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as-be-low · 7 years

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Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 11

I Long To Belong (But I Always Have To Go)

Home ties me up with discontent Since the day I first went Yearning to be back again, How will I return, and when?

Though tranquil, Sunday was filled with small challenges, most of which included trying not to step on tiny fingers. Breakfast had hardly consisted of anything. Stanley had been quiet and unresponsive and Stella turned her nose up at the leprecorn-infested cereal and refused all but the plain toast Stan had cajoled her into accepting.

There had been no tears on Sunday, but Stanford wasn't sure the sheer malaise was much better. After eating half of the toast and leaving the rest as crumbs across her face and Stan's lap, Stella stuck out a little leg in order to climb down. Stanley wrapped an arm around her middle.

"Wait, sweetie."

"But I want to go outside."

"You're not dressed for outside, sweetie. How's about we go outside a little later 'n right now we play somethin' inside?"

"Okay." Stanley set her on her wobbly feet and she tottered off towards the living room with Stanley not far behind.

"Can we play giggle bunny?"

"...Giggle bunny?"

"Punch buggy with more laughin'." Stanley mumbled. "That only works for cars, sweetie. We'll have to play somethin' else."

Her little face puckered into a frown of concentration. "I spy?"

"That might work, sweetie, but I dunno."

"Giggle bunny spy!" She hopped as she made her proposal.

"What?" Ford couldn't stop the word from slipping out.

"We play I spy and...and...'n we giggle when we see something!" Another hop.

"This game doesn't sound sustainable."

"Shut up, Ford."

"But–"

"Giggle bunny spy. Alright pumpkin. Let's play."

"You go first, Daddy."

"No, you go first. You gotta show me how t'play, remember?"

"Oh." Stella was silent for a moment before snickering.

"Has the game started?"

"Yeah."

Stanford would never understand this "game," and resigned himself to his fate.

Giggle bunny spy soon turned into a nap in the floor for Stella after she laughed herself into a coughing fit. "Giggling is tiring work, it seems." Stanford mumbled as he stared down at the child asleep in the threshold.

"Everything's tirin' work when you're three."

"That may be true." Ford hovered in the doorway.

"You can just step over her, y'know." Step over her?

"No, it's fine."

"You're tryin' t' get out of the room 'n you're just standin' there. Just step over her." He sniffed

"I..."

"Ford. You gonna just wait for her to wake up ‘n move? Just go."

He refused.

With a groan, Stanley stood and ambled over to the pair and hunched over to lift Stella. Ford slipped past, and when he returned, he found the child once again sprawled out across the threshold.

"It's where she wanted to be." Stan shrugged. He made no motions to move her. Well, damnit. Ford lifted his foot high, and with one white-knuckled hand gripping the jamb, stretched to tiptoe over the sleeping lump.

"There. Now, was that so hard?"

Yes. "I could have stepped on her." He could have broken her tiny fingers. His heart raced at the prospect. His thoughts wandered back to his childhood, when he and Stanley had been cornered by the neighborhood bullies and gotten into a fight. He’d made a fist wrong and broken his hand and had to be taken to the hospital and gawked at. He didn’t want that for Stanley’s child. She didn’t deserve it. “I could have stepped on her.” He could have broken her fingers and ruined her hands and—

"Ford. It’s fine. Calm down." A few minutes later the child sat up, groggy and rubbing her eyes. She bumbled to her feet and crept closer to Stanley, who pulled her into his lap. She hunkered back down. "Still sleepy, sweetie pie?" She didn't reply. "Alright, sweetie. Go back to sleep." Ford watched as Stanley began to rock her from side to side, the movements slow and clearly practiced. Sure enough, Stanley's eyes began to fall heavy-lidded themselves and the two were soon sound asleep. Ford watched them for a long moment before actually moving. A pen slipped into his hand while the other slapped flat against a leather-bound book. The scene was too pristine to let it pass unnoted, and he’d yet to document their visit.

And so he sketched, taking care to hatch out the details of the napping scene across from him. There were better, more precise ways to commit it to memory, he knew, but this one brought him the most satisfaction in that moment.

His hand traced the lines of Stan’s face, which was a great deal more relaxed than he’d seen in over twenty years. He wasn’t smiling. There was just… an absence of anything, if he was honest with himself. Stanley was just asleep. No sleeping with a smile, no frown. An absence of any discernible anything. Even as children, when Stanley slept like the dead, there was a certain careless ease with which he did so. Not anymore. Even his sleep seemed to hold that standardized disinterest Stan seemed so eager to front.

And so Stanford wrote.

After many years since our last encounter, Stanley actually agreed to meet with me once again. Imagine my surprise when my long-estranged brother returned, and with a child in tow, no less! I have a small niece, and her name is Stella. I have yet to ask for her second name. I suppose I should get around to it soon, before the question becomes out-of-place. She’s quite small; Stanley says she’s three years old, yet I’d assumed she was barely two. Despite her small stature, her resemblance to Stanley is quite striking. Stanley refuses to tell me who her mother is, so I find it safe to assume that I wouldn’t know her anyway. Nonetheless, there’s something familiar in the features she doesn’t share with Stanley, or myself by extension, I suppose. Her hair is certainly curly, as would befit any Pines, but there’s also something about it I can’t quite place.

Hair aside, she and I share the distinct misfortune of having inherited the polydactyl gene, though she doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. She’s too young to understand the birth defect now, but I fear she will learn, in due time, how distinct her hands are in comparison to others. I can only hope that other children will not be as cruel to her as they were to me. Though he insists that he does not want to turn her hands into an ordeal for her to be ashamed of, I can’t help but worry that Stanley’s indifference towards the matter will cause more harm in the long run, from our personal experience. Our very first day of school was none too enjoyable with the realization that my hands were decidedly not the norm.

He hatched out the details of the little girl’s hair as she dozed.

Little Stella is certainly a charismatic child and it’s evident that Stanley loves her dearly. He’s changed a great deal from how I remember him.

Is it my fault?

Stanford’s brow furrowed.

She seems to be a content little girl, despite the circumstances. I question the normalcy of it, though I suppose I should rather appreciate her versatility than wish upon her the turmoil that such a life must surely bring. I can’t help but wonder how Stanley managed it. She seems accustomed to such a life, though not bitter or resentful about it in the least. Is it that she doesn’t know enough to feel indignant? I shouldn’t wish such on either of them. Stanley has suffered enough. It’s a wonder that he appears to have shielded his daughter from the brunt of it.

Her current interests include:

Naptime, apparently

Being held—she seems to be a very affectionate child. She must get that from Stanley

Stanley himself—she insists on remaining in his company and the depth of her affection nearly moved him to tears the day prior

Coloring and the color green

Giggling, running and playing in water—she’s quite adept at all three

And worst of all, the Leprecorn! I don’t understand what it is she sees in the horrid creature. It does nothing but play annoying music, stand in the way, and giggle. Maybe she likes it for its giggling. If that happens to be the case, perhaps a hyena would make a better companion.

Stanford left the pen in place as he stilled, the ink crawling across the page to feather into a crackling pattern as the nib lingered.

How was it possible for Stan to care for a newborn with no means, and from the backseat of a car, no less? I shudder to think of the ways in which such a situation would have compounded the inherent difficulties of childrearing. It’s astounding that Stella survived infancy. Statistically speaking, she should not have survived.

His eyes flitted back up to Stanley, catching the hint of a frown that began to curl across his features. Stanford let the ink dry into the page before flipping to the next.

It pains me to accept it, but Stanley appears to be much worse off than he was the last two times I saw him, which is saying a great deal, since he was (still) homeless the first time, and just plucked from who knows where on the other side of the portal the second. He seems worn out completely. It’s as though he’s just done with everything that arises. It’s a long ways away from the brazen and outgoing child he’d been when we were young.

His physical condition is more shocking than I anticipated. Stanley has numerous scars and injuries, though I must admit I do not know at what juncture each appeared, save for one.

His hand lingered as he hesitated over the words, inadvertently bolding them with his shaky letters.

I do not know how Stanley survived the brand.

His thoughts strayed back to an earlier journal entry, the one he’d written after sending his brother through his hellhole. Fool Fool FOOL FOOL FOOL—He’d nearly gouged through the page with the force with which he bore down on the nib. The same frenetic force had kicked Stanley against the metal that seared and bored into his skin. I killed my brother. I know I did. I killed him and he is dead. Stanley is dead because I killed him I did it myself I—

Ford remembered the page well. His eye had wept tears and blood again, and the oxidized stains crackled when he turned the pages. These two pages had blessedly stuck together, though it didn’t matter. They were still stuck well within the forefront of his mind. I never wanted to but he won’t know that because he’s DEAD and it’s entirely my fault I killed him twice I killed my brother three times—It was true. Thrice he’d killed Stanley. He’d killed his dreams when he’d shut the curtains on him and turned away. His future died along with them. He’d killed his flesh when he kicked him into the branding plate, and he’d killed and damned his existence when he sent him through the portal. He’d been so eager to condemn him for his past affronts that he stepped into the roles of both jury and executioner without a second thought. He hadn’t considered that it would actually take him from this earth until it was too late.

He’d managed to bring him back if only the husk, but it was far too late to bring his spirit back, wasn’t it? That died and withered a long time ago.

The only thing that seems to engage Stanley, other than frequent spats with me, is Stella. The child has him wrapped around her little fingers (all six!!) and I doubt he would have it any other way. I don’t know how not to instigate a fight with him, apparently, as most interactions end with at least some tension. I believe outward actions may be a better means of communication in this circumstance, though the theory remains to be tested. He seems to take offense at several smaller gestures, though with the potential aid of my own mouth.

I can only hope this will prove successful.

Stella sneezed in her sleep and woke herself in the process. Stanford raised an eyebrow, forcing back a chuckle as she sat up and searched for the culprit. She squinted at him.

“I believe we’re supposed to cover our mouths when we sneeze, Stella.”

“No.” she rubbed her eyes before settling back down. Sleepyheads, the both of them. Ford smiled. He’d let them sleep for the time being.

Hours later, a sharp inhale of air preceded Stanley’s eyes peeling open. “Ugh.”

Stan had woken up stiff and sore, Ford could tell. He’d made that same face enough. “…You alright?”

“Yeah.” He grumbled back.

“If you need, I’ve got some—”

“I’m good.” So he wouldn’t admit to his obvious discomfort. Alright.

Stella was still sound asleep in her father’s arms as he inched his way to his feet to pace with her. Wasn’t that for children who were upset? She was asleep. What was the point?

When she finally did wake, Stella slapped a hand to her face to rub at her eye, letting out a little whine as she tried to take in her surroundings.

“Hi, sweetiepie,” Stanley cooed, in a voice so gentle it unnerved Ford. “Hi! Oh, sweetie, you’re okay.” The child had begun to whine as she turned her head from side to side. “It’s okay.” Stanley shifted her to place an onslaught of kisses to her pudgy cheek and gradually the small whimpers turned to faint giggles. She rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s more like it.”

He stood in place and rocked for a few moments before she spoke up. “C’n I go play?”

“Outside?”

“Yeah. I wanna play outside.”

Stan mulled it over. “You’ve been so quiet all day. Sure.”

“’Kay.”

“Let’s go get your coat.”

The pair wandered outside while Stanley finagled a little arm through a sleeve, his own thin jacket tossed over his shoulder. “Lucky!” Stanford heard a set of hooves lope across the porch. “Hi!”

“TOP ‘O THE MORNIN’ TO YA!”

“OHH. Oh. It… It actually does talk. Geez. Okay. Alright.” Ford heard a series of stomps and hops interspersed with laughter. He could have done without the leprecorn’s laughter. “Yeah, you two practice gallopin’. Good plan.” Stan’s voice was muffled.

Stanford let the syncopated clomping fall to the background as he turned his attention back to the stacks of paper strewn across his worktable.

By the time he looked up from his work, the sun had long since set and Stan and his daughter had been tucked away upstairs for what might have been hours.

≈

The following day, Ford waited for Stan to make his way down the stairs before stopping him in his tracks. “We should go out today to buy a baby gate.”

“The f—I don’t know what it is you’re gettin’ at, but whatever it is, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Ford, can I at least set my child down before you start throwing sh—throwing stuff at me?”

Ford relented long enough for Stanley to do just that, and watched as his brother sat his groggy daughter in the kitchen chair. She let out a whine on contact with the wood, and he promptly lifted her back up. “It’s a good investment.”

“Listen t’what you just said and think about how that makes any sense.”

“Stanley, I’m serious.”

“So’m I. We’re not gonna be here that long. What sense does it make to buy a baby gate?”

“The point still remains that it would be useful while you’re here.”

Stan paced in place for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as though he were interrupting himself. “Why are you doing this, Ford?” his voice was barely above a whisper and everything about that screamed wrong in Stanford’s ears. Stanley wasn’t supposed to sound like that. That broken, ragged tone was not supposed to leave his mouth.

Stella, who was slung over Stanley’s shoulder, looked around for a moment before giving Stanford a grin. “Hi!”

“Good morning, sweetling.” He hummed. She stuck her hand out and it took Ford a moment to realize he was probably supposed to take it. “Oh.” He offered her his hand and she strained to grab it, clamping two of his fingers in her tiny fist. Ford stared at the small digits. It earned him a coo. How sweet. She was certainly a happy baby, and for that, he was thankful.

Stanley moved to step forward, not realizing she had a grasp on Stanford, and garnered a yelp from all three parties for it. As he froze, Stella stuck her free hand out towards her uncle.

“I… You want me to carry you?” She was already in Stanley’s arms, why would she want him? Her little free hand waved in the air and he reached for her, hesitant until she slid out of Stanley’s arms and her weight dropped into his. Ford pulled her close and tried to imitate Stanley’s posture, unable to school his face into anything other than shock as she wiggled and made herself comfortable. He craned his neck to get a better look at her. “Ah, good morning?” Her warm little cheek pressed against his as she leaned in despite his efforts to inspect her face. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. “Stella, would you like to go to the store today? We could get some things.” He offered.

“Stanford!”

“Yeah.” Stella hummed, unenthused yet without her father’s outright disdain for the idea. Her hand came up to his shoulder and she balled the fabric of his shirt into her fist. He might’ve been dismayed if he’d ever cared about wrinkled fabric.

“I…” He wasn't sure what else to say. How did one hold a conversation with toddlers? “Are you...having a good morning?"

“Yeah.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

"Stella, sweetie, let's get some breakfast in you. You want some of your cereal?"

"No." She reached for Stanley all the same.

"No? But it's got Lucky on it."

"No."

"Toast? How 'bout toast?"

"I don' want any." She frowned. Stan sighed.

"Okay. Whatever. You'll pipe up when you're hungry. What about thirsty? D'you want some milk?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay. But only a little!“

Stanley plucked his child from Ford's arms and placed her back in the chair, ignoring her little huff as he pulled out a glass. "Here, pumpkin."

"And you?"

Stan paused. "What?"

"What'll you have?"

"I'm good."

"Stan."

"Ford." He mirrored his tone.

Ford pursed his lips. "I'll repeat. What should we have for breakfast?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley mumbled, clearing his throat shortly after. That didn't sound fine. His brother eyed him. “Stop worryin’ about it.”

“Someone has to if you won’t.” he grumbled under his breath. Stanley shot him a glare and he made it a point to ignore it. "I'll try not to ruin the eggs again."

"Ford, don't bother."

"I will do exactly that." He heard Stanley force a groan from between pursed lips. "I'm assuming scrambled is fine? Because I'm afraid any more than that might be asking a bit much at this stage." He turned to look at his brother, unnerved by the way he'd contorted himself to lay his head against the table without disturbing Stella and her glass of milk. "Are...are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ford." Stanley sighed. "It's just a headache." It sounded like an afterthought.

"Are you sure?"

"Ford."

"Right. Sorry. Maybe. Possibly. I suppose."

"Oh, sweet Moses."

Stella jerked her glass away from her face with a cough and Stanley bolted upright. "Shit, sweetie, are you okay? Please tell me you're okay." She wiped at her eye as he patted her back and it took Ford a moment to realize the egg in his hand was now the victim of his balled fist.

"You said a bad word." Her little voice was watery.

Stanley's nervous chuckle was high-pitched and wavering. "Sweet Moses, don't scare me like that. Don't drink so fast, okay?"

"I didn't!" Her small voice had a slight rasp and she struggled to clear her throat. Stanley leaned her forward as he thumped her little back. After a few moments she began to hum, her voice rattling.

“Now you’re just playin’. Feel better?”

“Yeah.” She drawled the word out.

“Good.”

Ford’s shoulders loosened as Stanley pressed a kiss to her forehead and he looked down at the egg dripping from his wrist with a scowl. “Tch. Wonderful.”

Stanley turned, poised to speak, then paused. “Oh. Egg. Gross.”

“Suffice it to say my appetite has been lost.”

“I was tellin’ you that before.”

≈

“Ford, enough with the baby gate. It’s fine.”

“Didn’t you say it only takes a second?”

“I—Oh, fuck you.”

Ford had kept at it for hours. Stan did his best to ignore him, but he was only a man. He could only put with so much before he snapped, and he refused to do that in front of Stella again. He gave in instead. He only wished he could wipe that stupid smirk off of Ford’s face as he buckled himself into the passenger seat of the Stanleymobile.

“It only takes a second.” Stanley mimicked as he finished buckling Stella into her car seat and folded himself behind the wheel.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” She seemed uncertain as her little feet flopped to and fro in the seat.

Baby gates.

They were headed two towns over for a baby gate. What sense did that make? What did he have to do to get Ford to understand? They weren’t gonna stay for long. Coming up here was a stupid idea.

They just needed to grab the cheapest baby gate they had and run back out. That wasn’t too tall of an order.

This was Stanford Pines. Of course it was a tall order.

Once inside, Stanley grabbed a basket and plopped Stella in the seat. It’s too early for all of this. “Baby gates. C’mon.”

“Why?” Stella piped.

“The baby gate? It’s for you.” He gave her a quick peck on the nose, satisfied with her little grin. That’s my girl.

“Why?”

“Beats me.”

“Now, Stanley—Oh, wait.” Stanford stretched out an arm to still Stanley, his spare hand reaching out to point to a shelf.

“What?” Stanley’s eyes trailed upwards to follow the line of Stanford’s arm. “No. Not at all. Absolutely not.

“Stanley, be reasonable.”

“I’m perfectly reasonable. You be reasonable. No one needs 100 Toaster Pops. Put that back.” He caught Ford wincing at his daughter and glanced down. Stella’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men as she gripped the basket’s handle bar, one hand creeping towards Stanley’s. It seemed her worried little face was the only thing that convinced Ford to acquiesce.

“Fine. But bulk stores like this are an excellent opportunity to stock up on much-needed items.”

“Mmm hmm, and Toaster Pops ain’t one of ‘em.” It was with determination that Stanley pushed the basket up and down the aisles. “Really, Ford?”

“What?” This was why Ford wanted to come all the way out here? Did Ford not expect him to catch on? Jesus Christ, he was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb.

“Really, Ford? Really?”

“What? What, Stanley? What?”

He’d caught the man in the middle of tossing something extra into his basket. “Really?”

“A multi-pack of shirts is a necessity, Stanley. You know this.” A necessity for who? Stanley just stared at him. This was all too ridiculous for words. “You know I buy shirts in multiple sets.”

“And you have those sets, Ford. You don’t need any more.” Stan grumbled. “You’re not buying this for yourself.”

Ford was silent for a moment as Stanley scowled. “And if I’m not? It that really so bad?”

“Yes. Put ‘em back.” The pair stared at each other, long and hard. Fords scowl matched Stanley’s and he cocked a brow, reaching for a nearby pack of socks. “Ford.” Stanley’s shoulders fell. Why was he doing this? It was damn near taunting.

“It’s going in the basket, Stanley.” Ford’s voice was soft but he still found it abrasive all the same. Where the hell did he get off with all of this? Ford sent him a searching look. Oh. He was trying. Was that it? Trying or not, Ford was out of line. Stan glared at him for a few moments.

“Come on. We’re not even on the right aisle for Pete’s sake.”

“Very well.” Very well. Stan was able to stop himself from mimicking Ford out loud, but only just.

“C’mon, sweetie pie.” Stella’s little hands splayed out over his as he pushed the basket. She was pouting up at him. He leaned down to place a kiss to the tip of her nose. Still frowning. He kissed her again. And again. And blew a raspberry against her forehead. There we go. “There’s that lil’ baby laugh.” He grinned, speeding the basket along. He’d find the baby gates his damn self. Maybe Ford wouldn’t be able to pick up more shit without a basket to throw it in.

He’d been wrong. Stanford went and got a basket of his own and passed by father and child as they made their way across the store. Damnit. Stanley wanted to shove the damned thing against a wall. He paused to hold Stella for a little while, after she’d grown fussy and tired of riding in the basket. He figured he’d get tired of riding backwards with nothing to look at but his ugly mug, too. The only problem now was that she refused to get back in the basket.

“Sweetie, I need you to sit here. What’s wrong?” What had gotten into her?

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

“I’m right here, pumpkin. Right here. You know that.” Stanley sighed and hefted her higher in his arms. “What’m I gonna do with you, huh?”

“No.”

“Let’s go find this gate before you get any fussier.”

“No.”

“Oh, geez.”

Ford had beaten to the children’s section. He’d propped two gates in his basket—because of course he did, when one was already overkill— and was mulling over diapers? Stanley thanked his lucky stars Stella had been easy to potty train. It had still been absolute hell, but considering his circumstances, he figured he’d gotten off easy. “Stanford, she literally doesn’t need those.” He leaned in to inspect a brightly-colored box at the bottom of the basket, underneath the gates. “Ford, put the Blebbos back. Seriously? Space Princess Magic Castle?” Ford had always loved the stupid little blocks when they were kids. Of course he’d pick up a set.

“She may like it, Stanley.” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. And where would she play with it? For once, reading would actually save Stanley. He lurched forward to reach into Ford’s basket, ignoring the little whimper Stella gave him as he stepped away.

“Look.” He stretched an arm out to place a hand on her tummy, hoping to placate her. “Ages six and up. Choking hazard.” He watched Ford blanch.

“Shit.”

Stella whined.

“I didn’t realize. I just thought she might like to put it together, I didn’t—“

“Ford. It’s fine. It’s fine, okay? She just doesn’t need that.” Ford gave him a crumbling nod and placed the box back on the shelf. Stanley turned back to his own basket, adorned with his wet-eyed baby doing her best to reach for him. She let out a little hiccup. He wilted. “Oh, sweetie.” He pulled her into his arms and she immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair. He figured there was no putting her down now. He settled for swaying from side to side, letting her bury her wet little face in the crook of his neck. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Ford swooped in and transferred the contents of Stanley’s basket into his. “Oh, for fu—would you just leave it?” he hissed.

