#update i summoned a laptop just to add a keep reading

[gaycragula]

Cold and Complacent

Pairing: (MK1) Bi-Han/Noob Saibot/Male Reader Warning(s): NSFW/18+ under the cut, spoilers for the end of the Khaos Reigns DLC AO3 Link Account Navigation Word Count: 3179

Warning(s): Mildly dubious consent at first, restraints/light bondage, blood licking, pain kink, bi-han intentionally drawing blood, bottom reader, top noob saibot/bi-han, bi-han used throughout in place of noob saibot, spit as lube, not beta read

Bi-Han. Your former Grandmaster. Your former lover.��

After his betrayal to Liu Kang, the truth of his father’s demise, the truth behind his greed for power, you no longer considered him either of those things. You’d gone with Kuai Liang when he and Tomas had fled. 

Sometimes you regret it. Memories of your time with Bi-Han, sharing a bed, meals, bathing together make you miss what used to be even though you know you won’t ever get it back. He made his decision, you made yours. You doubt anything could ever repair that bridge that had long since burned to ash.

Or so you thought, at least.

After the situation with Titan Havik was resolved, you were put in charge of the former cryomancer’s holding container. It was an honor to be trusted by Liu Kang to the point that he’d trust you with a task of this magnitude. Or maybe it was the god’s way of testing you.

Though Bi-Han no longer looked like himself, you knew his mind was the same. Liu Kang had cleansed that much.

Sometimes you sit next to the container and look at your ex-lover, looking over the changes his body had gone through. The graying skin, the green glow that resonates from his chest. He still holds some features without that hood on.

His face was the same shape, his nose and lips. He was still pretty. 

It’s been a few months since then. Liu Kang comes every day to find out if he can figure out a way to properly restore Bi-Han. You’re lucky enough to be able to watch him do so and get live updates on the progress. 

Today, however, Liu Kang is away. He’d be away for a few days, not that you were worried. You had plenty of help at your beck and call if you needed it. You sit at the small desk in the room, your laptop open to keep yourself entertained for a few more hours until you were summoned for lunch. 

It’s quiet in the temple, peaceful. You can hear rain hitting the walls outside and it just adds to the overall peacefulness.

You let your guard down. Perhaps a foolish thing on your part, getting too complacent with how peaceful things have been. Bi-Han had always warned you about getting complacent. 

So you don’t hear the creak of the container behind you as it shifts. Or the quiet clanking of metal as someone comes up behind you. 

A hand covers your mouth and you reach for the panic button under the desk. Your hand never makes it, a black tendril wrapping around your wrist and stopping it just centimeters from the button. 

“What have I told you about getting complacent?” A voice growls out next to your ear. The tendril wrapped around your wrist continues to coil around your arm, traveling further up before it wretches your arm back and forces it behind the chair. 

The position was uncomfortable to say the least and you try to tug your arm free from the tendril. It doesn’t work. In fact, it gets you claws digging into your cheek and you can feel just the slightest bit of blood begin to trickle down your cheek.

“Do not struggle.” A second hand closes around your neck while the first uses its grip to tilt your head back so you were looking up at the being behind you.

Bi-Han. Or rather, what’s become of him now. 

Fuck.

You don’t believe he’s going to kill you. He would’ve already done so if it was his goal. You hope. 

The hand around your throat squeezes and your body tenses on instinct. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” Bi-Han growls. You don’t like the tone of his voice.

A second tendril wraps around your other wrist and, despite your struggle, it’s forced to join the first one behind the back of the chair. Two more wrap around your legs, keeping you completely pinned in place.

Bi-Han’s hands leave you but, before you can curse him out, a fifth tendril replaces them, coiling across your mouth and around your neck. It allows Bi-Han to pull your chair back so he can stand in front of you. 

White eyes stared at you for a moment, almost like he was inspecting your restrained form. You wonder for a moment if the tendrils feel pain. Your jaw shifts minutely and Bi-Han is grabbing your jaw in an instant, his claws finding gaps between the tendrils to do so. “Don’t even think about it.”

His claws dig into your skin hard enough to draw blood again. “Do you understand?”

You can find it in yourself to nod and he lets go on your jaw, pushing your head back in the process. Adding salt to the wound already. “Good. You still know how to listen.”

Prick. He plants his hands on the arms of your chair and leans over you. The tendril around your mouth twitches before it slowly unravels from your mouth. You stay quiet for the time being. You can tell your decision pleases Bi-Han just from the growl he gives.

“Tell me boy,” he starts, leaning in closer to you. His breath is still cold even after the physical alterations to his body and it has you unconsciously leaning away from him. “How long did you think it would be before I found you?”

What? You barely stop yourself from scoffing. “You hardly found me,” you say, hiding your laugh with a cough. You’d been watching over him for months. The little bastard just broke out of his cage.

The tendril around your neck tightens and you can feel your throat begin to close. Air struggles to reach your lungs and you can feel parts of your face begin to numb as your vision begins to spot. A choked groan escapes your mouth and the tendril loosens just enough for you to breathe again.

“You still don’t think before you speak,” Bi-Han growls, watching gleefully as you struggle to regain your bearings. “You look so much better when you’re like this.”

He grabs your jaw again though it’s almost gentle this time. He tilts your head side to side before prying your mouth open with his thumb. One of his claws tap against your teeth and all you can do is allow it. He runs his thumb over your gums, then pulls your lower lip away from your teeth before forcing your jaw shut again.

