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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!�� Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #grunkle stan x reader #[mr. mystery]#pspspsps come get y'all juice #but also tell me if you like my fic please i like interaction

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mythomagically-delicious · 3 years

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Okay so in a better world au ford and fiddleford created the Institute and made up, right? What happened to stan?

The point of that first post about "the twist" was this: what if Stan and Ford switched bodies and stans was sent into the portal with ford inside, and Stan in Ford's body remained behind. Stan immediately tries everything to turn it back on, to no avail. He went thru hundreds of papers and notes trying to understand ANYTHING and he got some general idea that ford had had a research partner out here who knew things- knew ford, knew the portal, he could help!

Stan in Ford's body races to town instead of staying isolated in the cabin for four weeks, and finds fiddleford. Fiddleford looks confused and stranger than the notes suggested but it matches up. He begs fiddleford to help him, and despite the falling out fiddleford has enough fondness for his old friend remaining that he is swayed. He doesn't get his full mind erased by the society bc he isn't abandoned fully and left wandering the town to be targeted by blind Ivan in his power grab.

Fiddleford and Stan (in Ford's body) go back to the shack and stan starts to take him to the basement when fidds starts freaking out, yelling and crying about the world-shattering consequences. About the things he saw, rhe demon, and more. Stan calms him down, takes him back upstairs. He's frustrated to high heaven and back but he knows he could never do this alone.

(He hasn't told fiddleford who he really is. Yet. He will, he just needs some help first. Who would help a loser like stan? But ford has a friend, he can be ford for a little bit to work the angle and get his brother back.)

It takes time. Way too much time, for Stan, but fiddleford slowly recovers enough of his sanity and calms his nerves enough to go down to the basement and not freak out. Stan admits to anything fiddleford asks him about, anything he saw from Ford's notes and makes it convincing that he's asking for a second chance. Maybe they could rebuild it, better? Without demon assistance?

Fiddleford helps tear it to shreds. They mark every part as they dismantle it and fiddleford searches for the reasons it opened a portal to nightmares. He doesn't follow schematics blindly, any more, no more blind trust to his friend. But he does help. Stan is learning on the job. He isn't convincing in the slightest of being a genius but fiddleford is too frazzled to notice. He's got his own shit going on.

They tear it down. Stan is afraid and angry and desperate but he holds his shit together. Fiddleford regains more of himself as they go. Stan learns more about ford and fiddlefords time together as fiddleford recovers memories and tells them to Stan. Stan makes his own notes, of how to Be Stanford Pines.

In time, they get to a stable place of living in the shack together, Stan trying to learn as much as he can about this science shit, pretending he was hit by the memory gun into forgetting himself when fiddleford questions it. Fidds is afraid to go confront the society, and can't remember where they are anyway. Stan doesn't care about it as long as his cover isn't blown. He hasn't told fiddleford yet. He will! But not yet.

They begin to plan a new, stable trans-dimensional vortex. It takes a whole hell of a lot, but they slowly build it anew. Still in the cursed basement, not even a skeleton of the old machine left after they destroyed it the first time.

Stan is flying less by the seat of his pants. Taking a leaf from Ford's book and staying up to radically terrible hours of the night studying and trying to understand all the science and math shit to make this work, to keep stringing fiddleford into helping him. Fidds takes time for his own projects and Stan doesn't bug him about it, saying if it makes money to split it, and when fiddleford hits a big invention that also happens to patent well and spread? They use the money to help their new portal.

It takes ten years to do it, but they recreate the portal, this time to a place they can control thru careful calibration. Fiddleford writes a scientific paper about it, publishes it with ford as a co-author, and they get international renown. Stan knows how to work a crowd and he uses their leverage to get people invested in investing, so to speak. It's not cheap to fund the energy required to turn it on, so they expand the building and create the Institute of Oddology, given enough time and building and circumstances lining up just right.

Fiddleford runs the teams and the day to day stuff. Stan handles finances and resource allocation and scheduling tours, interested parties, rivals, anything business side. He and fiddleford go to the first stable dimension together , though, and Stan uses all of the science gizmos at their disposal to search for ford while they're there.

He doesn't find him. He still hasn't told fiddleford. Its been too long at this point, right? What if he takes the money and fame and everything and kicks Stan out for lying? He mostly rode fiddlefords genius to get here, there's no way he'd not be mad about this.

They go to many dimensions. Stan takes samples and learns scientific process thru osmosis over the years and contributes to publishibg written works to the greater scientific community.

He looks for Ford. He finds nothing. He tells no one his true purpose for everything he's achieved to that point. He lies and wears Ford's face and shakes hands and is a sham.

One day Fiddleford races to his office, frantic and eyes wide and hands shaking slightly like Stan hasnt seen in years. It's been 30 years since ford was lost to the portal. And fiddleford comes to him and says there's a parallel you, Stanford, in conference room B, we need to send him on his way immediately, you remember what happened to Ernie on that trip 8 years back?

And Stan ignores this, heart pounding, and knocks fiddleford out, locking him in the office, racing to conference room B.

He bursts in, and sees a version of his brother. One he doesnt see in the mirror. A real Stanford Pines, 30 years older than the kids they were when they fought beside the portal. Apparently no universe is fair, if ford ends up inside in multiple dimensions.

Stan is speechless. The portal!ford is on the defensive, but interest is clear in his face. He keeps his distance, cognizant of parallel!fiddlefords warning from before. Of counterparts meeting in a dimension of origin. Annihilation.

Stan cries. Ford looks shocked to see his own self in such a state. He doesn't know what to do. Stan surges forward for a hug and Ford tries to dodge, afraid of the consequences. Stan traps his hands to his sides and sobs on Ford's mysterious black coat, calling him brother. Ford's inner alarm bells go off even as he clenches his eyes shut against the incoming total destruction.

When nothing happens except for a wet patch to grow on Ford's clothes, he opens his eyes and studies himself. They look scarily similar, truth be told. His counterpart heartier than he, an interdimensional fugitive. That makes sense. Parallel ford is apologizing into his jacket and clutching him hard enough to leave bruises.

Ford dodges out of the grapple his counterpart has him in. He demands answers in a clipped tone. Stan does his best to reign it back in as he confesses what transpired in this dimension to this dimension traveling ford. How he hopes his own brother, trapped in stans body, is still out there, still surviving, still where Stan can find him.

Ford starts a fight. Stan defends himself but it gets physical and he doesn't have the same instincts to take down he did when he was younger. He remembers the last fight he had with his brother, and doesn't want that to happen again.

Fiddleford eventually gets free of the office and runs in to see parallel ford beating the shit out of his ford. He stuns ford with a device on his belt and brings things back to some semblance of order, getting a first aid kit out to tend to them both. P!Ford's knuckles, mainly, and stans face.

The truth comes out, ugly and stained and fiddleford forgives Stan immediately. He turns to parallel ford and helps him out of the room, promising help with his weapon and more, later.

Stan is left with the knowledge that all these years later, no matter what he does, his brother hates him.

Fiddleford helps ford with his weapon. If ford can destroy bill cipher, more dimensions will open up to be explored. If his and stans ford is still alive out there, they'll have a better shot if Bill is out of the picture. They send parallel!ford off a few days later. Fiddleford goes to Stan that night and calls him by a name that hasn't been spoken in 30 years. Stan can barely look at him. Fiddleford gives him time and space, but tells him he understands.

A month and a half later, a ripple is felt thru thousands of dimensions at once, the death of Bill cipher in every iteration is making its way thru the multiverse. Celebrations are happening as people cheer and laud thr name of the one who saved them, spread in a cosmic understanding by some greater power. Stanley Pines, shatterer of Bill Cipher.

4 years later, they find Ford. Ford in Stans body is old, ragged. He's missing an eye and an arm and so much more of who he used to be. But they bring him home. He doesn't want to switch bodies back.

Stan feels guilt eat at him, but ford is different than the other traveler they'd met. He's more settled. He thanks Stan for finding him. Doesn't blame him for how long it took. Didn't think he'd be come for anyway.

It's strange and rocky but slowly strides are made to bridge the gap of decades and become people they want to be, again. Brothers, friends, explorers. They never body swap again, but they settle into themselves and own who they are.

#stanley and stanford #fiddleford mcgucket #parallel ford #a better world au #but with a twist #gravity falls #flash fic #i wrote this on my phone #electron carpet #body swap au

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

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Rewind Chapter 10 - A Well-Deserved Rest

Me: "Now that we're reaching the end, the chapters will come a lot faster" :) Me now, a month later, sweating: "Okay so that was a lie"

My bad! Been pretty busy and I completely forgot to update this fic. Welp, hope you guys enjoy the chapter <3

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Stan’s awareness came back to him in little bits. The first thing he noticed was what his skin stung all over – like when he and Ford had gotten sunburnt on the beach, back when they first found the Stan ‘O War. It hurt when he moved his face. The next thing that came to him was the feeling of sticks and leaves and snow under his knees. His breaths were rasping in his throat, and sparks pitter-pattered to the ground before him. Ford’s fingers were digging into his arm and there was a triangle-shaped sunspot in his vision where the explosion had burned into his eyes. His heart was pounding, probably full of that chemical Ford talked about one time – ad-reny-lin?

“Oh mah lord!” Fiddleford’s voice sounded, muffled in Stan’s ears, high-pitched and breathless. “Oh my – are you two alright? Stanley, Stanford? Yer okay, right?”

“Um.” Stan did a quick mental once-over. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He tried to wriggle out of Ford’s grip but his brother was holding tight, breaths coming quick and fast. Stan managed to twist around to catch sight of Ford’s stunned expression. His cheeks and nose were a sunburned pink and he stared at where the triangle had just been with wide eyes.

“Ford, let me go.”

“What?” The scientist blinked, before quickly realizing who had spoken and bursting into action. “Stanley! Are you hurt? You were so close to the explosion-”

Before Stan could speak up Ford had adjusted his grip, grabbing Stan’s shoulders to scan him for injuries. Stan took the opportunity to look around. The whole clearing was kinda scorched, snow steaming where Bill had been only moments ago. The smell of burning filled his nose and he wrinkled his face up in displeasure, which only made it sting more.

And there was someone rushing towards them – Fidds! The thin scientist clutched the rifle to his chest with bandaged-up hands as he sloshed through half-melted snow.

Ford was still fussing, like their mother used to when one of them came home with a scraped knee or bloody nose. Stan pushed his hands away (one of which was bleeding through a temporary bandage, what happened to his hand???) “Ford, getoff! I’m fine.”

Ford snatched his hands back, a weird look on his face, before his eyes lit up as Fiddleford reached them. He grinned up at his old friend with something like amazement, and for a moment he looked kinda how Stan remembered him – a kid, all full of excitement and curiosity and shiny eyes.

“It worked. I can’t believe it worked!”

“Ah’m just glad I hit the bugger.” Fiddleford’s voice was still high and reedy – at least, more so than usual. “Look, I’m happy yer okay and all but let’s take this back to the house. Who knows what creepy things are hidin’ out here in the woods.”

Ford stood and the adults started talking about boring things. Stan did not get up yet. He took a deep breath and felt his heart rate begin to slow and suddenly realized that he was very tired.

It seemed kind of… anticlimactic, if Stan was being honest. He was expecting a huge showdown, during the pouring rain or a snowstorm, with fire in the background and maybe some lasers and explosions.

Instead he got a bully of a demon, scraped knees and Ford clutching him like his life depended on it.

Once Stan stood up, he quickly realized that those warm and fluffy boots Bill had created had disappeared alongside the demon, and his feet were numb again. It figured. He could probably walk back, but it would hurt like crazy. How long did it take to get frostbite? If he lost a toe or something it would be pretty cool. Babes loved scars, right?

Then again, seeing how every bone in his body felt like it was made of lead and his eyelids kept drooping shut on their own, maybe he couldn’t walk all the way back. He rubbed an eye with his fist and cast a glance at the two adults nearby – Ford insisting that the other man needed to go to the hospital to get his burns treated, Fiddleford retorting that he, in fact, did not. Fidds wouldn’t be able to give him a lift, not with how both his hands were injured.

Stan cringed. It was his stupid fault that Fidds had been hurt at all – he’d gotten burned trying to fix Stan’s dumb mistake. If Stan had just used his brain, not been such a moron, not messed with Ford’s experiments, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Why did he ever think he could help? Stan was just a no-good ignoramus like Pa always said-

“Stanley?” Ford was looking at him now, concern in his eyes, and Stan swallowed down his shame and instead reached out with grabby hands. Ford choked.

“My feet hurt.” Stan said flatly as a way of explanation. “Gimme a lift.” If Ford really felt sorry for saying all those mean things, then didn’t he owe Stan that much? That was how the adult world worked, right?

His brother had a confused look on his face, something that would have been funny if Stan was not falling asleep on his feet and feeling very cranky. “I – I don’t want to push your boundaries. I know I haven’t been fair to you recently, and if you don’t want me to touch you-”

“Ford I’m gonna get frostbite.”

“It’s – what do you – you’re not wearing shoes!”

_______________________________________________________________

The doctors at Gravity Falls hospital were fairly used to Ford turning up with the strangest injuries. Of course, he only went there when Fiddleford insisted. The man was terrible at following his own advice though, so Ford had to bully him into getting his injuries checked out as well. The only qualified doctor there (he was assuming the pixies that worked out of the hospital’s parking lot didn’t have valid medical licenses) took one look at the party and waved them in with a sigh.

While Ford and Fiddleford faced their treatment, Stan refused to be awake. The child had fallen dead asleep on Ford’s shoulders soon after they left the scorched clearing, and proceeded to snore in his ear the whole way to the hospital. After a quick examination (made more difficult by Stan sleepily waving away the annoyed nurse) he was declared just scraped up and ‘sunburned’. Ford, on the other hand, was subjected to the time-wasting procedure of getting stitches. Honestly, the wound wasn’t even that big! Sure it hurt, but a few painkillers and he would be back at peak condition.

Stan did not wake up on the way home. He also did not wake up when Ford placed him into his bed and tucked the blankets up to his chin. Fiddleford, hovering behind Ford anxiously, peered over his shoulder at the snoring boy.

“Is – is he okay? He’s sleepin’ awfully heavy there Stanford, are ya sure he didn’t hit his head at all?”

Ford let out a snort, fiddling with the bandages wrapped around his injured hand. “Are you kidding? Stan always sleeps like the dead. He once slept through an explosion when I messed up my chemical formulas in high school. His bed had ash on it. When he woke up the next morning he asked me where my eyebrows were.”

Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about wakin’ him up. Come on down to th’ kitchen now – I think we need to have a talk.”

“…about what?”

Fiddleford fixed him with a stare and Ford wilted. “How about the demon ya summoned? All that junk with the portal? How yer brother got turned into a kid and ended up havin’ to shoulder all this? Or about watchin’ me go half mad and not thinking that, just maybe, the whole portal deal was dangerous?”

Ford winced. Fiddleford patted him on the shoulder, lightly – an olive branch extended across the yawning chasm between them. Ford didn’t know how to begin breaching that gap.

“O’ course, you didn’t deserve what happened to you either. So for once let’s put aside the pride and stubbornness and just talk.”

His friend’s eyes were pale blue and determined, and his hands were still shaking, and Ford didn’t deserve this kindness. He nodded.

“Okay.”

_______________________________________________________________

Stan woke up and immediately wished he was still asleep.

His skin stung all over, his face hot and itchy against the pillow he was curled up against. His feet ached and there was a crick in his neck, like he’d been thrown around on a rollercoaster. The sound of light scritching filled his ears – the scratching of a pen on paper from somewhere close by.

Being awake was overrated anyway. He tried to ignore the stinging and burrowed deeper into his blankets.

…nope, he was awake for good now. Darn it.

Stan peered up sleepily, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Ford’s room again? This felt weirdly familiar, like when he’d first woken up in the future. And like that time Ford was across the room at his desk, scribbling away in his fancy journal.

Stan rubbed his eyes and slung his legs over the edge of the bed, carefully dropping to the floor below. It was cold on his aching feet but he could stand, which was a plus! So he probably didn’t have frostbite.

Stan yawned and headed across the room to where his brother was frantically journaling.

“Mornin’, Sixer.”

“Oh! Good morning, Stanley.” Ford clicked his pen and looked around. Stan muffled a shriek.

“Oh geez! What’s wrong with your face?”

Ford’s face was green and shiny and very not normal. The scientist rolled his eyes and explained as though it was obvious, “It’s just a burn gel. I developed it to be far more effective than the regular medicinal kind. Now that you’re awake, you should put it on too.”