“No.”

Stanley let out a guttural groan. “Let’s just go, okay? We’ve been here too long.”

They didn’t make it three yards before Stanford stopped to look at an endcap. He was staring at more baby items. “Stanford, no.” Stan whispered, one hand rubbing smooth circles along his child’s back. “No. Just stop.” This was entirely too much. He wanted to be sick.

“What does she need?”

“She needs you to not do this, how ‘bout that?” He didn’t appreciate the glare Ford sent him.

“Stanley, be reasonable. I want to do this.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.” Her stuff was fine. Some of it was big enough that he didn’t have to worry if she hit a growth spurt soon. It’d be fine. He’d get away from Ford and all this stupid shit and he’d be able to start scrounging and saving up again once he paid him back, and he’d be able to get her stuff when she needed it. Right now, she was fine.

“I’ve decided it’s my duty as an uncle.”

“You don’t do these things for Isaac, I bet.”

“Isaac doesn’t—“ Isaac doesn’t need them. He dared him to say it. “Isaac isn’t here right now.”

“Stanford—“

“I only have one niece.” He only had one nephew, too, if they were gonna play this game. “And one twin.” Stan was certain he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He didn’t want to hear it. He bit down on his tongue and pushed a heavy sigh from his nose. Deep breathing never calmed him, but there was a first time for everything. “What does she need, Stan?”

Stanley shook his head, holding his lip captive between his teeth. “No.” There was no way in hell.

“Stanley. I want to do this. It’s the least I can do, all things considered.”

The least he could do was stop humiliating him in public, but Stan didn’t see that happening in the next century.

“What about socks? I didn’t see many that had mates.”

“Oh, for… She needs some of those lil’ stretchy baby pants. ‘N some jammies.” Stan grumbled. He did his best to keep his voice as soft as possible. It was either that or shout, and even he wasn’t dumb enough to want to do that in the middle of a store. His little girl looked on the verge of tears as it was. Part of him hoped that Ford didn’t hear him. Another part knew that he’d only ask again if that were the case. This shit was mortifying, why couldn’t he figure that out?

Stella began to scrub her face against his shoulder. “Look, can we speed this up, Ford? I think she wants to be here ‘bout as much as I do.” She was probably tired. She’d never had a definite naptime, but she’d usually have fallen asleep at least once by this point.

“Right. Okay.” Stan watched Ford reach into a rack of children’s clothes before he paused. “She wears a size—”

“Get 3T.” Ford’s brow wrinkled at that, but Stanley chose to ignore it. It might be too big, but she could grow into it that way. If he was gonna waste money, there was no need to waste money on something she wouldn’t be able to use as long. He began to bounce slightly with each step, pacing back and forth along the aisle. He was too busy soothing his fussy child to notice Stanford grab an oversized stuffed unicorn and shove it in the basket, underneath the second baby gate.

Of course Stanley noticed the stupid horse once they reached the cashier.

“What is this?”

Stanford pretended not to understand for a moment. Smooth. Real smooth. “It’s a stuffed animal.” He sniffed.

“Ford. Seriously? She doesn't need that thing.”

“Look at her. She loves it.”

“Her eyes are closed and she can’t see it.”

“She wants it.”

“She—You didn't even ask. She didn’t ask.” A trickle of both shame and panic ran down his spine. What if she would have asked? He would’ve had to say no. What if she didn’t ask because she knew that already? Did she understand how decidedly not well off they were? She didn’t need to grow up that fast. It’s my fault if she does.

“It's a unicorn. She likes unicorns. Of course she wants it.” Ford rolled his eyes as he held the large fabric beast up for the disinterested clerk to scan. “She should have nice things.”

Stanley’s lips curled back taut and pressed against his gums. “Are you saying I don’t think my child deserves nice things?” His voice was low and gentle, but oily black venom dripped from behind his teeth all the same. It was a disgustingly low blow. His stomach coiled and knotted like a spring. “Is that what you think?” He loved his little girl. He knew damn well that she deserved this world and a thousand more. He knew there were so many things she deserved that he couldn’t provide, and he knew there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He knew he was failing her as a parent. He was failing her, but he was the only parent she had, and he hated it. He hated that she was stuck with his sorry hide, and he couldn’t help the thick, heavy guilt that accompanied his joyful pride for having her. He could have strangled Stanford, then and there, if it wouldn’t have woken his daughter. He could have strangled him, and it wouldn’t have meant a thing because he was right.

“I—That’s not what I meant.” His voice was emphatic. Of course it wasn’t. As smart and well-spoken as Ford prided himself on being, that wasn’t what he meant. Sure. Stanley turned away from him and stalked out towards the parking lot. “Stanley—“

“Shut up, Ford.” He could hear the basket wheels trailing behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care either way.

The two fumed their way towards the Stanleymobile, and Stanley buckled Stella in while Stanford maneuvered the large boxes in around Stella. She’d woken up with a whine in the process and Stan fumed as he watched Stanford reach into one of the bags to pull out the stupid unicorn. He handed it to the disoriented child, bleary-eyed and confused by the fuzzy waste of money she couldn't even wrap her arms around. It was as big as she was. Why the fuck did he buy that thing? Part of Stan was sure Ford bought it just to piss him off. She didn’t need that thing, hadn’t even noticed or asked for it, and Stanley didn’t have the space for it. Where was he supposed to keep it? Maybe she could use it as a body pillow back there until she outgrew it or it got too worn-out to keep.

Stanley couldn’t afford these things, and Stanford knew it. All he was doing was setting a precedent that Stanley wouldn’t be able to keep up. Another entry to the list of things he couldn’t provide. It would end up being nothing but trouble.

He kept his eyes trained straight ahead on the road as Stanford mumbled out the occasional direction back into Gravity Falls.

Here, have a thing that I did.

#Gravity Falls #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #reverse portal au #single dad stanley pines #angst #fanfiction #thcm

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jessbakescakes · 2 years

Note

may i ask for some favourite fics to close out 2021? xx

This is so difficult, because there's been SO MUCH great fic lately.

First, my friends were kind enough to write some birthday fics for me!

where you lead, i will follow by @sam-loves-seb | Rated G | Mama Lyman and J/D over the years, featuring one of the most beautifully written scenes I've ever read in any fandom or published writing.

Professor Josh by @cookme25 | Rated G | Mama Lyman + DadProfessorJosh! FEELS.

Independence Day by @hufflepuffhermione | Rated G | This one's J/D, Dad Josh, Found family, Angsty trauma feels... pushing that Bartlet Farm and Mental Health agenda, we love to see it.

a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices (o holy night) by @rosieposiepie | Rated T | The way I'm obsessed with this little continuation of i fall apart! DadJosh and MomDonna + holiday feels and found family, it's just really really brilliant.

daughters will love like you do by hanyolo | Rated G | THE DAD JOSH MOM DONNA FEELS! Neither one of them can resist their girls and I loved this

I haven't done one of these in a little bit so there's more under the cut. I'm not including exchange fics, because they're not all posted... but THERE ARE SOME CLUB BANGERS IN THERE TOO. Anyway.

Here are some other fics I loved!

the warmest bed I've ever known by mikaylawrites | Rated G | J/D + bed sharing, also soft expectant dad Josh, it's lovely.

you can run (but only so far) by swancharmings | Rated M | A Season 6 AU that makes me want to scream in all the best ways. Beautiful and wonderful and makes me FEEL ALL THE THINGS.

the past, she is haunted (the future is laced) by hanyolo | Rated G | Dad Josh and Mom Donna + Joanie angst, it's EVERYTHING.

you know that im fallin' by thababes | Rated T | A Josh/Donna ficlet + Sam and Donna friendship, it's just really lovely.

they call her love by @sam-loves-seb | Rated T [but has a smutty chapter] | Josh and Donna and all the names they call each other. LOVING this one so far.

my home is yours to settle in by swancharmings | Rated M | Soft fluffy established relationship goodness.

one single thread of gold (tied me to you) by hanyolo | Rated T | Taylor Swift inspired, angsty, soft, beautiful. It's everything.

the soul felt its worth by @hufflepuffhermione | Rated T | I jumped back for this one because it's Josh and a Holy Night AU featuring Stanley Keyworth. It's one of my favorite things Alli has written, ever.

gather ye rosebuds by @thefinestmuffins | Rated E | A 20 Hours in LA smutty AU! It's everything I could ever ask for. Banter, sweetness, hotness.

nothing left to talk about by fairwinds09 | Rated E | Donna/Josh + yoga! HOT, SWEET, ALL OF THE THINGS.

Coming of Age (Again) by thatTWWgirl | Rated T | A College Au/Josh and Donna meet again on the Bartlet Campaign AU. Really excited for more of this one.

Academic Adjustments by @hufflepuffhermione | Rated T | Look, it's professorDadJosh + zoom professor DadJosh, it's just EVERYTHING, okay?

sometimes it's like you grew up down the street by @thestarsontheceiling | Rated G | It's a TA!Josh AU! Josh/Donna and it's literally everything to me.

the magnetism between two dead ends by joshatella (shuuuliet) | Rated T | THE. PINING. THE. PAIN. It's so good, but OUCH!

That's certainly not the entirety of the list of great fics. That's a ton of them though!

#josh x donna #the west wing #fic recs

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

Text

GF - Stars Aren’t the Only Things That Glitter

A Drifting Stars AU short, collaborating with @clownwry.

2nd, 3rd, 4th.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grunkle Ford, look out!”

“Mabel, stay back!”

BANG!

“Mabel… MABEL! HOLD ON! I’M COMING! MABEL!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel looked at the blazing fire, trying to pretend to ignore her great-uncles muttering so she might pick up a swear word, be it alien or English was perfectly fine by her. Mabel didn’t pick up any swears, but she did hear the words “reckless” and “irresponsible” and “inconceivable”. The Listening Game did a fair job of distracting her from the pain on her arm and shoulder. Except when Grunkle Ford’s bandages were a little too tight and she would wince at the friction on her burn.

Still muttering through his teeth, his eye glued to the injury through his single-cracked glasses, he did it again, pulling on the bandage a little too hard, this time making Mabel accidentally let am “ouch!” slip past her lips. Ford looked up at her and his expression grew softer and more nurturing. “I’m sorry, my dear, but really, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“They were gonna shoot you…”

“I don’t care.” Ford said firmly. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to save yourself and leave me behind, you do so.”

“No.”

The nomadic scientist blinked, slightly surprised by her stubbornness. Only slightly surprised, because she is a Pines, after all. But she is a good kid and in the month they had been traveling the Multiverse, she had never outright defied him like this. “Excuse me?” He wasn’t even stern or angry; he was too surprised (and maybe even a little proud) to properly scold her anymore.

“No. That’s stupid.” Mabel answered, her little cheeks puffed up in determination, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the fire, a flame of her own in the windows to her soul. “I’ll never leave you behind. We’re a family, we gotta stick together if we’re gonna survive and get home. We need each other. Besides, if the tables were turned, would you leave me behind?”

“That’s an entirely different matter.” Ford said with a small smile on his ruffed-up face; he resumed his work on the burn more gently now and finished wrapping it up, securing the bandage. “I’m old, I’ve lived my life. You take priority.”

“I don’t care.” Mabel said, copying Ford’s exact tone and voice from earlier. The grown man snorted with amusement.

Ford decided to put this little argument on hold, seeing how there was no changing Mabel’s mind right now. And he didn’t want to spend the entire evening rebuking her. “You did do a very good job disarming those hunters. I’m very proud of you.”

Mabel sat up a little straighter and smiled up at Ford. “Thank you.”

Ford smiled at her and stood, moving to his large backpack to fish out the things for tea and dinner, though it would probably only be dried meat and oats. “I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as her world was put on pause. She felt like she was being sucked into a time vortex, transported into a memory.

Grunkle Stan was dusting some zombie parts off of his armchair when Mabel was walking by, leaving the kitchen after giving Soos his cure for zombification. Stan noticed that Mabel looked very tired. He smiled at her from her seat, and Mabel ran up to him and climbed into his lap for a big hug.

“Hey, you alright?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.” And he gave her a secure squeeze and Mabel happily hugged him back.

Mabel was shoved back into reality, accompanied by a sinking feeling of loss. She missed Grunkle Stan. She missed Dipper. She missed Waddles, and Soos, and Wendy, and the Shack, and Oregon, and California, and Mom and Dad…

Ford turned back to the fire with a kettle and wire-spider in hand, ready to ask Mabel to fetch some water (she always enjoyed being of assistance), but he stopped when he saw her crying with her eyes shut and wiping her cheeks dry with her wrists. Ford was immediately halted and his priorities shifted drastically. Nothing mattered at this moment but making her feel better.

He was swift. Ford scooped up some water from the clean stream into the kettle, then used the wire-spider to hold the kettle over the fire. Giving the water plenty of time to heat up and steam, Ford gently picked Mabel up from her seat on the log, only to hold her close and let her wrap her arms around his neck. He didn’t say a word, being a social-cripple and having no idea what he could say that would make her feel better, so he stayed silent and was simply there for her.

And really, that was all Mabel needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the two humans were lucky to come across a small rustic town in the woods, reminding Ford of the small Tennessee-town Fiddleford grew up in. Except of course there were no humans, but blue-skinned elves with pointy years and the occasional centaur.

Ford had stolen a bit of money from a hunter yesterday, which meant they got to restock on supplies and even buy a cheap breakfast at an outside cafe. Sitting at a table under an umbrella, Ford was going over his plan with Mabel while she munched on her sweetly-cooked purple apples tossed in spices and sugar.

“... so once we reach this cavern here, we’ll reach a very interesting town called Flush Valley. I’ve heard it specializes in building mechanical limbs and prosthetics, but it’s surrounded by rich minerals perfect for building, so we can find what we need easily here. There may even be a day-by-day job I can get to earn a bit of money for food and shelter.”

“I can work, too! Daddy always said I was like a French horse!” Mabel added in excitedly.

Ford chuckled. “We’ll see. I would feel more comfortable if you were working so I could keep an eye on you. Moving on,” The old scientist sipped his strange alien coffee, but it contained caffeine and somewhat resembled his home dimension’s coffee taste, so he drank it. “The way there could be crawling with scavengers. A lot of people come to Flush Valley just barely hanging on by a thread, easy targets for hunting and stealing food and supplies. So we need to keep our guard up for the next two days.”

“Okay.” Mabel said, as nonchalantly as if Ford told her to remember to add milk to a grocery list.

Ford gave her a firmer look and added, “So, if we think we’re being followed, what do we do?”

“We pretend we don’t know and we keep walking calmly.” Mabel replied. “We keep our eyes open for a way to lose them, and where the sneaky-peaky spies are.”

“Very good.” Ford smiled at her. “If we decide to try to lose them, what do we do?”

“Run as fast as we can. If I can’t catch up I get on your shoulders and focus on making them go away, while you get us away.”

“Yes, excellent. What do we do if we decide to confront them?”

“I grab by sling-shot and exploding rocks and hit as many guys as I can. I aim for the knees or feet so they fall and can’t shoot us. Oh, and we stand with our backs to each other so we see everything, together.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, if we are surrounded and I find a way to escape, what do you do?”

“Make sure you go in so you can lead the way!” Mabel answered with a grin.

“N-No, honey.” Ford said gently with a smile, as if informing a kindergartner that 1+1=2, not 11. “If I find a way to escape, you go first…”

“No,” Mabel said, still smiling as she shook her head. “You go first so I can make sure you’re coming.”

Ford sighed and took another sip of his drink. “Okay, if I tell you to run, you…”

“I grab your hand and run with you, making sure no one gets lost.”

“Mabel, no.”

“Mabel YES!” The girl grinned with determination. “You’re stuck with me, old man! You can’t get rid of me!”

Ford was getting annoyed at this point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up slightly, and growled, “I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m trying to save you!”

Mabel gave him a very serious look and questioned, “By leaving me alone out here?”

“No! I-...” But Ford stopped and bit his lip. His niece did have an excellent point. As much as Ford was willing to do anything to keep her safe, as much as Ford was willing to sacrifice his own life for her’s, that really wasn’t a good idea.

There was a good chance Mabel could survive without him, at least until she found a nice family to take her in (or, somehow, miraculously, Stanley opened the portal and brought her home, but Ford didn’t dare to hope for that). But she was so young and inexperienced in the Multiverse. At least when Ford was first thrown into the chaos he was an adult and was accustomed to weirdness thanks to his six years of researching Gravity Falls. Mabel was extremely resourceful, imaginative, intelligent, and clever. She was also stronger and faster than many would assume. But she was too trusting. Too innocent. So, not to belittle Mabel or underestimate her, but she was right; she needed Ford, and as noble as it would be to exchange his life for her’s if it came down to it, that would also be incredibly stupid and only buy Mabel a little more time until she was captured or enslaved or killed or even worse.

And of course, only someone as people-smart and clever as Mabel could make Ford see that.

He sighed tiredly. “O-... Okay.” Mabel smiled proudly at him. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try to be more careful.” Ford promised. “I… I just need you to be safe.”

“Don’t worry, I think we do a pretty good job of keeping each other safe.” Mabel complimented, holding out a bite of her fruit on a fork for Ford.

The old man held up a polite hand and declined, but his stomach turned against him and growled, and Mabel frowned at him, giving Ford a deja vu feeling of his mother forcing him and his brothers to eat their vegetables. So Ford smiled and accepted the sweetly cooked fruit. “Yes, I think so, too.”

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #fanfiction #drifting stars au #collab #ford and mabel bonding #ford pines #mabel pines #ANGST AND FLUFF #more to come!

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thelastspeecher · 3 years

Note

I'm digging the Best Revenge AU. When does Junior get told his biodad is someone else? And when does Max earn the right to know about junior? Also love lute's villain name when hes separate from Angie, that was a cool one

Aw, thanks, glad you liked Lute’s single villain codename. I was pretty proud of it lol.

Junior finds out Stan isn’t his bio dad when his power comes in. He gets a power from Max’s side of the family - he’s able to turn his skin into stone or gems. There’s nothing resembling that power whatsoever in either Angie’s family or Stan’s, so they know that the jig is up. And they come clean, telling Junior that his dad is actually Angie’s ex-husband, who she left and didn’t tell about Junior because she was worried it wouldn’t be safe. They hold back further information until he’s older, since Junior is about eight or nine when he gets his power.

Max doesn’t really...earn the right to know about Junior. He just sort of finds out on his own. While Junior is in kindergarten, Max comes to his class as a sort of guest speaker in his hero attire. The heroes regularly come to classes to talk about being a hero and make kids excited. During Max’s presentation, Junior heckles him the entire time, because he’s picked up his parents’ animosity towards heroes. The teacher scolds Junior, calling him by his full name of Stanley Pines Junior (by this point, Stan and Angie are married and Junior has been given the last name of Pines). And Max thinks to himself that it’s just great he’s come across the kid that Angie was pregnant with the last time he saw her.

Only, Max realizes that this couldn’t be that kid. Junior is too old. His first thought is that Stan got Angie pregnant right away when they started dating. But he can’t help but notice some familiar features that Junior has. Like straw blond hair, as opposed to Angie’s caramel color. And Junior’s amber eyes, lighter than Stan’s. Junior’s face looks a lot like Max’s face, in pictures from when he was that age. The real nail in the coffin is that Junior has Angie’s childhood stutter as well as a distinctive lisp that runs in Max’s family.

Max seeks out Angie that day to confront her, and she confirms his suspicions. Shortly after, he quits being a hero. He doesn’t feel like he deserves being looked up to, when he thinks about all that he’s done. He needs to work on himself.

(And, because redemption arcs are rad, Max does work on himself and improves himself and eventually come into contact with Junior, making up with the people he’s hurt. It winds up being like the reverse of the “reformed villain becomes weird uncle” trope.)

#thank you for the ask~#Stangie Family #Best Revenge AU #ask #mythomagically-delicious

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thatwriterkei · 4 years

Text

-Moment of Tangency-

Series Summary: When Y/N's favorite fictional characters come to life, a mystery ensues as a killer wreaks havoc in Bangor, Maine.

Chapter Summary: What started out as a sleepover with your best friend turned into a night of unexplainable events.

Warnings: cursing, underage pining if you squint, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Here's the first chapter of the big series I was talking about! I really hope you guys enjoy this, I've been working on this for about a month and it would mean the world to me if you have feedback and brought attention to this to those who would enjoy it too! I'm really excited to see how this goes.

Main Masterlist

MOT Masterlist

click here to be part of my taglist

_________________

Chapter One: The Beginning

"You will soon receive support from an unexpected source.."

The red letters of your fortune stared back at you ominously.

"Hey, that's great timing huh?"

"Too soon, Marcus..Too soon."

A sheepish smile formed on his freckled face, "Sorry..Here, have another."

You shook your head, waving away the cookie. "I'll just stick to mine. I only have a little bit of room left for it."

You took small bites, slowly indulging in the delicious treat, afraid of letting it go to waste with just two or three bites.

"I'm surprised your dad let me spend the night."

"Honestly, me too..I don't think he noticed that you're in the middle of transitioning."

"He probably just thinks I'm gay or something.."

You let out a choked laugh, "Maybe because you are."

"Hey, you can't tell me that Mr. Fisher isn't hot as fuck!"

"He isn't, oh my god!" You tried to finish the rest of your cookie without inhaling crumbs, suppressing the laughter building in your stomach.

"Have you seen his hands?! Y/N, I don't think you understand how much I adore him!"

"He's 20, Marcus!! Not to mention, he sucks at teaching physics."

"Hey, I didn't say my future man had to be smart."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yes, yes I am. Oh! Speaking of guys, any good gossip for the ship of a century?"

You could help but roll your eyes at his teasing, blood rushing to the apples of your cheeks.

"Kolby and I haven't spoken since last week. I don't think he likes me anyway. He's been talking to Heather more recently.."

And, for some reason, you weren't too interested in him either. Yes, he was a nice looking, athletic guy but you just didn't care enough to go further than a 'hi, how're you?' with him.

"Well, his loss. You're a wonderful girl and it's a shame he's wasting your time with his boyish nonsense. Besides, he doesn't even wear watches like Mr. Fisher."

"I swear to god, if you mention him or watches one more time.."

"You're right, sorry," he held up his hands defensively before putting them down, "I just don't wanna see you get hurt, Y/N/N.."

"I know you're worried, Marcus, but I'm fine. It's our junior year, I don't think long-term relationships are supposed to happen for us until we're in like college."

