Do you think Jesse and Torrey are dating? I really hope they aren't, I want Jesse and Sophia to be together. And I'll be really upset if he's dating Torrey. I don't ship them with anyone else. 💔😭
Really? Why does it matter who they are or aren’t dating? If yesterday has taught us anything it’s that life is too short. People died, young beautiful amazing people and others understandably terrified, and scarred for life. And yet some of us are worrying about some petty shit, like whether or not this celebrity is dating that celebrity, or whether or not you ship it. I mean come on. Life’s too short. If for nothing else live life for those who don’t get to, for those who were taken too soon. But live YOUR life. Love YOUR life. Cherish YOUR life. LIFE IS TOO GOD DAMN SHORT.
“torreydevitto: These twisted Hasting sisters deserved their last own special post. I’m gonna miss working with this woman right here. Thank you, @sleepinthegardn for sharing this journey with me and being the best tv sister a girl could have! ❤️ love you!”
Hey y'all, you guys know Queering of Age? It’s the awesome fan tumblr that draws our beloved ships, and as if that wasn’t awesome enough, it’s also working hard at the DoA dating sim! Have a quick look through the archives here and you’ll find it reblogged plenty. It’s run by a longtime Shortpacked/DoA fan and all this year she’s been fundraising.
Like Becky, she lives in a toxic environment and needs to get away from her dad especially. Unfortunately, that requires money. You can donate, you can commission art for just $20, or you could just signal boost and help get the word out (which is what I’m doing by writing this!) - everything’s gonna help.
From otpprompts since Tumblr won’t let me reblog atm. I’m trying to write some everyday, so this happened. Parent AU, Adult Dipper, Billdip, etc. Also I did not do this correctly, because like Torrey I don’t follow instructions. There’s totally a Powerpuff Girls reference here, btw. :3
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Speaking with the parents of her young charges was never a fun experience for Maggie Keane. There was a marked difference in pleasant conversation and well-intended but often poorly received criticism, and while she adored the former several unpleasant run-ins with the worst kind of helicopter parents had gradually instilled an aversion to the latter. Still, it was a necessary evil, and it was this stance that she took while awaiting the arrival of Torrey C. Pines’ father that afternoon.
The five year old in question was in the process of building a rather complicated pyramid out of a set of weathered wooden blocks by herself when she perked up, vivid hazel eyes fixed on the door (sometimes Maggie would’ve sworn they were actually the color of newly minted gold, when the little girl fixed her intense gaze on her teacher and held it for a few seconds longer than was normal for a child her age).
Less than a minute later the door creaked open to admit a man that couldn’t be older than his late twenties; the same chestnut brown hair and similar facial features save for Torrey’s darker skintone denoted him as the child’s father.
Torrey stood up and flew across the room, leaping into his arms with a shout of joy. “Daddy!”
Torrey’s father swept her up into a tight embrace, and Maggie looked on for a moment, smiling at the warm display before approaching them.
“Excuse me? Mr. Pines, is it?”
The man grabbed at the worn blue and white cap emblazoned with what appeared to be a pine tree as his daughter clambered up onto his shoulders nimbly. “Just Dipper is fine, Ms…”
“Keane,” Maggie responded automatically. “Feel free to use Maggie. You’re a few years too old to be one of my students.”
Torrey’s father (Dipper, she guessed; that was an odd name) chuckled at the joke, and Maggie immediately felt more at ease. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Dipper?”
“Sure.” He plucked Torrey off of his back, depositing the child on the floor. “Go get your backpack while I talk to Ms. Keane, Torrey.”
Torrey looked up at Maggie for what was likely a few seconds but seemed longer, with those golden eyes scrutinizing her in a way that didn’t seem entirely human.
Then she ran off, with her mass of curls bouncing behind her.
Maggie watched her go, somewhat uneasily. It was probably just her imagination working overtime. Speaking of which…
She liked to preface ‘speaking’ with a parent with a reminder of their child’s positive attributes. “Torrey is really quite advanced for her age, Mr. P…Dipper. She already reads and writes at two grade levels above this.”
The news didn’t appear to surprise Dipper. “Oh. Yeah…we do a lot of work with her at home.”
“You and your…” Maggie racked her brain for any memories of seeing the other member of Torrey’s parentage. She recalled the first day of kindergarten, when the little girl had arrived in the arms of a slightly taller man with the same skintone, clinging to her as if unwilling to let her go. She also remembered Torrey’s father - Dipper, steering him out after handing the little girl over, chiding him for some comment that sounded suspiciously like “inferior tiny meatbags”. “Husband?”
Dipper looked off into the distance, scratching his head with what looked like embarrassment, but the soft smile on his lips said otherwise. “Pretty much. I’m kinda stuck with him at this point.”
Maggie chuckled herself. “I understand entirely. And I must say I’m impressed with your efforts.”
“There’s a ‘but’ here, right?”
Maggie nodded, retrieving a sheet of drawing paper from the desk beside her. “I fully encourage the use of my students’ imaginations, but in a…well, more appropriate setting. You see, the assignment in art class today was to draw a picture of her parents…”
Dipper took a look at the paper, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, I see.”
Torrey had not followed instructions. Her drawing consisted of nicely rendered trees and what might have been a cabin of sorts. In front of the cabin stood a pretty well-done depiction of the man standing in front of Maggie, replete with the baseball cap. Beside him was a vivid yellow triangle with what appeared to be thin black arms and legs, holding hands with her father.
“She insisted that this is what her Dad really looked like, even when I asked her to redraw it,” Maggie continued. “I appreciate artistic license, Dipper, but I would prefer it if Torrey followed instructions in the future. That said…she’s a good artist.”
“It runs in the family,” Torrey’s father muttered. At this point Torrey returned, with her rainbow knit backpack in tow.
“Can we go see Dad now?” She reached for the sheet of paper, and Maggie handed it over. “I made you and Dad! See?”
Dipper picked up his daughter again, careful to avoid wrinkling her masterpiece. “Don’t worry, Ms. Keane. Maggie. Sorry. We’ll have a talk with her tonight.”
Maggie smiled gratefully, glad to have avoided another unreasonable, confrontational parent. “Thank you, Dipper.” She turned her attention to the child in his arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Torrey.”
“Bye, Ms. Keane!” Torrey chirped, cheerfully, and Maggie decided that the dark look from before had definitely been in her head.
Torrey shifted, her forehead brushing against her father’s forearm and sweeping her bangs to the side…long enough for Maggie to notice the small dark triangle just below her hairline. It looked natural, not the result of the little girl finding a Sharpie, a mirror and a few minutes out of sight. More like a birthmark.
And then Torrey and her father were out the door, with the former chattering about her day excitedly.
Maggie stood there for a moment, trying to process what she’d just seen. It had to be a coincidence, right?
…of course it was. What else could it be?
Still, from that day forward, she didn’t object to Torrey’s fixation with drawing triangles during art class.