Stan let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, no thanks, I think I’m all better now-”

Ford caught him by the shirt before Stan could bolt. He kicked and complained as his brother produced a tube of gel.

“Don’t you dare put that on me, it looks like snot-”

Ford smeared a bit on his cheek.

It… actually made the pain go away. Stan stilled as the cool gel took effect, numbing the stinging of his skin. Ford let him go and offered him the tube. Stan wanted to smack it out of his hands just to stop Ford making that smug face, but his skin really stung…

He took the tube.

“Better now?” Ford said, annoyingly smug. Stan poked his tongue out. “Very mature, Stanley.”

“I’m not the adult! I’m not supposed to be mature.”

“That’s very true.” Ford turned around in his chair and continued writing.

Once Stan was done covering his face in gross-looking gel he stretched up on his tiptoes to see what Ford was doing. The nerd had one of his journals and he was writing in a new entry, a bunch of crumpled-up pieces of paper littering the table. Even if Stan had been good at reading, he doubted he would be able to understand Ford’s loopy scribbles.

“Where’s Fidds?” Stan asked after a moment. Ford reached the end of the page and flipped over to a fresh one.

“He’s gone home to see his family. Now that Bill isn’t a threat anymore he wants to mend bridges, so to speak. I… also need to do that.”

Ford looked around to meet his eyes and ugh, he was going to say something sappy wasn’t he? Stan reached up to try and pull himself onto the desk, but he didn’t quite have the upper body strength and ended up kicking in the air. Ford sighed, brushed his journal to the side and lifted Stan into its place. He swung his legs awkwardly.

“…I have an apology to make.” Ford said eventually. Stan tilted his head. “Listen, Stanley. I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I – well, I haven’t been fair to you. I let anger cloud my judgment for years, I valued that anger more than my own brother. I’m sorry.” Ford lifted a head to rub at his neck, eyes darting around the room but never landing on Stan’s face. “We’ve both made mistakes, obviously, and neither of us is without blame, but… ugh, that’s not how you apologize.” He seemed to pull himself together and try again. “What I’m saying is that I was unfair to you. I was hurt so I hurt you, and I think I may have ruined your life-”

Stan burst out laughing.

He didn’t mean to laugh, honest, but the sight of Ford’s nervous, sincere expression covered in green goo was just too much to handle. He tried to stifle his giggles with his hands, caught sight of Ford’s shocked face, and burst out laughing again so hard that his ribs hurt.

“I – this is funny to you? I’m trying to apologize-”

“No, it’s not that!” The hurt in Ford’s voice made everything a little less funny. Stan opened his mouth to explain, choked on his own spit and went into a coughing fit. It turns out, it’s hard to speak when you’re hacking your lungs up. Ford seemed to take pity on him and thumped him on the back until Stan could breathe again. “It’s just-” Another cough. “You look so funny, Poindexter.”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, and Stan pointed at his own green face to demonstrate.

“We look like ogres and you’re choosing now to be all sappy and sorry. I mean, you gotta see that it’s a bit funny.”

“…I suppose.” The corner of Ford’s mouth lifted and he didn’t look mad, so Stan took that as a win. He paused, trying to understand everything that Ford had just thrown at him. Most of it was just confusing, and Ford really seemed to have decide that the weird dreams were memories even though Stan didn’t get most of them. He wasn’t dumb though. That science fair thing actually had happened, with Stan ruining Ford’s project and getting kicked out. Reaching out to his brother and having the curtains being closed in his face – that had really happened.

As for the rest, all those dark and depressing ones, he kinda hoped they were just dreams. If they weren’t, if they were real, he wasn’t sure he wanted to live through them.

…no, wait. He already had lived through them, hadn’t he? He just couldn’t remember it. Because these were memories he’d lost and was getting back, Ford said so. Stan wondered what kind of person he’d ended up being. Probably cool and badass. With a sword. No, knuckledusters, those were way cooler! And maybe an eyepatch.

He got the sense that a grown-up him with all those memories and experiences would be angrier, but he couldn’t imagine any version of himself turning their back on their brother.

“I mean, I don’t think you ruined my life.” Stan reasoned, making Ford blink. “It was Pa that kicked me out, right?”

“But it was my fault-”

“And probably mine too. I make plenty of mistakes. You remember that time I kinda accidentally stole Pa’s medallion because I broke the case and panicked?”

Ford let out a little laugh. Stan reached out to punch him in the shoulder.

“Look, I dunno, I’m a kid. You gotta talk to grown-up me. But I’ll always forgive ya, Ford. Otherwise I’d be a hip-oh-crit.”

“The word is ‘hypocrite’.” Ford muttered quietly, and Stan could have sworn his brother’s eyes were pink and shiny. He decided to be very cool and nice and not mention it.

“But!” Stan pointed a finger at Ford’s nose and the man went cross-eyed looking at it. “I’m still mad about you being a jerk. You gotta make up for that.”

“…what do you want me to do?”

Hm. Stan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He paused as he thought. “You have to… take me on an adventure! And I get to ride on your shoulders and be tall whenever I want.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it again. Stan fist-pumped triumphantly.

“Yes! No takebacks! I wanna go beat up those unicorns!”

“Sure, Stan.” Ford let out a long-suffering sigh, but not the serious kind – the joking kind that meant he was having fun. It felt nice. It felt like coming home.

#fic #my fic #gravity falls #the stans #rewind #chapter 10

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introvert-no-chameleon · 3 years

Text

Meeting the Man-Ape

So @sleepsentry made this amazing AU and my childhood Tarzan phase came back like a vengeful ghost and teamed up with my current GF obsession to deliver this ficlet and an entire outline.

Anyway, here’s how I imagine Fidds’ and Tarzan!Stan first meeting.

Fiddleford should have said no when his old college friend had invited him to a scientific expedition to study anomalies in other countries. Maybe if he hadn't been so disillusioned with his lap computers, or if he hadn't gone through a divorce, he would've had enough sense to stay at home.

Instead, here he was, in some god-forsaken jungle in the middle of nowhere on a tree of all things, hugging the massive moss-covered trunk for dear life.

The humidity was suffocating, making him sweat to the point where his button up stuck stubbornly to his skin. He felt wet in uncomfortable places, itchy in others, and overall decided he did not, in fact, want to be here. To make matters worse, he was sure he would stumble onto camp smelling like wet socks. The ominous chirping and roaring in the jungle around him did nothing to alleviate his stress nor did the occasional shufflingnhe'd heard among the trees.

He'd gotten chased up a tree, lost his shoe and lost track of Stanferd and their incredibly untrustworthy guide, (a poacher of all things) and he was pretty sure he was about to fall to his untimely demise.

Wonderful. They'll probably never find his body in this unholy mess. His tombstone will read “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, the Biggest Damn Fool to Ever Live”.

He huffed, holding onto the tree he was in the process of climbing. The tips of his toes were on the one he'd stood on. He stretched, pulled his weight up...and found himself stuck between both of them with no way to move.

Fuck.

"Well," he muttered. "It ain't like this can get any worse."

As if the Lord Himself had heard Fiddleford, a clap of thunder shook the sky, followed by a heavy torrent of rain.

"You know what? I shoulda known better."

He slumped, hanging his head between his shoulder blades. Against his better judgement he decided to see just how high up he was to assess just how bad he messed up.

One can imagine his surprise, then, when another human face floated inches away from his own.

Fiddleford yelled, pushing himself away from the stranger. He immediately regretted the knee-jerk reaction when he felt his body swerve downwards. Apparently, he was high up enough that the trunks of the trees felt dizzyingly tall. He flailed his arms in an attempt to regain balance.

A single finger poked his nose, then gently pushed him back. The gesture sent Fiddleford toppling backwards, until his butt landed on a steady surface.

Oh thank goodness. He exhaled in relief, allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure.

The soft thud in front of him jolted him back to his current situation. Or rather, the person whom he was with.

A masculine figure with thick, long locks of brown hair and hunched on fours much like an ape, observed Fiddleford with curious, child-like wonder. The only thing this person wore to preserve their modesty was a loincloth. The rest of their body had impressive muscles, their fingers and toes wide-spread to better their grip on the trunk they were on. Which meant they not only climbed their way up, they must've done so quickly, because Fiddleford certainly would've noticed a person like this around him.

Right. The fabled man-ape. Of course Stanferd would've actually been right about this one thing, and of course Fiddleford had been the one to find them.

No matter. His momma had taught him manners, and he wasn't about to throw those away just because he was in unfamiliar territory. "Er, howdy," said Fiddleford, cautiously. "It's a pleasure to meet ya, the name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket." He extended his hand to the stranger.

The ape-man cocked their head to the side. Fiddleford couldn't help but notice how eerily similar this person was to Stanferd. Aside from the fact that they haven't shaved, they still had the same broad nose, the bushy eyebrows, the brown eyes alight with excitement.

Please, this ain't some movie. Stanferd havin' some secret twin? That would be ridiculous. But back to the situation at hand--he probably don't understand a thing I'm sayin'. This'll be tricky…

The man-ape cleared their throat. They pointed at themself, and with a shocklingly deep voice, said: "Er...howdy. The name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket."

Now that was interesting. "Fascinating...ya even copied the inflection of mah voice."

The man-ape copied Fiddleford's sentence again, looking pleased with themselves.

"That still spells the question of whether or not ya understand--now hold on just one second!"

The ape-man had crawled over and admired Fiddleford's shoe-less foot, a process which entailed pulling Fiddleford closer for inspection. They were mighty strong, too, judging by how easily he moved Fiddleford.

The scientist slapped the ape-man's hand away. "See here, there is no need for that kind of tomfoolery!"

The ape-man grunted. The message didn't come across, because he went back to touching him, albeit more carefully.

"No, no, that ain't what I meant!" A giggle escaped Fiddleford as he touched each of his toes, soon replaced by full-on-laughter.

This startled his companion, who drew back for a moment, giving Fiddleford enough time to catch his breath. They stared, watching Fiddleford intently.

They suddenly widened their eyes. Approaching Fidds once more, he placed a hand on his own chest. Then he slowly moved his own to Fiddleford's, waiting.

Now intrigued again, Fiddleford placed the hand over his chest. Once a few moments passed, they brought Fiddleford's entire head to his own chest and good lord they were hairy.

They also smelled like a sweaty mess. Fiddleford was quick to push them away. "Yes, that's a...mighty fine heartbeat ya have. Very healthy."

If this is what the anomalies felt when they studied them, he couldn't blame some of them for wanting to rip he and Ford a new one. He himself felt more than a little irritated at the bold-faced intrusiveness.

They extended their hand, but this time stopped in mid air, and held their palm towards Fiddleford.

With some hesitation, Fiddleford went up and held his own palm up. They placed it right against his. When their fingers interlaced Fiddleford's, he felt his face flush.

He drew his hand back towards himself, coughing. "Well, I-I think that's enough of that."

"Tar...stan."

Fiddleford blinked up at his new companion. "Say what now?"

They pointed at themselves. "Tarstan." They pointed at Fiddleford. "Er...howdy. The name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket."

Fiddleford chuckled. "That's too much of a mouthful, I reckon."

"That's too much of a-"

Fiddleford shook his head. "No, it's. Now, wait, look at me," he said gesturing at their eyes and then himself. "Fiddleford."

"Fiddleford," they said, pointing at the scientist. They gestured at themself. "Tarstan."

Fiddleford nodded, his mouth split into a grin. "That's right! Now we're gettin' somewhere."

The sound of a gunshot had him jolt upwards, cursing up a storm. He was thankful Tarstan was too occupied glancing at the source of the sound to repeat any of it.

"That must be Bill." His lips curled into a disgusted frown. "Damn fool, shooting all over the place, he'll hurt somebody…"

Tarstan imitated the gunshot, an amused smile playing on their lips.

An idea formed in Fiddleford's head. "Do ya think ya can get me over there? To where that noise is?"

They grinned, which he took as a good sign as any. Tarstan looping his arm around his waist was considerably less reassuring.

"Er, what're we doing--sweet sarsaparilla!"

Tarstan leaped onto a vine, keeping his grip on Fiddleford as he did so. He managed to not only keep his grip, but also swing them from vine to vine in the direction of Bill's shooting.

He couldn't describe it then, but later on he'd reflect on the ominous twist in the pit of his stomach as they approached the camp. If Fiddleford had known just what would've happened in the next few months, he probably would've never brought them anywhere near Bill.

Extra Ideas that I Have:

-Ford secretly has been hoping to find his lost twin, who “died” in the same area as the fabled “man-ape” because he was separeted from his brother at a young age when [insert whatever idea one may have to explain how Stan could end up in a jungle being raise by apes, because I don’t have one]. He is estatic that not only is his brother alive, he’s an anomaly just like him!

-I imagine Bill’s motives being very similar to the Tarzan villain (whatever his name is) . Fidds in this AU is more suspicious, but is still unable to stop him alone.

-Fiddleford ends up falling for Tarzan!Stan and vice versa much like Jane does in the OG film.

-Stanford also is intent on having his brother return to civilization, but Tarzan!Stan is unsure about leaving.

-I imagine them having an ending similar to the film.

#tarstan au #stan pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #ford pines #bill cipher #gravity falls #i rewatched an entire scene just to write this #i never imagined this is what i would be doing at 25 but that's life kids #i don't have ideas they just chase me with a net and pin me down until i write them #or blindside me at work #fiddlestan

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glassbxttless · 4 years

Text

Clyde Logan x Reader

Part Three

Summary: just Clyde being a dad (:

Word Count: 1,196

The same letter board that held Benjamin’s name four years ago now reads,

Andrew James Logan

Due in February

Clyde had the same stupidly huge smile on his face for this announcement photo that he did in Ben’s. But this time, he held his little buddy on his hip, flesh arm wrapped around him as they both held the letter Board. Hair was peeking out from under Clyde’s hat along with the tips of his ears.

Two years of trying for this one, two years paid off for you two to be having another perfect little boy. You felt impossibly more round than you did before, at only twenty weeks. Clyde sat Benjamin down after you’d taken their photo and placed his hand on your belly. He loved feeling your belly.

“Mama.” Ben patted your thigh gently. “There’s a baby?” You just ruffled his hair and nodded.

“Mhm, there’s a baby.” Your grin was ear to ear as Clyde began to pick up the toys Ben had left out on the floor of the trailer.

“How do you get the baby?” He asks curiously. You rolled your eyes and smiled, that’s a question for your daddy, sweet cheeks.

At week 38, You felt so impossibly big that you couldn’t even bend down to do simple tasks anymore. But Clyde was picking up the slack you left. When Ben’s toys were scattered through the living room floor of the trailer— he was the one running along and coaxing Ben to pick up.

Clyde was even insisting you stay in bed, he’d take care of you, the house, his job, and Benjamin. You knew his heart was in it. But could see how quickly it was going to wear him down. “Just let me help, Clyde. I can make dinner.” You laughed, placing a hand on your lower back as you stretched a bit. You felt like you were bigger now than you were with Benjamin.

Clyde smiles as he places his hands on your tummy, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle as you turn your head to check on where Ben was. “Honeybee, I can take care of us. More than capable.

“I know you’re capable.” You say to him, a hand over his as he continues the soothing circles. “But I’m also capable. This pregnancy has been amazing. Fit as a fidd— Ben!” You reach out to grab the collar of Benjamin’s shirt to keep him from running face first into the countertop.

“Let him play, honey. He’s a growin’ boy.” Clyde says softly and fixes the collar of Ben’s shirt for him. “Run on and play. Don’t scare your mama.” He whispers, giving him a pat on the back as Benjamin throws a thumbs up and runs into his bedroom.

“Can’t keep putting off fixing Ben’s room around for Andy.” You say as you move to pull the thawed chicken from the fridge and seasonings to cook with. “Need to put the crib up.”

“Honeybee, stop worryin’ that pretty lil head.” Clyde mumbles as he lifts Benjamin up, holding him on his hip with his flesh arm around him. “Papa bear’s got it. Huh Benny?”

“Daddy got it.” He nods as Clyde sits him in his chair.

“I’m not worrying really. He could be here any day now and we haven’t set up anything yet.” You smile at him. “Literally any day.”

Clyde rolled his eyes as you three ate together, Andrew kicking your rib and causing some major heartburn as you went.

At week 40, you two woke up on the morning of the 14th. The day you’d scheduled your next c-section. Sadie had come by to watch Benjamin. You made sure to tell her he had to eat his dinner and no juice after seven. That he could play outside as long as he took a bath— and you two were off.