"You never know..Anyway, what do you even see in him?"

You let out a sigh, sinking in the mounds of pillows and blankets that are laid astray on your bed.

"Umm..He's cute, without a doubt. His jokes are sometimes funny, depends on who he's around. He has a nice sense of style, I guess? I don't know..We've only known each other for a little over two months."

Marcus laid beside you, rolling to his side with a dopey grin plastered on his pale face. "And a lot could happen in two more months if you just talk to him. I promise, I won't even bother you in Algebra..Okay? Just trust me on this.."

You groaned but, nevertheless, agreed with a silent nod.

"Love shouldn't be this complicated.."

"Sometimes it is, sweetie..But only time can lead you to where you're supposed to be.."

"Yeah, I know...Since when did you become my therapist?" You let out a scoff.

"Since third grade! Now, c'mon, get off your lazy ass and let's do something cool!"

He pulled at your limp arm once he stood up, dragging you to the floor and down the hallway towards the mini library your stepmom installed about a year ago; who has yet to use it.

"If you were looking for 'cool', you brought us to the wrong place."

Your eyes scanned over the bookshelves, catching titles of famous works.

To Kill a Mockingbird

The Great Gatsby

War and Peace

Charlotte's Web

"You only have that perception because you hate her."

"Of course! Have you seen her?"

"Yeah, but this is still cool! You should take advantage of it while you can."

Marcus released his hold from your ankle, scampering over to the section of the library where a red and white book was gleaming for attention.

"Oh my god! Miranda got the newest edition of IT?"

You stood up abruptly and made your way over. "She got what?!"

"Holy shit, this is amazing! We haven't fangirled over this book since freshmen year."

"Oh yeah, our biggest obsession since One Direction." You laughed, taking the book out of his hands and running your finger over the textured title.

"Not gonna lie, the older cover looked better."

You rolled your eyes and ushered him over to the desk in the middle of the room. "Wait, let's see if they kept in that one part.."

"Which one? Does it have to do with Stanley? You had a major crush on his fictional ass." He teased, pulling up another chair beside yours.

"No no no, the one with Eddie and-Oh, I found it!"

Man, he had hated it when Richie called him Eds…but he had sort of liked it, too. It was something….like a secret name. A secret identity. A way to be people that had nothing to do with their parents’ fears, hopes, constant demands. Richie couldn’t do his beloved Voices for shit, but maybe he did know how important it was to creeps like them to sometimes be different people.

"Oh, I absolutely love this part..It's just, mwah, beautiful. Stephen King certainly knew what he was doing.."

"C'mon, let's go back to my room and reminisce." You took his arm and pulled him back to your bedroom.

You internally screamed at Marcus's onslaught recollection of memories.

"Oh, and that one time when you had a major attraction for-"

"Okay okay, that's enough reminiscing!!" You tossed the book at him.

"Aww, what? Feelin' embarrassed, sweetie?" He barely dodged the book, letting it bounce off your bed and onto the ground with a dull thud.

"Shut up.." You grabbed the nearest pillow and slightly smothered yourself with it.

The memories he continued to bring up brought back some nostalgia but looking back at it now made you cringe. You were practically grown up now, not 15 years old.

"Okay, I'm sorry. But wouldn't it be cool if the losers club was real? Like actually around, in real life? Derry was based off of Bangor so it's more than likely you could find your own Stanley Uris."

You cracked a smile at that and threw the pillow at him, situating yourself underneath the covers of your bed. "Yeah, yeah. I wish."

Marcus promptly pulled out his phone and checked the time, turning it over towards you and flashing the bright light in your face. "Well, it's almost 11:11..Make a wish!"

"Seriously?" You deadpanned.

"C'mon, it wouldn't hurt!"

You sighed, sitting up on your elbows and closing your eyes. "Tell me when. You wish it too, okay?"

"Okay," some time passed, "now."

I wish the losers club was real..The entire gang. Every single one of them.

I wish I could blow Bill Denbrough.

You opened your eyes after you recited your wish a couple of times, sighing. You raised an eyebrow at Marcus, seeing him struggle to contain his laughter though the crimson red covering every inch of his face gave it away.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I wished that I could blow Bill."

"Goddamnit, Marc."

It took about a half hour before the two of you could fully relax into a deep sleep but once you guys did, Marcus took up most of the bed.

A heavy gush of wind pushed open your window, the cool air from outside blowing into your room. You snuggled a little more under the covers, face being buried into someone's back. They smelled so nice, a light hazelnut scent and freshly washed hair that reminded you of late night drives with your older cousin when you were younger; Just absolute nostalgia exuded from them. You felt your entire body relax against theirs, the warmth overtaking your slightly exposed skin from the nippy air coming through the window.

You hear a quiet groan from the opposite side of you, the noise causing you to stir from whatever you were dreaming about prior; It was a bit fuzzy.

"What the fuck? Dumbass window.." It was just Marcus.

You felt the weight from the bed disappear, his dull footsteps moving around the carpeted room as he shuts the window.

He turns around and gives one look over the room, his eyes partially open. He sees a couple of people in the room, the sight confusing him in his drowsy state.

"What the..?"

A mix of someone screaming bloody murder and a smoke alarm going off floods the room, echoing off the walls and throughout the house. Even Marcus wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors heard him too.

It takes just a few seconds before your sleeping mind can process the screeching, thus causing you to flip over to your other side and turning on the lamp. Your eyes are piercing with annoyance, though you were still a little concerned about your astonished friend across the room.

"Marc, what the hell?! What's wrong? What happened?"

You cast a glance around your room, trying to pick the oddball out.

"What the hell?!" You hear from behind you, the sudden noise alarming you and making you jump off the bed towards the ground.

Your head whipped around so quickly you were sure it was the dizziness that made your imagination run wild from the sight. There laid a guy, around your age, with very curly light brown hair that just looked absolutely divine to twirl your fingers around.

Underneath you comes a strangled groan, almost upon impact. Looking below, you find a girl with fiery red hair in a bob style. You push yourself off of her and scoot away until your back hits Marcus's legs.

"Who the fuck is yelling-Oh, holy shit..!" You hear another slightly deep voice exclaim.

Turning to your right sat five other guys with drastically different appearances, one after another coming to the realization that they had no fucking clue where they were.

The room grew quiet, fear growing in your eyes as you try to find a person to focus on but the thought only made you even more dizzy than before.

_________________

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for future chapters!! 💖

-Moment of Tangency- tags: @beauregard-s @demoniclust @deepestofwaters @grapesauze @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @soulwillower @19tozier @phrogtheguitarist @kindofokayimagines @stenbrozier @stenbrozier @brxken-heartsclub @fucking-greywater @theliterarymess

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saddle-up-dipper · 4 years

Text

Suffocating - Part One

This is based of the fan art and fic of the lovely @mintartem who gave me permission for this! Please check them out :)

This isn’t my best work and not quite what I imagined but I think part 2 will have more of my strengths!

Warnings: strangulation, light language

The basement was cold, and out of everything that was happening, you’d think Stanley would have had better things to be aware of.

Stanley should have been aware of the blinding light of the orb containing some sort of galaxy. Stanley should have been aware from the red-hot fury just radiating from his brother, both physically and mentally, and he was, he was!

It was just that the basement was cold. So, so, cold.

Ford’s screaming swam in and around his ears, like the waves had around that trunk, so many years ago.

The shockingly bright glow from the galaxy-decorated orb still sent waves of light around the room, like the reflections of light from the lake ripples. It laid somewhere behind Ford, having rolled before settling to a halt, space somehow angry and riled up inside it.

Ford’s figure advancing towards him, face starting to tinge pink from shouting, casted a horrible shadow over Stanley. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

“Do you have any single inkling of what you could have done?” Ford’s hair was unruly from sleep, his eyes bloodshot from what had to have been exhaustion and not hatred.

You did what, you knucklehead?

Filbrick’s eyes were unreachable, something so cold they’d freeze you to death unless protected by the saving grace of sunglasses. Not like Ford’s. Not like Ford.

Stanley took a step back with every step Stanford took towards him, keeping the safe distance (how sad was it he had to use the safe distance with his brother, that he had to think about how far away to keep from him as if he were a gangster trying to kill him) but aware of the ever-closer wall.

“Sixer, Ford, you’re kidding me, I didn’t--” Every word he tried to splutter out was drowned (like him in that trunk) and ignored (like him in the Pines household) and it only served to darken that red glint in Stanford’s eyes.

“You!” Stanford’s finger shot towards him, shaking and unsteady. “You have never respected my science. You never respected me! All my life, I’ve had to deal with your jokes and your degradation and-”

Degradation?

Stanley’s feet, wrapped in his warm slippers, froze to ice (cold cold basement’s cold cold floor, cold air drafting against his skin) and he stopped in his tracks. Stanford kept going.

Dumber, sweatier version of him, scraping barnacles off of docks and god-for nothing but racing drugs around border to border and brother of the genius and that clown and

“You’ve never been degraded in your life!”

You think you’ve got problems?

Stanley raised his own voice at him, waving an arm wildly around. “You got everything you wanted, lots of money, science stuff, damn it, Stanford, you--”

“I never got what I really wanted!” Stanford’s palms, so muscular and rough, pushed against his chest, and it was all Stanley could do to stumble without falling on his ass and feeling Ford’s foot on his chest as his shoulder burned in agony (hot in the cold, cold basement).

“I wanted somebody to understand me, somebody on my LEVEL! Who didn’t call me some sort of nerd machine whenever I brought up my interests! Who’d promise me the world and make me feel special! For God’s sake, I wanted to be acknowledged for what I was and instead, instead I was stuck with you!”

His fingers curled into a fist, red hot anger building in every muscle, old joints roaring to pounce. “Listen here, you entitled--”

Twelve fingers dug into his shoulders, ramming him into the wall that was so much closer than expected. The impact sent spikes of pain all throughout his neck and shoulders.

“You used me!” The cry was wild, unhinged, like a trapped animal. “You used me for your own personal gain!”

“THE SCIENCE PROJECT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” Stanley screwed his eyes shut and howled the words into his brother’s too-close face, but he felt himself pushed further into the wall. His feet itched to lash out and kick him in the crotch, the stomach, any soft area.

But he was small and Fil -- no. No, this is Ford, his brother, he can’t hurt his brother. They just needed to roughhouse to let out steam --

“Bullshit!” Ford spat back, his wide eyes and flushed face way too close for comfort. “I just wanted to be my own person, my own happy person, and that was ripped away from me because ooh,” his voice dripped with sarcasm, “wherever we go, we go together!”

Pain tore across Stan’s body as if he’d been slapped, leaving him winded and breathless.

Ford hadn’t just said that. He hadn’t used that promise, those words, that sacred promise, against him.

No.

“You were my best friend.”

Well, I guess you’d better come visit me on the other side of the country.

Stanley’s twin, his better half. All he had and all he wanted.

“And you were the half of me I couldn’t get rid of! I wanted to be my own person and you just wanted to be around me all the time, to be me--“

The dust in the freezing basement was getting in Stanley’s eyes, causing allergies and shit and he could feel the liquid welling up in his eyes, half-angry and half-shocked.

He didn’t mean to wake Ford up and drop his snowglobe or whatever and he didn’t want to have his half-asleep enraged brother yelling at him like this, ripping apart any shred of self-respect or self-esteem Stanley managed to keep throughout the ages.

Years of fighting off thugs in dark alleyways coursed through Stanley’s veins and his fist swung towards his brother’s chin in a solid upper hook, returning the favor that still ached on his own jaw.

Twelve fingers wrapped themselves around his throat, cutting off his precious airway.

His eyes bulged, color fleeing from his cheeks. His fist unraveled and instead clawed and scratched at Ford’s grip.

Ford’s strength pushed him higher against the wall. Stanley felt his heels lift away from the bottom of his slippers.

He only had the little breath from before the chokehold, formulating to barely more than a croak. “Ford…” He searched his brother’s face for any hint of mercy that someone who cared could provide, that a bully or father or drug lord could never. “I can’t -- “ breathe.

He needed to breathe.

“This is what I always feel around you!”

The words whirled around. Black spots danced, unclear and fuzzy and sometimes grey or green, but the angry light in Ford’s eyes glowed sharp and clear, twin lighthouses in whatever sea Stanley had dragged them both to drown in.

Hot tears flooded in Stanley’s eyes. His lips moved, but he had no oxygen to spare into speech.

He kicked out as a last resort, but he willingly missed hitting his brother. He’d caused enough damage. He might have broken whatever glowy ball he dropped. He ruined Ford’s life, that nerdy little boy on the bottom bunk…

His brother started screaming at him the moment he’d popped up from his desk. Maybe he was grumpy.

Stanley’s eyes slid shut, maybe from his own will, maybe not. finally rolling streams of tears down his face. Maybe his brother was still dreaming.

Ford, wake up.

The noose of fingers around his neck vanished, and sweet, ice-cold but fresh air flooded Stan’s body.

Without anything holding him up he stumbled forward, and with the dizziness having sucked all the energy out of his lungs it was all he could do to collapse forward onto his knees and then hands, choking and gasping and coughing as if he hadn’t just been trying to get air in, and now he was coughing it out?

His back was on fire, and so was his brand, and he could feel the trunk walls around him, and suddenly Pa grabbed his shirt, and, and…

A shuddering gasp reached his awareness. He lifted his head.

Ford had backed away, hands now covering his mouth, widened eyes, darkened by shadows underneath, no longer hysteric.

“Stan,” he croaked once those twelve fingers returned to his sides, trembling. From emotion or exertion?

Stanley’s shoulders shook with wheezy laughter as he stayed down, every inhale rasping painfully in his throat around the doubtlessly bruising skin. Twelve-fingered bruise to match the six-fingered bruise on his face to match the brand on his shoulder.

“Stanley, I’m--”

“You said I looked like Dad,” rasped Stanley, pathetic attempts at laughter both breathless and humorless. He lifted his head to stare at his twin. “But you’re the one acting like him.” His cheeks glistened with moisture.

Ford’s mouth opened and closed, visibly trembling. “I… I’m…”

Stanley forced himself to his feet, pretending he wasn’t swaying and that the room wasn’t spinning and that his throat didn’t still feel choked, fleeing to the elevator.

Ford didn’t follow.

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ramblesanddragons · 4 years

Text

When Someone Has Your Back

(I thought I posted this last night but apparently not.)

Here’s my entry for @forduary based on Week 2: Trust/Paranoia.

Summary: Life on the sea has done wonders for Stan and Ford Pines but a stop in New Orleans brings an unwanted, surprising, and dangerous guest.

Word Count: 4417

Warnings: There is fighting in this (this was good practice for me since I've never written a fight scene before) but no mentions of blood. I did not want this to be considered graphic.

Ao3 Link for those who prefer!

“Ford for Pete’s sake I can handle myself. You want to do your nerd thing and I want to go hang out at a bar. It’s okay,” Stan said slightly exasperated.

Close to a year at sea had done wonders for the old Pines twins. Stan hadn’t felt so at peace for a long time. Sure, that fact that some of his rougher memories had been AWOL for most of the year helped but being with Ford at sea, doing what they always dreamed of doing? Well it was a dream. Even dreams have rough patches though.

Ever since Stan had been erased to defeat some sort of dream demon his brother had been perhaps a little too protective of him. It was an improvement from the sad sap that Ford had become after the erasing. That had really pissed Stan off as more memories of who his brother was came back. He wanted to sail with his brother not this sad, sullen nerd that was holding his tongue so much that Stan was sure it had bled a few times. Stan put his foot down before they sailed out.

“Ford if you don’t stop being so down and start being yourself, I’m not going out with you. I’ll probably throw you overboard within a week.”

That had worked more or less. For the first time in years they talked their problems out. It was a good start and within a day Ford had been back to bantering with Stan like they had never been apart. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the other issue Stan was having. Ford had become incredibly protective of him. Sure, that had been a thing in a way when they were young. Stan handled the bullies and Ford covered for him with the one he couldn’t deal with, their dad. He would stick up for Stan and help him when homework got too hard. Once he had even stayed up all night to talk Stan through his whining when Carla McCorkle had broken up with him.

Now it was different. More...intense. Stan knew it was a strange mix of Ford’s caring for him, wanting to make up for his so-called sacrifice, and his paranoia. Boy howdy was Ford paranoid. Not that Stan blamed him. Whenever the subject of his time traveling the multiverse was brought up his brother would only speak of the good but there had been bad as well. Stan hadn’t told Ford but the memory of the quick change in the fearimaid had come back a few months ago. Stan remembered the scars that told a horrific story across his brother’s body.

So, Ford had every right to be paranoid and Stan would let him have that. He could understand this at least. He let his brother be the odd boy guard he really didn’t need and went along with whatever protective measure his brother saw fit to take. He would deal with his brother being uptight in crowed places and seeing danger everywhere. He was there with his favorite tea when the nightmares would wake him in a fit of crying. Just like Ford was there for him when nightmares wrecked his own sleep.

But Stan was also a grown 58-year-old man and had most of his memories back and he just wanted to go get a damn drink.

“The tour is fascinating though. I thought it would be a good place to start for ghost hunting,” Ford reply looking like a slightly hurt puppy.

“We can go ghost hunting later. I promise but it’s hot as hell here and I don’t feel like going.”

“Then I’ll go get a drink with you.”

“Ford. I know you feel like you need to like watch over me or somethin’ but I promise you, I will be okay. Okay? Look if we don’t do some things apart, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

“Stan, I have told you over and over again I will never, ever, get sick of you.” Ford said standing to grip Stan on the shoulders.

“Yes, and I believe that now...mostly,” Stan ignored the frustrated look in his brother’s eyes, “But everyone needs space now and again. I’ve been to New Orleans before I know where I’m going. While we’re here I can show you all the good places to eat. Look how about I go get a drink, you go look at tombstones or whatever and we’ll meet back here to find a place to eat. We got these cell phones for a reason you know.”

The kids had insisted that they get phones if they were going travel like they were. McGucket had even decked them out so they would work wherever. Ford and Stan, with lots of help from the kids, had even figured out texting. His twin sighed and let go of his shoulders.

“Very well. But keep that ringer of yours on okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

So, they parted ways. Ford seemed hesitant to keep walking down his street but eventually kept walking. Stan found the place he was looking for and took a seat. Jazz wasn’t his favorite thing in the world but nothing beat a good live band and a fruity drink that he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking any other time. The afternoon passed in piece and as the sun started to get lower in the sky Stan made his way back to the boat. It was a good afternoon and Stan had even scored a date for tomorrow, which meant some working around his brother but the boat had separate rooms for them for a reason. All and all a good time. He walked lazily back to where the boat was docked when the sound of a dinosaur roar made him jump. Mabel thought it was a good text tone for his brother and, while she wasn’t wrong, it still made him jump from time to time.

I need to get her to tell me how to change it.

Stanley. I will be back at the boat in 10 minutes time.

Ok Ford. ‘Bout to walk on.

…

Please remember to turn off the alarm!

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford had installed some sort of proximity alarm and he had to turn it on and off as he came and went but it eased his brother’s mind so whatever.

Stan had only managed to take a single step on the deck of the ship when a cold feeling went up his spine. Someone was watching him. Before he could react, there was the thundering footsteps behind him and the feeling of something blunt on the back of his head. He fell onto his knees and yelled out in pain. Looking through blurred vision he turned to face his attacker. Stan almost screamed again. A dark green creature was glowering down at him. It vaguely reminded him of a snake if a snake had grown arms and legs and had been on a steady steroid regiment. This had to be an alien of some sort, right? Despite what Ford thought Stan did pay attention to his nerdy rants. This didn’t match any of those cryptids he was looking for around here unless a snake man was an option, he wasn’t aware of. Well it was Louisiana.

“Stanford Pines,” it hissed, “it had been too long.”

An alien that’s looking for my brother. Wonderful.

He will be fine. Everything will be fine.

What if he had a memory lapse?

He hasn’t had one in 6 months. If he does, he keeps his facilities on him enough to ask for help. Your number is his emergency contact.

What if he gets hurt?

He’s right he’s an old man who can care for himself!

This internal argument had been on repeat in Ford’s head for about two blocks now. He forced his feet forward anyway. He did it for Stan’s sake. He needed space and Ford needed space even if he would never voice that to his twin. Stan was right, not about Ford getting sick of him no. Ford was determined to use his last 30 years or so to make up for lost time. Traveling with his brother brought about a pure joy that he didn’t think was possible for him to feel again and he would never want it to end. But they were still very different people and being stuck on a small boat for months, even with separate rooms, had frayed a few nerves. Yes, this was healthy and needed.

But Ford’s damn brain would not shut up.

By the time Ford reached the tour Stan had already been mentally kidnapped by swamp creatures 3 times. Maybe just texting his brother would help, or would that annoy Stan too much? Ford had been trying very hard to be considerate of Stan’s feeling since he had spent so much time frankly not doing just that. Part of his worry was that Stan would maybe get tired of him and want to stop, go back to Gravity Falls with the treasures they found and get Ford to leave him alone. The old scientist knew he was hard to deal with at times but Stan seemed to take most of it stride. What was worrying was his twin brother seemed to really understand what he was going through. Why would Stan know about the need to watch his back almost constantly? Why did he insist on having his own pistol under his bed and brass knuckles on him at all times? Both of them hadn’t been very forthcoming with bits and pieces of their past but at least Stan had an excuse up until now. He claimed he had most of his memories back so he was just choosing not to share at this point.

“Sir?” Ford jumped and his hand flew to his concealed weapon before he focused on the young man that looked wide eyed and concerned.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just the tour is about to start are you joining us?” In his thoughts Ford had paused to think and the tour group had started moving without him.

“Ah sorry just didn’t see you there. Yes, I’m coming.” Ford said awkwardly shoving his hands behind his back. The young man gave him a thumbs up and started the tour with an explanation of the above ground graves they were walking by. The guys’ voice reminded him of Fiddleford a bit but there was a difference in the drawl, it lacked that mountain twang. He found himself thinking that he should give his old friend a call tonight after dinner. Ford followed at the back, away from the crowd. It was an ideal position; he could watch the people in the front and look out for things behind him. The crowd was bothering him no matter how hard he tried to shake it.

That was another reason he had wanted his brother along for this. Ford had gotten used to Stan’s presence in his life. Knowing he wasn’t alone all the time anymore had been a Godsend for his mental health if he was being honest. Paranoia is easier to deal with when you know someone has your back. Standford Pines could trust his twin brother and it made a world of difference.

