. He enjoyed watching at her as she sat astride him.

The male twin knew his pleasure at the moment was evident, and he felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing his sister’s eyes widen as she felt his growing length pressed against her stomach. Her reaction was quickly followed by a sultry smile as she ran a hand down his chest and grasped him through his swimsuit. He groaned, bucking up into the touch.

The renewed pressure at his shoulder and the shushing sound from Mabel caused him to still. She began raining kisses on his chest and shoulders, her mouth creating pools of fire wherever it touched his skin. Her hand continued its ministrations, tracing a fingernail down the underside of his shaft before giving a full caress on the upswing. She grabbed at the waistband of the trunks and tugged insistently. Dipper raised his hips to help, allowing her to yank the shorts into a bunch at his knees before returning to his cock. The feel of the direct touch of her bare palm to his sensitive skin caused him to growl softly and twitch.

Wishing to return to favor, Dipper moved a hand away from his sister’s back and towards the junction of her legs. He was stopped by Mabel grabbing it. She shook her head as she pushed the fabric of the sarong behind her hips. The young woman forcibly adjusted his hands, placing them on her waist.

Then, biting her bottom lip in concentration and bracing herself with her knees and an arm around his shoulder, she reached down, pushed her swimsuit aside, and with one swift movement impaled herself on her twin brother’s cock.

Dipper clenched his teeth and breathed in sharply at the sensation of being fully sheathed in his sister. He had been worried about the lack of foreplay, but apparently Mabel had been sufficiently turned on already because she was wet. And tight. So tight. As he always did, the male twin marveled at the feeling of being encased by her silken folds, the pleasure as exquisite and exacting now as it had been the first time and every time since.

However, it seemed Mabel was in no mood to allow Dipper his reverie. She quickly rose up on her knees before slamming back down on him. She did this expertly; a slow ascendance, revealing inch by inch of his swollen length, pausing at the apex with just the head still inside her, before descending with an authoritative rush. The female twin gasped each time as she was filled and her male twin would growl in response, the hands at her waist tightening in an effort to keep her in place and allow him to just enjoy the feeling of being inside of her.

But it was not to be, for each time Mabel’s thighs powered her upwards to repeat the motion again and again, her appetite insatiable.  She threw herself into the act with a sense of determination that still surprised and delighted Dipper, and he knew she would continue until she got what she wanted. So he did what he could to help her.

Keeping a hand tight on her waist, he moved the other to her chest. He brushed a thumb along the swell of one breast and was pleased to feel the hard nub of her nipple, straining against the spandex fabric of her swimsuit. He swirled his thumb around it before giving the nipple an impertinent pinch. Mabel’s breath hitched. So Dipper did it twice more, once for each breast. He continued his manipulations, the hand on her waist keeping her steady and the other’s tweaking and caressing helping push her to greater heights.

Dipper’s own pleasure was rising. The movement of Mabel on top of him and the heavenly friction as she slid down his cock threatened to overcome him. He began to thrust his hips upwards, timing the motion to meet every descent of his twin’s. Mabel added a grinding movement at the end of each of her cycles, their hipbones grazing each other with each pass. They both moaned aloud.

Mabel appeared lost to the world. Her elbows rested on her twin’s shoulders, fingers tangled in his curls as she used the leverage to move herself more rapidly. As her tempo increased, her body showed the strain of it. The muscles in her legs were tight, her stomach was clenched, her shoulders were hunched, and her arms were trembling slightly.

But her face held a serene calm. With her eyes closed and a small smile on her lips, the image was that of someone at peace.

Dipper caught himself staring at his sister, the sight of her undulating body as it was set alight by the glow of the setting sun behind her causing him to gawk in wonder. The effervescent colors of the sky fell upon the pale skin of her arms and shoulders, the harsh reds and sharp pinks somehow turned soft by the interaction with the unique Mabel Pines. A breeze off the ocean caught her hair, its auburn strands tousled lightly. The halo of light framed her perfectly, and Dipper could only gaze in amazement.

He realized that it was true. She was a beautiful island flower, blooming in a situation no other would be able to. Who else would be able to disallow the burden of a relationship carried out in the dark to keep them from shining so brightly? Who else would reject the judgment of the world so thoroughly by embracing so strongly the joy of living in it? Who else would travel to the country’s silliest resort and act like it was the best place ever? No one else. Dipper was completely undone by the force of nature that was his sister, Mabel.

And at that moment, she came down with one final, definitive thrust. He felt her seize around him as she let out a breathy groan, signaling her orgasm. Her fingers tightened in his hair and she squeezed him with her thighs. Her insides milked his shaft. It all proved too much, and he joined his twin in release. His orgasm rippled through him and he pulled his sister close, holding her tight against him as he moaned in her ear. He held himself as deep inside her as he could, and enjoyed the bliss of being complete.

The ecstasy slowly dissipated, and Dipper let out a contented sigh. He kept his arms around Mabel, letting her lay against him and running a hand through her hair. She gave a pleased murmur and rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed and her legs quivering slightly.

“Sex in the Puget Sound.” She stated.

“What’s that?” Dipper asked, confused by the sudden pronouncement.

“The name of the drink I invented.” She informed him. “Thus named so that we can always remember the amazing sex we had in the Puget Sound.”

“But, we didn’t have sex in the Puget Sound,” the male twin chided. “We had sex next to the Puget Sound.”

Mabel waved a hand absently above her head in dismissal. “But that doesn’t sound as good.” She explained. “Besides, do you actually want to get in the water? It’s like fifty degrees!”

Dipper opened his mouth to retort, but was stopped by his sister’s finger on his lips.

“Do you really want to argue, or do you want to take me back to our bungalow so we can keep this amazing sex train rolling?” She inquired, her voice smugly conveying that she already knew the answer.

The male Pines grinned wolfishly in response. He pulled his twin into another embrace.

“I love you Mabel.” He said.

“I love you too Dipper.” She replied, purring against his chest.

For the fifty-second time of the week, Dipper Pines smiled to himself and shook his head in disbelief at his current situation.