To Be Sheltered 01Chapter 1: "Forgetting the Remembrance"
"Overall, Stanford Pines made an incredible impression in my life, and I strive to be half the person he was. Everyone who knew him is right to feel the same, and I encourage you all to let him take refuge in your hearts. Thank you all so much for coming."
Stanford Pines' eulogy is harder to say out loud than Mabel had originally thought it would be, and she nearly crumbles in the midst of her speech before recollecting herself. She's angry at herself for seeming upset. Had the circumstances been different, she would not have. She had always expected to cry at her grunkle's passing, but she expected to be crying at the simple fact that he was dead.
She doesn't cry for this reason.
When Ford Pines died, naturally she was sad. It's always sad when someone or something dies. But she doesn't cry at the thought like Dipper or Stan did. She doesn't feel like she had lost a member of her family. She feels like she's lost a neighbor or maybe one of her t
That was all that Wheatley had known of for the past... hour? Day? Year? He really couldn't tell anymore. All passage of time had simply blurred together after his escapade back in the facility, back on Earth. When he wasn't stranded in space. Time was just an intangible figment now; it really didn't matter anymore.
The part that really hurt was the emptiness, though. Not just because he was in space, with nearly nothing (or nothing of importance, anyway) in presence of him; there were the stars, still same as before... the moon, still gleaming it's faint silver, almost mocking him by it's omnitemporal presence, reminding him endlessly of the event that had forced him here in the first place. And then there was Earth, which was the start of it all. Oh god, he couldn't even think of the Earth.
The part that really, really hurt the most wasn't the emptiness around him, though; it was the emptiness he kept feeling inside.
...Why did he have
Billdip: You Dont UnderstandThe brunette opened his hazel eyes, confused. For a moment, he couldn't remember who he was. Then he blinked, and a name came to him. Lebam. Then a second one came to him, this one a bit more comfortable. Dipper. He groaned, sitting up, a bit more memory coming to him. The nineteen year old was dressed in a black t-shirt with a jean jacket over it, rolled up to his elbows to expose the tattoo that stretched from his wrist to his elbow. He wore roughspun beige cargo shorts that hung low on his hips, the cotton belt looping around it not serving any sort of purpose other than to hold four gun holsters, and even one for a blade of sorts, and black combat boots that had several dark substances splattered on them that one could only guess at (not that they'd ever want to know). He stood shakily, feeling the comforting chill of sharp metal against his ankle, and he glanced down to see the leather tip of the knife peeking out from his right boot. His brown hair curled around his ears, the lef