The tour was informative and it led to a good place to start for some ghost hunting. The watch Ford had modified had picked up on several ectoplasmic disturbances and he was pleased with the adventure he had planned out with Stan. Ford finally allowed himself to text his brother. He had managed to only text him two times before now in an attempt to show some restraint with his worries. Hopefully Stan would turn off the alarm as it made a very annoying buzzing noise come from his watch. The alarm annoyed Stan, especially when he had a guy or girl over and he had to fiddle with it before getting to whatever business they were doing for the night, but he never told Ford to get rid of it.

There was a sigh as the alarm went off and Ford put it to snooze. A minute later it went off again and it sent a worried ringing up the old man’s arm. Ford texted Stan.

Please turn off the alarm.

Another minute passed. The alarm buzzed some more.

Stan?

A knot began to form in Ford’s stomach. He gave up texting and called.

“Hey uh this is Stan Pines. Leave some info unless you’re the IRS.” Straight to voicemail. Stan had promised to answer it and keep it on him. Something was wrong. Ford immediately began to run the remaining distance between himself and the boat. 5 minutes of straight running was making his lungs burn but he didn’t care, he had to find his brother. The docks were empty as he finally caught sight of the Stan of War.

Not good no one around to see if he got dragged off dammit Stanley you had better be okay!

The running stopped as his trained eye spotted something shine on the deck. It was Stan’s phone. He had made it to the deck of the ship at least.

Focus. Look for clues and calm down. You’re no good like this. What’s your big brain good for if you can’t find and follow clues? Use your logic. Okay he made it to deck that’s for certain maybe...is that...my voice?

Ford’s head snapped to the cabin. Muffled voices were coming from behind the door. With more stealth than an owl hunting in the moonlight Ford made his way to the door. Inside it was indeed his voice coming through the wall as well as another that sounded so familiar, his mind raced to place it. It had to be one of the bounty hunters that had been after him in the multiverse he knew that but which one? The unknown hunter and his brother were in the middle of a conversation.

Good Stan keep it talking I need to think of a plan!

“And what about those extra digits?” The unknown voice questioned.

“Had them cut off. They were a very identifiable mark. You’re not the only person after me after all. Perhaps it would be best to not to deal with me so hastily. Don’t want to have any other bounty hunters jealous of you, do you?” Stan said imitating Ford’s voice.

“Your time here has made you forget. The multiverse fears me. No one would dare challenge me. Prepare yourself, your head is now mine.”

“Very well. If last wishes are something you care about just leave this dimension when you are done.” Stan again said in his impression of Ford.

The impression was flawless, just like it had been in the fearimaid. Ford finally put two and two together. A cold feeling enveloped his body as thoughts of a memory gun in his hand and his brother at his mercy swam to the top of his consciousness. This was worse.

Oh, sweet Moses.

He’s pretending to be me again.

He’s about the take the fall for me again.

Stan’s about to get his head chopped off by a blood thirsty inter-dimensional bounty hunter to protect me.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO!

In a rare moment all logic left the mind of Stanford Pines.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Ford screamed bursting through the cabin door and tackling the killer into the other side of the cabin, causing it to drop the razor-sharp blade it was holding. Ford began to punch it in the face with all of his might.

“Oh, hey Ford there you are.” Stan quipped in his normal voice. Ford could barely hear him over the roaring of blood in his ears.

The hunter was thrown off by the sudden appearance of another Stanford Pines and Ford wasn’t going to waste the opening. He tugged at the hitman’s blaster, wresting it free from its holster. The hunter gave him a powerful kick to the chest that sent Ford halfway across the cabin.

“Hey Ford I know you’re a little busy but if you get something sharp my way, I can cut myself out!” Stan shouted.

“Shut UP! I don’t know what sort of magic this is but I’ll kill you both for good measure!” The creature hissed and lunged for the gun. Ford’s chest was aching but he didn’t pay it any attention as he pulled his own gun.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Ford roared and fired. The shot hit square in the chest but the monster’s hide was too thick. With a cold jolt in his being Ford now fully recognized the bounty hunter. They had clashed more than a few times over the years and every time Ford barely managed to escape with his life. The last time had been 6 years ago. That encounter ended with Ford jumping into a rushing river as a last stitch effort of escape. Its species was tough and blaster fire barely did a thing to them. The scientist in him often wondered if more traditional firearms would work better but the pistol was under Stan’s cot, there was no way to get to it. Ford kept firing desperately.

A part of Ford was sure he wasn’t going to survive this encounter with the hunter and it didn’t matter to him if he did in the long run, as long as he brought the monster down with him. He would not let him hurt his brother. If he died and the hunter was still alive Stanley would have to face it alone. So, Ford couldn’t die just yet and if he did, he’d just have to get back up again until Stanley was safe. The hunter picked up its own blaster and aimed for Ford’s head when Stan crashed into the creature chair and all. The blaster went sliding again across the cabin.

“Hey dumb-ass you kind of suck at this if you can’t tell two targets apart!” Stan heckled the thing from his now prone position. The creature hissed again and lunged at Stan’s neck but Ford was faster. He took the thing by its neck and slammed it into the floor and struggled to put his own gun to the creature's head.

“Let’s see if you can shrug off point blank ARGGGGG!” Sharp claws ripped into Ford’s shoulder and peeled him off. The hunter sprung to its feet and gave Ford a kick, and then another. Somewhere in the chaos Ford’s gun flew from his hands and landed under a desk. There was a crack of something in his chest and face but Ford didn’t care. On the third kick he grabbed the boot of the killer and tossed it off balance enough to give Ford time to stand.

Get it away from Stan! Get it away! Repeated in his head.

Taking out his knife Ford slashed at it wildly. Each step towards it brought claws closer to his face but he didn’t care. Seeing an opening Ford got in close and with all of his might he shoved the hunter through the door of the cabin earning him a clawing to the chest in the process.

Ford had exactly one idea but he needed to reach the stern of the ship. He managed to make it half way there when the killer caught up to him, using its claws to try and bring Ford down again. He stumbled but stayed uptight turning to face his attacker. It had managed to pull another blade and swung, missing Ford by a hair. He took the chance to kick it back away from him but it had less of an impact that he hoped. Sharp black claws ripped into his sweater and it held the blade at Ford’s throat.

“30 years of chasing you and this is how it ends? How pathetic!” It rose its arm to swing when another pair of arms appeared underneath the creature’s elbows. Stan had gotten free and with all his might pulled it away from Ford. Stan threw it into the wall of the cabin and started to go at it with his knuckles covered in brass.

“30 years huh? Well you’re never fucking with my brother EVER AGAIN!” Stan thundered.

Ford saw his chance. Pushing back the sickness in his stomach at the thought of pointing another gun at Stan he reached the harpoon at the stern. “STAN MOVE!”

His brother didn’t even need to look back to tell what he was doing, with a leap the way was clear and Ford fired, hitting his mark. There was a loud crack as the harpoon broke the cabin wall. Then silence.

Ford collapsed onto the deck of the boat.

“S-Stanley,” he croaked, “are you okay?”

Stanley stood and ran over to him wincing at the sight of the damage. To Ford’s relief his brother only seemed to have a minor injury or two.

“AM I OKAY!? Ford, we need to get you to a hospital!” Stanley began to try and lift Ford who responded with a hiss.

“No, no we can’t leave that here like that. What if someone comes by.”

“Ford it’s 5:30 on a Friday night no one’s gonna see this.”

Ford began to try and stand on his own. “Really Stan I’ve had worse. I’ll sail us out to open water, deal with him, and then maybe rest.” Try and he might his ribs wouldn’t let him stand.

“FORD SIT THE FUCK DOWN!!!” Stanley screamed. Ford finally obeyed and gave his brother an owlish look in surprise.

“You’re worried that much about people finding it? Fine I’ll sail us out a bit, deal with it then I’m getting your ass to a hospital.” Stan stood and within a moment or two had the boat pulling out of the dock. Ford was quiet for a moment, observing his brother and making sure no underlying injuries were causing problems. Five full minutes of silence passed before Stan spoke again.

“He was looking for you. I guess I don’t blame ya for being so paranoid,” he muttered.

“Yes. Stan...Stan I’m so sorry.” With the adrenaline wearing off all Ford could feel was the pain and the fear. Fear that his brother almost died again.

“I-I should have warned you this could happen...I know I haven’t been very forthcoming about my time away but I’ll tell you now and, and...” Tears were building in Ford’s eyes. Stan turned from the wheel for a moment to look at him.

“Ford you don’t have to tell me anything okay? And stop apologizing.”

“YOU ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF ME!” Ford’s voice cracked with the stress. Stan flipped on the auto pilot Ford had built and sat next to his now sobbing brother.

“Ford...”

“Stan, I heard you. You were pretending to be me again. Why? You were going to let him kill you t-to protect me? Why?”

Stan opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare say better you than me!”

Stan coughed to perhaps give himself a moment to course correct and spoke. “Meh I was okay...”

“Okay? How...how are you so calm with this...how did you know t-that?” Ford was sure he had taken too hard of a hit there was no way Stan was okay with this.

“If ya let me finish Ford. I was saying I knew I was going to be okay because I know you’ve got my back.”

Stan, to Ford’s utter shock, was smiling.

“You know the more I remember about my past the happier I am to be here. I mean that in all senses of that statement too. Like to be alive. People have tried to kill me before too and I was all alone then. Just like you were. And it’s awful.” Ford wanted to hug his brother and simultaneously find whoever had dared to go after him. That’s why he understood so well.

“But I think I’ve finally managed to hang on to the idea that you’ve got my back and I’ve got yours. Hell, even if you woke up hating me again tomorrow, I’d still have your back.”

“ I never hated you and I never will,” Ford whispered quietly.

“Meh I think it might have been touch and go there a minute.”

“...I will always be there for you Stan and not because of what you did either, I know you think that’s the only reason I’m here sometimes no matter how hard you hide it. I will always be there for you because you are my brother.”

“Thanks. You know I should probably tell you the people who might have me on their kill list...I just need to remember their names first.” Stan rubbed his sore head.

“Don’t freak out things just get a little jumbled after crazy stuff like that.” He pointed to the hunter.

“I’m not,” he was, “but just so you know if anyone so much as touches you wrong, I’m going to kill them.”

“Yeah I got that point. Guess this isn’t going to exactly ease those nerves of yours huh?”

“I’m sorry I’m so...”

“Ford if you apologize one more damn time, I’m gonna...I don’t know...toss one of your nerd books overboard with that guy.”

Ford closed his mouth.

“I can handle you dealing with whatever your time is space sideburns land did to you in your own way. I just hope I can get you to relax and enjoy life a little more ya know?”

“I am. With you around watching my back I have been able to relax a bit. Thank you, Stanley, for understanding.”

20 minutes was all Stan was willing to spend on the job. Stan patched Ford up as much as he could in the meantime. He also started to do the math on the repairs then decided to say fuck it to that for the night. Before disposing of whatever this guy was, Stan pocketed some of his fancier looking stuff to Ford’s amusement.

“What Fiddlenerd might like to look this over.” Was Stan’s only argument.

Once docked he called an ambulance (“This crazy huge dog came out of nowhere and attacked us!”) and they were on the way.

“Once you’re healed up Ford, I’m going to show you the time of your life and some of the best damn food in the world.”

Ford smiled, “Looking forward to it.”

#forduary #Gravity Falls #gravity falls fanfiction #Fanfiction #non-graphic violence #my writing #protective ford #snarky stan #long post

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eddie-boii · 5 years

Text

Never Let You Go (part 11/14)

Fic info: Both Eddie and Stan live because I do what I want. Multichapter.

Rating: Teen and up (may change). Language.

Pairings: Reddie, Benverly.

Ao3 link: here

Summary: The Losers prepare for a wedding. They’ve had enough of reddie’s antics.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

By the time the Losers got back to the hotel, they were all shivering and damp from the snow, their noses red and cheeks flushed and shoes squelching on the carpet, but they were all still too elated to care and there was plenty of time before the second ceremony to dry off and warm up in front of the grand fire in the lobby.

“I can’t believe you two are married,” said Richie, grinning over at his friends who were snuggled up together in one armchair by the fire.

“Who do you think is gonna be the next out of us to get married?” said Ben.

“Ss-stan and I are already married,” said Bill.

“You are?!” cried Richie. “Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding? How could you?”

“Thirteen-year-old Stan would be ecstatic,” Bev giggled as Stan glared at Richie. He turned the glare to her instead.

“Ww-what?” said Bill.

“I had a little crush on you back then, it’s no big deal,” Stan sighed. “Everyone did.”

“E-everyone?” Bill squawked.

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m mostly straight but yeah.”

“Oh, come on,” said Bill. “N-not Rr-Richie at least. H-he was too busy crushing on Eddie.”

“What?” Eddie blurted.

Richie was about ready to deny everything, divert his affections to Eddie’s mom as he always did, but he was happy and warm, still on a bit of a high from the day’s events and surrounded by people who loved him, so for once, he didn’t bother.

“Okay, but there was a brief few weeks before Eds came along,” he shrugged.

“You’re not denying it?” Eddie said, his voice cracking adorably and his eyes wide as he turned to Richie. “You had a crush on me?”

“You were just so darn cute, Eds!” Richie said, leaning across to pinch Eddie’s cheek. He decided not to mention that that ‘crush’ was still ongoing. Eddie batted his hand away as usual but seemed too in shock to protest the nickname.

“So who will be the next to get married?” said Ben in a thinly veiled attempt to divert the attention off an embarrassed Eddie. “Mike?”

“Oh, no way, I’m not really the marrying type,” said Mike. “Not really the relationship type, either, to be honest.”

“That just leaves Richie and Eds,” said Bev.

“And they’ll marry each other, so that’s two at once,” said Stan.

“Will you guys give it a rest?” said Richie. Tired of his friends’ antics, he turned to Eddie. “They’re betting on whether or not we’ll get together.”

“What?” cried Eddie, who still seemed like he had yet to process Richie having a crush on him let alone this.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who told him?” said Bill.

“Guilty,” said Bev.

“And it’s n-not a question of if,” said Bill, smirking at Richie. “It’s a question of when.”

“Stan and Bev reckoned you’d get together on or before the day of the wedding,” said Mike. He checked his watch. “So we have about nine hours before Bill and I win.”

“I’m sorry I had a little faith that one of them would grow balls,” said Stanley, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re fucking betting on us,” said Eddie, face red and eyebrows scrunched up with fury. It was one of Richie’s favourite expressions of Eddie’s.

“Yeah, and I would’ve won if Bev hadn’t kidnapped you and ruined my plan last night,” said Stan, turning to scowl at Bev. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“He’s my emotional support gay!” Bev defended.

“You guys aren’t ss-supposed to meddle!” said Bill.

“None of you should be fucking meddling,” said Eddie. “My love life is none of your fucking business.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eddie, it’s been thirty years,” said Stan. “I, for one, have had enough of this. You two have been pining for each other since you were twelve! You like each other, okay? Now can you please get a move on and bone already?”

Richie opened his mouth to retort but no words came. He looked over at Eddie who was staring right back at him, his flustered expression and red face probably mirroring Richie’s. Sure, Stan was right, Richie had liked Eddie since they were twelve. But Eddie liking him back? There was no way. Eddie was always mad at him, always fussing at him about his hygiene and how he was bound to get a bunch of infections, always complaining about his jokes. And sure, Richie loved watching Eddie get all heated and flustered, but that was out of annoyance, not anything else. Surely…

No. Richie mentally shook his head. Stan saying Eddie liked him didn’t mean anything. The others were just on a romantic high from the wedding, just seeing things that weren’t there. Until Eddie straight up told him himself, Richie was not going to believe anything the others said. Because, honestly, he didn’t think he could handle it if they were wrong. He’d rather spend another thirty years pining then be rejected, then ruin what they had. He liked being Eddie’s friend, he liked poking fun at him and watching him get all red-faced, he liked their back and forth banter, and he liked those soft moments when it was just the two of them, when they could just exist as themselves, comfortable in each other. He didn’t want to risk losing that.

“Give them a break,” said Ben, interrupting Richie’s thoughts. “Twenty-seven of those years weren’t their fault, and they’ve been through a whole bunch of shit. We know that better than anyone. Let them take their time, okay?” He looked over at Richie and Eddie and smiled, forever the supportive friend. “We’re here for you no matter what. Even if you never get together. Right guys?”

He looked over at the other’s and they let out a series of reluctant but affirming groans.

“That being said,” Ben continued, turning back to Richie and Eddie. “Can you two at least promise you’ll have a talk about it?”

Richie and Eddie glanced at each other.

“I guess,” mumbled Richie after a moment.

“Yeah, whatever,” grunted Eddie.

“Good,” said Ben, smiling.

“Buddy,” said Mike, “please tell me you and Bev plan to have children, coz you are already the world’s greatest dad.”

Ben’s face flushed instantly but Bev grinned and squeezed his hand.

“All in good time, Michael,” she said which only served to make Ben even more flustered.

By the time the second ceremony was due to start, the real minister had arrived and Stan was back to being a man of honour and walking down the aisle with Mike, which meant Richie was walking with Eddie alone. He tried not to focus on it too much, which was exceedingly difficult considering the conversation the Losers had just had. Did Eddie really like him? Was this just as flustering for Eddie as it was for Richie? Had they really wasted thirty years thinking the other didn’t reciprocate their feelings? It seemed impossible, like something out of Richie’s teenage fantasies, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Richie tried his best not to fidget during that second ceremony, but standing by the aisle while Bev and Ben repeated generic vows in front of a room full of people Richie didn’t care about was almost too much. He occupied himself by scanning the room. He spotted Audra and Patty seated next to each other, and Bev’s aunt sat in the front row beside Ben’s parents with his grandmother beside them. Then there were Ben’s colleagues, the odd work friend of Bev’s who hadn’t abandoned her after her divorce from Tom, and rows of random cousins and distant relatives that probably hadn’t all been together for at least twenty years. Richie tried to amuse himself by making up ludicrous stories for each of them, but eventually, his attention strayed to the other side of the alter, back to Eddie.

He was wearing a neat black suit over a pink shirt that reminded Richie of one of Eddie’s outfits when they were kids. They’d all been fashion icons back then. His hair was neatly combed back as usual and his face was cleanly shaven. And for once, he didn’t look angry or worried or like the world was going to come crashing down on him at any moment. He looked happy as he watched Ben and Bev, his dark eyes soft and shining and a slight smile on his face, his dimples on full display. He was beautiful, and fuck, Richie really needed to get a grip on himself. There was no way - no way - someone as perfect as that could have feelings for someone as much of a mess as Richie.

He zoned back in in time to see Bev and Ben kiss for the second time that day, actually managing properly this time. They walked back down the aisle together, holding hands and waving as everyone stood and cheered them on, then Bev held her bouquet of flowers aloft.

“Ready?” she called.

There was a shriek as all the single ladies in the room fought their way to the aisle for a good spot. Richie just watched them in amusement, but when Bev finally threw the bouquet, it soared over everyone’s heads - she’d always been pretty good at throwing - and right into Richie’s hands before he could even process what was happening.

A disappointed sigh swept over the room from all the ladies who’d missed out, but Richie barely heard them, still staring at the flowers in momentary shock.

“Nice catch, dumbass,” said Eddie, snapping Richie out of his trance.

“Told you you’d be next to get married, Rich,” Stan snorted.

“Yeah right,” Richie scoffed, ignoring his burning face. “You wish.” He tossed the bouquet back into the crowd and there was a scuffle as the women realised what was happening and tried to grab it first. It eventually ended up in the hands of Ben’s grandmother who was quite feisty for a woman in her nineties.

The reception was the part Richie was really looking forward to; free food and cake and an open bar, and a dance floor for him and his friends to embarrass themselves on.

Music rang through the air as Ben and Bev took to the dancefloor for their first dance as a married couple.

“Close your eyes,

“Realise,

“It’s you and I…”

“Is this fucking New Kids on the Block?” cried Richie as Ben pulled Bev into his arms. “Why am I not fucking surprised?”

“Beep beep, Richie. Shut the fuck up and let them enjoy themselves,” Eddie said, elbowing Richie lightly in the side.

“If loving you is right I can’t go wrong,

“Girl we’ve known each other for so long,

“Chemistry between us has grown strong,

“You are the one and only meaning to this song.”

“It’s sweet,” said Mike, watching the couple dance. Neither were very good at it, stepping on each others feet and giggling, their smiles lighting up the room as they swayed around like they were thirteen years old again and nothing else in the world mattered. “It fits, you know?”

“So fucking cheesy,” said Richie, smiling as he watched two of his best friends dance together. “But yeah, you’re right.”

“You make me feel there's no such thing as too far,

“Forever's just enough time to show you, girl,

“That I'm not acting like I know,

“I'll never let you go.”

Bev and Ben twirled around the dance floor as the crowd of guests cheered them on. The music really wasn’t the kind of romantic melody couples tended to dance to at weddings - more like something that would play at a middle-school dance - but neither of them seemed to care. They danced like there was no one else in the room, gazing at each other fondly, laughing when Ben tripped over his own feet or Bev stepped on his toes, joking that they probably should have gotten dancing lessons. They were so in love and - call him a sappy romantic but- Richie could have watched them dance for hours.

Eventually, though, the song came to an end and a new one started, and Bev and Ben beckoned the other Losers onto the dance floor.

“Come on, we need the best men and men of honour to dance together,” said Bev. “You promised.”

Mike didn’t hesitate to grab Stan and start reenacting Dirty Dancing with him, and Bev pulled Bill onto the dance floor for what she called a ‘father-daughter dance’, despite his protests to the name.

Richie hesitated, eying Eddie reproachfully. The prospect of dancing with him after Eddie finally knew about his childhood crush, plus what all the Losers had said about them, was almost too much to handle. He thought about what it would be like to dance with Eddie, pressed up close to him, his hands on Eddie’s waist as Eddie’s arms were draped around his neck, barely a breath between them. Just an inch away from-

Nope. Richie couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t trust himself not to do something stupid and embarrassing. So Richie did what Richie did best; made a huge joke out of it.

“Come on, Eduardo!” he said, dragging Eddie onto the dance floor before immediately releasing his hand and lurching into movement. “I believe this is what the kids these days are ‘the Floss’.”

“You’re doing it wrong!” cried Bev, releasing Bill to stand by Richie. “It’s like this. Watch.”

She demonstrated some weird movements and Richie did his worst interpretation of them before dabbing.

“You are such a fucking moron,” said Eddie, but when Richie looked up at him, he was smiling. God, he’d never grow tired of that smile.

“You ever heard of twerking, Eds?” he said.

“No one wants to see that!” Stan cried as Richie went into a squat.