It takes everything in you not to snap at him for treating you with such blatant disrespect. But you know you’re in no position to do as such. “Liu Kang left you to keep guard?” Bi-Han scoffs, finally letting your jaw go and taking in your restrained form once again.

“From outside threats,” you correct with a low huff. You were already upset being restrained and Bi-Han chastising you was of no help.

Bi-Han gives a cold chuckle in response. The tendrils around your limbs undulate over your skin. It feels.. strange. 

Your hands flex, wrists twisting to see if the things would loosen up at least a little. They don’t. In fact, they tighten a bit more. 

The ones around your legs, however, force your legs to spread apart even as you try to keep them closed. Holy hell, they were strong. What were these things made out of??

Another tendril pops up between your legs, immediately making itself comfortable and pressing against your groin, pushing and kneading against it. “What are you-?” You start to say but your words trail off into a quiet groan as the tendril begins massaging you through your pants, encouraging your cock to respond to its touch.

“Still as easy to please as ever,” Bi-Han says, stepping between your legs to take your chin in his hand again. He forces you to look up at him as the tendril begins to apply more pressure, massaging more intentionally. How the hell did he still remember what made you tick?

And why did your body still respond to it? It’s not long before the tendril moves away, revealing the lovely tent in your trousers. 

Bi-Han tears his gaze away from your face to look at your crotch. His eyes narrow and you can only assume his face has turned into a sneer. “Pathetic,” he chuckles.

Your heart jumps, breath hitching. You swear you can feel your cock twitch too. You were always embarrassed how your body reacted when Bi-Han called you pathetic in that low growl of his. 

His claws dig into your cheeks again while he brings his free hand to palm you (quite roughly) through your pants. Gods forbid he’s ever gentle with you. And gods forbid that you don’t respond to it.

You grit your teeth but your body betrays you. Your hips twitch and jerk as much as they can against the tendrils. Choked breaths manage to slip through your teeth, your eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep quiet. You couldn’t give in.

Cold lips find your jaw and that’s all it takes to do you in. Your back arches away from the chair, your head falling back against the chair as Bi-Han kisses along your jaw. His lips feel the same. They’re the same cold, chapped lips. It surprises you. 

They trail across your jaw down to your neck. Where he bites you. “Fuck-!” You stop yourself before you curse him specifically. To his credit, he licks over the mark in a poor attempt to soothe the pain.

His hand never stops moving against you, palming and groping you through your pants. You can no longer stop the sounds spilling from your lips. You don’t know if you care at this point.

The mix of Bi-Han’s hand on you and his lips against your neck is making your head go fuzzy. You don’t even register the tendrils around your limbs loosening until Bi-Han hauls you out of your chair. Only to bend you over your desk. The panic button is long forgotten as you use your arms to cushion your head.

You’re watching him over your shoulder, watching as he takes in your form with hungry eyes. He looks like a man starved.

You swallow when Bi-Han begins to push your shirt up your back, goosebumps rising to your skin with the action. A claw traces up your spine before it drags back down. You hiss in pain, your body telling you to pull away from the pain while your head begs for more. You can feel the warmth of your blood against your cooled skin as it seeps from the scratch.

Then, Bi-Han bends down, his tongue running over your spine, licking up the blood he’d drawn out with his claw. “Bi-Han!” You gasp out, a shiver tearing up your spine at the feeling. 

He simply chuckles against your skin, his tongue lapping at your spine until he’s got you squirming, your hips trying to push back against anything they can. “Words,” he growls out against your back.

Of course he’d make you say it..

“Please.. fuck me,” you manage out, still trying to hold onto at least a sliver of your dignity. No response and no extra movement. “Bi-Han, please,” you plead, trying to push back against him. 

You hear him click his tongue dismissively before his hands are grabbing at your hips, forcing them to keep still. You could’ve sobbed.

You know exactly what he wants. You swallow the last bit of pride you have. “Please, Grandmaster,” you force out. 

“Good,” Bi-Han basically purrs in approval. His fingers hook in the waistband of your trousers and slowly tug them down your hips and thighs to sit at your knees. Embarrassingly, you’re wearing a pair of his boxers that you ‘stole’ from him when you were dating. It’s got his name embroidered in the waistband.

And you know he knows. He plucks at the elastic, letting it snap back against your skin a few times before your boxers join your pants at your knees.

You let out a quiet gasp as the cool air of the temple hits your heated cock. You for sure feel it twitch this time. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when something cold drips onto your ass. He spat on you. Go figure. A glove lands next to your head and you just barely register what it means before two fingers are circling around your hole, smearing the spit around. At least he took the damned clawed glove off.

The tip of his finger teases you, pushing against your taint a few times without breaching. You’re about to open your mouth when he finally pushes a finger inside. You can’t bite back your groan. 

Bi-Han loved the sight before him. Having you on your stomach under him like this was like honey to him. Something so.. addicting about being in control of your pleasure. Watching you try to stay still to please him. 

His finger pumps in and out of you and he watches how it disappears inside you, listens to the sounds you make. The quiet hisses, the soft moans and keens don’t escape him. 

A second finger joins the first and you let out another kiss with the stretch. It had been a while since you’d last gotten intimate with anyone. Considering the last time you’d gotten intimate with another person, the person had been Bi-Han before he betrayed Liu Kang.

He’s surprisingly gentle with you as he scissors you open, prepping you meticulously. He finally allows you to begin to meet the movements of his fingers. And you take full advantage of it, pushing back against his fingers, matching his movements.