After being prepped for your surgery, Clyde was holding your hand the entire time. Which might’ve been different from Benjamin’s birth. He didn’t stand to watch this time, just whispered each and every thing that was happening, wishing you realized just how perfect what you’re doing was.

When they cleared his lungs, the two of you heard a small cry. It’s little Andrew.

When you brought Andy home, you set Benjamin on the couch and Andrew in his lap. Clyde sat beside them, supporting Andy’s head with a smile. Your three boys.

Your heart was so full. You didn’t ever wanna let this moment go. But soon Andy and Ben would be out running around and playing. Maybe they’d get Clyde out there with them. Teaching them to shoot cans and to be gentlemen. But right now you got to see all three of your boys sitting there in front of you.

When it came time for bedtime, you bathed Ben and Andy together; got them into their pjs, and Clyde helped you get them to bed. He tucked Benjamin in as he laid Andrew into his crib. After their bedtime story, and shutting their light off, you two crawled into your own bed.

“Our first night with them both was successful.” You say as Clyde reads from his book. Clyde only hums in response. He loved them both more than anything, maybe more than he loved you. His kids would come first as long as he lived and you didn’t mind. Your kids came first to you too. No matter how much you loved Clyde.

When Andrew was two and Benjamin was six, Clyde decided to sit them both down after a particularly long day shift at the Duck Tape and an unusual amount of misbehaving for you on your kids part. “Now your mama tells me you two’ve been causing trouble.”

Andrew gives Clyde his biggest smile and reaches out for him, “daddy! be good.” He says softly.

Clyde smiles and puts his hands down. “You were not good today. Neither was your brother.” You watched them from where you were cooking, Clyde just talked and talked about them needing to behave when he was gone.

“Now go give your mama a hug and say you’re sorry.” He gives them both a kiss on the head as they stand and he sighs, sitting down himself to relax for a moment. His boys were his biggest accomplishment— maybe besides you. and he wanted to mold them into fine young men.

You hug both of your boys, kissing their cheeks and opening the front door to the trailer. “Go on out and play, boys. Don’t leave the yard.

“Daddy says we—”

“I said don’t leave the yard.” You say a little more stern as the boys run out to play. You pour a glass of sweet tea and bring it over to Clyde, sitting on his lap as he takes the glass. “They’ve been saying all day you and Jimmy promised to take them fishing.”

“Mm, we did.” Clyde takes a few drinks and closes his eyes. “Friday, maybe.”

You smile, tucking back a strand of his hair. Your life with him couldn’t possibly get any better than it was. “Clyde?”

“Hm, honey bee?”

“You ready to be a daddy again?”

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde x reader #glassbxttless adcu #dad!clyde #dad!clyde logan

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glassbxttles · 4 years

Text

Clyde Logan x Reader Summary: Just some bits from my brain of Clyde being a dad of two little boys. Word Count: 1,196

The same letter board that held Benjamin’s name four years ago now reads,

Andrew James Logan Due in February <3

“Mama.” Ben patted your thigh gently. “There’s a baby?” You just ruffled his hair and nodded.

“Mhm, there’s a baby.” Your grin was ear to ear as Clyde began to pick up the toys Ben had left out on the floor of the trailer.

“How do you get the baby?” He asks curiously. You rolled your eyes and smiled, that’s a question for your daddy, sweet cheeks.

Clyde smiles as he places his hands on your tummy, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle as you turn your head to check on where Ben was. “Honeybee, I can take care of us. More than capable.”

“Can’t keep putting off fixing Ben’s room around for Andy.” You say as you move to pull the thawed chicken from the fridge and seasonings to cook with. “Need to put the crib up.”

“Honeybee, stop worryin’ that pretty lil head.” Clyde mumbles as he lifts Benjamin up, holding him on his hip with his flesh arm around him. “Papa bear’s got it. Huh Benny?”

“Daddy got it.” He nods as Clyde sits him in his chair.

“I’m not worrying really. He could be here any day now and we haven’t set up anything yet.” You smile at him. “Literally any day.”

Clyde rolled his eyes as you three ate together, Andrew kicking your rib and causing some major heartburn as you went.

When they cleared his lungs, the two of you heard a small cry. It’s little Andrew.

When you brought Andy home, you set Benjamin on the couch and Andrew in his lap. Clyde sat beside them, supporting Andy’s head with a smile. Your three boys.

When Andrew was two and Benjamin was six, Clyde decided to sit them both down after a particularly long day shift at Duck Tape and an unusual amount of misbehaving for you on your kids part. “Now your mama tells me you two’ve been causing trouble.”

Andrew gives Clyde his biggest smile and reaches out for him, “daddy! be good.” He says softly.

You hug both of your boys, kissing their cheeks and opening the front door to the trailer. “Go on out and play, boys. Don’t leave the yard.”

“Daddy says we—”

“Mm, we did.” Clyde takes a few drinks and closes his eyes. “Friday, maybe.”

You smile, tucking back a strand of his hair. Your life with him couldn’t possibly get any better than it was. “Clyde?”

“Hm, honey bee?”

“You ready to be a daddy again?”

|| part one || part two || part three || part four ||

#dad!clyde #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde x honey bee #honey bee x clyde logan #youre honey bee btw #dad clyde makes my heart soft #clyde needs more love

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crossiantgay · 4 years

Text

I Shall Say Goodbye Till It Be Morrow

Logince, fantasy AU! Pt 2 coming soon!

He looked out, over the balcony watching the sun set over the horizon. He was the prince; he was supposed to love his life. It has so turned out, that most days he had turned to envying the commoner. With his wealth and lavish lifestyle came the shackles of responsibility and no control over his future. The air was sticky and humid, and the setting sun gave the air a hazy glow. His light, white blouse ruffled in the wind and he felt his caramel hair brush against his face. He heard the steady beat of footsteps behind him and he turned. Everyone was supposed to head home, it was long past working hours. When he turned, he saw his pageboy, Logan (insert last name) approach. He had ditched his navy-blue suit for just his white button-up shirt, almost similar to Roman’s own shirt. He stepped next to Roman, leaning over the balcony.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it” His voice sounded distant and monotone, but still had the warm undertones Logan often had in his voice. It was only a few seconds later, Roman realized he was expecting an answer.

“Oh-yes. I suppose.” Roman drummed his fingers on the banister and Logan turned to him.

“Is something bothering you, my prince?” there was worry etched into his face, the concern all-so-subtly seeping into his voice. He sighed.

“Oh, it’s nothing. You know the princess of Lancaster?” Roman looked back out over the village below.

“The daughter of our known enemy? Why yes, I am fairly familiar with her” Roman licked his lips nervously. The summer heat was making his lips crack and blister and it was rather unpleasant.

“I am supposed to marry her in 3 months’ time”

“Oh-” Logan’s voice sounded hollow, like someone had pulled the floor out from underneath him but his expression stayed unreadable.

“And, to be honest?” Roman turned back to the man, waving one arm about. “I don’t even like women.” Logan quirked an eyebrow.

“This particular woman? Or-” Roman shook his head.

“All women. No princess has made my heart skip beats like a man with tousled hair and a well-trimmed suit.” Roman didn’t notice Logan unconsciously run a hand through his own hair.

“If I am to be… wholly honest with you, I have felt a similar way in recent months.” Logan tried to trace Roman’s gaze, find out exactly where he was looking. “I thought I was crazy. It’s great to know that I am not the only one who feels this way.” Roman gave him a small, uneasy smile. He paused and drew his lips in a thin line.

“Did you know that there is no law that forbids a man from marrying another man?”

“I-no. That is rather intriguing, thank you.” Logan gave a curt nod as silence passed between them, Roman draping his arms over the railing, unease clouding his mind.

“I’m headed for a future I don’t even want.” Logan’s expression softened into something sympathetic and caring before fixing his eyes on the horizon line. Logan carefully reached out his hand, putting it on Roman’s. To his surprise, Roman didn’t pull away but refused to meet his eyes. They stayed like that in comfortable silence as the sun set past the horizon line.

__________________

Roman waved his maid away.

“If you keep messing with my hair, it might fall out!” he ran his hands through his hair, fixing it to his liking.

“My apologies, your majesty. However, I believe you are ready!” Roman stood in front of the mirror, admiring the suit. It was a red suit jacket with gold fastenings and trim, with a white undershirt and black dress pants. His maid hurried behind him.

“Oh my! How could I forget the most important piece of all!” The maid delicately placed the gold, ruby and sapphire-studded crown atop his head. He straightened his posture and gave one glance back at himself before walking out to the ballroom. There was the drone of chatter along with the distant hum of classical music. He scanned the crowd for faces he recognized, only to find none. He made sure to keep distance from his father along with the princess, beelining it for the concessions. He stumbled into a few people, mutter half-hearted apologies, keeping his head down and his crown straight. Someone grabbed his arm and he jerked back.

“Well isn’t it Roman Cassanova!” He pulled his head up to look at whoever grabbed him, searching his memory for this person. They were clearly important, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no-

“..hey.” The person hit him hard on the back and he coughed, immediately talking his ear off. He zoned in and out of the conversation, trying to keepy up when amongst the rambling he heard ‘my daughter’ and something that sounded like ‘marriage’. His blood ran cold and he tried to say something, but what to say to your future father in law? His stomach churned at the thought. As if someone has answered his silent prayers, an arm looped around his waist.

“My highness, the king requires your attention immediately.” Roman recognised the voice immediately.

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I shall-have to attend to that as soon as possible” he blurted out as Logan tugged him away.

“ah, thank you. A tap on the shoulder would have sufficed” He said when he finally gained his footing, when they were out of earshot.

“Oh, please. You looked like dying cattle, I did you a favor.” Roman finally got a glance of his ‘knight in shining armor’ and his breath caught in his throat. To say he looked stunning was an understatement. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Logan smirked.

“What was that, my prince?” In truth, it was hard to see without his signature glasses but his jawline and cheekbones and oh my I think I might faint- he finally gathered himself and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t believe that is how you should be talking to the future king” He stuck his chin up exaggeratedly and stuck out his tongue.

“Ah yes, real mature your majesty.” A waiter walked by and roman grabbed two glasses of wine from his tray, handing one to Logan.

“Are you sure? You’re not legal yet-” Roman waved a hand dismissively as he took a sip, shaking his head.

“I have what, 4 months ‘till my birthday? The marriage is in two months so- 5 months. Close enough.” Logan shook his head and took a sip, eyeing Roman carefully. A hush fell over the room as the orchestra picked up. Roman finished his drink and looked up at him, placing it on the passing waiter’s trays.

“Logan?” he batted his eyes and Logan stepped back.

“No. no- no.” He shook his head but Roman continued, offering out a hand.

“Logan, may I have this dance?” Logan sighed, taking his hand.

“Fine. You may.” Logan took his head and was caught off-guard when Logan placed a hand on the small of his back. It did make sense, considering Logan was the taller one but Roman wasn’t super familiar with the ladies’ part in this dance. Roman placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder and Logan smiled slightly. They fell into a steady rhythm of dancing and they moved across the ballroom, Roman temporarily forgetting everyone else existed. That was, until the song ended and Logan and him stayed holding onto each other. Roman stumbled back when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he felt the world crashing down around him as he realized it was the princess. Logan dropped Roman and Roman wanted to mourn the warmth, but knew where his priorities stood. He pretended the touch was just him reaching for Logan’s drink, because that was clearly the case, totally, and downed it in seconds. It was only right after he did so, that he realized Logan had not had champagne like he had, rather a much stronger liquor. The room spun around him.

“Uh-hi” he said, trying to get his eyes to focus on the subject in front of him.

“Hello, I assume you recognise me?” Her eyes flicked uncertainly to Logan, who stepped away.

“Yes, I do. You are Bella Lancaster, yes?” Roman needed to get out of here, and fast. He felt as if any moment the floor would fall out from under him.

“I am. And you are Roman Cassanova.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her glove. “Fantastic. Okay. Yes” She looked off, as well. Though why he couldn’t tell. “I must go check on my-- my father” She smiled a bit and walked off and Roman made sure to count his lucky stars.

“You should go.” Roman spun around and immediately regretted it, falling into Logan’s arms.

“nOoO” Roman said, a bit too loudly, turning heads around them. Logan clamped a hand on his mouth before pulling away quickly.

“Ew! Why did you lick me?” Logan said in a hushed voice, wrinkling his nose and wiping his hand on his pants.

“Be lucky it was your hand this time, mi amor.” Roman said, clearly losing it and Logan flushed a glorious shade of scarlet. Roman had lost all sense of filter, something that was definitely required as a prince.

“Maybe we should take you to bed,” Logan said, looking out at the numerous people staring at them.

“Mhmm, bed, I like the sound of that” He purred and Logan sighed.

“You are drunk off your ass and not thinking straight. You need to get out of here before you make a scene” Roman huffed, leaning more into Logan.

“Whatever you say..” he grumbled. “Your majesty…” his tone turned softer and his eyes fixed on something behind Logan.

“N-no. Let’s go” He gripped Roman’s hand, in less of a handhold but more of a means to tug him along. Roman pouted the whole way as Logan did his best to discreetly tug him out of the ballroom, which went both well and not. Luckily, they avoided the king’s eyes but caught the likes of many onlookers, as Logan assured them that princey here had just had a bit too much. Once they were out of sight, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and raced up the steps.

“Woahhh” Roman giggled, with a case of the hiccups “You’re strongggg” Once they had made it to prince’s chambers, Logan set Roman down and unlocked the door with surprising ease. Roman stumbled into the room, pulling Logan in by his jacket.

“Roman!-” With one final tug, he pulled Logan onto the bed.

“You thought I was done with you? Not even close” Logan felt his once-gone blush returning as the prince fiddled with the fasteners on his jacket.

“Nope nope nope nope nope-” Logan sat up quickly, pulling the prince’s hands from his jacket, running his thumbs over the scarred knuckles.

“You’re intoxicated and about to do something you’ll regret.” He looked him in the eyes and Roman looked away.

“But I want this-no- I want you.” Logan’s expression softened.

“Darling, the wedding’s in a couple months. I don’t want to make anything harder for you.” A choked sob ripped its way out of Roman’s throat and Logan pulled him closer. Roman tucked his head in the crook of his neck.

“I never wan-” He gasped, trying to catch his breath as more tears rolled down his cheeks. “I never wanted this! Th-these responsibilities a-and arranged marriages a-and-” Logan shushed him gently.

“It’s okay. I’m right here, you’re okay.” Roman looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and uncertain eyes. Logan pressed a kiss to his forehead that lingered for a bit too long, breath ghosting over the skin. He pressed another kiss, this time to cheek, before another and another and another, touching every inch of exposed skin they could find as Roman’s mind went foggy, too overwhelmed by this absolutely wonderful sensation to even think. He feels a semblance of pressure at the back of his head, where Logan has his fingers threaded into Roman’s caramel locks, barely tethered there by the hand on his waist as Logan pulls his head up, looking at Roman with half-lidded eyes.

“What about ‘not making anything harder for me?’” Roman says, a playful smirk evident on his face.

“If you’ll allow me to indulge in a bit of selfishness, your majesty” Logan finally utters, his voice so much richer than Roman remembers; like the distant rumble of storm clouds.

“Yes,” Roman says, barely a whisper. “Please, yes” With that phrase, Logan captures Roman’s lips in a deep kiss, eyes fluttering shut despite himself. Roman blindly grasps for something to pull Logan closer, something to anchor him in this moment.

________________________

Loud footsteps can be heard from outside as Logan, who has been awake for about 3 and a half whole minutes, shakes Roman awake.

“Huh? Who-” Roman groans as his suit uncomfortably pinches at his sides, very obviously not meant for sleepwear. Logan pointed towards the door and Roman noticed the heavy footsteps, which could only mean one thing. He looked to his side, about to urge Logan to hide only to find Logan was already under the bed, hidden by the maroon bedskirt. Roman sat up, trying to make himself look as presentable as possible as his father burst into the room.

“Morning, son!” He bellowed and Roman winced, becoming acutely aware of his hangover. Roman blinked slowly, trying to wake himself up.

“You look a little out of sorts. Get yourself ready and come downstairs! I hope you haven’t forgotten about our Day Of The Sun banquet?” Roman’s eyes went wide as he cursed himself. It was the summer solstice; where for the whole day a large party would be held across the kingdom. The festivities last night were just a precursor to that and this was definitely not the day to have a huge hangover and your assistant in your bed. Wait, how did Logan get here? His memory stopped after his talk with the princess.

