A Gravity Falls FanFiction.
Bells.
Disclaimer:
I don't own Gravity Falls. Alex Hirsch does.
Pacifica Northwest is sixteen months old. She's already walking, and (slightly) talking. She's cute and cuddly, and she's going to grow up to be a beautiful woman. She's the default of perfect baby. Which is perfect, Preston Northwest thinks. But not perfect enough.
...
Pacifica is two years old. She's been begging to leave her bedroom, and wants to go beyond the Nursery. That just won't do. A Northwest exploring? The idea is laughable. And, ultimately, punishable.
Preston is going to have to do something if this behavior keeps up. Hopefully she'll grow out of it. After all, she's only two.
...
Four year old Pacifica is a bright spirit. She's already persuading her friends to do things for her, like carry her bag, or do her work. Excellent. Good-looks, charisma - Pacifica has the potential to be the perfect Northwest.
Her antics have dulled down over the years. But just yesterday, he caught her playing a game with the butler, and dancing around with an empty paper-towel roll and a cardboard shield. She ran the second she saw him.
...
Pacifica is crying. Someone said she was a "meanie" at school, which isn't a good start to her first day. Even so, crying isn't going to help anyone. Only simple five year olds cry, and Pacifica isn't simple.
She's going to have to learn to turn the ones that hate her into outcasts. That's how the world works for a Northwest. Divide and conquer.
She looks terrible. With her eyes red, and tears cutting a path down her cheeks. What's worse, is that she cut her own hair. It's awful and short and terribly common. She looks just like a lower-class girl. This is unacceptable. Simply unacceptable, if she doesn't calm down and act like a true, smart, cunning and untouchable Northwest, she'll have to be punished.
And no-one wants that.
...
She's six years old, and tears are streaming down her face. Her eyes are screwed up in pain, and she's howling and screaming, "Daddy, stop!"
Preston is sure to hit her where it won't show, and where it won't effect her abilities. He's been reading a lot about psychology recently, how certain moments can be tied to certain senses. Priscilla is ringing the bell, and he's doing the dirty work.
"Pacifica, you have to do exactly what we say, from now on," he says, once she's lost her breath to scream with. "You have to be obedient. Understand, darling?"
She nods, but he knows she doesn't really comprehend it. She doesn't know why it's so important that she does what she's told. She doesn't understand how much of a weight the name Northwest has. Most of all, she doesn't understand why the cane burns her skin.
...
Seven years old, and afraid. Priscilla and Pacifica have been getting at each other's throats, but it's nothing a little "talk" can't fix.
Preston's plan has been going marvellously well. It's only been nine months, but with almost daily treatments, his bell strategy has been going quite well. He can see the way Pacifica flinches when he brings out the small bell. Would it be bad to admit he enjoys it?
He has total control over her life. Pacifica won't do anything without his permission. Everyday, Priscilla picks out her outfits, and fixes her posture. They don't talk. With a mansion as big as theirs, it's easy to avoid someone.
Pacifica spends most of her time in the Library, reading. Which is fine by him - Pacifica could do with some study. Priscilla tries to convince him to talk to her - but there's nothing to talk about. Pacifica is fine.
Everything is fine.
...
Pacifica is perfect. She's too afraid to step out of line. This is how all ten year old children should act.
He can hear her sobbing at night, but Preston doesn't let it bother him. In fact, he thinks it's best for her. Because when she goes out to hang out with her friends, and insult the other children, Pacifica's dried out and emotionless. It makes it easier for her to act like everything's fine.
Priscilla's starting to disagree with his methods - he can see it whenever he pulls the chime out of his breast-pocket. But she's too faithful to tell anyone. Or is she scared? It's getting hard to tell the difference.
...
Eleven years old, and she's already wearing high-heels and make-up. Pacifica is the perfect child now - she doesn't cry, she doesn't do anything they tell her not to, and he barely needs to bring out the bell.
She's attractive, stylish and bold. But underneath that, she's cold, manipulative and aloof. She's finally a true Northwest. And he's so proud of her. And he can tell Priscilla is too.
...
She's twelve years old, and won't stop talking about Mabel Pines, and her brother Dipper. Preston's not concerned. Nothing can change his hold on Pacifica.
Nothing.
...
Pacifica got nothing for her thirteenth birthday. Not even as much as a birthday card or a cake. She didn't invite her friends over. She didn't dare mention it. It was just a normal day.
She got up, looked at her scars in the mirror, the bell's toll echoing in her ears. Then she got dressed, ate breakfast, and headed out the door before anyone even saw her.
She walked to school. In the rain. She was tempted to call Butler and ask for a lift. But she didn't give in. Pacifica Northwest was different to all the other Northwests. She wore jeans and loose T-shirts and hoodies. She cut her hair so that it rested at the jawline. She doodled in her book about monsters and adventures and the horrors of Bill Cipher's reign.
After school, she didn't go home. She grabbed her backpack and headed into the woods. She'd go looking through caves, and trek up hills. Sometimes she'd go drink a round with the Gnomes, other times she'd be fighting off a gremgoblin or photographing the eyebats in the caves.
Pasifica was a different to the person she'd been mere months ago. She wasn't perfect, and she wasn't normal. And that was how she liked it. She was herself.