A third and a fourth are quick to join after that. The stretch is pleasant after a few moments and it’s not much longer before you’re wanting more. You voice as much to Bi-Han. “More.. please,” you rasp. “Grandmaster,” you add quickly.

You hear him growl behind you but his fingers are quick to leave you clenching on nothing as he pulls them out. Metal clinks behind you as Bi-Han undoes his belt and you feel more spit drip onto your ass. Then, you feel the head of his cock push against your taint. 

You take a deep breath to brace yourself. Bi-Han does not grant the time to do so, his hips pushing forward and breaching you. It brings a pained gasp from you and your body tensing around him. It does little to deter Bi-Han who continues pushing into you until he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.

One hand grips your hip, the other pressing against your upper back to keep you still as he pulls out a little, just to push back in slowly. He continues doing as much, pulling out a little more each time until your body relaxed enough for him to pick up the pace. 

He’s not gentle about it once he’s sure you’re not in too much pain. Bi-Han fucks you hard and fast, his hips slamming into yours, the sound echoing between your choked moans of pain and pleasure. 

He grunts and huffs above you, calling you pathetic a couple more times just to hear the embarrassed whines that leave your lips when he does. The hand on your back moves and you’re just vaguely aware as it wraps around your neck.

Bi-Han hauls you up, your back now flush against his chest. He holds you in place by your neck, tilting your head back just enough to kiss you. God, he needs chapstick. His tongue pushes into your mouth when you moan, tasting you. What used to be his.

You grip the edge of the desk for dear life. Until his hand starts squeezing around your neck. You grab his wrist, not yet pulling it away from you. Bi-Han parts from the kiss, watching you pant as you catch your breath.

His fingers press against your pulse points. He can feel your heart racing underneath them as he slowly starts applying more pressure. He gleefully watches as your eyes lid and unfocus. A light squeeze around his wrist, however, makes him lessen his grip again, letting you gasp for breath.

“Good boy. You remember,” he praises against your ear. Your breath hitches and your cock twitches with the praise. Your head still felt fuzzy, your vision swimming. But god did you love it. 

His hand remains on your neck as he continues to fuck you, his hips becoming more and more erratic as he chases his orgasm. His lips meet your neck, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around your cock and jerk you off sloppily. You pant Bi-Han’s name like a mantra, begging for release from your Grandmaster.

A choked gasp tears from you when Bi-Han starts choking you again. He doesn’t ease you in this time, squeezing your neck to the point you’re sure you’re going to pass out. The edges of your vision begin to fade and you know you’re treading a thin line.

 He lets you go completely when you squeeze his wrist a second time and you fall forward against the desk again. A hand lands by your head as Bi-Han steadies himself against the desk. His hand continues pumping your cock, using your precum to make the glide easier.

Your moans mix with his grunts as you get closer and you can barely warn him before you’re coming, shooting spend onto the front of the desk. Bi-Han feels you go limp under him when your orgasm hits you and he pulls out, pumping his cock until he’s making a mess of your ass and the backs of your thighs.

You’re vaguely aware of the feeling of cum sliding down your skin. It’s not until a rag touches your skin that you come back a little. 

Bi-Han cleans you up quickly before pulling your pants back up for you. He leaves you leaned against the desk, watching you try to regain your bearings. Your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath.

He’d put his glove back on at some point, two clawed fingers gripping your chin and forcing your head up to look at him. “Your Grandmaster is the only one who can make you feel like this, do you understand?”

You nod at first. The grip on your chin tightens and you groan quietly. “Yes, Grandmaster,” you manage to rasp out. 

Bi-Han lets out a content huff and tilts your head back to admire the big bruise around your neck. That won’t be going away for a while. “Now, tell me how to get out of here,” he demands.

You shake your head and, for a second, Bi-Han gives you a look of utter confusion before the look disappears. Before he can respond, however, you can hear the door to the temple creak open. 

Bi-Han glares at you and you just smile weakly as you bring your hand out from under the desk, the button underneath dimly flashing. “Apologies, Grandmaster.”

[sunnysynergy]

what is zath and how do i worship it?

I don’t know what I expected to happen after that post but *deep fucken breath*

Zath is an old shift-shapey boi with a deep hatred for humans and a strong affinity for insects. His entire existence is basically a secret from the public, partially so no one will freak out over the very confirmable existence of alien life, and partially so his Grand Scheme to Destroy The World won’t be infringed upon, which is why every 10-20 years or so he has to send his totally-just-dogs-and-not-a-hivemind after some poor stranger who found out Too Much and fake their deaths before they try to tell someone. So if you’re curious on how to worship him, keeping your eyes and mouth closed and shutting down anyone who won’t is one way he’ll accept

[just-pineapple-responses]

Just curious, how many shower thought (response) blogs are there? I just dived into this side of tumblr (not gonna make any posts its fun to read though) and I'm already losing my mind

Well there is

The. Literal. Sun.

Plasma...

S p a c e

ALL HAIL THE LIGHT

The void. It shall consume ALL.

A typewriter incase anyone wants to write their will before they die

Also some ink, not related to the typewriter

Also some words, I wonder who'll use them

A hat with no maker and a maker with no hat

The pen is mightier than the sword. It just so happens that this one is evil. Luckily I can summon multiple

Anyone order some coffee?

Ooo, an author

The literal embodiment if of fanart

A fork, nom noms

B҉ r҉ o҉ k҉ e҉ n҉ 

Soap

Soap(for hair)

Toothpaste

🄵🄰🅄🄲🄴🅃

Towel

Bath mat

Washcloth

Bathtub

Bathwater

𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕓𝕠𝕞𝕓

Bubblebath!