“Well see you down there, then…” The king trailed off, noticing his son staring at the wall and the look of distant fear in his eyes. He walked out, shutting the door behind him. Logan crawled out from underneath the bed, brushing himself off and laying beside Roman.

“We should get ready,” Logan mused, taking in the prince once more.

“What happened, exactly?” Roman asked tentatively and Logan’s cheeks went dark red.

“Uhm, we kissed…” Logan said, avoiding Roman’s eyes and Roman blushed a similar color, envying the red curtains hanging in front of his windows. He, Prince Roman, heir to the throne of Cassanova, has kissed his assistant of 7 years. With his awaiting marriage in two months’ time.

“Oh my” he whispered and Logan smiled at the remark.

“Mm. Now we really should get ready, my rose-er, highness.” Logan stood up quickly and Roman shook his head.

“‘My rose’ sounds better. Less formal.”

“Noted.” He nodded a bit, trying to ignore the pinkish color of his cheeks. He paused for a moment. “I should get ready. Well, you too. We should get ready.” Logan gave a curt nod. Roman laughed a bit under his breath and stood up. He took Logan’s face in one hand and kissed it.

“I suppose we shall,” he flipped through his closet, looking for something light enough in the summer heat. He finally found another white blouse, frowning a bit as he put it on.

“My hi-my rose-” Logan buried his face in his hands, looking between the gaps in his fingers and Roman shrugged. Logan went back to his chambers to change, Roman changing into black shorts. Finally, he grudgingly placed the crown atop his head. Everything he had grown to loathe incarnated into some dingy piece of jewelry. Logan returned a few minutes later, thankfully this time with his glasses, with a white button-up shirt unconsciously unbuttoned at the top and black suspenders. His black hair was messy and fluffy due to the humidity. Roman blushed when he saw Logan, stammering. Logan let out a puff of air, snickering.

“You look lovely, my rose” he offered out his hand and Roman took it.

“As do you, my love” he smiled as Logan placed a kiss to his forehead.

“We should head downstairs,” Logan chided gently and Roman paused.

“Just a few more minutes. I enjoy being here with you”

______________________

The festivities were long underway, Roman hovering by Logan’s side the whole time as they talked with the common folk, eating all the delectable foods the carts outside the castle had to offer and embracing the enticing atmosphere. When the sun was just past halfway in the sky, one of the servants approached them.

“Sir Logan, your family requests your attention immediately.” Logan’s brow furrowed as Roman held his hand tightly.

“They live on the other side of the Alabaster River, why do they call for me- they know I have my responsibilities here-”

“Your mother has fallen ill” the servant bowed and Logan’s blood ran cold. He nodded, shifting closer to Roman. He gave a curt nod, leaning over to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“A week from now, meet me outside the city of Eastview at sunset.” Logan stepped away and Roman frowned, hurrying to the nearest carriage.

________________________

Roman stood at the edge of his balcony, overlooking the edge to the drop below. It had been a week since Logan’s mysterious absence, and of course it took the King no time to appoint another in his position, a short and snooty page with a shrill voice who always insisted Roman was wrong, constantly babying him. Roman threw the rope over the edge of the balcony, double, triple-knotting it to the banister. With shaky hands, he slowly began his descent. He felt like fainting when he finally felt dirt beneath his feet, in all fairness climbing rope was not his area of expertise. He shook himself off before running to the stable, shushing the horses and grabbing one of them before making his departure from the kingdom.

After many uncomfortable minutes riding on horseback, he finally made it to Alogas, which was right next to Eastview. He was almost there. He looked worriedly as the sun started to set. He couldn’t be late. He couldn’t.

He finally made it to the border of Eastview, and his eyes lit up as he saw a tall, black-haired man in the distance. His smile only grew as Logan came more into view, in a wrinkled light-blue shirt and dirt smudged on his cheeks. He skidded to a stop and jumped off the horse, running into Logan’s open arms. They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, just enjoying the other’s embrace, Logan placing countless kisses to Roman’s head and Roman burying his face in Logan’s shoulder.

“I missed you, my rose” He mumbled. It had only been a week, but Logan was always at his side so it felt like it had been months.

“I missed you too, my love. Palace life has been near awful without you; have you seen who they hired to fill in?” Roman rolled his eyes and Logan chuckled. He placed a hand on Logan’s chest but when he did, his brow furrowed. He tugged at Logan’s shirt, tracing his hand across the scabbed-over gash. Logan took his hand in Roman’s, pulling it off the cut.

“It’s fine. Just an unlucky accident.” Logan assured him. Roman didn’t seem satisfied.

“Did someone hurt you?” Roman asked, anger seeping into his voice.

“No, my love, it was my own fault. I hurt myself while farming.” Roman looked up at him.

“Farming?” Roman raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, my punishment for getting fired by the king’s court.” He ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back down, he saw the alarm in Roman’s eyes.

“Wha-how were you-” Logan wrapped an arm around Roman’s waist.

“Someone at the ball saw us, and ratted me out to the king. Next thing you know, I’m fired and a direct message from the king to stay away from you. My parents nearly ripped a new one when they found out. So, 8 hours a day out in the field.” Logan sighed, caging his disdain at the incident. He looked down and met Roman’s eyes, recognizing his concern. He rubbed circles in Roman’s shoulders, looking Roman in the eyes.

“Oh no, my rose, it’s ok. We’ll get this sorted out, I assure you.” Logan tried to reassure him. Roman nodded slowly, looking at the ground. In truth, he looked miserable.

“Plus, now I don’t have to look over my shoulder to do this,” He leaned down and captured Roman’s lips in a kiss, Roman’s cheeks dotting a beautiful crimson. He trailed the kisses down his cheek, further, down the slope of his neck, soaking in Roman’s murmurs of praise and small laughs, fingers entangled in Logan’s raven-black hair. He finally pulled away, leaving a few love bites but nothing prominent, taking Roman’s hand.

“I’ve known where you’ve grown up for most of my life, can I show you where I grew up?” There was a questioning look in Logan’s eyes and Roman nodded, brushing shoulders with Logan.

“I’d love to.” He smiled, pressing another kiss to Roman’s cheek.

“Let’s escape to this town for a little while” They walked together, watching the setting sun.

________________________

When they got to the more busy section of the town, Roman went to drop Logan’s hand but Logan held on more firmly.

“It’s fine, my rose. No one cares who you’re with as long as you can pay your bill” Logan’s eyes scanned over the crowd. Roman pressed closer to Logan’s side, Logan wrapping his other arm around Roman’s shoulder. They went from shop to shop, walking around the town.

“Would you like to grab dinner?” Logan asked when he saw Roman eyeing one of the bakeries. He nodded a bit too frantically, a chuckle escaping Logan.

“That would be… adequate,” Roman said, looking at Logan sheepishly. “I didn’t have dinner before I went to see you”

“Dear gods,” Logan murmured under his breath. Logan walked over to one of the shops, Roman staying close behind. After a few moments, he handed roman a boar-and-cheese sandwich. He covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing as Roman practically devoured it, licking his lips.

“What about manners? I thought you were a prince” Logan teased and Roman huffed, sticking his tongue out. Logan rolled his eyes playfully. He held Roman’s hand once again as Roman pulled him along, towards the local animal pen to see the deer and sheep, probably.

The end of the night came all-too quickly as Logan carefully eyed the sky. If he was correct, it was probably around 11 or so.

“Roman, as much as I hate to say it, you should be heading home.” Logan said, drawing closer to where they first met.

“No, it’s too soon. I don’t know if I can go without seeing you.” Roman turned to Logan, a pleading look in his eyes. Logan bit his lip.

“We can tryst again, same time next week. How does that sound?’ Logan held both of Roman’s hands, gazing into those dark, chocolate eyes. Roman nodded, if a bit hesitant.

“Promise?”

“Promise”

________________________

“What is bothering you? I know that look,” Logan said, looking deep into Roman’s eyes, as if he looked hard enough, what was bothering him would be written, clear as day. Roman folded his hands in his lap, mouth twisting into a grimace.

It had been another excruciating week without Logan when Roman slipped out to meet his lover again. Lover, he thought. It has a nice ring to it. Roman got off of his horse to fall into those strong arms of Logan’s , all doubt leaving his body. They were so secure, so comforting.

“Logan, take me somewhere we can be alone?” Roman asked, looking as the townsfolk hurried about. Logan nodded, walking away from the town towards the woods on the edge of the eastern side of town. Roman followed in Logan’s footsteps, never letting go of his hand as Logan led him to a small lake. Next to the lake was an old oak tree with a swing attached to it. Before Roman could think, Logan scooped Roman up in his arms and set Roman on the swing. Roman looked down, kicking off his shoes with euphoria bubbling inside him.

“Ready?” He asked, arms looping around Roman’s waist. Roman nodded. Logan smiled, slowly pulling the wing back before pushing him forward. Roman couldn’t bite back the giggle that escaped his throat, happiness flooding inside him. They fell into a gentle rhythm of pushing and pulling, Roman’s laughter echoing around the forest. Eventually, the swing stilled into a stop and Roman scooched over, Logan sitting beside him.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts virgil #ts logan #romantic logince #logince

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cosmic-divinity · 4 years

Note

What about an au that Stans about how “weird” “Old man mucket” is and Ford askes about him, then Stan is confused but tells him where he lives and ford talks to his bud for the first time in a long time.

I am so sorry if this is confusing :(

No confusion here! I gotcha ^^ Hope you like it! FEELINGS TIME

Stanford remembered hearing it that morning and nearly dropping his coffee in the process. It had been the mention of a name he had forgotten about momentarily. After all, in all his travels across the multiverse, small things like that were bound to slip his mind. However, the fact that it brought about such a sudden reaction had shown that the memory was not entirely gone. It was still very much a part of him, and hearing that name, brought about a multitude of emotions. The strongest one wracking his brain was of….regret.

“Hey, kids. Did you see the latest video on Bramble? Man, I swear, that Old Man McGucket keeps getting crazier and crazier. I dunno what he’s gonna do next,” Stanley laughed and then even harder when Mabel showed him another video.

“I mean, yeah, it’s funny, but I feel kind of bad for the guy. He lives by himself near the dump, and no one’s tried to, you know, help him at all?” Dipper added, sipping on his strawberry milk.

“Ah, lighten up, kid. As far as I know, that’s just..how he lives. He doesn’t seem like he’s unhappy or anything.” Stanley did stop laughing momentarily. Of course Dipper always had to be the realist just like someone else he knew. He finally noticed Ford standing in the doorway, looking like he was about to pass out. “Sixer? You all good over there?”

“Oh, no, Grunkle Ford! You dropped your mug.” Mabel hurried over to scoop it up. Luckily, it wasn’t one of the ceramic ones and didn’t break upon impact. It took Stanford a couple of seconds before he registered she was grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess.

“Terribly sorry, Mabel. I zoned out for a moment there,” he apologized, helping her sop it up before it spread to the rug. “I just...you guys were talking about Fiddleford Hadron McGucket...right?”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. How the hell did those two know each other?

“Wait, how do you know his full name?”

“Did you not read his journals, Grunkle Stan? McGucket was his assistant in his research. He was...a genius, really,” Dipper said with a concerned look towards Ford. “I would’ve done something, but..I’m not exactly sure how to help him. He lost a lot of his memory.”

“You said he lives over by the dump, right?” As soon as Dipper said “yes” in response, Ford was out of there in about five seconds flat, dashing off towards the dump.

“Ooh! Should we follow him, Dipper? Maybe Grunkle Ford can get the old Fiddleford back!” Mabel gasped. By the look in her eyes, Dipper could tell she had already made up her mind.

As soon as she ran off, Dipper sighed and grabbed his backpack. He’d really hear it from both Mabel and Grunkle Stan if he didn’t go with. “Uh, be back in a bit, Grunkle Stan!”

Stanford didn’t stop running until he got to McGucket’s shack. In hindsight, he could’ve had Stan drive him, but this was urgent. He gasped when he saw where he was living. Oh, Fiddleford… He felt that guilt hanging heavy on his chest again. How long had he gone on not even knowing he was here? Of course, he had only recently returned to this dimension, but still! How could he forget about the person most dear to him. The person who….he betrayed..for an interdimensional demon with empty promises. For a moment, he stopped himself as he started walking up to the shack. If his memories returned...would he hate him still? He wouldn’t blame Fiddleford if he never wanted to see him again.

Mustering some courage, Stanford took a deep breath and continued onwards to what sort of resembled a door. A six fingered fist lingered at it a moment before tentatively knocking. He heard rustling from within before a raccoon bolted out of there, making him jump and nearly fall over. Was a raccoon his only company now?? His heart nearly stopped when Fiddleford stood in the doorway, his beard all the way down to his feet and what looked like...a bandage on his beard? Stanford wasn’t about to question it. Fiddleford stared blankly at him before saying, “Well, howdy, there! Can I help you with somethin’?”

The words caught in Stanford’s throat for a moment. There was so, so much he wanted to say, mostly “I’m sorry, so sorry,” but he held it back. He didn’t know how much of his memory was missing, but given his living conditions, and the fact that he wasn’t completely pissed at him right now, he’d say a lot. He held up a six fingered hand in a wave, putting on his best smile even though his body simply didn’t want to, no matter how much it hurt.

“Hey, Fiddleford. I’m an...old friend, Stanford Pines. Do you..remember me at all?”

Fiddleford seemed utterly confused. He “hmm’d” to himself, scratching his beard and looking Stanford over. It got to the point where it seemed to be causing him physical pain, finally stopping with a groan. “Aw, sorry, there. Can’t seem to recall your name, but you’re that new scientist guy that arrived here in Gravity Falls, right? Sorry if I’m wrong. My memory ain’t what it used to be, you know?”

Stanford let out a sigh and an understanding nod. He figured this was probably going to be the case. Perhaps, he needed some stimuli to get things going.

“It’s alright, Fiddleford. I know you’ve been through a lot...trust me, I do, so I hope you don’t mind this.”

Taking a breath, Stanford reached out to place his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, slowly drawing him into a hug.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Fiddleford. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything that happened. I should’ve put my trust in you, not Bill. Driving you away is one of my deepest regrets. Even in other dimensions, it haunted me in my dreams. I wish...I wish I could take that hurt away, but we both know even the memory gun isn’t perfect. Memories don’t simply disappear, right, Fidds?” In that moment, he didn’t think about if Fiddleford didn’t know what he was talking about. All that mattered now was that he was hugging him again. He didn’t need forgiveness. It was the closure that he’d get at least.

For a minute, Fiddleford stayed still, but he slowly wrapped his arms around Stanford, sighing softly. Just feeling safe in his arms and his familiar scent, he felt a rush of memories coming back to him, especially with the use of his old nickname Stanford often called him back then. He glanced over when he felt Stanford trembling, tightening his grip on his shirt. His head..well, really hurt, especially at the fact that Stanford was here and in his arms.

“It was a tough time for both of us. And you know, I forgive you, Stanford. It’s been far too long for me to hold onto a grudge now.”

Stanford gasped when he heard him call him by his name. Were his memories..returning? Was his hypothesis correct? Tears started to run down his cheeks as he cupped Fiddleford’s face with trembling hands. “Fidds….you really remember me? I-I mean, you shouldn’t forgive me. I betrayed you. You were the person I was closest to, and I turned my back on you, drove you mad enough to use the memory gun on yourself. I..I don’t think I deserve it..”

“Oh, Stanford,” Fiddleford chuckled, looking up at him with the softest smile. “What matters is learning from your mistakes. Obviously, you found out the truth about Bill and his intentions, and you worked hard to correct your mistakes. Like I said, it’s been too long for me to hold onto a grudge, right, old buddy?”

He winced a bit when another headache and rush of memories came on. “Ah, look at this. You’re sparking so many lost memories o’ mine. It’s like magic!”

Stanford let out a choked laugh, having to remove his glasses a moment to wipe away his tears.

“Yeah, it kind of is. I would say magic doesn’t actually exist, but..I’ve seen far too much to say that anymore. Plus, Mabel would probably kick me in the shin if she heard me say that.” After taking a moment to collect himself, Stanford offered his hand to Fiddleford. “How about we find a place to chat and catch up? My brother actually turned the old cabin into a tourist trap of sorts, but it’s a good place to hang out in. And really? A shack, Fidds?”

“Hey, don’t blame me! I lost my mind, literally!” Fiddleford teased and accepted Stanford’s hand. The warm touch of it was something he really had missed.

“OH MY GOD, GRUNKLE FORD! That was sooo cute! I actually started crying myself,” Mabel squealed from a nearby bush as she tumbled out of it followed by Dipper. “Oh my gosh! You guys are literally the cutest!”