“You do not have alcohol in your system to blame this on,” said Bev. “And that being said, someone get the cameraman!”

Okay, so Richie was stupid and embarrassing anyway, but he figured this was better than the alternative.

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#it chapter 2 #it chapter two #reddie #benverly #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #the losers club #writing #fic #fanfic #fix it #fluff #slow burn #EB writes

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the-survival-hunter · 5 years

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I love Stanley Pines but also I almost feel bad that he’s my current Main Boi(tm) because literally every single flipping idea that pops into my mind gets thrown onto him Does he die? Does he become a contract killer? Does he become a zombie? Does he turn into a journal? Does he become just a killer? Does he have fire power? Does he become a forest guardian? Does he become dad? Does he have a healthy relationship with the people around him? (Only one of those aus but hey) Does he become a demon? Who knows! Anyones game!

#stanley pines #skfjksjfjwkktke if the idea i got doesnt work i will make it work fjsjfjek #fun fact everything listed above i have developed somewhat #and definetly thought about on more than one occasion #hyperfixations are weird man!!!#rye rambles #idea dump #partially #listened to the new edge of sleep ep and im just @ my brain #stop #djsjkfjskfjsk #i love my ideas but also sometimes it rly ought to be time to stop

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literaryoblivion · 6 years

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October 31-Halloween (Stiles/Derek)

It’s done! Last one! Thanks for sticking with me on these and forgiving me for these last super belated ones. If you read this one carefully, you’ll catch cameo references to all the pairings I wrote in this series. This was a lot of fun, and while challenging, I’m glad I did it. Hope y’all enjoyed it too!! Now on to Christmas fics to write! :)

(Read on AO3)

Stiles walks into the crowded halloween party on a mission. He’s looking for a werewolf. Not just any werewolf, a specific one, and he’s praying and hoping he is here, or else the little Red Riding Hood get up Stiles is currently sporting will all be for naught.

The party theme was an interesting one. It was a Halloween costume party, of course, but those that were single were asked to dress as one half of a couple costumes. The idea was that you could find a matching pair at the party and perhaps hit it off.

As Stiles scours the crowd for his werewolf--and he knows for a fact that he’ll be a werewolf because he always uses it as his costume, refusing to spend money on something stupid and uncomfortable when he’s got a built in one--Stiles loses count of how many lamps and moth pairs his seen. He passes a couple dressed as Dallas Stars hockey players, which he thinks is oddly specific, but they seem to be into each other, so good for them.

He stops in the kitchen where he sees a short blonde boy pulling out hand pies from the oven, and he looks to be dressed all in silver with a bowl on his head. There’s another guy looking at him adoringly dressed as a hockey player (which, what is with all the hockey players?). It’s not until the blonde stands beside him that Stiles realizes he’s dressed as the Stanley cup, which is brilliant and super creative.

After grabbing a drink and a handful of pretzels, Stiles continues his search for his grumpy werewolf. A guy dressed in a tux, arm wrapped around a nerdy dude, compliments Stiles on his outfit after a very obvious body scan, which causes the nerdy dude to give the spy a dirty look. The last thing Stiles wants to do is get into some jealous lover’s quarrel so he nods his thanks and moves past them into a room where people are dancing.

There’s several couples everywhere, and Stiles takes a moment to admire the costumes they’re wearing. There’s two guys, one wearing angel wings dancing with a guy in flannel, and another couple that look to be wearing some kind of matching space uniform outfits. There’s a Captain America and Winter Soldier pair, which he appreciates greatly, and a pair of extravagantly dressed couple whose outfits are sparkly and sequined. Stiles thinks they might be figure skaters, but he can’t say for sure. Whatever they are, they are adorable and can’t stop looking at each other. He sees someone dressed as a cop pass by a girl in scrubs, and it reminds him of his dad and Melissa. It’d be a fitting pair in his mind, but he’s not sure that these strangers would see that.

He pushes past the dancers and spots Allison and Lydia along the edge of the floor dancing together. They’re dressed as pirates, and Stiles grins at the picture they make. He’s glad they got together finally. The pining was annoying, and that’s saying a lot considering the pining he did over Lydia in high school. He catches Allison’s eye, and she waves him over.

“Hey, Stiles!” Allison says when Stiles approaches.

Lydia looks him up and down and smiles. “Red Riding Hood? Nice touch.”

Stiles grins. “Thanks. Speaking of… seen him anywhere?”

Allison nods. “He went out back, too much noise and people. He’s the only werewolf so far, you’ll see him.”

“Thanks!” Stiles says before skipping out to the back door and stepping out to the cool air.

There’s less people outside, although there are still a few couples standing around and talking or drinking (or making out). It doesn’t take him long to spot Derek, though, standing as far away from the house he can get without leaving the property entirely.

Stiles quickly goes to him. “My, what big ears you have,” he says in greeting, getting Derek to turn to face him.

Derek scans his outfit and as he does, the smile on his face grows. He steps up closer to Stiles and replies, “The better to hear you with, my dear.”

“My, what a big nose you have,” Stiles says, grinning up at Derek as they get closer, chests pressed together.

“The better to smell you with, my dear,” Derek says, bending to run his nose along Stiles’s neck, then following the same path with his fangs, tips lightly grazing the skin of Stiles’s throat, causing him to shiver.

He waits until Derek’s eyes are locked with his before saying, “My, what big teeth you have.”

Derek’s eyes grow dark and his arms come up around Stiles’s waist. “The better to eat you with, my dear.”

Stiles lets out a half moan, half laugh. “Maybe later. I’d settle for a kiss for now though,” he whispers.

Derek’s eyes sparkle and he obliges after retracting his fangs, kissing Stiles on the lips. It’s been a long time coming, and Stiles sighs into the kiss, melting into Derek’s arms. When they finally break apart, Stiles runs his thumb along Derek’s bottom lip.

“Why’d we wait until now to do that?” he asks Derek, who shrugs in reply.

“You said something about it being more romantic to find each other dressed like this.”

“And I stand by that statement. It was super romantic.”

Derek rolls his eyes and smiles. “Come on, let’s get out of here. If I see another lamp costume, I’m going to hit someone.”

Stiles laughs out loud but follows Derek out of the party, excited for what their night alone will entail.

#freckinktober #sterek #haleinski #eternalsterek #operation positivity #my fic

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as-be-low · 7 years

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Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 9

I Never Really Knew What to Do

And I’m a goddamn fool, but then again so are you And the lion’s roar, the lion’s roar Has me seeking out and searching for you And I never really knew what to do

The Lion’s Roar—First Aid Kit

He hoped it would be a walk in the park.

The morning was quiet.

Stanford crouched down to sit on the porch and watched the rimy dew glitter across the glass. His fingers tapped a lazy rhythm against his steaming mug. The abominable leprecorn was still present and was asleep on the porch, off to the side, but Ford chose to ignore it. Let sleeping dogs lie. He wished it were something as plain as a stupid dog. He and Stanley had always wanted a dog, growing up. There hadn’t been any room for pets in their small apartment. Pa would’ve said no, regardless. He hunkered down, letting his first two fingers tap a lazy rhythm against his mug. Yesterday had been a bust.

He refused to dwell on it.

But those scars. His mind kept lingering on those scars. They were etched into his mind, much like they were into Stan’s skin. He’d never be able to pick them away.

Neither of them would.

Ford heaved a heavy sigh as his fingers tapped a lazy rhythm against his mug. He’d apologized, on pain of a child’s tears, but he knew that wasn’t enough. He just didn’t know what else to do. He’d folded his brother’s clothing, sparse though they were, along with his niece’s belongings. She had more than Stanley, which gave him some comfort, but without the blanket Stan so often wrapped her in, the entirety hardly filled a diaper bag. Stanley had shoved their belongings into the worn, multicolored bag and dumped it all into the washer barrel before Ford could get a good look at anything. He’d done that on purpose, and Stanford knew it. Ford had stared at the caricature of a smiling lion on the bottom of the bag while it was upended. The baby giraffes and bears and elephants dancing around the big cat came in as a close second for visual interest.

His mouth contorted up and to the side in a pucker while his eyebrows furrowed. It had taken him a while to fold the child’s clothes. The tags said the majority were sized for a two-year-old. He wasn’t sure if he should have found that concerning. Who knew how fiddly such small garments could be? A small smile tickled the corner of his mouth. He knew his niece was tiny, but her shirts were downright miniscule. They looked like an oversized doll’s clothes. Is that why Ma used to call them and any child she came across “little dolls?” Stanford could see the similarities. He’d left her tiny socks in a pile. Half of them seemed to be missing mates, and socks were fiddly enough as they were.

He’d made a child cry yesterday.

It wasn’t as though he’d done it all by himself; Stanley certainly hadn’t helped the situation.

He couldn’t blame this all on Stanley. In no way was that reasonable. The man couldn’t fight himself, and as such, he’d done his part to make the little girl cry. Stanford let a hand slip away from his mug to rub at his face, his fingers lingering across his stubble. She’d forgiven him, though. Just like that, she’d said “okay” and had forgiven him. How had it been so simple? Clearly the child didn’t know any better. Stanford swore to himself not to take her kindness for granted, however long it lasted.

Ford had fought with his brother. Again. He’d fought with him and hurt him and burned him and fought with him again.

He’d never learn.

He set the mug down, careful not to disturb the sleeping beast. It was too early for bagpipe music. That damned thing was infuriating and bizarre, even by his standards, but the thought of running it off was beginning to form a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He’d try moving it in its sleep. That was much more subtle.

Twenty minutes and a full sweat later, the leprecorn dozed near the treeline with an old towel draped across its back to ward off the morning chill. Ford wasn’t a complete animal. By the time Stanley finally came down the stairs with his bleary-eyed child on his hip, the stupid creature had gone from quietly sleeping to snoring with the intensity of two grown men. He was glad he’d moved it.

Stanley gave the girl on his hip a slight bounce as she rubbed her eye. “Can you say g’morning, sweetie?” he earned a whine for his troubles. “I guess not.” Stella buried her head against his collarbone. “Alright. I guess we’re gonna be cranky this mornin’.”

Ford squinted. “Actually, no, I think she’s grinning at me?”

“Figures.”

Stanford straightened back up. “I, uh. I folded the both of your clothes and placed them back in your bag. Except for the socks. They’re… They’re in the bag, though. Just not folded.” He watched Stan’s jaw tighten.

“You what?”

Oh, here we go. “I folded your laundry, Stanley. I hope that’s not too concerning.” He tried to keep the drawl out of his voice.

Stanley was silent for a moment and shifted from foot to foot. “But why?”

“ ‘Why?’ Why not? It wouldn’t make sense for me to separate mine out and just leave your belongings in a pile.”

Stanley didn’t seem mollified. “I was gonna do it, Ford—”

“And now you don’t have to. It isn’t as though I was doing anything productive at the time—”

“Tch.”

Ford chose to ignore that. “Anyway, I placed it all back in your, uh, diaper bag. It’s all upstairs, near your door.” He grumbled. Stanley made a noise, deep in the back of his throat. Stanford scowled before his attention shifted to the way Stella wiggled in his brother’s arms, her eyes darting back and forth between two matching frowns. Stop it. The last thing anyone needed was a repeat of the previous day’s excitement. He reached up to grab her tiny foot, giving it a gentle squeeze. Six little toes wiggled against his palm. “Good morning, Stella.” He forced a brighter tone. A tense little moment passed before she gave him a small smile. There it is. His own smile widened in earnest. His eyes flickered back to Stanley. “There’s… There’s still coffee, if you’d like.”

Stanley nodded, the edge wearing off of his scowl. “…Thanks.”

“I want some.”

Stanford cocked an eyebrow. “My dear, I don’t know if that’s—”

“We’ll get you some, too, sweetie. Don’t worry.” Stanley kissed her crown.

“But—”

“We’ll get you some.” He repeated, sending Ford an even glare. Damn. Well, fine, then. “Hey, how’s about after you finish your coffee, we find somethin’ fun for you to do?” Stanley hummed into the child’s hair, swaying her from side to side as he stared off, anywhere but at Ford himself. Ford’s face fell. Stan was still eager to avoid him. Of course he was. He’d made his daughter cry. Who wouldn’t want to avoid that?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Stella began to chant, letting her little legs flail against Stanley’s back and stomach.

“Ow! Ow, ow, hey, ey, ey! Jesus, sweetie, don’t kick a man while he’s down!” Stan grumbled with a wince carting her off towards the kitchen. Despite himself, Ford couldn’t mask his chuckle. He inched behind Stanley into the kitchen, trying to hide his look of disappointment. Stanley busied himself with settling Stella into a chair before reaching for two mugs. Ford inched closer and grabbed the coffee pot, eyeing it with unease. Why was he giving a small child coffee? Didn’t that stunt growth?

He leaned in. “Stanley, isn’t that bad for—”

“Hush, Ford. Where’s your milk?”

Ford was silent as he trudged towards the refrigerator, returning with a can of evaporated milk and the gallon jug for good measure. Stanley filled one mug with sweet milk and splashed a bit of coffee in, just enough to discolor the milk.

“Baby coffee.” He mumbled.

“Oh.” Oh. It was a means of placating her. He should’ve known. Ford watched Stanley hand Stella her mug before fixing his own. He shuffled back over to the child and used his free arm to scoop the girl up and sit down, placing her in his lap in one practiced movement. He brought the warm mug to his lips and glanced down to watch Stella fumble with both hands around her own. The broad hand around her middle came up to steady hers, guiding the milk as she lifted it. Ford watched him help her set it down.

“There we go. Like it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

Stanford pressed a hip against the counter as he leaned back to watch the two sip from their respective mugs, though sip may not have been the best word to describe it. Stan nursed his mug, while Stella had hers upturned in both hands, and chugged it dry. She slammed it back onto the table with the weak force only a child could take pride in. Stanley looked down at her with eyebrows raised, his hand creeping away from his mouth.

“Okay. I’d like to think I have no idea where you got that from, but that’s probably considered lying to us both.” Neither Stella nor her milk moustache seemed to understand.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie.” Stan pressed another kiss to the top of her head.

Baby coffee sufficiently drained, Stella switched to playing with her father’s fingers as he balanced her on his leg. He gave her tummy the occasional pat as she wiggled, earning himself a small coo here and there as he gave his leg a lazy, rhythmic bounce. Stella leaned forward to reach for his mug. He snatched it out of reach.

“No, sweetie. This is grownup coffee. It’s hot, see?” He eased the mug down for her to give it a gentle prod. “We might burn ourselves, so let’s not, okay?”

Stella squinted at the offending mug. “Ow.”

“Hurt your finger?”

“No.”

Stanley kissed the little digit anyway. Ford found himself smiling. Stanley nudged both mugs out of her reach and placed both hands across her stomach, patting lightly as she giggled. “Tummy bongos. Tum-my. Bon-gos.” He began to chant, before ducking his head to blow a raspberry against her cheek. Ford winced at the shriek the child unleashed and watched as a pudgy little hand shoved at Stanley’s face. She dissolved into peals of laughter and leaned against his chest with a whump. “…Ow. That had to hurt. That hurt me.” Stella didn’t look too concerned. It took her a moment to calm back down once Stanley straightened back up.

Ford opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He was at a loss. Again. He pursed his lips for a moment. “Stella?”

“Yes?”

A smile crept back to his face. “What’s your favorite game?”

She threw her little hands in the air. “All the games!”

Ford let his eyebrows shoot upwards. “All of them?”

“Yeah!”

“Even…” he paused to think for a moment. What had he and Stanley played as children? “Even pick-up-sticks?”

“Yeah!” she chirped. “I like sticks.”

“That’s not the same, sweetie, but I’m glad you like pickin’ up sticks.” Stanley chuckled and pressed another kiss to the child’s crown. She looked put-out.

“Is too! You pick up sticks ‘n you wave ‘em ‘n the best stick is the winner ‘cause it’s the best one.”

“Sounds concernin’.”

Stella twisted to frown at her father. “You find sticks ‘n you pick them up ‘n then you win.”

“Ohhh. That’s right, that’s how you win. Silly me went ‘n forgot how to play. Think you can forgive me?”

She squinted up at him for a long moment. “Yeah.”

“Thank you. You’re too kind.”

“Yeah.” Stanford lost his composure and doubled forward, choking on his own saliva.

“You okay? You’re not s’posed t’ make that noise.” She cautioned, and made his laughter come out as a hard wheeze.

“He’s fine, sweetie, he’s just laughin’.”

“Why?”

“He thinks you’re funny.”

“But I am funny.”

“You really are, though.” Stan lifted the child and turned her to face him, placing a kiss on the bridge of her nose. She grabbed his face. “Stella, ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Daddy!”

“S’alright, honey. We gotta be careful messin’ with people’s faces, though, okay?”

“Okay.” She pouted.

“You’re not in trouble, sweetie. Just… Just be careful, okay? You ‘n those lil’ razor-sharp nails.” She stared at him for a moment longer before she stuck her arm out to reach for him. He pulled the child in for a hug, his smile parting his face. The little girl threw her stubby little arms around Stanley’s neck. “Oh, sweetie pie…” Stanley cooed.

She wiggled to place a quick peck against the cheek she scratched. “Better.”

“Mmm hmm. Much better.” Stanley agreed, swallowing the hoarseness out of his voice. The room was silent for a moment. “I love you, Stella.” He mumbled into her hair. Ford blinked. Four little words had thrown him for a complete loop. Though they weren’t directed at him, Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that phrase. It must have been years.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d spoken to Ma nearly a week ago. He’d used it then.

Twice in however many years most likely fell well into the pathetic category.

He watched the child smash her cheek against her father’s bruised, stubbled one. “I love me, too.” She cooed.

Stanley turned his head to get a good look at her and let out a bark of laughter. Stanford himself wasn’t far behind. He watched as Stan rocked her from side to side and patted her small back as she draped herself over his shoulder. This was absolutely Stan’s child, no doubt about it.

“Oh, sweetie.” Stanley hummed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that?” She stuck a finger in her mouth as response. She certainly had moxie; it was easy for Ford to admit. “You lil’ gremlin.” Warmth colored Stanley’s tone. Ford wondered when he’d ever heard such affection in his brother’s voice. Certainly not when they were young and foolish and still thick as thieves. That tone of voice was better reserved for their ma some thirty-odd years ago.

He furrowed his brow. Ma didn’t know about Stanley’s child. She had a granddaughter she didn’t know existed. He himself had a niece he hadn’t known existed until three days prior. Stanley had planned on never having contact with his family ever again, and the thought sent pulses of dread trickling down Ford’s neck. He had to open his mouth.

“And what’s your favorite thing?”

She lifted her head an inch. “Ever?”

“Your favorite thing ever? Well, I don’t see why not.”

She wrinkled her little face in thought. “Daddy! Daddy’s the bestest thing!” she beamed.

Stanford’s eyes shot up. This child was going to break his heart, and Stanley’s, too, if the way his battered arms tightened around her and his face sank into her fuzzy head were any indication. He watched Stanley rock his baby, though it seemed like an excuse to hide the way his shoulders trembled and shook. Stella looked a bit put-out and squirmed in his tight grip, twisting her body so that she faced Ford instead of her possibly crying father. Ford must have been giving her an odd look, judging from the confused look she shot up at him.

“Hi.”

“Hello, sweetling.” He found himself murmuring back. Stanley coughed behind her. “It appears you…surprised your father with your favorite thing. Quite thoroughly.” He amended.

“Okay.” She busied herself with playing with her fingers. Ford watched her tiny little joints articulate. Is that what others saw when he moved? He couldn’t bring himself to look away. It baffled him. How small they were, and yet they flexed and straightened so well. It bordered on surreal. Why was he so fascinated by what he saw past the end of his own nose? He’d seen six digits every day of his life. What made her smaller hands so intriguing?

The child continued to wiggle her little fingers at herself. The twelve little digits were in need of a wipe-down. Surely Stanley would notice, he hoped sooner rather than later. She really was sticky, and Stanford wasn’t even sure when the stickiness had occurred.

She started to babble a little song of her own making. “Now you’re just tryin’ t’be cute.” Stan grumbled, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “It’s workin’.” Indeed it was. Stella turned her head to grin up at him.

“I take it she does that a lot?”

Stanley looked down. “What, the baby songs?” he shrugged. “Whenever she feels like it. It’s usually just noises.” Stan was silent for a moment while Stella continued. “Like that.”

The child’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men while she babbled her tune. She let out another shriek of a giggle as the hand across her tummy switched from patting to tickling for a brief moment. It took a while for the residual giggles to die down.

Ford swallowed. “I… So, did you sleep well?” His lips pursed together as Stanley sent him a slight frown.

“Yeah. Slept fine.” Stan mumbled. Ford wasn’t so convinced.

“…Right. You don’t… You don’t need any more blankets or anything, do you? Pillows?” Ford winced at the words even as they left his mouth. Stanley sighed.

“No, Ford, we’re good. Really.”

Ford nodded. “Okay.” There was a lull.

“Thanks, though.”

“It’s certainly not a problem.” Ford watched as Stella pressed her lips together to make another little noise, then began to wiggle in Stan’s grip. Cute. “What about…” he trailed off. “What about—”

“It’s fine, Ford. Don’t worry about it.” Stan grumbled, shifting the wiggling toddler. He bounced his knee, which seemed to appease her for a few moments while he scowled somewhere past Stanford’s head.

And there she goes. Ford hummed to himself as she wiggled her way out of Stanley’s lap and to her feet. She gave his leg a quick pat before toddling off. Ford bit back a chuckle. Stan didn’t seem bothered by it. He watched the man’s countenance unfurl, choosing to remain still himself until Stanley’s gaze settled on him.

“Stan, I—” He cut himself off with a huff, dragging a hand down the length of his face. “I find myself…compelled to apologize for my behavior yesterday.” Stanley sighed. Did he just roll his eyes? Oh, honestly, the nerve of him. “Our fighting was highly inappropriate, innocent company notwithstanding.” His brother let out another huff, the line of his body elongating only to crumple and collapse back down like an accordion with the accompanying, tuneless wheeze.

“Ford’ we’ve been in one prolong fight for, what? Twenty? Thirty years? Fightin’ might as well be the baseline standard at this point.”

Ford hated that he found himself agreeing. “It shouldn’t be the standard, though.”

“There’s a lotta stuff that shouldn’t be, but it is.” Stan shrugged.

“That’s not… That’s a… less-than-optimistic mindset to hold.”

“A realistic one, though.”

Ford let out a long sigh. “Stanley. Just… Just let me apologize, okay?”