One (1) bath boi

Some M͓̽o͓̽l͓̽d͓̽ (anybody got some strong disinfectant?)

Nvm, the mold has already caused a plague (gettit?) (although user misspelled it)

Nevermind, there's already a parasite here

Mirror

Door!!!

Some curtains

A denim jacket

Blackout

Rainbow

✨ Magic ✨

*Tree poses to assert dominance*

Coconut

(obviously me)

I think popeye dropped a tin of spinch and it became sentient?

Tost

Hummus. dip tost?

Criss Cross applesauce

Wibbly wobbly Wibbly wobbly jellyo

Mmmm océan s o u p

Some poison, a great addition for my soup

Smol bean

Potat

Shower magpie who I haven't seen in a while

Bird (brain)

Frog(×2:Electric Boogaloo)

An axolotl!

Ferret

*looks at smudged writing on hand. Squints. * a raccoon

Stinky bastard man (I just had to put the two next to each other)

Rat.

Becometh crab 🦀 (x2: Electric Boogaloo)

Nya~

Edgy Nya~

Tripod of dog

Brain

Nina i found one of your neurons (if you understand this reference, good job you)

A rotted brain, keep it away before it infects us all, I only have 2 braincells left

Did... Did someone drop their spinal cord?

The almighty binch

The titanic

Narrator

Water based introspection

Existential crisis

Dumbass

Also a pacifier (get it because they're also called dummies and their name is dummy)

A foolish thought to say a sorry sight join the shower community (as you can tell we did Shakespeare in English so many times i pretty much can recite everything lady macbeth said)

ADHD

Ominous

Anonymous

Anxious 🥺👉👈

Some edgy bastard

A person of culture I see (although obsessed with tweed for some reason)

1 Dapper boi

Sarcastic

nice

All smiles and sunshine

HAPPY! (why isn't there yellow 😔)

Affection (Derogatory) (I'm sorry I just felt like it)

~Petty~

Idiot

Disaster

Chaos and Order

Comebacks

'vanishing'

Defences

Threatened

Op is on drugs

All the F s

And F-general

Get out of the shower

Shower responses

Dry

The horny and the simp

Shower sins

Thower shoughts

I take quick showers

Shower thots

Last responder *countdown music*

You have shower thoughts?

Your shower thoughts are stupid

Wtf shower thoughts

Another shower responder

MORE

Just shower responses... responses

Response shower

NO SHOWER! only thought (×3)

Mmm, showery

Penny for your thoughts?

Hello darkness my old friend...

Llawyer

Beepbeep

Prussia

Haywire!!!

furry OwO

A Pigeon got in through the door, who left it open?

I'm feeling devious

You're looking glamorous, let's get mischievous, and polyamorous

Gay is stored in the ass

Gay

Trans

*opens door and walks through with you exaggeratedly* Fellas we got the whole LGBTQIA+ community right here

Enby

Hahaha gender go brrr

Lesbian

Lesbian-thot

Lust

Someone who thinks it funny to clown around

Joker (derogatory)

Haha straight

Dead inside

Some supervillain idk

News. Literally a shower news style responses

r

I cannot believe that I forgot Her Greatest Majesty, the Queen. All Hail Royal

Isaac newton?

M megamind?

Fiftieth

Crackhead

Some Phoenix Wright kinnie

What is a Dean Winchester and why does he have a tentacle fetish?

Well well well, if it ain't a homestuckian

Did someone kill/rob The Doctor or something, their TARDIS was left behind and its blocking my pretzels that I left in the shower

Mined crafts uwu

Well well well, if it ain't- *accidentally makes eye contact and is then killed by some unknown shadowy creature holding what seems to be some sort of cube of dirt*

GOTTA GO FAST

Mishamishamishamishamishamishamisha

Gen Z and ready to throw hands with OP

Not puki

Nom noms

Dip dap

Kensa

B͓̽u͓̽n͓̽g͓̽e͓̽r͓̽ ..........

Someone broke their space bar or something

It's time to d-d-d-d-d-dshower

The magical deity of sleepovers

DON'T FALL ASLEEP. NO MATTER WHAT THEY TELL YOU-

The muffin man genuinely left drury Lane for this

Txmblr

Moonlit nights on a winters day, stars glimmering gently

A child?

🟥

The fae. Just all of them. Every single one.

Crocus? (What on earth does that mean)

*sings* baba blacksheep have you any wool? Because if not you will be killed (this fits the tune perfectly. If not I have failed in everything)

The theatre itself is here... Somehow

Ahoy-hoy

boo

REEEE- *epic geometry dash gameplay to DanTDM's old intro music*

Yardale, not to be mistaken for riverdale and differs to lawn ale or front porch ale or even meter ale

I'll finish this list later

It's gonna be a long one folks

I'm including a ones that haven't spoken since ages ago because

Boy howdy there's new ones tell me who I'm missing now

Please stop thank you very much this is too many i keep having to add to this any new responder must kill a responder to continue the purge shall claim y'all as I will win i recently started watching Danganronpa

Seriously though everyone after mirror must have a battle royale it's too much i doubt all of you will even last longer than today also happy birthday me -dated:28th- do you even realise what sort of commitment you've made to sell pieces of your soul for entertainment and ability to make such epic retorts each and every post?! I sacrifice many souls DAILY to be throwing such bangers into this stuff y'know?