“Mabel...they just met again after...a really long period of time,” he said, having forgotten the exact number. “How about we give them some space?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Space is important, but afterwards you guys have to tell me everything!”

Stanford chuckled as he watched her drag Dipper off, guiding Fiddleford along. Things were still a little...awkward, but he was sure they’d regain their footholds in their relationship again. Things were a little different now, but after all these years, Fiddleford was still Fiddleford, and that was enough for him.

#gfalls #gravity falls #fiddauthor #writing #au #anonymous #ask #thanks for sending me a prompt!!

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orikeepitasecret · 4 years

Note

Well I warned you! (Also Fiddleford is my favorite so basically all of these ideas are about or prominently include him.) Sooooo... How do you think that Stanford figured out the soul-corrupting and hair whitening properties of the Mystic Amulet? (The one Gideon was using in "The Hand That Rocks the Mabel") Here's an idea: Stanford gives Fiddleford the Mystic Amulet so that he can protect himself if they end up getting in trouble or are attacked. Things somehow go wrong.

I personally really hate that they made it a soul corrupting amulet so I'm just... ditching that part of the concept. Hope you don't mind (especially after waiting so long). This isn’t my best work but this prompt in general has been a struggle for me. I’m not really sure what the context is for this, maybe an au where Fidds ended up with Ford again, post Ford finding out Bill is evil.

Trigger warnings: self harm (kind of), knifes, possesion, death threats, bill being bill. Please let me know if anything else needs to be tagged I'm not great at these things.

It wasn't completely unfamiliar, if very unexpected, for Fiddleford to come downstairs to find his friend watching blood trickle down his arm, with a too wide smile and a knife clutched in his hands..

“Stanford!” Fiddleford gasped and crossed the room. “My word!”

“Oh, hiya glasses!” Ford said, in a voice that wasn’t quite his own, not even trying to hide or back pedal from the injury he had inflicted on himself, like he usually did.

“Ford, you promised you’d talk to me when you felt this bad.” Fiddleford chided and turned away in order to go fetch the first aid kit from the kitchen.

“Bad? Oh, oh man. Buddy, I feel great!” Ford laughed, no cackled, behind him. Fiddleford wheeled around to find that his friend twirling the knife between his fingers and looking contplentaivrly at his wrist.

“Oh for the love of- what has gotten into you, Stanford?” Fidds demands and holds his hand out for the knife. Ford glares at him and tightens his grip on his knife.

“Oh lets just say,” Ford said and in a movement fast for him to process, shoved him to the floor. “A better friend than you.”

“Bill.” Fidds breathed fearfully.

“Y’know glasses, I think you’ve finally outlived your usefulness. Pity.” Bill told and stepped forward, twirling the knife between his fingers. Fiddleford swallowed thickly and scrambled backwards. Bill laughed and stepped widely forward, placing his foot on Fiddleford’s chest and using it to send him crashing into the floor. Dark spots flood his vision when his head cracks against the floor, but he blinks them away the best he can. If he passes out now, he’s never waking up again.

He drew in an unsteady breath at the thought and grimaced as determination filled him. He was not going to die here, especially not by Ford’s hands. He launched his full weight into Bill’s leg, sending him sprawling to the floor. Fiddleford scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the stairs. Bill wasn’t far behind him by the time he made it to the first step. Still Fiddleford flew up the stairs and into his room. He slammed the door behind him and quickly flipped the lock. It wouldn’t actually keep Bill out, but it would buy him some time. He crossed the room as quickly as he could and yanked the drawer of the night stand out, spilling the contents over the floor. He cursed, and cursed again when the door came flying open.

“That’s not very nice, glasses. Locking old Fordsey out.” Bill taunted. “You’d almost think you didn’t like him.”

Fidds spotted what he was looking for, the mystical amulet Ford had given him after the 2nd time the gnomes had almost successfully carried him off, and dove for it. Bill must have caught onto what he was going for because the knife implanted itself in the floor just in front of the amulet.

“Give it up, glasses. You can barely use that stupid things on the best days, you really think it’s gonna help you now. You’re dead meat!” Bill shouted and strood further into the room. Fiddleford ignored him and sprung, snatching the amulet up. He scrambled up right and turned to face the demon.

“Yeah well…” Fidds started but failed to think of a good comeback. “Sorry, Ford.”

He concentrated intensely and sent Ford flying into the wall over his bed. He crumpled down into it. A minute passed before Ford let a muffled groan.

“What happened?” He rasped and sat up. Fidds kept distance from him but it sounded like Ford, and upon careful examination his eyes looked normal.

“You got body snatched. Again.” Fidds told him and sighed. “Let’s get you patched up.”

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miraculous-rewrite · 4 years

Text

Miraculous Rewrite- The True Master (a Gamer 2.0 Overhaul)

So you guys know how Scorpion is supposed to be really creepy? Well....

We start on a super close up of a duffel bag, Adrien’s fencing duffel bag in specific, but today it’s not full of sports equipment, it’s full of clothes. Jeans socks shirts many nondisclosured colored lumps. We hold on the bag long enough to see Plagg zip inside, before Adrien’s hands come into frame and zip it shut.

We cut to a proper wide shot, Adrien’s now packing a backpack full of his school things and some knicknacks and books. His scarf is shown stuffed into a pocket of the jacket around his shoulders, his choker on full display. Adrien is focused, determined, more than a little angry. His phone rings once, it’s Marinette.

“Hey Mari...Yeah I'm about ready, you outside? Just gotta see if i’ll have to fight my way out or not.” he chuckles nervously, almost shrilly. “I’ll be right out.” He hangs up, Fidde places himself on his phone right before he pockets it again. He asks if Adrien’s one hundred percent sure that this is the way about things, pointing out that it was hardly news that his father was working with Hawkmoth. The fact that he’d been out ‘in the field’ as it was was the only revelation here, and that Adrien’s goal had been to save his father and aunt from hawkmoth’s influence. And him knowing that Adrien was Fenrir was the plan from the start.

“I know that...But he doesn’t. And I am still gonna do that! But If i stay it’ll look like i’m willing to turn a blind eye, if I do that then THEY might start trying to convince ME. They want to bring the dead back to life Fidde.” He looks away, his grip on his phone tightening. “And I don’t want to play with fire and see how long it’d take me before I start to break to get mom back.”

Fidde huffs sadly but darts into his backpack as he closes it.

There’s a knock on his door. Adrien takes a deep breath, straightens his back and pulls both bags onto either shoulder. And marches forward to open the door.

“Adrien-”

“I don’t want to talk, Father.” he grips his backpack strap. “If you’re here to try and convince me to give up Fidde and throw the others to the curb, I’m not interested.” Adrien pushes past Gabriel, who, surprisingly, doesn't try to stop him.

“Since you’re still my legal guardian you do have to know where I'll be so you can’t file a missing person without having to tell the cops you already know where I am, so I’m going to be staying with Chloe.”

“Adrien this is your home, you cannot simply-” Gabriel reaches out, to try and grab him, but Adrien wrenches his arm away.

“In a stunning turn of events, finding out my father has had an active hand in trying to kill my friends has really ruined the whole ‘home’ vibe.” Gabriel flinches back a bit, and Adrien readjusts his grip on his bag. “Did you try to stop Hawkmoth from targeting me on Christmas? Or did you just feel guilty after Ladybug was able to keep him from hitting me?”

No answer.

“...Well suffice to say, I don’t exactly feel safe in this house anymore. I’m sure you understand.” He’s about to reach the main door when Gabriel speaks again.

“We’re trying to bring back your mother!” His voice is sad,but also… desperate, almost fearful. “I just want our family to be whole again!”

Adrien pauses, we don’t see his face, but he puts his hand on the door. “We might not have been whole, but we could have been a family without her.” the door shuts behind Adrien.

Stiffly, Adrien strides across the yard and sure enough waiting at the gates is Marinette, and Nino, and Amber.

“Hey guys.”

The gate doesn’t seem to want to open at first, before Adrien gives a sharp glare back to the house and it pops open for him. Immediately stumbling into a Nino hug.

“You gonna be alright, brother?”

“...Yeah probably, I mean, it’s not like we didn’t expect this, right?” Adrien chuckles slightly, and before he can pull away Nino has slid his Duffel bag off of him and onto his own shoulder. “Living away from home at sixteen, what a life.”

He gets passed around from Amber to Marinette then, both giving him hugs, Amber giving him an affectionate head pat, Marinette pausing for a moment during the hug and then squeezing him tighter.

“Did you guys not wanna look suspicious all together or something?” Adrien huffs once he pulls away. “I assumed Chloe would be here if only to flip off the house as we walked away.”

“She and Alya are still setting up your room.” Amber answers. “I promised to flip off the house in her stead.”

“Kagami’s brother straight up thought she was gonna go all kill Bill on your old man so he barricaded her in her room.” Nino follows up.

“And Luka’s getting the snacks. We’re going full sleepover tonight.” Marinette finishes.

Sure enough as the four walk away Amber starts a few steps behind, raising both arms (conveniently off camera) to flip off the house before turning around to catch up.

“So, what are we doing for this sleepover?”

“Amber’s bringing a little of the Americas to us with ‘underrated movies that never got French dubs’” Marinette gestures to Amber who of course squeaks a bit and looks away.

“...You guys know there’s definitely gonna be an akuma by the end of the day right? After all this Hawkmoth’s gonna be gunning for us no matter WHAT my father’s stance on the matter is.”

“Oh no doubt.” Nino answers easily. “‘S why we’re all gonna be there. Kagami’s gonna break out once her bro’s guard is lowered, or at least that’s what she told me.”

Sure enough they end up at the Grand Paris, and a blur of magenta and pink darts from somewhere way up high, Cheshire positively PUMMELING Adrien in a flying hug from at least a few stories up. Cartoon physics is the only thing keeping the boy alive as he ends up in a small crater in the sidewalk.

“Hi Chess.” Marinette greets.

“I can’t believe those FOOLS at the interior design place held me up for so LONG, I am SO SORRY I let Lahiffe be the first person to hug you after this!”

“Wait how did you know Nino was the first person to hug me?”

“Because he’s the type of gremlin to be the first specifically to spite me.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Nino pries Cheshire off of Adrien, Cheshire letting it but scowling like an outdated meme.

There’s a brief moment of laughter all around, Adrien soaking in being surrounded by so many friends. Despite the sadness that he’s gone through, it’s different than when his mother died; Gabriel had BARELY been around, and he hadn’t even known Nathalie (Nathalie… how involved was she?) was his aunt. This was different. He’d lost his father, his aunt, but he wasn’t alone, he had friends, allies, support unlike before.

He would get through this.

Perhaps it was that little spark that led to him tugging on Marinette’s wrist while Nino, Chess and Amber bickered, a finger to his lips as he laughed silently, over to an alley-way. “Wanna run around as Fenrir and Multi? Might be a good way to give Father, and Hawkmoth, the middle finger, show him we aren’t scared that our identities are public, that we’re strong enough to protect our loved ones.”

Marinette hesitates for a moment, before smiling, a small nod of her head.

“Sure, if you’re up for it, wanna make it a Zodiac patrol?”

“Kagami would like that, and I’m sure Chlo will appreciate being able to run off from Nino.”

We cut away on a triumphant “HA!” and when the scene fades back in, a small squad of colorful heroes have gathered on top of the Eiffel Tower. Pegasus is in the process of swatting away Roi Singe’s hand as he looks at the Miraculous database on his weapon’s screen, the latter of the two visibly pouting, before leaning back to sneak a donut from Vipereon’s box.

Ryuuko smirks behind her hand at the antics, though she also grabs a couple donuts herself while the Snake wielder is distracted by the Monkey, walking over to where Multimouse and Cheshire have sequestered themselves, each on one side of Fenrir. And it’s over Fenrir’s head that she dangles her arm, and with it, a donut, for him to eagerly snatch.

“Not that patrolling with a bunch of people isn’t fun and all-” Roi Singe starts “But why? And where are like… Bellflower and Rena and Carapace?”

“We’re sending a message.” Fenrir states. “The first seven Miaculous are a tiered system but the Zodiac are a mixed bag. We just wanted to remind Hawkmoth and… his allies… that we’re not afraid of them. We don’t need to be firing on all cylinders to keep Paris safe.”

“Besides,” Cheshire pipes up “There’s been drama as of late and it’s more fun to remind the enemy how many we number.”

“Ah…”

“This also serves as a good way for all of us to get to work alongside each other.” This time, it’s Multimouse who speaks, and everyone focuses on her. “When we worked together in such a large group the last time, it was spur of the moment, we never had the chance to plan or see how to play off one another. If something were to happen again, we need to be ready.”

“If that’s the case-” This time is Pegasus who speaks up “would it not be more prudent to actually be working? Sparring to properly understand each other's strengths and weaknesses instead of simply hanging around?” leave it to Max to be a buzzkill.

“I call dibs on sparring with Pegasus!” Roi Singe chirps out, and Pegasus pales instantly.

“Dibs overturned-” Multimouse cuts in “You two are the most untrained out of all of us, you need to work with me and Fen.”

There’s a breath of relief uttered by the Horse, which is carefully hidden by a cough when Roi Singe turns sharply in his direction. Fenrir simply laughs, getting to his feet. The Dog glances between the two before pointing at Pegasus.

“You’re more of a tactician-type, yeah? It probably would be best you go against me, going against M&M’s would just mean you two go on without end. You need someone a bit more spontaneous, that you can’t plan against as easily.”

“Which is why I’ll go up against Roi Singe, it’ll help him out to go against someone who can think circles around him with ease.” Multimouse continues on. “You need that little nudge to help you both for planning things out, and how to mess someone’s plan up.”

Roi Singe seemed to pale now, a step backwards. “B-But… what about Cheshire?! Isn’t she untrained like us? She never showed up before the Scorpion’s first appearance!”

“I WAS QUEEN BEE!” Cheshire snapped out, and everyone present winced, Ryuuko going so far as to cover her ears, even if it was more for play.

Pegasus and Roi Singe share a look, before Pegasus glances back to the Tiger. “So, does that mean you got demoted?”

“HOW DARE YOU CLAIM THAT!!” Cheshire shouted, seemingly even louder this time, and she stomped forward, Ryuuko and Vipereon both stepping forward and grabbing one arm of hers to stop her from doing something she’d regret. “I HAVEN’T BEEN DEMOTED WE NEEDED MORE PEOPLE IN THE FIELD!”

As Cheshire continues a tirade about how this actually means she’s MORE equipped actually because she’s more versatile etc etc, we start to pan off of the rooftop and into the shadows.

One of which, moves. Sure enough, the Scorpion is watching.

We close up on the Scorpion, his spear is undone to have the communicator open. “The Zodiac are alone, No signs of the Lucky Ladybug or the Cursed Cat. Nor the Bee, Fox, or Wretched Turtle.

“Anything interesting?” Nathalie’s voice crackles out.

“The Tiger claims she once held the Bee as well, and takes offense at her friends assuming her lesser for no longer possessing it. This team is far less concrete than these children wish it to be.”

“..Huh...The Tiger you said?”

“Indeed. The Tiger as a wielder seems headstrong, but fragile, if such simple taunting can shake her. Possibly the weak link.”

“Very interesting.” There’s a bit of a shuffling noise and the Scorpion glances down at the communicator, brow raised.

“Fenrir! The Dog, how does he look?”

“...Your son is safe M. Agreste. He doesn’t seem to be overly suffering. In fact he seems to be sparring with the Horse.” The Scorpion humms. “He doesn’t seem overly upset at all, How close were the two of you before all of this began because he moves as though he’s lost nothing.”

Nathalie’s voice cuts in “Tsering- too far.”

“Ah, forgive me.”

We cut back to see the fighting, but the Scorpion’s voice carries on.

“I would like to give them a little… demonstration, as to properly show them how a wielder should fight, but I’m afraid they may not accept my… training. Would it be too much to ask for something to… encourage them?”

“A jack of all trades, perhaps, this time?”

“To show them how a real teacher trains his students.” The Scorpion agrees, and sure enough, a little black butterfly, lingering in the shadows much like he is, finds its way into his mask.

When the black mist fades, he visually looks the same as when we first saw the Scorpion, brown suit turned black red eyes, and looking younger than before. But he pulls out a small bag, opening it and shaking out, of all things, marbles.

He throws them with a flourish.

The marbles of course zip through the air landing on the rooftop, Fenrir backs into a marble, and slips, landing on his bottom like a doofus. Pegasus looks surprised but pulls out his boomerang, ready to throw when he steps forward and he also loses his balance, stepping on a marble.