The man seemed uncomfortable with the mere concept. “What’s the point?” Stanley sent him a stare so even it unnerved Stanford. He deflated.

“The point is, just because this is the way things have been doesn’t mean it should remain that way.” Stanley shrugged. It was a start, maybe. That was better than nothing, Ford supposed. There had to be a way to alleviate the sheer unease that hung heavy between them like an illness. The silence stretched between them, long and disjoining. The longer he held it, the further away conversation slipped from his reach. Stanford opened his mouth with a gasp of air, words tumbling out. “Are you still planning on leaving? Because—It’s not that I want you to leave, in fact, I’d like quite the opposite—I mean—I just… You should stay.”

Stanley squinted as he sorted through the jumble of words. He huffed. “Fuck’s sake, Stanford.” He grumbled. “You gotta… You gotta let go of that idea.”

That hurt.

“I’ve been in your hair plenty long as it is.”

“You’ve been here for two days.”

“I know. I’ve been counting, too.”

“That’s not… That’s not what I meant in the slightest.”

“I still got a point.” Stan grumbled.

Like hell he did.

“Stan, I’m asking you to stay. Literally asking. Look. Look at me asking, because this is a request.” Ford ran a hand through his hair, making the loopy curls stand on end. “This is me, requesting the honor of your presence, here, now, and with no strings attached. Is that acceptable?” The shuffling scowl the man sent him before hiding his face behind his neglected coffee—eyes pointedly elsewhere—screamed hell no, but Ford had no qualms pushing the subject. “Well?”

“Damnit, Ford.” The stiff silence range in Stanford’s ears. “You can’t… I can’t just answer that.” The answer should have been a plain yes, as simple as that.

But when had anything been simple between the two of them?

Ford pressed his lips together in a firm line. Was it worth it just to rile Stanley up again? “You’ve got to stay somewhere.” Apparently it was. The glare Stanley sent him was venomous.

“That is not your problem to worry about, Ford. I can handle it myself.”

“I mean, Stella should be starting school soon, should she not? And—”

“What the fuck, Ford? That’s—and no, since you’re asking, she doesn’t start school ‘til she’s five. I already told you she’s too young for school.” His snarl was impressive, Ford had to admit. “I’ll… It’s not your problem to worry about.” Stan looked like he wanted to say something, but instead propped his elbow on the table and pressed his face into his palm, his spare hand stretching out to drift through the air beside him. His hand stilled, then swiped through the empty space once more before he twisted in his chair. “Where’s Stella?” the chair scraped backwards along the kitchen floor, nearly tipping over in Stanley’s haste.

Had he truly not noticed? “She toddled off a few minutes ago.”

“And you saw her? ‘N you didn’t say anything?” Ford pushed out his own chair. When he put it that way, he made it soundas though he’d idly watched as the little girl wandered into a den of wolves. He’d cleared away every potentially dangerous experiment and tucked them all out of reach.

“Oh, honestly, Stanley. You make it sound as though she didn’t just go off to color.”

Stanley huffed. “Ford, she’s three. She’s a baby. They like gettin’ into stuff. It’s one of the main things they’re good at.” Ford’s mouth puckered and he drew it off to the side. Well, if you put it that way… No. It still wasn’t an issue. The worst she could do was scribble across his rough drafts.

“Stanley, I’m sure its fine.”

She wasn’t in the living room.

Ford had to admit he might have been wrong. He might’ve even admitted it out loud, if Stanley hadn’t been on the verge of hysteria, poised to crawl underneath the worktable to check for his child.

“Stanley. She couldn’t have gone outside. She has to be in the house.” She couldn’t open doors. Could she open doors? Ford doubted it. She hadn’t managed the task yesterday.

Stanley bumped his head on the table edge on his way up. “Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better, just so you know.” Well, damn. His voice was stiff was he brushed past Stanford. Ford remained still for a moment before trailing his brother. Stanley had darted into his storage room, which only fed his frenzy before he took the stairs two at a time. Ford lagged behind him and watched the line of Stanley’s shoulders pull taut, then hunch forward. “Stella?” he drawled, coiled like a spring.

“Yeah?” Stanley bolted towards the little voice, muffled slightly by running water.

“Sweetie, what’re you—” he slumped against the doorframe. “Oh, sweetie.”

“What?” Her tone was too flat to be an actual question. Stan ran a hand across his face.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“What?” It was Ford’s turn to ask. He sidled his way behind Stanley and peered over his shoulder. “Oh.” That was quite the mess. Stella had lowered the toilet lid and climbed on top to reach the sink. She had to strain and stretch to reach the faucet while soapsuds and water dripped down her elbows across her borrowed shirt and pooled on the floor. At least her laundry’s done. Her front was completely soaked.

“Oh, Stella.” Stanley repeated. Ford didn’t have to see his face to know that his brother was already exhausted. His wavering voice said enough. He inched his way into the bathroom, careful to avoid the larger puddles where possible, and sat the little girl on the toilet lid. He crouched down in front of her.

“Sweetie pie, we can’t just go ’n make a big mess in someone’s house. They’ll get mad ’n then we have t’ leave. It’s not nice, okay? How did you even get upstairs?”

“I know how to do it!” she protested.

“Don’t go up stairs by yourself, sweetie. You could fall ‘n hurt yourself, okay?” Stan moved to scoop her into his arms and sighed into her hair. “Guess I shoulda been watching’ you, huh?” He finally turned towards Stanford, his body tense and eyes withdrawn. He never quite met Ford’s eye. “I’ll be right back to get this up. I just… Just let me put her down ‘n get her settled, okay? I’ll be right back.” He patted the child’s back as he slipped past Ford, who strained to hear him mumble under his breath. “Let’s get you outta your uncle’s hair ‘n lay low for a while, I guess. I’ll find you a park or somethin’. Let you run off that energy you clearly got built up.”

Stanford frowned as he watched his brother and his soggy child make their retreat. It was just water. Was he really that worked up by a few puddles? Ford was certain he’d made a similar mess while shaving some mornings. Did Stanley truly expect him to be that upset over such an inconsequential accident? Ford swallowed. Of course he did. Stan had been sent away from home over what he called an accident. Of course he expected it to be a recurring thing.

But to kick him out over the actions of a child? He had been a child as well.

It was different. They were seventeen then. Stella was three. Three was a far cry away from knowing any better. She’d just splashed water. She hadn’t broken anything.

Even if she had, it would have been an accident. She hadn’t meant to do anything. Ford doubted the thought would have even occurred to her.

Had it even occurred to Stanley?

Ford sighed and glanced around, grabbing a towel to drop over a puddle. Stanley had been kicked out over what he swore was an accident before; Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he expected the same now. He mentioned taking her to lie low. Of course that’s what he expects. “Damnit.” The thought sent a flush of shame across Stanford’s face as he shoved the towel around with the toe of his shoe. There was no way he could send Stanley away over something so trivial, and the realization that his brother thought that he might hurt. It hurt more than he’d care to admit, even to himself.

What a mess they’d made of things.

Not Stella, though. This was just a baby mess. Ford continued to drag the towel along the floor. He’d fix it up. He and Stanley both would. They had to.

Stanley slunk back to the bathroom, face downcast, and froze in front of Ford. “Stanford, what the fuck? You didn’t have to—I was gonna—I was gonna do that.” He stammered.

“Stanley, it’s fine, really. I was just standing here, so I might as well have done something.”

“I just needed to sit her down ‘n get her settled ‘n stuff, I wasn’t gone that long, you didn’t have to—”

“Stan. Listen to me.” Stanley looked a little bit affronted. “It’s fine. Why won’t you listen to me when I say it’s fine?” Stanley turned away from Ford and shifted from foot to foot, his broad chin jutting forward. “Stan.” He looked back up. “I mean it.” Ford reached forward to place a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. He tensed underneath his palm and gave a slight nod. He didn’t seem convinced. “It’s fine. It was rather cute, besides.” Ford gave his brother’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Stanley shifted as though he wanted to shrug the offending hand off, but at the last minute decided to do his damnedest to keep himself in check.

Ford continued. “You said it yourself. She’s only three. And how many times did we play in the sink when we were younger? We did it all the time. I mean…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair, making it flip upright. “Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Get into things? You said that yourself.”

“S’not the same.”

Ford scowled. Not this again. “How is that—you know what, I suppose you’re right.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “She’s cuter than the two of us ever were, combined.” he smirked at the startled hiccough that left Stan. There it is. A genuine smile. Ford gave Stanley a playful nudge. He didn’t reciprocate. Okay. That’s fine, too. It’s fine.

Ford fidgeted through another small lull. “…Look. I know you mentioned finding a park. I don’t want you to think I want you two to leave, or… or to ‘get out of my hair.’” Ford sighed. “That’s not what I want, okay? It isn’t.”

Stanley was quiet for a long, stilted moment. “I promised her the park.”

“…Right. Right.” Stanford took a full step back as he withdrew. “I’ll just… I’ll leave you to it, then.” His attention shifted closer to the floor. Out traipsed Stella, her head bobbing from side to side as she bebopped her way towards the two. “Hello again, little Miss.” Ford chuckled.

Stanley turned from side to side as he twisted to spot the child. “Wh—Stel-la,” Stanley sighed, “I very clearly remember askin’ you to stay in the room.”

“But I don’t wanna.” She was still dancing, Ford noticed. Stanley’s head lolled back as he let out a faint, guttural groan. “I wanna be with you.” Her little voice bordered on petulant as she frowned, staring up at Stan. Were those puppy dog eyes?

Stanley softened. “Oh, pumpkin. How could I say no to that? C’mere.” He scooped her up onto his hip and she used her new vantage point to giggle at Stanford. Unsure of what else to do, Ford gave her a meek little wave while Stanley leaned forward to swipe at the last trail of water with the discarded towel. “Yeah, yeah. It’s funny for you.” He grumbled. “Maybe you can run off whatever’s gotten into you in the park.”

So he was serious about the park. Ford worried his lip between his teeth once again before opening his mouth. “There’s a park on the other side of town, near the town square. Just past the courthouse.” Fiddleford had dragged him to it ages ago, when Tate was still small. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the long, inscrutable gaze Stanley fixed him with.

Finally, the man spoke. “Alright.” He pushed himself upright with a huff of effort, careful not to displace the child on his hip. “Let’s get you ready, sweetie.” That’s it? Ford watched his brother cart Stella off once again before opening his mouth.

“Wait!” he blurted. Stanley turned. “You…You saw your bag, correct?”

Stan wouldn’t meet his eye, and that bothered him. “Yeah, Ford. I got it. Thanks.” He mumbled.

They’ll be back, Stanford swore to himself, it’s just the park. They were going to the park for a short while and they��d return. They weren’t leaving for good. It wasn’t permanent. Just a temporary excursion. He’d be able to get some writing done while they were gone. It would be productive for all parties involved. No matter how much he wanted them to remain, playing host was not an easy task for Stanford Pines. He shuffled his way back down the stairs. It would be fine. They’d come back, just as he hoped knew, and then wouldn’t he feel foolish?

He settled himself down to work and pulled a stack of notebooks closer. Productivity is the best distraction. He knew this well.

If only he could stop staring somewhere past the words on the page.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when Stanford looked up, Stella was swishing her way into the room while Stanley struggled to squat walk and work her little arm into a coat at the same time. “Sweetie, be still for a moment. Please.”

“Park?”

“Yes, sweetie. We’ll get you to the park, but we gotta get you dressed first. S’cold outside.” He held her little hand in his and tugged the coat in place with the other. He’d layered the coat over a thinner jacket, Ford noted. Stan took the small scarf he’d draped over his forearm and placed it around her neck. Next came a fuzzy, pilled pair of mittens from his pocket. “Hand, please.” She stuck it in the air.

Mittens.

Ford remembered them with little fondness. He hated mittens. They were childish. They were goofy. He couldn’t hold anything or use his hands with any semblance of dexterity while wearing mittens. He had to remove them to do just about anything, which thoroughly defeated the purpose.

Stanley had always gotten a pair of gloves, while Ford had gotten mittens. Ford still treasured the first pair of gloves he’d had made, worn-out though they were. He’d always envied Stanley and his gloves.

He was distinctly bereft of gloves now.

The tables had turned. Now Ford was the twin with gloves. Ford didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought.

He caught himself staring and shook himself out of his stupor, clearing his throat in the process. Surely he looked foolish.

“Right. The park. It’s… If you head straight past the old convenience store, it’ll take you towards the town square. Turn right at the monument, which will wind past—”

Stanley shuffled his feet. “Aren’t you gonna come show us, since you seem t’ know where this park is?” Stella’s face once again brightened at the magic word. Was that a little hop just now? The child had hopped. She was smiling at him, of all people. There was no way he could object. Not now. His eyes trailed over Stanley briefly, and judged his uneasy expression before trailing down to his jacket. Fleece-hooded or not, it wouldn’t keep him warm.

“I…Right. I’ll be right back. Just give me a moment, I’ll…” He trailed off, pointing a vague finger towards his room. “I’ll be right back.” Ford scurried off and pulled open his closet, yanking out his coat. He shrugged it over his shoulders before rifling deeper through, ignoring the thin metallic scrape of the hangers against the rod. Here it was. He pulled out a duplicate coat and tossed it over his arm before stalking back down the hallway, visibly pleased with himself.

“Here.”

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“It’s a coat Stanley. You’ve seen one before.” Ford gave the garment a gentle shake for good measure.

Stan eyed it warily. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

Stanford frowned. “Stanley. You put two coats on Stella. It follows that you would wear two yourself.”

“That’s different. She’s little. They get cold easy.”

“Everyone gets cold, Stan.”

“I don’t see your two coats.”

“Underneath this coat, I’ve got on a sweater and long sleeves besides. That’s roughly the equivalent of two coats.”

Stanley squinted at him before taking the proffered coat. Ford didn’t bother to contain his grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, I guess.” Stan grumbled as he shrugged into the coat. It didn’t fit him as poorly as it should have. Once they hit adolescence, Stanley could never fit into anything other than Ford’s T-shirts, and he stretched those out woefully when he did. His coat was just slightly snug through the shoulders and biceps. That was it. It wasn’t how it should have been.

Perhaps he should have been thankful for that, in a backhanded sort of way.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get you to the park.”

“Can Lucky come too?”

“Uhh, Lucky’s… Lucky’s on house arrest. For his own safety. Yeah. He can’t leave this general area or else he could get in trouble with the, uh, the magic animal police.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Stanley’s eyes darted around as if looking for straws to grasp at. “Because if too many people see ‘im, he gets in trouble ‘cause he’s not a secret anymore. Magic things’ve gotta stay secret.”

“But we can see him.”

“Yeah, but you’re in the special magic no-secret zone, so it’s different. If you weren’t in the magic zone, you wouldn’t be allowed t’ see ‘im, ‘n then he’d be in trouble.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t wanna get Lucky in trouble, do ya?”

“No.”

“Alright. Then Lucky’s gotta stay here.”

“Okay.”

It was bullshit he’d pulled out of thin air, but Ford was still unnerved by its vague similarities to some of his earlier theories. He wondered how many of his other theories, ones he’d spent years researching, could be similarly pulled from nowhere by Stan. What a fool I must be, to place such import on what must be so readily known. How many of his ideas had been spoon-fed lies? How had he been fool enough not to see?

What else wasn’t he seeing?

This took roughly 25 years, I’m aware, but the chapter draft was on page 23 I before broke down and realized this was pure nonsense and broke it down into more easily digestible bites. I’m gonna go hide in a shame corner now.

#gravity falls #fanfiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #angst #single dad stanley pines #thcm

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donutpwns · 5 years

Text

Stanuary - Love

When his father had demanded Stan come with him, he'd expected the worst. The feeling of dread had grown when he'd forbid Ford from coming with them, pointing his brother to the stairs. He'd exchanged looks with his brother and knew they were both thinking the same thing: what had Stan done now? The thought followed him to his father's car, anxiety cranked up when an old shoebox was placed in his lap.

His grades were in the toilet as usual, barely passing thanks to copying Ford's homework. He'd stolen a few candy bars from the local store but he was sure no one had seen him. He'd long since broken his last pair of glasses so it couldn't be that and it wasn't like he could really break his braces, not for lack of effort on Crampelter's part though. Maybe old man Samson had finally figured out that he'd been filching tools and stuff to fix the boat from his beat down old hardware store? Oh Moses, was that it?

His fingers tighten on the edges of the shoebox as they drive to park in a sandy parking lot on the beach; he can count the steps to where the Stan O War is sunk into the sand. Oh god, it was finally going to happen. Their dad was going to destroy their boat and they'd never get out of here. Shit, why had he stolen those tools? Shit shit shit.

“Stanley, there's a reason I brought you here.” His dad's deadpan voice cuts through his thoughts. He grips the steering wheel, the sunbaked leather giving out a muffled creak. “You're fourteen now and it's time you start acting like a man. That's why we're here.” And with that he's getting out of the car.

Stan gets out too, hugging the shoebox to his chest; whatever is in it feels heavy. “Is this about my bar mitzvah again?” He knows his dad was mad about the Groucho glasses but he'd still passed. Technically. And with very little cheating, thank you very much; just the occasional look at Ford who'd been mouthing the words. “I told Rabbi Bachman I was sorry.”

He can see a muscle twitch in his dad's cheek. “No. Give me the box.” He opens it once it's in his hands and sets it on the hood of the car. “This stays under the counter at all times; it's not a toy for you to show off to your little friends, you hear me?”

Stan doesn't have friends to show things off to, aside from Ford of course. But he doesn't correct him, especially when he finally sees what's sitting in the bottom of the box. It looks like a pistol from the westerns Ma likes to watch with a box of bullets next to it. Stan swallows, something heavy and wriggling climbing up the back of his throat. “Dad?”

His father picks the gun up and puts it in Stan's hands like it's just something one does. “My dad taught me how to shoot when I was your age and I taught Sherman how when he was your age. Now it's your turn to learn.” He taps the chamber, “We’re not leaving here until you are a decent shot.”

It's heavy and the metal is cold, it nearly slips in his sweat-slick hands. Stan doesn't like the weight of it; all he can picture is the way the cowboys fell from their horses with a bang and a puff of smoke. He knows they got up when the filming stopped but in the movies they’re dead. “Sh-shouldn't Ford be here too then?” Maybe he can postpone this forever. At the moment he can't think of anything he wants less than to be shooting a gun alone with his dad.

“This isn't about Ford. Your brother is brilliant but he can't even throw a punch, Stan. He's better off focusing on something important he can actually do. This is a man's weapon.” He grabs the back of Stan's neck with one hand and scoops up the box of bullets with the other. He guides them just a fair distance from where the parking lot ends and points to a mostly broken wooden fence that is supposed to mark the end of the asphalt and the start of the sand, though the sand has long blown past it. “Aim for the middle post and pull the trigger.”

It takes effort to not let the gun shake as he steps up, carefully aiming the gun towards said post. There’s a bump at the end of the barrel, is that what he’s supposed to aim with? He guesses so and lines it up with the top of the post. The trigger is firmer than he imagined it would be and it seems to fight him when he pulls it.

There’s no puff of smoke but there’s definitely a bang, so much louder than Stan was expecting and it nearly makes him drop the gun when it jerks in his grip. He fumbles and hugs it to his chest on habit. “Shit!” he yells.

He flinches when his father’s palm finds the back of his head with an audible smack.

His dad grunts, “Aim again and don’t drop it this time.”

He hates the weight of the gun in his hand and his ears are ringing slightly from the bang. “Dad, I don’t—”

“Do what I said, Stanley. We’re not leaving until you hit that post.” He says it with the finality he always uses to threaten them and Stan knows that he’ll be standing here until dawn if he doesn’t do what he’s told.

BANG

Miss.

BANG

Miss.

BANG

He clips the very top of the post three to the left of the middle with that one and lets his hands fall in front of him. The ringing in his ears is louder and his hand is starting to ache a bit from how the trigger resists being pulled. Frustration is bubbling up to fight the unease of the whole situation. “Dad, c’mon, do I have to do this?”

His father has taken an unimpressed stance with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched his youngest fail to make a single shot. “Yes. Aim again.”

“Dad, I don’t want to do this.” He tries with a huff.

“Aim again, Stanley. That’s an order.”

Stan grits his teeth and tightens his hold on the gun if just so he doesn’t throw it like he wants to. Instead he lifts it back up once more and tries to aim to the right since his one hit was so far to the left. He pulls the trigger and this one hits two to the left, a little further down but still not the target. He takes another shot and hits that same post, the wood splintering and cracking from the second bullet.

His dad lets out a bland sort of noise and extends the box of bullets to Stan. “Reload and do it again.”

“What’s the point? Just add this as another thing I’m bad at!” he tries to shove the box back to his dad. He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to learn how to shoot. “I don’t like it and I’m not gonna get it so let’s just go home!” it feels like he keeps getting called on to give an answer he doesn’t have just so the rest of the class can snicker at him.

“Stanley, I gave you an order.” There’s a dangerous tone creeping into his father’s voice.

Stan’s face burns, heat digging into his cheeks and the back of his neck. “Why are you even doing this? Who cares if I know how to shoot? I’m not even allowed in the shop half the time so what does it matter if there’s a gun in there?”

There's a hesitation, an awkward stretch of silence where Stan is almost entirely sure he’s going to get his hide tanned, and then his father reaches a hand towards him and he clenches his eyes shut for the blow. Instead his father’s hand closes on Stan's shoulder. “Listen, Stanley. You're...hell, you're a screw-up.” He looks up but his dad is impossible to read, though he at least doesn’t seem angry. “Most of the time it seems like all you can do is lie and leech off those around you. The direction you're going, you're not going to make anything of yourself.”

The words are nothing new but they still dig in, little barbs that drag Stan's shoulders down. “Thanks, Dad.” He bites out as his only defense. He can't punch those words away, not like what people say about Ford. “I’m a good-for-nothing, I know.”

“Let me finish.” The hand on his shoulder cuffs him on the side of the head. “You're not good at much but you are good at fighting and I know you care about this family. No matter what, you’re still a Pines. That's what this gun is for: protecting our family. So that's why you have to learn this. So I can trust you to keep your mother and brother safe if I'm not around. You understand that?”

His gaze goes back down to the gun in his hand then to the splintered post then back to his father. The idea of actually shooting anyone twists his stomach but the knot eases just a bit if he adds his ma or Ford to the equation. “Dad, I can just use my boxing—”

His dad holds up a hand. “Sometimes you can’t fix things with a punch or a pretty word, Stanley. Sherman is out of the house and I’m getting older. Ford’s smart but he’s not a fighter.” he takes the gun from Stan’s hands, effortlessly popping the barrel out and slotting bullets into the chambers. He spins the barrel and puts it back in place with a snap of his wrist. It’s held out to Stan then, his father frowning. “Can I trust you to be a Pines man and protect them? Because if not then there’s no point in you coming back home with me.”