We have a tap guys we can finally wash our hands of all the blood of our enemies

Seriously though who left the door open I don't want a Pigeon pecking at me (the mishapocalypse got them lol)

So many responders so little time before the end of the world

If I'm missing someone please tell me very thank

There are not enough colours for me to assign a different one to each person 😔 also, wtf is on there twice on purpose

WorldHealthOrganisation IS MISSING (note: you may have a joke in place of name or under a category of names)

So there's lore without me?

ALL HAIL THE LIGHT *moth noises*

Okay now there's alternate timeline versions of responders for the benefit of myself they ain't going on the list bud

There is an incorrect role play blog quotes blog and I am crying. Not of laughter. Just wiuwhdhsjhshjxjabjsjdhdjsj

If any new people join I will go back to causing shower wars for the sake of killing you all I'm done I have snapped my laptop is updating 3 times in a row

I will commit crimes.

Does being a shower responder or role-playing seem encouraging to people to join this "community"? Because I'm pretty sure it's the latter

[amillionsmiles]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been standing there?”

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

“Sorry, I’m taken by science.”

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

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

“What?”

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

*

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

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

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

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

Statistically speaking, it’s probably option three.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little.”

“I mean, if you have an alternative…”    

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

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

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

“Hunk.”

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

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

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

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

“We should do this more often.”

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

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

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

*

“Lance.  Laaaaance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cygnus?”

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

Pidge frowns. “What makes you say that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the doorway, Pidge pauses.

A theory: it will hurt if she looks back.

It’ll hurt more if she doesn’t.

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

*

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

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

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

*

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

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

“So, you come out here to rock out?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s you, Pidge.”

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

“What?” she says, a little shrill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Interesting.”

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

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

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

[yeysal]

I Wrote A Thing

Still writing! I’m still taking my time and trying to make these stories as best as I can. They are very important to me. Currently, I’m up to speed with The Maze rewrite and should be posting the next chapter (relatively) soon. 

Below the cut is a short part of what happens after the events set in The Maze.

Just a reminder that the rewrite of The Maze veers off on an entirely different set of events. 

I hope you enjoy this! No warnings needed!

Thank you for reading. Feedback is much appreciated!

Thursday, May 30, 2016 - Gravity Falls, Oregon

Dipper stretched his legs out, the movement causing his hips to slide further down in the folding chair. The position was hardly comfortable but he couldn’t bring himself to move. After all, a body not in motion stays in...not in motion. As he stared at the ceiling of the long-abandoned spaceship, he wondered if the aliens who occupied it ever needed to change the lightbulbs.

Did they even need them? Dipper made a mental note to check for any supply closets once he was finished extracting the alien adhesive from the stones and metal plates. The substance was slower than molasses and Dipper had already been here for two hours waiting for one plate to drain completely.

He had ten plates waiting behind it.

“Ugh.” Dipper was bored out of his fucking mind.

His sigh echoed off the walls and he counted the seconds it took for it to fade away. “Cipher.” The echo of his voice nearly startled him.

No response. Dipper groaned, “Cipher.”

Dipper felt a small prod in the back of his head but no response. He rolled his eyes, “I know you’re there.”

Still nothing. Feeling defeated and slightly annoyed, Dipper rubbed the back of his neck and stood up and decided to check on the plate. Unfortunately, it still had about four inches of adhesive left and Dipper calculated that it would probably take another three hours for it to completely drip off. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to his tent and thought he would work on his journal.

Ever since he had agreed to assist Cipher four years ago, he had been detailing his findings in his own journal. While he always believed in the supernatural, Dipper’s discoveries were beyond what he ever imagined. He couldn’t decide if the conspiracies were better before or after they were proved or busted.

Some were better found than others and Dipper wondered if digging was even worth the scars. He thought if he could go back to the start, the day he decided to summon that stupid maze, and determine whether he would do it all over again knowing where he’d end up, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Mentally, Dipper had never been better. He wasn’t weighted by his old insecurities and, truthfully, his confidence blossomed exponentially. Obviously those results were keepers. He still cared deeply for his family, especially Mabel, and he didn’t let his ambition cloud his judgment when it came to family time. Still, he wouldn’t let himself be tied down.

The maze, as stressful and pain-inducing as it was, freed him from his ghosts.

On the flip side, it was the company that came with the finish line that he resented. Having Cipher as his mind-companion was as annoying as expected when it was pitched in its infancy. Dipper wasn’t sure if that made it more bearable. Cipher was essentially a sadistic talking encyclopedia in his head at all times. Dipper learned more about insignificant things like the fact that there are more ants on the Earth than humans; yet, was frustratingly mum on other ground-breaking discoveries that Dipper would rather learn about.

It also didn’t help that Cipher was no teacher by any means. Dipper learned quickly that any task set by Cipher was always going to be a trial by fire. Dipper was thankful to be alive despite suspecting that Cipher most likely intervened in each near death experience so that he wouldn’t have to wait around for another puppet to potentially complete the maze.

Overall, it was a “decent” relationship. They didn’t talk much, which came as a surprise to Dipper. When Cipher wasn’t nudging him in a certain direction he was usually making Dipper’s life a living hell. It was like having a silent roommate that only activated their annoying behavior during a full moon and Dipper wished that Cipher was that predictable.

Dipper hummed out a few beats of a pop song stuck in his head as he fanned through the pages of his journal. His frowned deepened when he had nothing to add and nothing to edit. He grabbed his laptop, checking on his electronic journal for anything to update and drummed his fingers on his knees impatiently as he waited for it to boot up. He groaned when he saw that he had already updated the journal only a few hours ago.