“Ow! What the hell?” Cheshire yelps, putting a hand to the back of her head. “Did someone just throw something at me?!”

“Cheshire I don’t think anyone in their right mind would-!” Ryuuko flinches when something also hits her in the back. “...I stand corrected, someone’s throwing things.”

One by one the heroes all come into contact with a marble, some getting hit, others stepping on them as they look around to find the source.

“Such easy targets, like children playing games in the forest, unaware they are being stalked by the wolves…” The Scorpion’s voice drifts in.

Suddenly, everyone is on high alert, cramming in around each other to make a tight space. Weapons drawn, gazes all around.

“Show yourself Scorpion!” Multimouse shouts “We’re not afraid of you!”

“‘Scorpion’? Is that really the name you came up with? Why make one at all, you know who I am.” Scorpion coos. “Haven’t been revealed to anyone outside your own, are you afraid to tell the grownups because who would believe a simple historian to be your ‘scorpion’? That fool has taught you nothing.”

The first to be alerted to his presence is Pegasus, who yelps and throws his boomerang, which of course is aimed well but easily deflected. “Children.” he states again. “You know nothing of the weapons you wield.” He snaps his fingers and the spots where the lot of them had been hit or otherwise interacted with the marbles begin to glow a dark energy. “Attention!”

At once the entire group is at military attention, stif and immoveable with arms at their sides. “Line the rooftop, It’s time you all actually learned something. And Class is in session.”

Bodies being piloted against their will, the team are marched to line up along the edge of the rooftop.

Everyone of course is struggling in their bonds. Fenrir’s shoulders wiggling as he tries to get his body to move, Multimouse’s head turned away as she tries to break free, everyone is struggling but nobody seems to be making any headway.

“Now, does anybody want to go first? Permission to speak freely, granted.” he snaps his fingers and at once the entire team begins yelling, some demanding to be released, others insulting him and his schemes, some just going straight for ‘You’ll never win’s

“Hmmmm A lot of mouth on all of you. Speaking revoked.” he snaps his fingers and the sudden silence is deafening.

“I’ll select someone myself if you lot can’t be civil.” he seems to look the lot of them over, doing kinda creepy things like tilting Roi Singe’s head up by the chin and tugging at a bit of Luka’s hair, muttering about whether its transformation coloration or if he actually dyes it.

But eventually his gaze settles on Multimouse. “Of course, the little mouse who fancied herself a detective. Who else?” he pats at one of her buns, halfway between creepy and condescending. “We were all very upset to find that you’d been playing snoop, I believe Hawkmoth might have it out for you in specific little mouse. You’ll go first. But to ensure you can’t use your power to escape, no speech. For all of you, silence until said otherwise.” he snaps his fingers again.

“Now, Move freely.”

Reasonably, Multimouse pounces on him.

“Good lunge, and an alright follow through, but your footwork is a little messy. You struggled with your hand eye coordination in your childhood, didn’t you?” The Scorpion quips as Multimouse goes for him, they fight hand to hand for a moment before he kicks her in the chest, sending her skidding further away, Mutlimouse draws her jump rope and grapples his spear, she gives it a swift tug, which he counters, the two turning it into a tug of war before Multimouse breaks it, pulling her rope back and charging for him again. But before they make impact, she does a sign with her hands.

And splits apart.

“What?!”

The tiny mutlimice begin to attack, going full Gulliver’s travels on him. Just as it seems she’s about to get the upper hand he shouts again “Attention!” the mutlimice, unfortunately, are still beholden to the power and freeze.

“You learned sign language for when you can’t use your voice, very clever. I didn’t expect such a solution, but I suppose that’s what gave you the confidence to play spy. Sign ‘Re-Fuse’.”

The Multimice struggles against it, but one completes the sign and unfortunately that means Multimouse is whole again.

“Clever girl. Back to the line. Monkey, I’ve heard you were a novice. You require more training than your peers.”

One by one he starts going through the kids, giving pointers as he bades them to fight, if someone tries to run to find the others they’re forced to fight anyway.

“Today is not about your Miraculouses children, it’s about your training!” he goes through Kim (lectured about heading into things recklessly) Max (lectured about trying to run from an opponent, you won’t always have backup) and Luka (hesitating, without second chance active he seems tentative to make a move)

When he brings forth Kagami she doesn’t hesitate before drawing her sword, at first Scorpion seems impressed, but when he uses a move from a training she’s unused to the sword is ripped from her grip. “You’re a specialist Dragon, and that’s impressive, but if you don’t adapt a generalist can hit you with something you won’t see coming.”

By now you may notice a few peoples weapons have given a chime or two, missed calls or texts that were unable to be answered.

“Tiger. Your turn.” Cheshire is stiffly walked over to the ‘sparring area’ passing Ryuuko and the two share a ‘look’

“Must I goad you into fighting as I did the horse or will you stand on your own?”

When Cheshire is freed she brings out her Tonfa and does her best ‘defensive’ position.

“Your stance isn’t correct for fighting. You’re a dancer I’m guessing, which is why you hold yourself lightly.” he snaps his fingers to freeze her in this position and walks up to correct it, dropping her lower and making her feet spread further apart. “You need to be unshakeable. This is why Cacophony keeps sending you flying. You must dig your feet into the ground and become like the stone beneath you, as though you have claws, dig them into the earth.” He brings her arms closer together “protect your center, if you hold your arms too far apart you leave your vitals open to strike.”

After walking away from her a few paces he releases Cheshire, who stays in the position for a moment before charging.

“The Tonfa is not an offensive weapon, child. You’re too aggressive, too used to the trompo you had before.” He easily blocks the punch, spins her around and pins Cheshire to the ground.

“It’s easy to use your opponent's momentum against them. Like I said, become the stone. The Tiger is a Miraculous best suited for defence, if you try to turn it into offence, you risk tumbling like a bolder.”

He seems to be focusing on Cheshire a bit more than the others, even going so far as to fiddle with her tonfa’s comms, and that's for the best because as he talks we cut back to Multimouse, eyes on the skyline, clearly looking for something.

“Well, that’s long enough procrastinating. Dog, you’re last. I’d assumed we could draw out the Ladybug and the Cat, but it seems they don’t care about you lot.” he shrugs. “May as well get the final lesson in order. Come forth.”

Cheshire’s nursing multiple bruises when she shuffles past Fenrir, he shoots her a grin which she barely returns.

“Now, you might be a special case little dog. You know how to use that Chakram, enough so that our peacock friend had some troubles.” Fenrir looks away. “Ohhh still touchy hm? He’ll be pleased to know you’re not as unflappable as you seemed.”

When Fenrir is let loose he falls into a proper defensive stance, one could assume Chloe was trying to imitate what she’d seen from him when she fought scorpion.

“Better stance than the Tiger. Bring your feet in more, you’re a bit TOO wide.” he taps Fenrir’s knee with the point of his spear, and Fenrir does in fact bring his feet in a bit. “There. Let’s see if you can hold that defense.”

And then the Scorpion was on him.

Fenrir in comparison to his fight in the last episode, is summarily outclassed. He’s fighting a true master after all.

The butterfly halo lights up after the Scorpion knicks up a knee into Fenrir’s gut, knocking the wind out of him.

“Oh tell him to relax, I’m not going to actually hurt him… well they SHOULD know they’re in over their heads... Please, at this rate-”

The whir through the air is the only warning he gets before a familiar green shield is heading straight for him.

Carapace, of course.

“Lovely to see you again you absolue creep!” Carapace chirps as he lands on the edge of the rooftop. “Now, I think those are my friends you're playing dolls with.”

“Ain’t he a little old to be playing with dolls at all?” Came another voice as Bellflower swung onto the scene. She claps eyes with Cheshire and her grip on the trompo tightens.

“Since when were we working under the assumption that M. ‘Revenge is making me live almost two hundred years’ was mature?” Rena Rogue appears on the other side of the rooftop.

The Scorpion eyes all of them, seeming to take in the missing two, before thinking better of calling it out. Perhaps they were wiser than Hawkmoth and Le Paon gave them credit for. There’s a brief moment of bouncing the bag of marbles in his hand, before chuckling darkly.

“I believe we’re at four minutes and fifty seconds, your little mouse has a secret that's about to be spilled, is it not? That would be… five… four… three…”

“Mirage!” The puff of fire zips front the tip of Rena’s flute and just as the grey light begins to douse Multimouse the illusion sticks onto her, keeping her ‘transformed’.

Scorpion however seems unphased and puts his hands behind his back.

“I heard one of your teammates wants to be a writer.” He comments idly, staring at Fenrir. “A little number called ‘Freefall,’ was it?”

If Fenrir could, he’d be screaming. As it was, his eyes were wide, filled with fear.

“How would you like to experience that?” He presses further, a step forward, stopping when the trompo swings out and narrowly avoids his foot. The old man snaps his fingers. “Have a nice trip, little puppy.”

Fenrir takes a step back against his will, eyes wide with fright, sure he’ll be fine with the hero suit on, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. And even then they haven’t tested the durability of the suits very strenuously. He takes another step, standing at the very ledge, nothing behind him but open air.

“Oh, and you, Fenrir. You can speak freely.”

Fenrir pitches over the side of the building, scream ripping from his throat.

“FEN!” Carapace doesn’t think twice before jumping down after him.

“Well, this was fun. Maybe next time you Elementals can learn a thing or two! Hold our little fox and bee down. I don’t want anyone following me.”

Bellflower swings out with her trompo, but Kim wraps his arms around her shoulders and lifts her into the air, Bellflower kicking impotently and immobilized.

Rena’s able to throw the flute before she’s flanked by Ryuuko and Pegasus, the two grabbing either of her arms.

And then the Scorpion was gone.

Rena and Bell struggle a bit more in the grip for a few more seconds before the dark energy fades and they’re released, Roi Singe babbling apologies for manhandling Bellflower like that, Ryuuko throwing her sword to the ground angrily and calling Scorpion a coward with his underhanded tricks. Pegasus just looks shaken.

Everyone looks shaken actually.

“‘Pace! Our pup not a splatter on the concrete?”

“Dark as hell Rena, but no, he’s fine.”

“That was the most terrifying experience I’ve had in a long ass time and I've been chucked head first off the Eiffel Tower before.” Fenrir confirms.

“Can I get an ice pack? I think I might be his favorite.” Cheshire moans. “Anyone wanna trade Miraculous?”

“Do you think the doughnuts survived?” Multimouse mutters “I need comfort food, that was horrifying.” she leans against Rena. “Who wants to tell Master Fu the shit he pulled this time?”

“Not it.” most voices say at once, ending on Bellflower “Not- DAMN”

“Sorry Bell.” “Rest in pieces.” “We’ll never forget you.”

“....Wait…” Roi Singe says after a beat. “‘Freefall’.. Why does that story name sound familiar….?”

“..Now that you mention it Roi Singe-” Pegasus Starts, but Ryuuko quickly cuts in.

“We agreed not to actively try to figure out each other's identities, Boys.”

“Right, sorry!”

Bellflower, however, was in the middle of calling Master Fu, the most nervous and terrified expression to date on her face as she explained the situation.

Pause for dramatic affect.

“HE DID WHAT?!”

We cut with this to a similar explosive vocal outcry.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO MY SON?!”

“He was transformed. It hardly would have done more than give him a bump on the head if the Turtle hadn’t caught him.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Are you really trying to imply that I know less about the Miraculous than you do?”

“You know less about MY SON than I do! Adrien keeps getting brought into the thick of things and you had NO RIGHT-”

“I had every right, if you've forgotten, Gabriel Agreste, My goals are different from your own. I care not for the Miraculous Wish. It frees me from certain… mental roadblocks that keep you distracted.”

There’s a pause between the two. “We never should have allied ourselves with you. You’re not welcome here any longer Tsering Wan.”

“Oh? You’d be willing to just… let me go? I’m sure you’d get along just fine now that I know both of your identities and your whereabouts. Not to mention the corpse in your basement. Unlike you, I can see potential in this. Not in YOU, your sister is right in that you lack conviction. But this… game of yours. And if you fail to bring your son over to our side, there’s another with more…

...Potential.”

The last clip is of Cheshire, still transformed, on a proper patrol that night, the Grand Paris is lit up in the background as no doubt the others settle in for the sleepover. She’s looking at the bruise under her cheek in her tonfa’s camera. She hums and goes into her address book, scrolling through the names before landing at the order of Miracles group Chat. But right before she selects it her eyes widen a bit, for right underneath the chat address is a new file.

‘Unknown’

U: Just because you lost your sting, doesn’t mean you can’t still rule. I can show you how to be fierce, to use your claws, to make them regret taking away what was yours.

#Miraculous rewrite #Miraculous Ladybug #rewrite #Mod vega #Mod Aimee #Gamer 2.0 rewrite

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piningfor-pinestwins · 4 years

Text

Natural Attraction - Bruised Egos (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Your group makes it partway through the dense forest before you lose daylight, grateful for the four flashlights that Fiddleford had stowed away for this. You’re stepping unsteadily in the midst of thorny brushes and thick vines, grateful for your sturdy boots as you step on less-than-solid ground and sink into some mud. Grunting with effort as you make your way up the slippery hill, you hear Ford swear from behind you as he does the same.

“Where do you think the thing would even be at night? What kinda birds are active in the dark?” Stan’s voice comes from behind you a little loudly, leaning heavily on a stick he’d found somewhere during the trek, using it to support his weight as he goes. Ford’s head whips around to find his brother’s form in the dark, giving a harsh “Shh!” as he continues onward. Stan murmurs a quick, “Sheesh, just askin’,” as he continues onward. You follow Fiddleford’s steady light from ahead of you, trusting the man as he continues his walk, and turn to quietly answer the man anyway.

Owls, mostly. I think you have nighthawks in this part of the country, too, You inform him, shivering. You nearly run your nose into Fidd’s back, finding the lanky man had come to a stop ahead of you to hold up a branch for you, after apparently being hit in the face with it. Taking it in hand, you murmur a thank you, pointing your flashlight to the ground for the twins behind you to duck under the thing when they get closer.

Ford ducks easily beneath the thing, murmuring a thanks to you as he does. Stan isn’t far behind, though the man nearly stabs into your foot with his makeshift walking stick. “Sorry, hon,” he quickly apologizes, lifting the thing out of the soft dirt by the toe of your boot. You smile fondly despite yourself, motioning him ahead with the beam coming from your flashlight.

Get moving, slowpoke. I don’t want you to get lost behind the pack, you tease in a whisper. He catches your smile despite the dim light of the moon and chuckles himself, shifting his walking stick beneath his arm, and flashlight into the other hand. His fingers land at your elbow as he tugs you along, the warmth of the digits seeping through the teeny-tiny holes of your sweater.

“Yeah, you neither. With your luck, our superbird’ll think you’re some sorta prey.” Stan’s voice is playful, and this close you’re able to make out the features of his smile despite the darkness surrounding you. You chuckle, walking beside him with your twin flashlights and his hold leading the way. Me? What about you? You argue back, You’re the one with more meat on your bones.

He snorts at that (only to be shushed by his brother once more), careful to watch his step and not be too loud again as he moves alongside you. “What, me? Honey, I’m all muscle--the thing wouldn’t want something as chewy as me.” You laugh louder then, shaking your head, only to have the light of Ford’s flashlight pointed at you. You can make out his frown and--jeez, what is he, your older brother? Sheepishly, you give him a little wave, biting into your bottom lip.

When his light goes away from your face, Stan snickers, having found getting you in trouble amusing. You move to elbow him despite his hold on your arm, and he chuckles as he jostles you in response.

Still giggling, you take one step in the wrong direction, yelling out in fear as your heel slides the wrong way against the soft ground. The joint twists as your weight starts to fall backward, and you drop your flashlight, the sharp pain in your ankle now an afterthought to the fear of a fall down to an unseen point below.

Ford and Fiddleford turn at your cry, but Stan’s already there, the hand at your elbow quickly landing at your forearm instead. In one swift movement, he tugs you to his chest, grunting quietly at the impact of your face against his sternum, budging half a step backward with his own force.

“Fuck--are you alright?!” Stan asks breathlessly, looking down at you with worry as he pushes hair from your face. You pant as you wince, your weight coming back to your twisted ankle. Heart beating in your ears, you don’t hear him very well. Looking up at him wide-eyed, his worry only deepens. “Hon, you okay?” He repeats, and enough of your brain is back to you that you’re able to nod in response, shifting your weight against him to ease off your hurt ankle.

