#AND THEN a reel of someone saying her lil baby enjoys the same breakfast as her wife and made it for the both of them 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[dokjaism]

i love humanity so much

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford has been suspiciously absent from all of the ficlets I’ve posted thus far in this AU, and while I’ve talked a bit about his role, I haven’t gone too in depth.  So, here, for everyone craving some Best Revenge AU Ford, I’m here to satisfy that craving.  Finally, some Ford content.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford slowly woke up.

              Shit.  I stayed the night, didn’t I?  He sat up. The man he’d slept with the night before was already up and getting dressed.

              “Mornin’.”

              “Good morning,” Ford said hesitantly, realizing to his horror that he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Um…”

              “I can make ya some breakfast ‘fore I send ya on yer way,” his one-night-stand said.  “I’ve got to check in on my sister first; she’s startin’ a new job today. You can find yer way to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee while I’m talkin’ to her.”

              “…Okay,” Ford mumbled.  The man finished dressing and left the room.  Ford hesitated for a moment before dressing as well.  He exited the bedroom.

              Which way is the kitchen?  Ford chewed on the inside of his cheek and turned left. He followed the hallway down to a living room.  One corner of the room had a colored rug, baby toys, and a playpen.  He said that he lived with his sister, right? Maybe she has a child.  Ford wandered into the adjacent kitchen.  His jaw dropped.  There was someone sitting at the kitchen table.  Someone he recognized.

              “Holy shit, Stan?!” Ford said.  Stan looked up with a frown.

              “Hey, keep it down around Junior.”  His eyes widened.  “Ford?!”

              “I- you-”  Ford’s gaze landed on the infant in Stan’s arms, greedily drinking from a bottle of milk.  “Is- is that your child?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “…Sorta.”

              “What do you mean by-” Ford started.  He was interrupted by the arrival of his one-night-stand.

              “Oh, I see ya met my sister’s boyfriend,” he said. Stan groaned loudly.

              “Lute.  How dark was the nightclub where you found last night’s lay?”

              “Didn’t pick him up at a nightclub.  Found him at the library when I dropped off books fer Angie,” Lute said cheerfully.

              “Look at his face.”

              “Hmm?”  Lute looked at Ford.  He paled. “…Oh.”

              “You managed to hook up with my no-good twin,” Stan said.  The infant in his arms began to fuss.  “Aw, it’s okay Junior,” Stan cooed.  “I know, Uncle Ford is scary, especially his face.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “We have the same face, Stanley.”

              “Since Lute didn’t realize we were related when he picked you up, I don’t agree,” Stan said tartly.  Ford sighed.  “You better get going before you make Junior even more upset.”

              “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what you’ve been up to and why you’re holding an infant that you said is ‘sort of’ yours,” Ford said firmly.  Stan scowled.

              “Lute, kick him out, will ya?”

              “No.”

              “Lute-”

              “I think it might be good fer the two of ya to reconnect,” Lute said.  “Don’t you think the lil bean would like an uncle from yer side?”

              “He won’t know what he’s missing.”

              “Okay, fine.”  Lute smirked.  “How do ya think Angie would want ya to act under this circumstance?”  Stan glared at him.  “You know full well that Angie would want ya to use this opportunity to reunite with yer twin.”

              “…Fine.”  Stan adjusted his hold on the infant.  “Why didn’t you come to the kitchen with Ford, Lute?”

              “I wanted to check in on Angie, but she’s still sleepin’.”

              “Yeah.  Since she’s starting her new job, I figured I’d feed Junior.”  Stan grinned down at the infant.  “He can’t be happy he’s getting his breakfast from a bottle instead of a boob.”  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Crass, Stanley.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

              “You catch up with yer twin while I whip up some eggs,” Lute instructed, already opening the fridge.  Ford walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Stan. He peered closely at the infant.

              “So…”

              “So…” Stan parroted.

              “What’s his name?”

              “Stanley Junior,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Well, he’s not really a Junior, since he’s got his mom’s last name instead of mine. But he’s named after me, so we call him Junior.”

              “Ah.  And, um, how old is he?”

              “Four months.”

              “Four months?  Are babies supposed to be that small at four months?”

              “Doc says he’s definitely smaller than average, but that he can probably catch up pretty quick,” Stan answered.  He removed the now empty bottle from Junior’s mouth, then burped him.  “He’s a good kid.”

              “Is he yours?” Ford asked.  Stan set the empty bottle on the table.  “You said he ‘sort of’ was.”

              “If you were anyone else, I woulda left that part out,” Stan muttered.  “I hate your guts, but I’m not used to lying to you.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Biologically, he’s not mine.  He’s my girlfriend’s ex-husband’s.  But with how bad things got between Angie and Max, she decided not to tell him about Junior.”

            �� That’s a strange coincidence.  Didn’t Max Hillcrest at work recently go through a divorce?  What was his wife’s name again?

              “I was dating Angie, so I stepped up,” Stan continued with a shrug.  “And Angie named her kid after me.  I’m the only dad this little bean’s ever known.  If things go well, I’ll be the only dad he ever knows.”

              “Little bean?”

              “That’s what Angie called him while she was pregnant with him.  It stuck.” Stan smiled fondly at Junior. “Isn’t that right, bud?”  Junior giggled.

              “You’re raising another man’s child as your own?” Ford asked, his brain desperately trying to catch up with all he’d been told.

              “Yep.”

              “Why?”

              “I love Angie.  I love Junior.  Why wouldn’t I?” Stan asked, a hint of a bite to his tone.  Junior settled in his arms, smacking his lips happily.