Determined to keep his mind occupied, Dipper found himself making an outline for his next article to submit to Paranormal Investigations, a website that Dipper submitted some of his more low-grade discoveries. The pay was decent and he quickly became one of the website’s most respected contributors. Currently, he was in a contract with them to produce an article every two weeks and he was, of course, up to date. He had submitted his last article a few days ago, having it approved almost immediately.

Dipper outlined the subject and within two hours, his next article was fully drafted. At this rate, he would have his articles lined up without having to do that much work each week.

Dipper sighed and figured he’d try prodding Cipher again. It felt odd to wear the other shoe for once. “Cipher.”

Silence.

Dipper pursed his lips and he smiled as an idea sprouted like a weed in the grass. He grabbed his phone and opened his music app, selecting one of Mabel’s playlists. He scrolled until he found that synthetic song with the relaxing undertones and selected it. The slow tune faded in slowly and increased an volume the longer it went. A nice, fifteen-minute instrumental.

Dipper set his phone down in his cleaned out soup bowl which amplified the sound and the tent livened up with music. While it wasn’t Dipper’s favorite song, he was willing to take the heat in order to get the prize. The prodding in the back of his head intensified and Dipper grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

You are incredibly irritating today. It was odd to hear Cipher sound so fed up.

Pleased, Dipper grabbed the phone and lowered the volume, “Nice to know you’re alive.”

Oh please. You’d throw a party in the event of my demise.

Dipper hummed, “Can’t deny that.”

Your disappointment helps me sleep at night.

Dipper scoffed, “You need sleep?”

No.

“Okay, look,” Dipper said sternly, “You told me that I can’t leave the ship unless it’s an emergency and this is a little boring.”

Silence.

Dipper groaned and urged again, “There’s nothing to do here…”

More silence.

“I’m tempted to leave the ship to spite you…” He hoped the implication would spark a conversation.

He was met with more silence.

Angry, Dipper increased the volume of the music and then crawled out of the tent, storming over to the now adhesive-free plate, carefully picking up a new one and fixing it to the suspender so that it allowed the glowing pink substance to drain into the large jar.

Looks like you have plenty to do.

“Ugh!” Dipper threw the cleaned plate across the room and the metallic clank echoed loudly, “Will you just humor me for five seconds!” he yelled over the sound of the music, “I’ve been down here all day under the pretense that I’ve been ‘camping’ for the sake of your little experiment, which, by the way, you’ve told me nothing about!”

You’re on a ‘need-to-know’ basis.

“So if you’re not going to tell me why I’m collecting this weird alien goo, can you at least tell me a little bit about the aliens who crash landed here?!”

Why?

“Well, maybe I want to know if they crashed here on purpose or on accident,” he listed off, “I want to know if whatever’s going on in Gravity Falls caused it to crash here or if they came here because they were just touring the galaxy, or, I don’t know, just maybe, I want to know because it’s an alien ship that’s been sitting here, unnoticed, for the last ten thousand years!”

Dipper knew his face was red. He was taking deep breaths and his heart was racing. He didn’t realize how loud he was until he heard the silence that followed his rant. Meanwhile, the flowery and upbeat syntho vibes echoed beyond the tent. It was actually starting to piss Dipper off.

Hm. Cipher sounded like he was smiling. You’re not ready.

“Oh my god…” Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, “I completed your maze, I fought and subdued a shapeshifter living in the town, I wrangled an army of gnomes by myself after you instigated them; how could I not be ready for this?”

There’s this subtle desperation in your voice.

Dipper blinked, expecting for Cipher to continue. When he didn’t, Dipper grumbled, “And…?”

It’s funny.

Defeated, Dipper scrunched his eyes shut and sank down to the floor, covering his mouth as he listened to the adhesive drip slowly into the jar. It would be getting full soon. Dipper reached for an empty jar and quickly switched it out.

Cipher wasn’t going to entertain him with anything. Not even answers. He couldn’t even get the music to work at this point. Silently admitting defeat, he stood up and walked back over to his tent, crawling inside, turning that damned music off, and curling up on his sleeping bag. He dimmed the lantern a bit and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come soon.

The last few days were finally catching up to him and he felt the lull of slumber relaxing all of the tension in his muscles. The room was just the right temperature, the lighting was perfect, and Dipper knew that he would probably get the best sleep of his life if he fell asleep right now. Everything was quiet until...

If you’re not too busy…

Dipper groaned, “Are you kidding me?”

You looked so relaxed, I had to fix it.

“Dammit, Cipher…”

In all seriousness, you can actually be asleep for this.

Dipper groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He was tempted to ignore it but his curiosity outweighed his concern, “What is it..?”

We’ve been friends for a while-

“I don’t know if I’d use the term ‘friends.’”

Rude. Sounds like your problem. Anyway, there is one thing that you might be ready for.

Dipper bristled, “Okay?”

You know about the millions of dimensions, thousands where you and I exist, hundreds where we interact, and the very few in which those interactions are actually positive.

“This one not being one of them, I imagine,” Dipper mused as he shifted onto his back and stared at the folds in his tent. “You’re talking about your-”

Yes. The reincarnations of the energy that was taken from me. You know that when those die, they’re returned to me and I absorb that energy, soaking in everything it lived. You want to learn something fun, right? I’m going to show you one of those lives while you sleep.

Dipper didn’t like the insinuation behind Cipher’s words but he was curious, “Like a dream?”

In a way. It’ll take a good thirteen hours for that adhesive to fully finish draining. That’s plenty of time for you to take in at least half of that life.