Stan says something to the duo coming closer, but you miss the bulk of it as you try to slow your breathing, glancing back to where you would have landed--and, as it turns out, where your flashlight has landed. The plastic thing lies muddied and flickering, left useless on some rocks nearly ten feet below. Shivering from the cool wind that blows through, and from the realization of just how lucky you’d been with Stan’s touch, you clutch a little tighter to the leather arm of the man’s jacket.

“Alright, that’s it. With me gettin’ my face smacked with a branch, and her nearly dyin’, we’re wrappin’ this walk up for the night. Soon as we get past this line o’trees, we’re hunkering down for the night.” Fiddleford insists, looking to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should’a said something about the drop. I saw it, but only just ‘cause my light was pointed just right.”

I-It’s fine, you stammer, ignoring your white-knuckle hold to Stan’s sleeve and shaky knees. Ford huffs a sigh, scrubbing lightly at his face, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll...need to make up the majority of our movement during the day, then. It’s safer that way, anyway. God forbid one of us had found that fall while chasing our creature.” Your colleague turns, murmuring something to Fidds as he points toward a clearing past the trees, the both of them pointing their flashlights to make their way.

Stan’s hand lands carefully at your lower back, guiding you as he points his flashlight to the ground. “C’mon, I’ve got you. Take a deep breath, okay?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you feel the warmth of his hand sliding up and down the fabric of your sweater. You do as he says, exhaling a shaky breath. S-Sorry, about all of this, you whisper, taking another breath as you carefully step away from him, wincing at the feeling in your twisted ankle.

To your surprise, however, the hand on your back slides down your arm, catching your wrist with a light, but firm touch. Stanley looks at you uncertainly, and your slowing heart rate decides to uptick once more at the way his cheeks darken in the moonlight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like...W-Well, I wouldn’t mind holding onto you until we’re out of these trees. If something happens again, I can...be here. Plus, y-you’re hurt. Can’t risk a fall on a bum ankle.”

You chew into your bottom lip, grateful for the warmth of his hand enveloping your own cold digits. He’s looking to you as if asking permission, a softness in his gaze that you’ve now seen multiple times from the stubborn man, yet you can never quite get enough of. Nodding, you give him what you think he’d been waiting for, and he shifts your hand in his, his thumb and forefinger becoming snug bookends to the knuckles on your own hand.

Clearing his throat, Stan glances over his shoulder to spot the steadily moving lights of his brother and F. Shifting his weight to move toward them, he squeezes your hand to get your attention too (as though your attention wasn’t already on your joined hands).

“C’mon, we shouldn’t get too far from those two. Is your foot good enough to walk on?” Stan’s gaze searches your face for pain, the beam of his flashlight pointed to your boots before you wave his concern away with your free hand. I can walk, just...maybe a little slower than I was, you look at him apologetically and he nods, moving to reflect the change.

Now on your hurt side, Stan switches the flashlight into his other hand, quickly wiping his palm against the thigh of his jeans before he takes your hand once more. He sticks his elbow out just slightly, allowing a makeshift armrest for your forearm as he leads you to take one step, then another.

Being sure to point his flashlight to the ground, he avoids your eye, casting you a quick glance as he pulls you alongside him. You follow along easily, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of the near-miss and the...current connection. You almost want to thank him, but from the way his eyes stay turned down from yours, he’s definitely both focusing on the ground and not looking at you.

“Easy here, honey. Lean on me while we step over this root,” Stan murmurs, and when you do as you’re told, he easily takes on your weight as you both continue walking. Legs still shaky from adrenaline, you limp at his side as he guides you toward your research partners, further into the trees.

As you step over a log, leaning into his broad shoulders to do so, you take an extra moment to adjust your hand in his by entwining your fingers. He stills the moment you do it, looking at you with an unreadable tint in his moonlit gaze, but he says nothing as you continue walking. Nerves flutter in your belly, wondering if you’ve pushed this too far--maybe this handholding really was only supposed to be out of convenience, or to make sure you aren’t any more of a klutzy nuisance during this trip…

You’re certain that you imagine it when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand. You flush when you feel him do it a second time, more pronounced than the first.

When you look at him from the corner of your eye, his profile is illuminated by the moon. His jaw is set tight, and you can make out the dark flush of his cheeks as he pulls you close once more. He notices you’re distracted, the smallest lift of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but Stan clears his throat to will it away as he murmurs something about watching your step. You hobble your way over another pair of tangled-up roots before you find yourself stepping out from the dense woods, finally finding the small clearing that Fiddleford and Ford are already preparing.

Fidds is working on a makeshift ‘campfire’ for light (made of one of the flashlights pointed at one of the large jugs of water), making the light shift like the bottom of a pool on a sunny summer day. Ford is sitting on his knees, grumbling in frustration as he wrestles with the plastic rods of the portable tent.

Despite the light (which you’re grateful for, don’t get you wrong), you wish it was closer to a real campfire. You’re cold, and the dew on the long grass around your ankles is soaking into your skin, making the chilled breezes even cooler.

“Gimme your tent and I’ll get’cha set up.” Stan mumbles, releasing your hand from his and holding it out to you expectantly. You aren’t focused on his words, looking down at his hand, meeting his eye, and then coming to the realization with a quick, Oh! as you reach to unclip the tent bag from the duffel bag on your shoulder.

He smiles a little as he takes it from you, looking at you with something like amusement in his gaze as he looms over you, just a little. “Are you going to hold up alright while I do this, honey?”

You aren’t sure if it’s the tone of his voice, or his close proximity, or the way his brow quirks as he smiles at you, but heat floods your cheeks as you nod, trying to keep your cool despite your fluster. I-I’ll be just fine, thank you.

The brunet wiggles his brows at you as he turns away, stomping down some taller grass in order to flatten the area he’s planning to prep your tent. You push your hair behind your ear, shaking your head as he drops to his knees to unzip the bag holding the tent.

Damn him. Sincerely, honestly, damn him. You’d come here to work, to focus on the astounding artifacts and creatures waiting for you in Gravity Falls. But no, instead you’re enamored by him. You rub at your face, feeling the way your mouth screws up as you try not to think too hard about it...especially when the target of your misplaced focus is just feet away, effortlessly putting together your tent for the night.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him for a moment, one thumb brushing over the palm. If you concentrate hard enough, you think as you look down at your hand, you can forget the lingering warmth of his palm against yours, or the way your fingers entwined into his, or how you’d imagine his touch would feel somewhere other than your hand...

“How’s your foot?” Ford’s voice startles you from where you’d stared off at your palm, and you nearly jolt from the tree you’d been leaning back against. A pair of polydactyl hands catch your elbows before you can lose your balance too much more, pulling you gently to rest more soundly against the bark at your back. The brunet ahead of you quirks a brow with a short chuckle, “Now, was that because of your foot, or because I scared you?

You can’t just sneak up on me! You half-laugh in response, feeling heat in your face. You hadn’t meant to be so distracted, really. Ford smiles a little wider at your words, and you can see that all-too-quiet analyzing gaze pointed your way. Despite the low light, you think he can see your flushed cheeks, and you bring your hands up to cover the warm patches on your face. He nods as if confirming something, cheeky grin only widening, “What has you so distracted, hm?” Ford asks, and you suspect he’s teasing you. The ass.

L-Looking for our mystery monster, obviously. Since the rest of you are so busy, I thought I’d keep lookout, you give one solid nod, feeling the heat only spread beneath your fingers as you lie. Nothing to report yet.

“Well, glad someone worries,” Fiddleford’s voice comes from the direction of where Ford had been not long ago, and you look over the brunet’s shoulder to see the lanky man and Stanley both hard at work to put together the unfinished tent Ford had left in poor shape.

Your tent, however, is perfectly set up and ready for what additions you have to bring into it. Ford sees the two working and gives you a secret sort of smile, offering you an arm to help you toward your shelter. “I do worry,” He argues back, careful to support your weight as you lean against your friend, “But I trust her to be our lookout. Are you saying you don’t?” He winks at you as you make your way across the clearing toward your shelter for the night, and you smile as you turn the teasing toward someone else, for once.

You really should be more upfront with your feelings, Fiddleford. Just be honest, do you trust me? You grin as you ask the playful question, turning to look as the honey-blond man sputters and flusters, “O-O’course I do! I’m not one’a those backwards thinkin’ hillbillies who--who..!”

“Easy, easy!” Stan laughs, reaching to pat the man’s shoulder, “She’s just givin’ you hell, buddy. You’re right though--it’s good to know someone cares, seeing as Ford’s too busy getting handsy with his new assistant.” Stan grins cockily toward both you and his brother, which only makes both of you fluster.

“M-Me?!” Ford sputters a little loudly, and you’d almost laugh if you didn’t know where he was going with this, “I’m not the one who’s asking about how she was in college, or--oof!” He quiets himself with a grunt, and you move to pat his back as though you hadn’t just elbowed him in the ribs.

W-Well, uh, good to know you all respect me, and...enjoy my company, you laugh a little, acting innocent even as Stan catches your eye. He’s very much fighting a laugh, having watched you silence his brother. Ford quirks a brow at you, grumbling as he rubs at a rib with his free hand, “And to think, I came over here to help you to your tent.”

And I thank you, you grin, giving the arm you’re holding onto a little pat as the man rolls his eyes. He’s smiling a little when you make it to your tent, and you take a moment to shift and hand him your duffle bag, thanking him quietly as he ducks alongside you to help you into the tent. You thank him again as he lowers you to the floor of the shelter, finally smiling your way even as he rubs at his side while dropping the duffle bag to you. “Get settled, I’ll see if Fidds’ first aid kit has one of those ammonium chloride ice pack things.”

Thank you, you repeat, fiddling with the zipper of your carryon to open the thing. As the man steps from the unzipped flap of your tent, you call a soft, Sorry for the elbow, which only makes him snort a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject, jeez.” He teases over his shoulder.

It’s more of, uh...not a subject at all, you correct with a wave of your hand and a little laugh, quickly turning your attention to getting your folded quilt from the duffle bag. The brunet quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips and makes his way from your tent.

You hear the three chatting amongst themselves as you set up your space. It’s definitely darker in the tent than outside of it, but you manage well enough to situate your quilt and pillow in a corner of the tent, patting the blanket down to be sure it lays flat. You pat around in the duffle bag next, searching for your pj pants. When you’ve found them, you make quick work of your boots and pants, wincing as you try to keep standing with your aching ankle.

You hear a quiet swear and the sound of fumbling feet as a flashlight beam shines against the flap of your tent. “Y’decent?” Stan’s voice asks, and you yank more frantically onto your pajama pants to get them up. Y-Yeah, one sec--! You call out, tripping over your own pant leg and falling over with an ungraceful grunt.

“Shit, did you fall again, toots..?” Stan murmurs, taking the liberty to open the flap and make his way in despite the fact that there’s still fabric resting low on your thighs. By some miracle, the flashlight beam points at the back of the tent first, allowing you just enough time to yank the pants up to your hips just as the light points down to where you are on the floor. The light makes you squint up at Stan, your nose wrinkled a little as you give him a little smile. He’s smiling down at you, clearing his throat as he kneels down to meet you.

“Honey, you can’t go tripping in front of me every chance you get.” He teases lightly, putting down the flashlight near you while his gentle hands help you sit back up. You shake your head as you sit up, stretching your legs out in front of you with a bashful smile, I promise, it’s not on purpose.

“So you aren’t fallin’ for me?” Stan asks, his voice low as he searches your face, gaze meeting your own. Despite the playful smile on his face and the quirk of his brow, there’s something that makes your stomach flip. You frown despite your fluster, feeling almost like the butt of a joke. Be nice to me, I almost died, you grumble, pushing lightly against his shoulder. He leans with the push, chuckling as he moves to sit beside you. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought of the joke all the way back there, and...well, I couldn’t let it go.” Stan’s smile goes a little more tender, reaching over to pat your knee gently.

Stan perks up a little as he seems to remember something, patting behind him to find the plastic packet he’d brought in. “I brought you an ice pack for your ankle, if you think it’ll help. I think Fidds has some pain killers too, but you’ve gotta get some food in ya first.” You nod at his words, taking the thing from him and shaking it to activate the chemical reaction inside. I packed some snacks, actually, you look at him then, and his brows quirk as he reaches for the flashlight again to find the goodies.

In my bag, in a little tupperware with a green lid. It’s just peanut butter sandwiches, but food is food, you smile, stretching to put the finally-getting-cooler pack on your foot with a wince.

“Hopefully you packed enough,” he chuckles, tucking the flashlight beneath his chin to hold it as he digs into your duffle bag with both hands, “ ‘specially since I was your savior and all, back there, it’d be an honor for you t’share your dinner with me. So I don’t have to eat whatever F and Ford are inventing out there.” Stan teases with a glance to you and a grin. His hands stop their motion in the duffle bag, and you can see his cheeks darken in the low light of the tent.

You worry even without the confirmation of what he’s seen, sure that...well, something in that bag must have caught his attention. Y-You find the sandwiches? You question, moving slightly to check what’s in his hands before he quickly shuffles them into the duffle bag once more, “Shit--ah...Yeah!” Stan pulls the little plastic container from your bag, eyes widening at the neatly-folded pair of lacy underthings atop the box.

Your face heats as you quickly reach out to snatch the fabric away, crumpling it in hand and shoving it beneath your thigh, effectively sitting on it as you look at him wide-eyed. He fights a smile and loses, the grin on his face accompanied by its endearing dimple, both visible and tugging at your heartstrings even in the low light. “See, that’s what I was tryin’ not to do--sorry, honey,” Stan laughs, now passing the offending tupperware over for you to fidget with as he moves the flashlight to stand upright, pointing the light above the both of you to better light the tent.

Snooper, you scold him for the second time today, but this time it comes out in a mumble as you turn your attention to open the thing, a little smile on your face. You can’t be upset, you know it was an accident, but...well, despite the little embarrassment within you, there’s something else you can’t quite place.

He snorts a laugh, moving his hand up to cover his eyes, crooked smile still wide across his cheeks, “Here. Can’t snoop if I can’t see, happy now?” You glance up at him and smirk, picking up a cut half of the peanut butter sandwich and putting your hand out in his direction, waiting for him to uncover his eyes and take the makeshift meal.

“Y’know I can’t hear your head nodding, right? I need words, babe!” Teasing, Stan peeks at you from between his fingers, amber gaze falling to the sandwich half held out to him. “Oh, thanks--” He uncovers his eyes then, smiling still as he reaches for it and bites in greedily. You almost laugh, If you were so hungry, why didn’t you say anything before?

“‘Cause then one of those two would’ve told me to go hunt or somethin’,” He scoffs between bites, looking at you with humor, “Ford would’a picked me some sort of weird-looking thing to eat and said it’s ‘high in protein, just right for you Stanley’, an’ Fidds probably would’ve invented something for me to kill the thing with, like….I dunno, magic slingshot or somethin’,” Stan murmurs into his sandwich. You snort a laugh as you munch on your own half, kicking him lightly against one of his knees, They help in the best ways they can.

“Oh, sure--every way except actually hunting dinner themselves,” he laughs, moving his foot to nudge your leg back. You laugh too, shaking your head as the both of you eat. You eye him subtly, watching how he leans back against his palm, idly crossing his ankles as he looks around your (his) tent. “Y’know, ‘m glad this thing holds up good. I’d hate to think of you getting stuck with a bum tent, or just a little quilt on the ground, like you wanted,” Stan teases lightly, looking over to you with amusement as you both eat.

You shrug as you finish up, smiling as you wipe lightly at the corners of your mouth, I would have ended up fine, probably, you catch the way his gaze moves with your fingers at your lips, and you quickly glance away to warrant him the blessing of thinking he hadn’t been caught, Else fails, we’d all have just ended up cheek-to-cheek in one tent.

Stan scoffs a laugh, licking a stripe of leftover peanut butter from his thumb and sucking the remainder from the digit casually, releasing it with a quiet pop, “Like we were in the truck? I don’t think our cheeks could handle anymore squishin’ like that.” He glances over to you, catching your gaze as it drifts from his lips. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners when smirks, returning his thumb to his lips once more (you’re sure there’s no more peanut butter, and that he’s just torturing you). “Thanks for the snack, sugar, but I think I’m gonna turn in for th’night. Knowing those two, we’ll be awake way too early, and one of them will bitch all day because no one brought coffee--”

Already a step ahead of you, you grin, pointing toward your duffle bag. He casts a glance over and shakes his head, pointing that crooked smile your way, “Geez, you think of everything, don’tcha?” Stan winks at you as he moves to get up, standing hunched in the not-quite-tall-enough frame of the tent. He looks down at you, and you catch him look over your pajamas, smile giving himself away as he points down to your ankle, “Do you need any more help tonight, or are you alright?”