Stan stares at the gun for a long moment before nodding. “Okay. Yeah. You can trust me, Dad.” He takes the gun and takes aim once more. He’ll get some knuckledusters, like the gangsters in the movies. He’ll get better at lying. He knows he can protect everyone with that but if he has to, he can shoot. If his dad trusts him to be the protector, Stan can do that. He never wants a gun to be the answer but he’ll do it. For Ma, for Ford, for Dad.

BANG

Miss.

“Aim again.”

#stanuary #gravity falls #kainichivonwrites #fanfic #stan pines #filbrick pines

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - Shards of Glass 1/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. A loud HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Stanley and Stanford Pines, born June 15th 19?? (who cares?) Part 2 will be posted on June 30th to conclude the celebration of their existence. So stay tuned!

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel had never been on a plane before.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true; she had been on an airplane before, but she was so little back then and she didn't remember it now, so to her brain this was her first time on a plane, and she didn't like it much. She had to chew on gum the whole time to keep from getting a headache and the WiFi was too slow to function, so she daydreamed about the summer ahead as she watched the clouds roll by and imagined shapes.

Once, when she and Dipper were really little, maybe four or five, they had flown down to Ma Pines' house all the way in New Jersey for a holiday. Probably Thanksgiving since Mabel only had three memories of that trip. She remembered yummy sweet potatoes with marshmallows that she ate as much as she was allowed, she remembered the distinct smell of the flat, and she remembered…

"Attention passengers, we will be arriving in Glass Shard, New Jersey in five minutes. Please remain seated until instructed to exit the plane, and as always thanks for flying with us at…"

"Dipper, we're here!" Mabel cheered and checked her phone, her other hand busy petting a disturbed Waddles on her lap. By the time a message would load to her great uncles they would already be in front of them, so there was no point in sending a text to alert them of the arrival. "This is so exciting! A whole month sailing with my three favorite people in the world!"

"I'm so excited to see all the anomalies the guys were talking about." Dipper said, looking up from his special journal to smile at his twin. "Maybe we'll see a real adlet!"

"But first I wanna see where Grunkle Stan and Ford grew up!" Mabel piped in. "Maybe we'll see the cave where they found the Stan O' War!"

"Maybe," Dipper said, unsure how true that word was. "But don't you think they might not want to stay very long? I wouldn't be surprised if they want to set sail as soon as we get there."

"But what about their mom?" Mabel asked. "Don't they want to see her?"

Dipper looked down at the silver pinetree on his blue book. Their great-grandmother was a tough old bird (as Grandpa Shermie called her) and was still going in her early nineties. Grant it, she didn't do much besides give an occasional palm reading to keep herself busy, but she was definitely still around. Grandpa Shermie was good about staying in touch with her from what Dad said, and Dad called her every Sunday, but she was still relatively lonely due to the fact that her husband was gone (good riddance) and two of her sons hadn't spoken to her in thirty years. ("Stanford" had been very quiet during Stanley's funeral, had refused to attend Filbrick's, and when Grunkle Stan saw Dipper and Mabel being born he left just before Ma arrived at the hospital.) While a visit was way overdue, it might be too little too late.

"I'm sure they want to see her," Dipper finally said as he looked back up at Mabel. "But it might be too hard, now. And not just for them, you know? How would she take it? Would she even believe them?"

Mabel's attitude dropped a little bit more. She shrugged and scratched the spot Waddles can never reach. "I dunno… Dad took the news okay."

Dipper smiled. When their parents' had gotten Mabel's letter their mother didn't believe them, but their father took them seriously and only shrugged and said, "Yup, that sounds like my uncles, alright."

"I think it's a good idea to see Ma, but let's not pressure them, okay?" Dipper settled on.

"Don't worry, Bro-Bro." Mabel said confidently. "It'll all work out. Oo! Look, look, look! We're here! Look, Dipper, look!"

"Okay okay, I'm looking." Dipper chuckled as they both watched the ground come closer and closer, the plane landing safely on the runway and gliding peacefully.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had always been more collected and self-contained of the dynamic duo; this became apparent as he was able to stand perfectly calm in the airport with his hands on the pockets of his blue jacket while Stan tapped his foot impatiently and checked his phone every minute, even though he never received a notification or heard a ringtone. Ford smiled and came up with a joke to poke the bear with. "Well well, has Stanley Pines truly gone soft for two teenagers?"

"Shaddup." Stan growled but smiled back nonetheless.

"You know, a watched pot never boils. Just relax."

"I ain't worried or nothing, Poindexter," Stan defended. "Sorry that an uncle's excited to see his kids!"

"I'm happily anticipating their arrival, as well," Ford chuckled. "I'll admit it, Mabel's idea of sailing with us is a fantastic one. Why in the Multiverse she wanted to go so badly she felt compelled to beg for a month straight…"

"Believe it or not, the kids like us." Stan lightly punched his shoulder. "I'm sure all they want is to be stuck on a boat with two cool old men for a month with nothing but fish and an occasional monster for company."

"And a pig."

Stan snorted. "I try to forget that naked jerk."

"And we all know how great of a job you…" Ford cut himself off, turning red and fearing he had crossed a line, but Stan laughed loudly and slapped his knee.

"Okay okay, you got me there…"

"Stanley,"

"What?"

Just as Stan turned around, his eyes landed on the two most precious things in the world: a boy in a ushanka and navy blue vest with a green t-shirt and blue jeans, a journal in his hands and a large backpack on his shoulders, and a girl with shoulder-length brown hair kept back with a red headband, wearing a purple sweater with a big pink heart that held a golden fish and a golden six-fingered hand, a pig in her arms and a huge suitcase just busting at the seam with sweaters and arts n' crafts supplies.

Mabel grinned with teeth free of braces and tears in her eyes and let Waddles down so they could all run freely. Stan broke into a run for his pumpkin and ignored the squealing pig that arrived at him first by a split second, little hooves on his jeans and button eyes requesting cuddles. Stan scooped Mabel up into his arms and held her tight, her arms wrapped around his neck and her face in his shoulder. Dipper was at his legs in an instant and hugged him, not bothering to pretend it's a chokehold or a means to make the old guy trip and fall. Stan freed an arm to keep him close, and not even a second after Dipper joined the hug Ford was by his brother's side and Dipper adjusted to hug him, too.

Stan heard a small sniff and rubbed Mabel's back. "Sweetie, you're not crying, are you?"

Mabel lifted her head up from his shoulder to look at him, wiping away the tears on her cheeks and eyes. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Stan chuckled warmly and put her down next to her twin. "Alright, let us get a good look at you two."

"You've seen us at least once a week." Dipper reminded him. They video-chatted constantly and there wasn't a day they didn't exchange an email or a text message.

"This is different, now shaddap and let me work through my cataracts." Stan and Ford looked at the kids hungrily, who was looking back at them just the same, as if they couldn't absorb each other's appearances enough. Which was probably true. "You've both gotten taller."

"I'm taller than Mabel now!"

"By one milometer!"

"Now don't get short with your brother." Ford said with a smile, making every laugh, including Mabel, who shrugged with a "whatcha gonna do" atmosphere to it.

"And your teeth look amazing, pumpkin!" Stan commented; back in March she had gotten the braces removed and admitted to being unsure if her teeth looked good enough, but they dazzled beautifully when she grinned and apart from a painful reminder that she was growing up, Stan was pleased with the new change.

"And the pictures and video don't do your hair justice. You look beautiful." Ford got on one knee and ruffled her hair, making her giggle and playfully swat his hand away. "I must ask, was there a reason for the new hairstyle, or did you simply fancy trying something new?"

"Let's just say an arts n' crafts accident didn't leave me much choice." Mabel said with a wink.

"She set her hair on fire and we had to cut off the dead ends." Dipper spoiled.

"Dipper! I gotta keep some secrets! It makes me look cool and mysterious!"

"No more secret, sweetie." Stan laughed alongside her.

"And Dipper, my boy, you've certainly grown up a lot since we've last seen you." Ford noted as he stood back up.

"Yeah, who gave you permission to look more manly and junk?"

Dipper rolled his eyes at Grunkle Stan's comment, but Mabel chimed in first. "He's already grown five chest hairs! I bet he named them, too."

"I did not!"

"He won't let me see, though…"

"Last time you saw my chest hair you put it in your scrapbook!"

"That's cuz it was your first, Dip-Dip. The rest aren't as special."

The uncles laughed at the kids' playful bickering and Stan took Mabel's suitcase and they ventured out of the airport with Waddles in Mabel's arms.

With the airport being on the furthest side of town from the beach, Stan flagged down a cab and they piled in for the docks. The entire car-ride they filled each other in on their lives, the kids talking about school and the adults giving brief summaries of some of their adventures. Waddles moved from Mabel's lap to Stan's, and without a single comment and only funny looks from the others, Stan scratched the pig as he talked and listened.

At long last the cab pulled up to the docks and the kids ran out, tired of sitting after a six-hour flight and a twenty-minute car ride, while Ford paid for the ride. The younger set of twins raced to the boat they had only seen pictures of and marveled at the vessel before them. Already showing signs of harsh weather and tons of love, the Stan O' War II stood strong on the gentle sea salt waves, the white letter shining in the early-afternoon sun. With a cozy cabin with a downstairs bedroom and an upstairs everything room, a hardtop for astronomy and sunbathing, and a big enough cockpit for the small family, the Stan O' War II had been an excellent home for the old pair of twins and the younger pair of twins were excited to live here for the first half of summer.

"There she is, kids!" Stan said proudly, a hand on Dipper's shoulder. "This ole girl survived Fiji Monkeys, sirens, and five different krakens. It's completely and totally safe." And then a piece of the antenna for the TV fell off.

"Grunkle Stan, if we can survive in the Mystery Shack for an entire summer, I think we'll be fine here." Dipper said while Mabel ran up to the boat and climbed up with Ford behind her.

"What do you think, my dear?"

"It's BEAUTIFUL!" Mabel squealed and hoisted Waddles up into the boat with them, her eyes sparkling with stars as she took in every detail. "I can't wait to get splinters and name all the moldy spots!"

"Unfortunately, there aren't any moldy spots yet." Ford chuckled. "But there are some craters in the wood that haven't been named."

"Leave that to Mabel!"

When Stan and Dipper joined them, the old men took the kids downstairs to the bedroom to unload their things and get situated. What once used to only hold a set of bunk beds and a dresser now also hosted a set of hammocks hooked to the wall and the dresser, one on top of the other for the kids. Mabel squealed with delight and snuggled into the lower one (still a little afraid of heights) and Dipper said, "Whoa, cool! Thanks, guys."

"Well, can't have you two gremlins sleeping out on deck, can we?" Stan asked. He clapped his hands together and declared, "Alright! You two get settled while Ford and I get us out at sea…"

Mabel sat up on her knees, her hands on the edge of the hammock. "Wait, Grunkle Stan! Aren't you gonna give us the grand tour?"

Stan shrugged. "It's a small boat. Not much to tour, kid."

"I mean Glass Shard Beach." Mabel pressed. "You could show us that old candy store and your swing-set and the boardwalk you used to play in!"

Ford looked over at his brother; while he could stomach saying here a little longer, he wasn't sure how comfortable Stan was taking a trip down memory lane, but then again Stan was always preaching about how "the past's in the past" and "old memories shouldn't stop us from making newer, better ones," but that didn't excuse the fact that Stan had been quick to suggest leaving the docks as soon as they picked up the kids and get the supplies they needed when they first arrived.

But Stan smiled, crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked, "I don't see why not? You cool with it, Sixer?"

Ford smiled at his family. "I think it's a wonderful idea. The boardwalk should be open, maybe the Freak Show is still there."

"Freak Show?! Let's go!" Mabel hopped out of her hammock and the four left the boat for town.

Walking alongside the beach and letting Mabel ride on Stan's shoulders, the kids got a good glimpse of the town. They eventually decide to walk into it on the way to the boardwalk, the old men wondering how much Glass Shard had changed.

It was an odd combination of "nothing changes" and "everything changes". The buildings were still the same, not much torn down or rebuilt, but the interiors were mostly updated or something completely different. They passed the Juke Joint and Stan found he couldn't ignore the growl in his stomach. Nothing but the staff had changed (and the prices had gone up due to inflation), the wall art and food and music still the same, but they had a fun time in the diner as the adults told the kids why What's New Kittycat wasn't an option in the jukebox.

After the late lunch, they were just about to enter the boardwalk when they spotted the candy store that mostly sold saltwater taffy, but they also sold jelly jeans, toffee peanuts, peanut brittle, and any kind of candy anyone could want. Though the store had been given a clean update since Ford and Stan were children, the candy was better than they remembered and they all filled their pockets with bags of sweets. Then they strolled along the Boardwalk and while they didn't play many games, the Stan-twins had a lot of fun telling stories that came along with each and every booth.

At the end, in a giant tent with a devil at the front, stood the Freak Show. Of course, none of the adults from the old men's childhood were still around, except for one muscular guy with tons of tattoos who growled at Mabel like an animal but then broke into a smile as she complimented his look and asked where she could get a cool tattoo of a headless seagull.

"Well, tear off my limbs and call me the next human pickle!" The very old tattoo guy said, his hair white and his skin in wrinkles, but his muscles still somehow very toned and his tattoos still clear as ever. "Good ole Six Fingers! How've you two been? These squirts normies?"

Dipper pulled off his hat and pushed back his bangs. "Who you calling normie?"

The whole tent gasped and a woman with hair growing all over her face said tearfully, "One of us."

"Yup, these little weirdos are Dipper and Mabel, our brother's grandkids." Stan introduced proudly.

"Aw, well ain't that swell!" A puppet said for it's puppeteer.

"So wait, you knew our great-uncles when they were kids?" Dipper asked the oldest weirdo.

"Tell us some embarrassing stories about them!" Mabel bugged, her hands on the guy's knee.

The old tattooed guy laughed. "Embarrassing?! Ha! Your uncles were cool little weirdos who made this dock more bearable! Nearly caught a devil at ten-years-old to boot!..."

"You did WHAT?!" The kids gasped at their beaming uncles.

"... Stan over there knew more swears than anyone else his age and Ford knew more secrets than anyone ever. Those two were hands-down the best pair of twins this side of the Mississippi!"

Ford, who was rosy in his cheeks, had his hands in his pockets and commented, "The Sibling Brothers would have loved to disagree."

"What who now?" Mabel asked.

"The worst pair of uptight dorks you would ever meet," Stan growled. "Ascot and Dickie. Blond-haired rich kids who claimed that no one solved a case quicker than them, but who found the Jersey Devil first, ey?!"

"You found WHAT?!"

"I wonder whatever happened to them." Ford pondered as he held his cleft chin.

"Who cares?" Stan said and motioned the kids out of the tent. "Now let's get outta here so I can show you what happens when a pelican eats a firecracker!"

"Stanley, no!"

"Stanley, YES!"

When the sun was setting beautifully on the ocean, the grunkles bought everyone some ice cream and they sat at the edge of the boardwalk to eat. At one point Stan got ice cream on his shirt with a small "Boo!" and had to leave to clean it off, but then got sidetracked and tried to cheat at a booth. Ford went over to rangle his brother, leaving the kids alone.

"Isn't this place great?" Mabel asked with Waddles licking her strawberry ice cream. "They were so lucky to grow up on a beach! Piedmont is so boring."

Dipper smiled at his sister and opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention. A pair of look-alike kids were snickering and laughing as Grunkle Stan and Ford fought off a mean seagull that was trying to peek at the ice cream on Stan's chest. It was a cruel snicker, one the old men couldn't hear, but the kids could, only being a few feet away from them.

"What a couple of fools." The girl with short blonde curls laughed with a slight English accent.

"And does that one have six fingers?" The boy sneered with peering eyes, his hair greased and parted down the middle. "Ugh."

"Hey, hey!" Dipper snapped and stood up, pointing at the rude pair of siblings. "Shut it." He said darkly.

The boy scoffed with a cheeky smile. "Or what? What does it matter to you?"

"Yeah, you leave Grunkle Stan and Ford alone!" Mabel demanded, standing by her brother's side.

"Wait," The girl looked back at the old men, still fighting off the bird, and she cackled a mean laugh. "Six fingers? Rags for clothes? Stan and Ford? Are you the Pines family?"

Dipper and Mabel glared at them. "Yeah? So what?"

"I haven't heard that name since Uncle Ascot and Uncle Dickie told us about how they conquered the Jersey Devil and tricked some monsters to make the boys run away crying." The boy marveled.

Dipper and Mabel glared daggers at the kids, ready to snap at them, but a pair of adults came up behind the mean kids and a voice said coldly, "Bernard, Silvia, play nicely."

Mabel snickered. "Bernard…"

Dipper looked at the men who were around Ford and Stan's age. Their blond hair was freckled with gray, one of the men had a twirly mustache and wore a red and brown sweater-vest combo while the other was clean-shaved and wore a blue polo with khakis. Their blue eyes were cold and mean, and Mabel and Dipper instantly didn't like them. Ascot and Dickie smiled maliciously; these kids looked nearly identical to those pains in their sides. "I see twins run in your family, as well, do they?"

"Excellent deduction, Dickie." His brother commented. "My my my, I didn't think this town could get any worse, but here we are. Once again terrorized by the discount Mystery Twins."

"Hey!" Mabel snapped. "We're awesome! Our grunkles are the best! They go on super cool adventures all the time!"

Meanwhile Stan kicked the seagull away, making it squawk and dive for his red beanie. While Stan grabbed his hat in time and tugged, Ford grabbed the bird and pulled furiously.

Ascot and Dickie rolled their eyes in unison. "We can see that."

Huffing and puffing, Ford and Stan walked up to their kids while Stan readjusted his beanie and smiled down at the best pair of Mystery Twins he knew. "Kids, if we hurry we might make it to…"

Ford's eyes widened and then narrowed darkly. "No. Way."

"What? What…" Stan looked up and growled like an angry bulldog, a hand on Dipper and Mabel's shoulder instinctively. "Oh, great. You two."

"And so the Pines twins come crawling back, eh?" Ascot snorted. "I do hope the mysterious findings out in the West have served you well, Stanford, as you preached it would." He and his family looked up and down at their faded jeans and gruff stature.

"Clearly not." Dickie and the let slip his downfall. "And here I thought your family couldn't sink any lower."

He screamed as a pig bit his ankle and Stan stole the moment of weakness for his advantage, punching the old jerk in the face and Dickie slapping him in return, the two getting into a fight. The moment Stan punched Dickie, Ascot nearly punched Stan in retaliation, but Ford jumped him and started rolling on the docks with him. Mabel shrugged and pulled on Silvia's hair and punched her on the cheek while Bernard and Dipper began slapping each other.

And that was how Stan and Ford ended up fleeing from the cops with a teenager in their arms. Stan had to pull Mabel off of the girl like an angry cat at the sound of the sirens and Ford carried Dipper merely because the old scientist was much faster than the boy.

Luckily no one was hurt, aside from some bruises on their limbs from fighting, but Silvia had grabbed Mabel's arm awkwardly at some point during the fight and her long nails scratched Mabel's skin, actually just deep enough to make a bead or two of blood. So Ford sat Mabel on the table, her sleeve rolled up, while he tried to disinfect her injury, but Mabel kept pulling away and whimpering at the painful medicine.

"Mabel, please, you're worse than Stanley was." Ford said to ease the situation.

Mabel smiled and gripped his hand a little tighter as the medicine stung her arm. Ford then quickly wrapped it up as he scolded. "And really Stanley, you couldn't have controlled your temper?"

"You're one to talk, you jumped Ascot!"

"He was about to attack you!"

"Whatever, you were both awesome!" Dipper cheered.

"Yeah! Did you see the black eyes Dickie had!" Mabel laughed. "He'll be avoiding cameras for weeks!"

"Who says it never ends well to see old friends?" Stan asked and opened the cabinet to get started on a late dinner.

Over baked beans and hotdogs, or Beanies and Weenies as the Pines called them, Stan and Ford shared their plan with Dipper and Mabel, the map laid out on the table and the trail through Canada's islands written in pencil. The kids were beyond excited. The plan was actually pretty straightforward; they were all going home to Gravity Falls together. After first exploring Boston (mostly so the nerds in the family could geek about American History), they were going up north past Prince Edward Island and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, crossing the Labrador Sea for the Baffin Bay, passing the Cornwallis, Bathrust, and Melville Islands, sailing over the Beaufort Sea, down through the Chukchi Sea, and dipping around Alaska and down south for America until they arrived at Florence so the Stan O' War II could rest for whatever remained of summer.

"This looks incredible!" Dipper said, eyeing the newspaper articles on monsters around Canada and the foggy photographs that accompanied it.

"I'm so excited!" Mabel cheered, shoving her cheeks full of Beanies and Weenies.

"Then we'll head out first thing tomorrow!" Stan declared.

"Actually, can we go see Ma first?"

It was like a record had screeched horribly. Stan's whole body tensed, his jaw was tighter, and he was gripping his spoon much tighter than necessary. Ford, however, looked like he was caving in himself, like an animal curling up in fear to hide, his back hunched over and his head a bit lower. Dipper glared at his sister. "Mabel," He hissed in his warning tone.

"What?" Mabel asked gently. "I miss her. It'd be good to see her again, don't you think?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"I didn't know you had met her." Ford mumbled with a soft smile.

Mabel grinned. "Yeah! We talked on the phone sometimes when Dad would call. And we went to see her once. She loves us! She's super cool! She's the one that told me I'd one day marry a really handsome guy."

"She only said that cuz you wouldn't quit begging her to read your palm." Dipper sneered with a smile. "You know all her fortunes were fake, right?"

"The love behind them wasn't." Mabel insisted. "Come on, can't see just go say hello? We're already here, we might as well. She'd be so surprised!"

"I don't think that's a good idea, my dear." Ford said quietly.

"Why not?" Mabel asked gently.

"Well… given everything that has happened… it would just be very difficult."

"So is defeating a triangle demon, but you guys did it together, didn't you?" Mabel said with a soothing smile. She covered one of Ford's polydactyl hands and squeezed it reassuringly. "I know it'll be hard, but I think we should go see her? Don't you want to say hello?"

"Of course I do." Ford said quickly. "She's my mother, but…" His eyes went to Stan, suddenly concerned about something. "Stanley, you've been very quiet."