Dipper gaped, “I’m going to be asleep for thirteen hours?!”

You haven’t slept the past fifty-two hours. You should be thanking me.

“Oh…” Dipper was anxious about seeing whatever Cipher was going to show him. It didn’t feel right. “This isn’t going to be like, mentally traumatizing, or whatever?”

Cipher actually laughed in response. Pine Tree, you are a riot. Time to hit the hay.

The next thing Dipper felt was the heavy weight of sleep.

[animationnut]

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 23

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper   and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of   e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls.

                                                    Chapter List

To: Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick), Grunkle Stan (StantheMan), Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject: Déjà vu

Hey!

So you remember all those months ago when Dipper went through the ceiling of the attic? I'm sure you do because it was hilarious. But now I'm trapped in the attic, and it's not hilarious from this end. The door is stuck and not opening. I don't have my cellphone on me, so if one of you could contact Dipper for me that would be great.

Much love,

Mabel

Wiping her dust-streaked hands on her black purple-dotted leggings, Mabel moved the laptop she was using over to the corner of the attic. It had been a stroke of luck that she discovered it, rifling through yellow-stained boxes in search of something to pry the door open.

Some of the keys were missing, but if she pressed down hard enough she could make them work. There was a crack spider-webbing down the right corner of the screen and the battery life was practically non-existent, so the frayed, taped-up charger stretched from one of the attic's electrical sockets.

"Whew. Okay. Communication established. Now to wait for a response."

She lifted a box to remove it from her path and dropped it on an already precarious stack. A cloud of dust rushed up, causing her to erupt in a series of sneezes. She hunched over slightly, hand moving to cover her nose and mouth. When her sinuses were as clear as could be such a tight, dirty atmosphere, she straightened.

"Geez, it's stuffy in here."

Mabel moved over to the window, stepping carefully across the wooden beams, not wanting to re-enact Dipper's through-the-floor routine. She reached the window and gripped the bottom, the paint chipping off at her touch. With a few grunts and a lot of strength, she managed to wrench the window upwards, releasing a flurry of white paint and more dust. A breeze drifted through the open space and Mabel gulped in the fresh air.

Now it was a little easier to breathe, Mabel set her hands on her hips and regarded her situation. The boxes she had rifled through yielded nothing but old baby stuff, faded books and holiday decorations. Though there were still some boxes remaining, she doubted they would hold anything of use to her. Most of the tools were kept in the shed in the backyard and despite her strong power of imagination, she figured a crowbar wouldn't materialize anytime soon.

Mabel went over to door and yanked on the knob, even though she knew it was futile. The wooden door rattled in its frame, but would not budge. Shrugging her shoulders, Mabel picked her way back to the laptop and brightened when she discovered a string of new messages.

Mabel Pines: Hey! So you remember all those months ago when Dipper went through the ceiling of the attic? I'm sure you do because it was hilarious. But now I'm trapped in the attic, and it's not hilarious from this end. The door is stuck and not opening. I don't have my cellphone on me, so if one of you could contact Dipper for me that would be great.

Wendy Corduroy: Geez what is with you guys and attics?

Grunkle Stan: You runts lived in one for three months without a problem. Now they're trying to kill you.

Grunkle Ford: I would say that it's illogical that a room has the sentience to try and kill you but let me tell you that there are some terrifying and freaky things in the multi-dimension.

Soos Ramirez: Wait, if you don't have your cellphone, how are you contacting us? Do you have special powers?

Mabel Pines: I wish. The power of teleportation would really come in handy right now. I found one of Dad's old laptops up here, and it still works, so yay! A victory for me.

Grunkle Stan: I'll give your brother a call, pumpkin.

Mabel Pines: Thanks, Grunkle Stan! Tell him to bring a crowbar. Or a saw.

Grunkle Ford: How long have you been trapped?

Mabel Pines: I honestly don't know. The little clock in the corner of the laptop screen is blurred, so I can't read it. Is it still February?

Soos Ramirez: I think so. Haven't checked the calendar today, though, so I'm not sure.

Wendy Corduroy: Not even gonna go there. Yo, Mabel, you could use the hole Dipper made last time and drop into your living room.

Mabel Pines: We patched it up pretty good last time, so I don't think I'll be able to pry the boards off with just my hands. I could probably go out the window and onto the roof. I dunno how the neighbours will react to my grappling hook, though. My parents still don't know I have it.

Grunkle Ford: I think it would be best if you waited for your brother.

Soos Ramirez: That can be your backup plan, hambone. Is it a far drop?

Mabel Pines: About three stories, and there are some bushes below. I could probably make it without my grappling hook.

Wendy Corduroy: That's maybe a little bit higher than when you jumped off the Mystery Shack roof trying to fly.

Grunkle Ford: …what?

Mabel Pines: It was an experiment.

Soos Ramirez: She got some good altitude.

Grunkle Ford: Yes, you most definitely share the genes of Stan and I. I am both proud and slightly concerned by this.

Blueprints stretched across the oak table of the library, Dipper and his robotic club members started the beginning stages of constructing their robot for the annual Piedmont Junior Robo-Brawl. Dipper tapped his pencil idly against the edge, listening to his teammates discuss possible improvements and chiming in to voice his own suggestions.

An insistent buzzing in his pocket caused him to pause his note taking. He took a peek at the caller ID and immediately stood up when he realized it was Stan. "I'll be right back," he informed the group and quickly walked outside, squinting against the bright rays of the sun. "Hey, Grunkle Stan. What's up?"