You shake your head, I think I’ll keep myself in for the rest of the night, thanks. As long as I don’t have to pee at some ungodly time, I’ll be fine. Stan snorts at that, taking the few steps toward the flap of the tent, “Just don’t cry to me if you end up dreaming of waterfalls,” He teases. You wrinkle your nose at the implication, but can’t hold back the laugh as you scold him for being gross, Stanley.

“Sorry, babe! You’re stuck with this gross man this whole trip.” Stan winks over his shoulder at you, grinning wider as he turns to leave, “Actually, reminds me--I should make a pitstop before I hit the boys’ tent for the night.”

Gross! You insist with a laugh, hearing him join in with a chuckle of his own. If you had a shoe nearby, you’d throw it at him. Goodnight, Stan. I’ll see you in the morning.

“See you then, babe. G’night.” He smiles in your direction, a genuine tenderness in his gaze as he ducks out from your tent. You shuffle your way to the flap to zip it closed, hearing the trio of boys giving each other hell as Stan returns to their shared sleeping space, but not being able to pick out individual words to hear what hell is being given.

Not that you mind, really; you are sleepy. A near-death experience and some….moderately embarrassing flirting will do that to a person. Using the flashlight Stan had left, you make your way to settling into your makeshift bed, remembering something from the general health class you had to take in college and using your duffle bag at the foot of your comforter as a way to raise your ankle. You fold yourself into the quilt easily, settling in for the night with a soft sigh that turns into a yawn on its way out.

Reaching behind your pillow, you pull out your journal, cracking the cover open and holding the flashlight beneath your chin as you write out some accounts of the day (and, when you remember it exists, adding the polaroid of the creature’s tracks over the terribly-drawn version you’d made). When you finish up with your entry for the day, you start to close the journal, instead seeing the pages open up to the one previous-- Stanley’s pages.

You glance to the flap in your tent, almost as if afraid he’d be standing there to catch you. You don’t know why it worries you--especially since you’ve added both a Fiddleford and Stanford page, to keep track of those two as well, but… There’s something akin to indulgence, you think, that stirs in your chest when you make an addition to this page. Today, it’s an addition to the ‘Likes’ list, (peanut butter, which truthfully doesn’t surprise you because the only food listed in the ‘Dislikes’ list is canned Spam), and today’s date with the simple, albeit shaky addition of Stanley caught me from falling into a ravine on our hike today.

Not wanting to go too into detail this late at night for fear of nightmares, you shut up the journal and return it to its place beneath the pillow, setting the flashlight beside the cushion as you turn the thing off. You settle in for real this time, tugging the blanket to your chin and exhaling a soft, slow breath to try and relax yourself into sleep. As your eyes start to drift closed, you have the inkling that you’ve forgotten something--though what it is, you’re unsure. It must not matter much anyway, as you’re pulled easily into the warm darkness of sleep.

It mattered.

A lot, actually.

You swear, Stan was either a medium without knowing it, or some sort of magical asshole who bestowed curses on you without you noticing. You’re swearing at him under your breath the whole way as you hobble into the woods to find a suitable spot to pee.

Much more relieved, you’re now making your way back to your tent, flashlight held tightly in one hand, a roll of toilet paper tucked beneath your arm, and your other hand outstretched to help you make your way through the trees and back toward the campgrounds. You shudder at the cool breeze that’s blown in, indicative of the upcoming cold front you’d overheard about on the television a night or two back. Finally seeing the campsite coming into view, you sigh, knowing you probably went further out into the greenery than you needed to, but….

Well, god forbid any of your research partners find you with your pants down.

Making your way closer to the campsite, you sigh, rubbing at your face sleepily. To say it had been a long day was a gross understatement; you were exhausted.

Which is why you worried that you were still in your tent dreaming, as you hear the fluttery sound of air moving somewhere near you. You look up just as quickly as you heard the noise, pointing the flashlight up to see better in the dim night light.

There’s nothing..?

Despite your rising nerves, you keep moving ahead, maybe a little quicker now as you point the flashlight to the campsite. You’re more aware of the life in Gravity Falls now; you know of the gnomes, the eyebats, the creatures who move in the dead of night who are, you think, moving with you even now. The familiar prickling feeling of being watched begins to scratch at the back of your neck, but when you glance behind your shoulder, only the darkness of the woods greets you.

A fluttering again, this time directly above you. You’re almost more hopeful than certain that you’re just hearing things, and instead of pointing the light to the sound, you motion toward your goal as best as you’re able to. You limp quickly, hearing the sound once more--closer, maybe just past your ear? You yelp in fear as your battered ankle gives way, falling into the plush grass mere feet from where you’re supposed to be sleeping. Pointing the flashlight up, you try to catch a glimpse of the thing that’s been chasing you, hoping to at least see the thing before it gets you.

Stan’s voice saying your name makes you jump from where you’re lying on the ground, whipping around to point the flashlight beam at him. He winces, blocking the light from his eyes as he moves closer to you. He must have been at least somewhat asleep, only in loose sweatpants, his hair mussed as it falls into his face. “Honey, what happened?” He asks, hurrying with his arms outstretched down to you. You’re trembling, but you hadn’t noticed, clutching close to the flashlight as you shake your head, Something was after me--i-it flies. I don’t know, you stammer, unable to get out one set sentence as his arms wrap around you. Stan lifts you easily, holding you to his chest as he looks up, trying to find the flying thing despite the dark.

“What’s going on--oh shit!” Ford’s voice calls, eyes following Stan’s gaze up just as your flashlight beam lands at the topmost branch of a tree. You feel the chest against you puff up, feeling Stan’s arms bracing around you as you hold your breath, too, looking up to try and find the source of the fluttering against your ears.

You spy the yellow eyes first, following them down to the large, feathery body of probably the biggest owl you’ve ever seen. Fuck, you whisper, all at once feeling foolish at the realization that it’s just… a common creature. Tears prick in your eyes, embarrassment and exhaustion melding into the response before you can stop yourself.

“Jesus, that damn thing--I thought I heard hootin’ somewhere in the woods, but...I dunno, I thought it’d be smaller,” Stan says, still holding you as he makes his way up the rest of the little hill that the campsite is situated on. “Even as big as this specimen may be, I don’t think it’s our offending creature at the Shack. Do you?” Ford’s voice asks you, and you shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

N-No, not at all. The tracks may be similar, but the ones back home are much bigger, you confirm, pointing the flashlight back down to watch the grass ahead. You realize that you haven’t put any weight back down onto your bad ankle, feeling the gentle brush of Stanley’s chest hair against your arm as he continues to hold you. You fight the urge to push out of his arms, especially when you feel your bottom lip wobble in protest to you trying not to cry.

You feel Stan shift his arms, the clearing of his throat echoing in his chest as he turns to face Ford. They seem to have some unspoken conversation about you while you’re pretending to ignore it altogether, and instead of listening, you hear the tree leaves rustle heavily overhead. The owl must have taken off.

“You poor dear,” Ford says, coming closer to where Stan stands with you in his arms. You’re not looking at either of them, waving Ford off with a little huff, I’m okay, it just scared me. I just need to crawl back into bed, today has b-been awful.

You bite into your trembling bottom lip, willing it still between your teeth as you give Stan a pat on his arm, signaling that you’d like to be put down. The brunet seems to understand, but hesitates, instead only slightly relaxing his grip of you. “Let’s get you back to your tent, then. You need the rest.” He soothes, taking a few steps in that direction. You give in, letting yourself be carried as you glance to see Ford (and now Fidds, who’d woken up sometime in the commotion) ducking into his own tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes and yawning all the same.

You don’t have to carry me, but thank you, you mumble quietly, stifling a sniffle as you rub your nose with the back of your hand. He shrugs, the motion shifting you as he pushes open the flaps of your tent, “No skin off my back, babe. Jus’ can’t risk you falling again. If you bust your head open, then I’ll only have these two assholes to deal with again, and I can’t let that happen.” Stan jokes, and despite your exhaustion it makes you smile, even if only a little bit. Still, the hot sting of tears wins out, and you’re only just able to wipe at your eye when the first one falls, just as Stan steps into the little tent with you. You feel him shift again to set you down, but he stops at the sound of a sniffle. “Hon, you alright?” He asks, and you can now hear the gravel that comes with sleep in his voice. You swear, you’ve never heard him be this tender, but it still sounds so familiar all the same.

Y-Yeah, you say, voice shakier than you want it to be, I just feel, uh...dumb, you laugh a little, and he frowns down at you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You turn your head down slightly, still trying to hide under his attention, Thanks again for helping me. Again. The full situation washes over you in a wave, and you flush with your tears at the realization that he’s holding you to his chest--which would be embarrassing on its own, maybe, but he’s shirtless and you’re crying and, really, this isn’t a good look for you--

“Honey, y’gotta get outta that head sometimes,” He scolds gently, and you look up at him in confused surprise at his words. That almost makes him laugh, a little smile quirking at his lips as he guides you to your feet. “Careful,” He whispers, hands on your waist to keep you from putting too much weight on your bum ankle as you lower yourself to sit on your knees atop the blanket. You glance down, remembering the roll of toilet paper firmly tucked beneath your arm, and you toss the thing to the duffle bag, watching as it bounces off, and then lands haphazardly next to the thing.

“You had an iron grip on that thing, didn’t ya?” Stan asks, and you sniffle as you smile, After losing the flashlight the first time, I had to be sure to hold on tight.

It’s his turn to look at you with surprise, his little smile growing more genuine as he sits in the middle of the tent. He’s closer than he was when you ate together, but he isn’t imposing. He’s just...here. And that’s nice, you think.

“I’m not really the killjoy of this group, but you really should’ve said something before you left, toots. What if I wasn’t up, and you had to fight that thing all your own?” He asks, sleepy voice surprisingly a little stern. You glance over to him as you reach for your pillow, fluffing it idly before wiping a stray tear at your cheek. It’s your fault I had to go out, anyway, you argue lightly, sure his brow is quirked as soon as you say it, You’re the one who mentioned waterfalls.

“Aw, sorry, but you should know by now that I’m right about a lott’a things. It’s annoying as hell, I hear.” It is, you laugh with him, finally glancing up to meet his eye. You feel a little pitiful; foot and ego injured as you watch the kind man who both helped and hurt that cause.

Stan has this unreadable look in his eye, one you’re sure you’ve seen before, but it worries you all the same each time it happens. You glance down at your hands to avoid the shift in his gaze, but find yourself looking up again when he says your name like a quiet question, his brow furrowed at you with a tilt of his head.

“Are you doin’ okay? Today’s been...hell and a half for you, and I know you had t’be scared to death.” He reaches out, palm lying flat on the edge of the quilt beneath you, and though he leans to go with it, he doesn’t make any further move to touch you. You rub at your face with a sigh, pushing hair from your face as you start to nod.

I mean, the day wasn’t all bad, but...nearly falling however-many-feet down, and then being stalked by an owl weren’t the most fun parts, either, you admit, feeling the way your voice wavers when you do so. You shrug, smiling a little when you look at him now, and you try to ignore the way your heart pulls at his worried face, you do, but...with those amber eyes looking at you with such tender concern, you have to admit that it absolutely pulls, tugs, and twists at your heart. Damn him.

“I’d offer to take you back home, but I don’t think you’d like that. Plus, those two would get lost without you.” The brunet is careful in his word choice, something you appreciate. You reach to comfort him in the same way, reaching your hand out to lay atop his with a little rub of your thumb across the back of his hand, and his face softens a little when you reply, Absolutely they would, they don’t even know what kind of critter they’re going to face. Truthfully, neither did you, but you had theories. Though...somehow, you think, this isn’t the time to bring them up.

You can feel the energy between you shift before you see it, his palm turning upward to meet your own. The warmth of his fingers glides against your hand, fingertips curling just under yours to cup your hand with his own. He’s watching down at your joined hands, thumb brushing lightly against your four knuckles when he speaks again. “Are you, uhm...unhappy, that I keep trying to help you?” Stanley’s voice is soft as he asks the question, and you almost need him to repeat himself with the way your heart is hammering in your ears. When you don’t answer immediately, he continues, “I-I know that you’re strong. You’re very smart--well, no shit you’re smart, you’ve done all this for gods’ sakes--anyway,” He breathes, and you swear there’s a deeper color to his cheeks even in the dark here.

“I like helpin’ you. I’m not nearly as smart as you ‘n Fidds and Sixer, but I gotta be useful somehow. And you’re just, uh...easier to help, than the other two. You’re marginally less annoying, and...prettier, too.” Stan glances up then, his gaze searching through yours with an air of desperation. You can tell, there’s maybe more to be said, but his adam’s apple gives a decisive bob when he closes his mouth into a thin line. Whatever else there is to be said, it isn’t for tonight.

I don’t mind, you finally say, looking down at the way your fingers have folded nicely over his own. Your heart thuds against your chest, so loud in your own ears that you’re afraid you might shout these next words. You take extra care, then, to whisper them. I...may not like being helped, or I may get embarrassed or frustrated and run off sometimes, but...I do like you. And I don’t mind when you’re the one helping me.

You turn your wrist at an almost-uncomfortable angle to put the back of his hand upright without breaking his hold of your fingers, leaning forward just so to press a little peck to the back of his hand. Turning your hands back the right way, you look up to him, almost afraid of what his reaction may be. What if he laughs at you? Or finds you stupid, to think you could resist his charm? What if he stands now and leaves into the darkness of the wood to leave you alone and embarrassed and in need to explain the situation to your colleagues?

“Hey,” he whispers, and you realize that you’re so afraid of the what-ifs that you’ve almost missed his reaction entirely, though that’s the whole reason you looked. Stan’s face is certainly flushed, vibrant eyes forgoing their sleepiness as he looks at you with such entranced sincerity. For a moment, you think he’s forgotten what he wanted to say, but he interrupts that thought with a firm tug at your arm. Before you know it, you’re pulled off-kilter, leaning toward him, then closer, before you reach to catch yourself with your other palm against his chest.

His lips land on yours then, the gentle scratch of stubble against your face as you lean into him. This close, with your hand on his chest, you can feel the way his pulse mimics yours. You have half the mind to tease him, but the idea stutters out when the palm of his free hand slides up to cup your jaw. Stan holds you there as you kiss him, tasting just slightly of peanut butter and feeling so warm, your noses bumping together gently before he pulls back for a breath. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his gaze still sliding up from where he’d been looking at your mouth.

“Y-You’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart,” He whispers, the newest petname settling itself very terrifically into the space carved into your heart by the last one, “We both should, uh...sleep.” You feel yourself nod, though you still lean into his touch against your face until he pulls it away. Stan bites into his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he pats your hand on his chest, and for once, you realize, the jokester is near speechless.

Moving your hand away from his body, he pulls your joined hands close to his face, pressing one last kiss there before his fingers release your own. Watching as he stands, Stanley pushes his hair from his face, rubbing gingerly at the back of his neck as he turns away from you and toward the exit. He stands there a moment, almost like he’s forgotten what he’d gotten up for in the first place. Though you aren’t exactly itching to kick him out, you smile as you give him the reminder.

Goodnight, Stanley, you whisper, and your heart does turns when he looks at you from over his shoulder. He’s brushing his fingertips against his lip subconsciously, the movement stalling when he meets your gaze. His dimple reappears for an instant, his smile at you wide and inviting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see ya, first thing in the morning.”

I’ll see you then, loverboy, you tease, giving him your first pet name. It doesn’t go unnoticed (for as not-smart as he claims he is, nothing goes unnoticed with this man), and he looks absolutely giddy when he leaves out the front flap of your tent. You think that you hear him trip and swear to himself, but he doesn’t return. The boys in the tent next door begin to murmur, and you suppose he’s found his way back in there when you hear his tell-tale laugh amongst the other voices.

You touch your own lips, reminding yourself of the feeling of his own there, and your heart goes racing again. You huff a little laugh of your own, shaking your head, and realizing you haven’t stopped smiling since that man left your tent. You settle into your quilt again, still exhausted, but much less tired than the last time you’d been here. Reaching under your pillow, you find your hardback journal once again, turning easily to the pages about Stanley once more. In one swift curl of cursive, you make an addition, just under your large declaration of Stan’s name at the top of the page.

AKA: Loverboy.

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #[mr. mystery]#last update of the day! expect one more post announcing some stuff!

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