Mabel looked at her hero to find him engulfed in shame. She wondered if he had looked like that after Ford was lost behind the portal. He held his head with one hand, his elbows on the table, and the strong grunkle she knew resembled a tired old man too much for her liking. Mabel's heart dropped when she came to the conclusion that she caused that pain. "Grunkle Stan…"

"Look, it's no secret I did a bad job of staying in touch with her even before the portal business." Stan started with. "I definitely went months without a payphone for her."

"You're not the only one to blame." Ford sighed. "I hardly called her when I was in college and nothing changed when I moved to Gravity Falls. Fiddleford was actually the one who encouraged me to call her one day the summer before… before everything happened. That was the last time I spoke to her."

"Yeah well, I kept that character trait in my portrayal of you, Sixer." Stan growled, his anger at himself. "You know her; she's too smart. One long look at me and she would've known who I was. You can't fool the best conwoman in New Jersey. So I just straight-up avoided her. I didn't even go to Pa's funeral and showed up early to see you two gremlins being born, all so I could avoid her. And I would've been too tempted to dance on someone's grave if I had gone to the funeral." He added.

"Stanley,"

"Kidding, that was a joke. The point is, just popping in after all these years seems too little too late in my book. So, no. sorry, but we're not going."

"Grunkle Stan," Mabel said as soft as a kitten and got down from the table to stand next to him. "I'm sure Ma would wanna see you."

"I don't think so, sweetie…"

"That's not true." Mabel said firmly. "She loves you both. All moms love their kids, no matter how many stupid mistakes they make, or how old and grunkly they get." She added, making Stan crack a smile that didn't last long. "It doesn't matter how mad our mom would be, she'd still wanna talk to us. She even forgave Dipper for breaking her favorite mug."

"Geez, it's been five years…"

"And you still haven't replaced it, Dip-Dip." Mabel said and focused her attention on both of the old guys. "If you two really don't think you can go see Ma, it's okay. We don't have to go. But I think you guys want to go, and you two need to go. She needs to know the truth, she needs to know you're okay, and even if she doesn't take it well, at least you can say you tried and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Stan and Ford's eyes flickered to each other to use that awesome twin-telepathy they had or whatever. Or maybe they were just close enough to be able to read minds with a single facial expression to go off of. Either way, Stan gently ruffled Mabel's hair with a smile and said, "Alright, we'll go see Ma tomorrow after breakfast."

Mabel wanted to cheer and shout and punch the air victoriously, but she managed to catch herself in time and only allowed a quiet "yes!" before hugging Grunkle Stan and saying, "I'm so proud of you guys." She quickly hugged Ford before returning to her dinner, choosing to ignore the star-struck looks on the old men's faces.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later and Mabel was sitting criss-cross in her hammock, wearing pajamas while knitting. The gentle clicking of her needles harmonized with the gentle rocking of the waves and her grunkle's humming from the tiny bathroom. Dipper was above her, reading a book quickly before bed, and when Stan emerged from the bathroom in his boxers and undershirt, taking his gray hair damp with a towel, and saw that his twin wasn't preparing for bed, he growled, "Sixer, do I have to drug you again?! Get down here!"

"I'm coming!" Ford called back.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Yeesh. You kids settled in okay?"

"Yeah," Dipper said casually.

"I love these hammocks!" Mabel said, rocking hers a little with joy. "Maybe we should replace the mattresses at the Shack with these!"

Stan chuckled as he threw his towel at the foot of the bunk bed and he noticed the beautiful deep violet yarn in his niece's lap. "Whatcha workin' on, Mabel? 'Nother sweater?"

"Yup!" Mabel said proudly to show a thick and cozy purple sweater that was a little more detailed than her usual creations. While this one lacked any pictures or designs, the sleeves had been woven with a special pattern down the arm and the wrists and neck were so thick and fluffy they resembled odd clouds you could sink into. "I wanna show Ma how much better I've gotten since she taught me."

Surprisingly, the mention of his mother made Stan smile, not frown. Ford came down the stairs just in time to hear Mabel say that, and they both smiled tiredly at their niece. "I didn't know she taught you how to knit."

"Oh yeah," Mabel said with a nod and resumed her work. "When Dipper and I were four or five we visited her for Thanksgiving with Mom and Dad and Grandma and Grandpa. I don't remember much about it, but I remember the delicious sweet potatoes with marshmallows, the flat's smell, and that Ma taught me how to knit. Mom and Dad and Grandma were busy in the kitchen and didn't want my help (I still have no idea why), and Grandpa Shermie had fallen asleep while watching the parade. Ma sat in this rocking chair, and at first I thought she was a witch and doing magic, making two shiny sticks click together to make something, but Ma laughed and explained what she was doing and asked if I wanted to do it, too. So she let me sit on her lap and follow her hands as we made a really pretty blanket until dinner was ready. Ma even let me take some yarn and a pair of needles home with me, and I haven't stopped knitting since."

Stan smiled, sitting on the bottom bunk. "That's really cool, sweetie."

Ford, who had slipped into the bathroom to change into his blue flannel pajamas, called from the other side of the door, "She will love a Mabel Pines original."

"Thanks. I hope so." Mabel inspected her work and gave a quick nod of approval before packing it away in her suitcase and curling up for bed.

One by one everyone settled down. Ford emerged with clean teeth and pajamas and climbed up to his bed, putting his glasses up on a shelf by his head. Dipper turned off the lamp on top of the dresser, leaving only Stan's nightstand-lamp on, and he set his book down and began to settle. Stan was just about to turn off his lamp, but Mabel sat up and gasped, "Wait! You guys! Tell us about the Jersey Devil!"

Dipper sat up excitedly and sided with his twin. "Yeah! When were you gonna tell us that one, anyways?"

Stan shrugged with a cheeky smile and Ford chuckled. "Oh come on, you don't wanna hear about the first pair of Mystery Twins." Stan teased, waving the idea away.

"Yeah we do!" Dipper argued with a grin. "Come on!"

"It can even be our bedtime story!" Mabel suggested, snuggling into her blankets and smiling at her uncle with those adorable eyes and cheeks no man was immune to.

"How old are you again?"

"Oh, just tell them, Stanley."

"Alright alright," Stan rubbed his hands together with a toothy grin and wiggled his fingers to begin the story. "The year was 1960-something in Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. Summer had just started, but before we could figure out which urban legend to hunt down that day, Pa called for Stanford and was really mad about something…"

"Now, hold on, Stanley." Ford said, sitting up a little from lying on his front and listening to his brother's story. "Pa called for both of us! In fact, we called for 'Stan Pines' but we both knew that meant he wanted us both."

"What?!" Stan gasped, pretending to be offended. "Me, innocent and perfect, being angrily called? Never!"

Dipper and Mabel laughed, not sure if Stan had ever truly been innocent, and so from that point forward the elder twins told the story together, interrupting each other with corrected versions of the story and doubling the runtime, but the kids weren't complaining. Hearing about the old Freak Show, killing the Sibling Brothers, and basically acting how Dipper and Mabel would act on a search for the devil, was hands-down the best bedtime story in the history of bedtime stories, and by the time they had gotten to the part where Shanklin the Stab-Possum saved the day, Waddles was asleep on Stan's bed and the kids were shiny-eyed.

"And that's how Stanley and I ended up grounded for the summer." Ford concluded with, adding in a shrug. "To be honest, we didn't even mind. Solitary confinement is't so bad with the right prison mate. Pa was angry when Stan confessed, but I think some small part of him appreciated the honesty. I guess I'll never know."

"And that's when you two knew you'd be adventuring together for the rest of your lives and everyone lived happily ever after!" Mabel cheered.

Ford laughed at her adorable nature and commented, "I suppose we did."

"Alright, everyone get some shut eye." Stan gruffed as he laid down, gently pushing Waddles out of the way so he could rest his legs, but all that did was cause the pig to trot up to his hand and lay underneath it for sleep. "G'night."

Three voices returned the wish for pleasant dreams and Stan turned off the lamp. The room was soon filled with the gentle snores of the four Pines, escaping into a world entirely their own.

#GF #gravity falls #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #week 2: birhtday #june 15th #HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!#ANGST AND FLUFF

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reddieao3feed · 5 years

Text

Mamma Mia!

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2X5G7e4

by PetuniaViolet

Beverly Marsh, an independent hotelier in the Greek islands, is preparing for her daughter's wedding with the help of three old friends. Meanwhile, Ava, the spirited bride, has a plan. She secretly invited three men from her mother's past with the hope of meeting her real father and having him escort her down the aisle on her big day.

Hijinks will ensue.

(incidentally, Ava also ended up matchmaking her future father-in-law with one of her possible dads)

Words: 3976, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti), Mamma Mia! (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ava Marsh (oc), Nick Kaspbrak (oc), Lisa (mamma mia), Ali (mamma mia), Myra Kaspbrak (mentioned), Alvin Marsh (mentioned), Bill Denbrough, Audra Phillips, Patricia Blum Uris

Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, stanley uris/patricia blum uris, Nick/Ava

Additional Tags: Inspired by Mamma Mia! (Movies), Mamma Mia! Crossover, Mamma Mia! References, Reddie, Background Bill/Audra, Engaged Stan/Patty, bisexual richie, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Repressed Homosexuality (at the beginning), this is a songfic, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Mike is ready to offer advice, Stan birdwatches, Single dad Eddie, Single mom Beverly, Myra is one stinky bitch, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, like omg they fall in love in less than 24 hours??, Ben being a sweetheart, BAMF Beverly Marsh, Bill pining after Audra, BAMF Audra, Imagine Reddie singing 'why did it have to be me' lmao, i wrote this at 4 am, might delete it, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Stanley Uris Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, songfics are weird to write, Audra and Patty are Beverly's best friends, oh btw Eddie is 2 years older than the losers, Homophobic Language, In the first chapter, watch out

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2X5G7e4

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #reddie #it (2017)#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak

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thelastspeecher · 4 years

Text

Pirate AU - Down to Davy Jones’

This is a Gravity Falls AU, so naturally there is an equivalent to the portal incident, where Ford gets stuck somewhere for a long time. Here is that moment in this AU. Some angst, some Stangst, and some dad!Stan.

Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

Small footsteps sounded on the deck, immediately followed by Manly Dan’s distinctive, booming voice.

“NO, Daisy, your DAD said no HARPOONS!” Daisy’s giggled response wasn’t legible through the closed door, but Stan knew that she wasn’t going to give up the weapon easily.

“You should probably go help Dan,” Angie said. “We’re done with our meetin’.” Stan didn’t get up from his chair, set across from Angie’s desk.

“No, we aren’t,” Stan said. Angie looked up from the papers she was perusing. “You finished saying your piece, now I have to say mine.”

“I…didn’t realize ya had somethin’ to say,” Angie said, bemused. She took off her reading glasses. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…” Stan sighed. “I’ve been thinking about the girls lately.”

“I certainly hope so. They are yer children.”

“Not like-” Stan huffed impatiently. “I’ve been thinking about how they’re only three, but they live on a fucking pirate ship.”

“And?”

“Angie, you’re not dumb. You can’t think this is a good environment for two toddlers!”

“What do ya want to do?” Angie asked calmly. “Settle on land? I’d stay at home, birthing and tending to children, and you’d find some professional, well-paying job? Or maybe you’d want to pursue farmin’ like my pa.”

“Not all of that. Just the settling on land part.”

“There aren’t a lot of options fer us on land. We’re wanted criminals, fer one thing.”

“No one knows your real name,” Stan pointed out. “And I’m fine using your real last name, since Stan Pines is a known pirate.” Angie sighed. “I know that it would be difficult to figure out, but we can make it work. I really think we should give up the whole pirate thing.”

“Stan-”

“Angie, it’s not safe for our kids to live on a pirate ship,” Stan said firmly. Anger flashed in Angie’s eyes at being talked over. Stan forged ahead. “It’s not just the rusted metal and weapons. It’s the fact that we literally have battles. Danny and Daisy are three. They shouldn’t be anywhere near a swordfight.”

“I…” Angie chewed on her lip. “I just…” She sighed again. “I made this my life’s purpose. I built my whole life ‘round bein’ a pirate, I can’t just give it up. At this point, it’s part of who I am!”

“I know. But I just- I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Stan said softly. “Not with our baby girls on board.”

“I understand. And I don’t want ‘em hurt or near any sort of danger, either,” Angie said. She reached out and took hold of Stan’s hand. Stan gently traced the scars on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll think ‘bout it. At the very least, we should be able to-” There was a loud crash. The ship tilted heavily. “Fucking hell!” The door to Angie’s cabin slammed open, revealing Greg.

“Captain, First Mate, we have a problem.”

“What?” Angie asked.

“It’s the Armageddon,” Greg said. Stan could feel the blood drain from his face. “She came out of nowhere!”

“Are we lucky enough that the Armageddon’s had a change of captain?” Angie asked, getting up from her desk. Greg shook his head. “Fantastic. Have Dan bring the girls belowdeck. Stan and I will do our best to handle things.”

-----

“Handle things” ended up meaning what it meant the previous times the pirate-hunting ship previously named Orion but now called Armageddon had caught up to them. It meant a fight. Stan couldn’t see anything other than the sailors directly in front of him, but a voice cut through the sounds of battle.

“He’s heading belowdeck!”

“Who?” Stan called.

“Bill!” came the reply. To Stan’s left, there was a loud swear that would put the filthiest of sailor’s mouths to shame.

My blushing bride. Said bride cut down the sailor between her and Stan. Angie’s eyes were wild with rage and terror.

“Come on!” Angie grabbed Stan’s hand and dragged him through the chaos, following Bill into the belly of the ship, where Danny and Daisy were hiding with Dan. They caught up to Bill, just before he was about to enter the room that had been designated as the girls’ hiding place. “Bill!” Captain Bill Cipher turned around, grinning evilly.

“Hello, Captain Sally,” he said slimily. Stan’s heart leapt to his throat. Now that Bill had turned, Stan could tell the captain held Ford in front of him, a knife tickling his throat. “I’d be careful if I were you. You’d hate to kill your brother-in-law. Especially after he committed treason for you.” Angie snarled. “Now, go back to the battle. I have more important things to do.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Stan spat. Bill shrugged.

“If you insist. Maybe you can help me find what I’m looking for, then.” A vicious glint appeared in his single eye, a weak amber that almost looked yellow. “A one-of-a-kind relic with a one-of-a-kind enchantment.” Hunger entered Bill’s gaze. “The ability to open a gate to Davy Jones’ Locker.” He cocked his head, grin broadening further. “It’s a funny coincidence, since that’s exactly where pirate scum like you belong.”

“You’re a fool, Cipher,” Angie said calmly. Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw Angie slowly reach for her pocket. Unfortunately, Bill saw it as well. Too quickly for Stan to intervene, Bill cast Ford aside, grabbed Angie’s shirt, and pulled her to the ground.

“Uh-uh. No guns, lady,” he said in a faux-sweet tone. Angie hissed at him. He put his knife to her neck. “Do you want a new scar to match the one you’ve already got? If so, feel free to struggle.” Angie reluctantly stilled. Stan rushed over to where Ford had fallen. “That’s right, help your brother while your wife is on the floor.”

“You piece of-” Stan started.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Bill said, pressing the knife blade against Angie’s neck. A bead of blood appeared. Stan swallowed his insult.

“Stanley,” Ford whispered. “Here.” He pressed something into Stan’s hand. Stan looked down. It was some sort of pendant, composed of a glowing opal ringed by gold. “You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

“Not so fast, Fordsy,” Bill snarled. The feigned light tone was gone. He finished drawing the knife across Angie’s neck, then tossed her to the side. Stan’s heart plummeted to his feet. “I thought you might be holding out on me, you-”

“R hvmw bv gl gsv ylggln lu gsv hvz!” Ford shouted, suddenly shoving Stan off and tackling Bill. There was a deranged look in his bloodshot eyes. He gripped the front of Bill’s shirt. “Drgs nv.” The pendant in Stan’s hand glowed brighter. As the light filled the room, droplets of water fell from the ceiling, building from a slow trickle to a gushing waterfall that enveloped Ford and Bill.

“Stanford!” Stan shouted over the roaring water. The light of the pendant grew brighter still, forcing Stan to close his eyes.

When he opened them again, Ford and Bill were gone. What little remained of the water had puddled on the floorboards. Angie, still on the floor but now soaked through, slowly sat up.

“What…in the hell…just happened?” she croaked. Stan quickly moved to her side.

“Stay still,” he instructed. “If you move too much, you might bleed out.”

“Relax. He didn’t really cut me that bad,” Angie said with a scoff. “This just feels like the ship cat got a bit too frisky with me.” She smiled weakly at Stan. “I know neck wounds, and this one isn’t a problem at all.”

“Well, that’s good.” Stan sat down next to her. “That’s…the only thing that’s good.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Ford gave me this glowing thing, and then he started saying gibberish, and then it glowed more, and there was water, and-”

“Stop.” Angie held up a hand. “What did Ford give you?”

“This.” Stan opened the hand that was still clenched tight around the pendant. The brilliant glow of the opal had completely faded, leaving it dull. Angie took the pendant from him curiously. “I swear, it was glowing earlier.”

“I believe you,” Angie said softly. She closed her eyes. “This is…a big old mess.”

“Understatement of the century.” A moment passed. “So, uh, I know you said we would talk about the whole moving to land thing, but there’s no way the girls can stay on the ship when this sorta shit happens.” There was a beat. Angie nodded.

“I agree.”

-----

“Let me take that.” Stan took the chair from Angie. She glared at him. “You gotta be careful about how much weight you carry.”

“That’s a chair, Stanley Stanford McGucket,” Angie scolded, hands on her hips. “Not an anvil.”

“Can you blame me for being extra cautious?” Stan asked. He set down the chair just by the front door, then returned to Angie and placed a hand on her already swelling belly. “We’ve got another little twerp on the way.” Angie sighed.

“No, I can’t blame ya.”

“Good. Now, go sit in that chair while I bring the rest of the stuff in.”

“But-”

“We’re not on the ship anymore, Captain,” Stan interjected. “You can’t command me.” Angie raised an eyebrow.

“Yer playin’ a dangerous game, husband of mine,” she said, but sat down in the chair anyways. She leaned back, watching Stan bring the rest of the furniture in. Shortly after Stan began to move ashore with Danny and Daisy, Angie discovered she was pregnant again and, hoping to avoid the traumatic birth she’d had previously, as well as help her family settle down, decided to join her husband and daughters on land.

To be honest, Angie was kind of glad to have an excuse to be on land. Yes, she might not strictly need an excuse, but she still liked having it. Stan was clearly haunted and troubled by what had happened to Ford. He needed all the support he could get.

To be even more honest, Angie wasn’t being half as argumentative as usual, out of concern for Stan’s mental state.

Not that I’ll ever tell him why I’m bein’ so gentle.

“It’s gonna be great to have us all here as a little family,” Stan said, carrying a dresser. He grinned. “Y’know, it’s basically what I wanted when I was a kid. Wife, kids, my own business.”

“This is temp’rary fer me, though,” Angie reminded him. “I’m only ashore fer the pregnancy and post-partum period. After, I’m headin’ back to sea.” Stan set down the dresser with a grimace.

“Angie…”

“It’s not like I’m abandonin’ ya. It’ll be like merchant fam’lies what have the father gone to transport tea and whatnot. But in this case, it’s the mother.”

“I guess.”

“I know yer not happy-”

“Yeah, I’m not happy.” Stan took a breath. “But I just have to deal with it. Who knows? Maybe you’ll love your time ashore so much, you decide to stay.”

“Don’t hold yer breath hopin’ fer that possibility, love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan muttered. “You better be giving me a son, by the way. That’ll make being a single parent more worth it.”

“I know yer jokin’, but don’t say that ‘round the girls. They won’t understand.”

“Right. Speaking of the girls, uh, where are they?” Stan asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yer not pretendin’ ya don’t know where yer children are as a way of me stickin’ ‘round, are ya? I know full well yer capable of takin’ care of ‘em,” Angie said. Stan frowned at her. “They’re with Maria. She should be bringin’ ‘em back any minute.”

“Mama!” a voice screeched. “Papa!” Three-year-old Danny and Daisy ran up, wrapping their arms around Stan’s legs.

“Hey there, little pirates,” Stan chuckled, ruffling their hair. “Didja have a good time with Mrs. Ramirez?”

“Don’t be silly, Stanley,” Maria said, walking over to them. Her grandson, Soos, was holding her hand. “I’m not Mrs. Ramirez. I’m Abuelita.”

“Yeah!” Daisy said loudly. Soos broke free of his grandmother’s grip and ran to Stan.

“Mr. McGucket, can you tell me a pirate story?” he asked eagerly. Stan grinned.

“Like you need to ask! Come on in, kid!” Cheering, the children followed Stan inside. Angie got up from the chair and embraced Maria.

“I’m so glad you kids settled here in Gravity Falls,” Maria said. Angie smiled.

“Well, you and Soos seemed really happy here. And Stan was thrilled to be close to you two.”

“Yes, Soos is a wonderful boy.” Maria raised an eyebrow at Angie. “So, what are your plans?”

“Stan wants to turn part of the house into a pawn or antiques shop,” Angie answered. “After all, we have plenty of things from our adventures that he can sell. And since I won’t be giving up piracy, I’ll be able to help restock.”

And if Stan sells interesting relics, he’s more likely to meet people who might know something about the pendant that sent Ford away. Said relic was locked tight in a chest, tucked away beneath the floorboards of their bedroom.

“You’re not quitting?” Maria asked, surprised. Angie shook her head. “Surprising.”

“I just…” Angie looked down at her feet. She toed the grass. “I probably will eventually. But not yet. I have more I want to do.”

“I understand. Though I don’t understand why you and Stan went with the last name ‘McGucket’.”

“…It’s actually my real last name,” Angie mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck. “My real name is Angie McGucket. So I went back to that. And since Stan Pines is a known pirate, he took my last name.”

“Ah.” Maria looked Angie up and down, then put her hands on her hips. “You need to eat more! You’re pregnant, but look at you! You’re skin and bones, mija!” Angie laughed.

“I was wonderin’ how long it would take fer ya to try to feed me.”

“Try? I am not going to try, dear. Come inside, I will make you something to eat.”

“Maria, this is my house.”

“So?” Maria asked, walking into the house. “I can use a kitchen even if it is not mine.”

With a chuckle, Angie followed her inside.

#it's been a while since I've written a Caesar cipher for something before #I actually had to look it up to double-check bc I wanted to make sure I was right #Pirate AU #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #Angie McGucket #Bill Cipher #Abuelita Ramirez #Stangie Family #Stangie #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

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