"Your sister, all the way up in the attic."

Dipper blinked, surprised by this unexpected information, and then grinned. "Did she fall through the ceiling?"

"It's rude to wish your twin in such a humiliating predicament."

"I'm taking that as a no. And that's real rich coming from the guy who bust a gut when it happened to me."

"I'm a guy who appreciates humour. Mabel's trapped in the attic and didn't have her phone, so I'm summoning you to go rescue her."

"Got it. I'm on my way. Thanks, Grunkle Stan."

"No problem. And you runts really need to stay out of your attic."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Dipper jogged into the library to tell his club members that he had to leave to help his sister, and started for home. He noticed the e-mail notifications and started to read through the messages, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

Dipper Pines: I'll be there in twenty minutes. Which is about the length of time it took for you to come help me.

Mabel Pines: Come on, bro! That's not cool!

Wendy Corduroy: You're loving this, aren't you?

Dipper Pines: Very much so.

Soos Ramirez: It's funny that you both got stuck in the attic.

Dipper Pines: It's very funny. And I would say there's a good dose of karma being dished out here, considering how hard she laughed at me.

Mabel Pines: Ha ha, I get it. I probably had this coming. But you're not getting any karma points for laughing at me now, mister.

Dipper Pines: I am fully aware of this and willingly admit that I'm no more mature than you are when it comes to taking amusement out of our misfortunes.

Mabel Pines: So long as you admit it.

Grunkle Ford: Good luck, kids. Try not to get too crazy getting that door open.

Mabel Pines: We'll try, but I don't think this door is going to survive.

Wendy Corduroy: Use an axe. Axes always help.

Soos Ramirez: Pretend you're in an action movie. It'll give you a ton of motivation.

Grunkle Stan: Take a picture of the aftermath. I can't wait to see this.

Dipper Pines: Will do. Update you in a bit!

Kicking off his sneakers, Dipper made a beeline for the attic, taking the stairs two at a time. "Mabel?"

"Bro, I'm dying of thirst!"

"No you aren't." Dipper gripped the knob with both hands and pulled with all his might. "Geez," he groaned when it didn't budge. "What did you do, decorate this with superglue?"

"Less quips and more rescuing. I don't have anything in here to help out."

"I'll go find something to get this dumb thing open. Don't go anywhere."

"And you say Grunkle Stan has bad jokes."

"Runs in the family."

Dipper made his way out into the backyard, crossing the browned grass towards the sagging garden shed tucked away against the fence. He nudged open the door and batted away some cobwebs. He picked through his father's toolbox, eyeing the hammer and screwdriver with some thought before giving his head a shake.

"Crowbar, crowbar…"

After some careful rifling through a crate, he found the desired object. Taking the metal object, he rushed back into the house and up the stairs. "Got it," he said.

"Got what? A saw?"

"We don't own a saw, first off. We're in a Californian suburb. I got a crowbar though. So let's see how this goes."

Digging it between the cracks, Dipper braced one foot against the wall and pushed down on the bar. He felt Mabel pushed from the other side, trying to add more force to dislodge the door from its hinges. It took a few minutes but finally it gave way. Dipper scrambled backwards to avoid being struck and the door clattered to the hardwood with a bang.

Dipper wasn't quite sure how old their house was, but considering how the door broke apart on impact, he could take a good guess. Splinters scattered across the floor, the rusted doorknob clattered and rolled and there was a massive crack snacking down the middle of the door.

"Freedom!" whooped Mabel, charging from the attic and going down the stairs.

Dipper kicked aside some screws and followed after her, crowbar dangling next to his side. He found her in the kitchen, guzzling down some water. "Do you need a tetanus shot?"

"Nope. Maybe an inhaler to get rid of all the dust I inhaled." Mabel wiped lingering drops of water off of her mouth and set the glass down. "Thanks for the save, Dipper."

"Anytime." Dipper placed the crowbar on the table and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know what we're going to do about the door, though."

"We'll just get a new one," Mabel said. "Can't be too hard to install a door."

"Mom and Dad will notice a new attic door."

Mabel glanced at him in amusement. "Mom and Dad haven't noticed there's a patch of paint on the living room ceiling that doesn't quite match the rest. I don't think they'll notice the door's a different shade of brown and has a new knob."

"Fair point. Okay. Let's go door shopping. Which is probably something no other thirteen-year-old does. But first, we have to clean up the mess."

"I call the vacuum!" cheered Mabel, hurrying off to collect the object.

"Don't suck up the curtains this time!"

To: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude)

From: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

Subject: Door didn't survive

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Managed to rescue Mabel from our evil attic. On the bright side she found an old functional laptop I could use later for an experiment or something. We couldn't save the door, but it's for the best. This is what happened to it afterwards.

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Grunkle Ford: You certainly did a number on it, Dipper.

Grunkle Stan: Looks like all that work I made you do with the axe paid off.

Dipper Pines: We don't own an axe, so I used a crowbar to get the door off. But yeah, all the wood chopping you forced me to do totally helped me out.

Wendy Corduroy: You did that with a crowbar? What, did you just wail on it?

Soos Ramirez: Dude, that sounds like fun.

Mabel Pines: Dang I wish I thought of that. It's not often we get to bash things with tools.

Dipper Pines: It was so old it broke when it hit the floor.

Grunkle Stan: That's showing it whose boss.

Mabel Pines: Now we just have one more thing to take care of.

Grunkle Ford: What's that?

Dipper Pines: I don't suppose any of you know how to install a door?