              “Fair enough,” Ford said, deciding to back off. Some tension left Stan’s shoulders. “Other than dating pregnant women and taking in their children, what have you been doing since we last spoke?”

              “You mean, since Pops kicked me outta the house and you didn’t say anything or use your power to summon me in secret at any point for years,” Stan said flatly.  Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times.

              “…Yes.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “When we were younger, I remember you wanting to follow in Mom’s footsteps.  I haven’t seen any pyro heroes around here, though.”

              “Hold up, what?” Lute asked.  The brothers looked over.  Lute stared at Stan in shock.  “Stanley, you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid?”

              “Most supers do.  And like Ford said, our mom was a hero.  I looked up to her.”  Lute was still staring at Stan.  Stan sighed. “Obviously I didn’t do that, Gucket.”

              “Yer mom is a hero?”

              “Retired.  What’s with the third degree?”

              “You understand why that information is important in our line of work, right?” Lute prompted.  “Does Angie know?”

              “Duh.”

              “Why don’t I?”

              “‘Cause I’m not sleeping with you,” Stan snapped. “Even though I’m apparently your type.” Lute turned red.

              “Wait.”  Ford held up his hands.  “Wait. Stanley, am I reading between the lines properly?  Are you- are you a villain?”

              “Maybe I am.  Maybe I’m not,” Stan said.  He met Ford’s eyes.  “But whether I am or not, you know better than to snitch.”  Footsteps sounded.  Stan looked over.  An exuberant smile broke across his face.  “Look who it is!  The hot new professor!”  Ford looked as well.  A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt she was practically swimming in.

              Presumably, it’s one of Stan’s.  The woman smiled at Stan.

              “I don’t mind it much when ya say it, but I sure hope no one at work calls me that.”

              “If any creepy coworkers do, let me know,” Stan said.  “I’ll handle it.”  The woman grinned viciously.

              “Oh, darlin’, ya know I’m fully capable of handlin’ it myself.”  Stan grinned back.

              “Good point.”  He held up Junior.  “Junior, say hi to your mama.”

              “Aw, he’s too young to talk yet,” the woman cooed. She walked over to Stan, took Junior from him, and sat at the table.  “And I don’t know if his first word ‘ll be ‘hi’.”  She began to lift her T-shirt.

              “Whoa, hey, uh, Ang, you don’t need to whip your boobs out,” Stan said quickly, glancing at Ford in distress.  “I fed him while you were sleeping.”

              “Oh.”

              “Also, we have a guest.”

              “Hmm?”  The woman lowered her shirt and looked up.  “Oh, my apologies.”  She smiled at Ford.  “My name is Angie McGucket.”  Ford felt himself pale.

              McGucket?

              “Dr. Angie McGucket,” Stan corrected.  Angie chuckled.

              “Yes, I have a doctorate,” she said.  She cocked her head, her eyes boring into Ford. “I’m guessin’ yer Stan’s no-good twin I’ve heard so much about.”

              “I- uh-” Ford stammered, still reeling from hearing his ex’s last name dropped so casually.

              “Geez, you make it sound like all I do is talk about Ford,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  “That’s wrong.  All I do is talk about you and Junior.”  Angie laughed.

              Angie and Lute do appear to have the same nose as Fiddleford.  How could I have been so blind?

              “So, Stanford, what brings ya here?” Angie asked.

              “I brought him home last night,” Lute said.

              “Hmm, that seems out of character fer ya,” Angie said to Ford.  She shrugged. “Just goin’ off the stick-in-the-mud that Stan described to me.”

              “Why do you keep insulting me?” Ford asked. “This is the first time we’ve met.”

              “Maybe, but I also feel like I know ya pretty well,” Angie replied.  She bounced Junior in her arms.  “Stan took a while to start tellin’ me ‘bout ya, but once he did, he had a lot to say.” She smiled.  “Most of it was negative, sure, but some of it was positive.”

              “Angie, shouldn’t ya be gettin’ ready fer work?” Lute asked.  Angie groaned.  “I’ll make ya some nice breakfast while ya dress ‘n whatnot.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.” Angie handed Junior back to Stan, kissed his cheek, and left the room.  Ford coughed politely.

              “I, um, I should probably leave,” he said. Lute looked over.

              “Ya don’t want to stay fer breakfast?”

              “Your sister isn’t the only one who has a shift starting soon.”

              “Shift, huh?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.  “Where’s the big shot genius working?”

              “Well, uh…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have been working on my own personal research, but to pay the bills, I’m currently employed as an executive assistant.”  Stan snickered.

              “Isn’t ‘executive assistant’ just a fancy word for ‘secretary’?” he asked.  Ford flushed. “You better get going, then.  Whatever doctor’s office you work for definitely needs you manning the front desk.”

              “Stanley,” Lute scolded.  Ford swallowed his retort.

              He’s been remarkably civil, let him be childish for one moment.

              “…See you later?” he suggested.  Stan froze.  “I mean, the fact that we were able to talk without fighting is, I think, a good sign that we can bury the hatchet.”

              “Ford.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “Junior was here the whole time.  That’s why I didn’t shout or knock your block off.”

              “…Oh,” Ford said softly.

              “But…”  Stan sighed. “I’m not against making up.  Just know that the next time you and I are in the same room, it’s open season if Junior’s not there.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford managed a smirk.  “I think you’d be surprised by how well I can hold my own now.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Stanley.”  Ford leaned over to smile at Junior.  Junior stared at him with wide eyes.  “Goodbye, Junior.”  Junior giggled.

              “Bye,” Stan grunted.  Ford waved goodbye to Lute and walked out of the house.  Beeping sounded from his pager.  He pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.  The message made him sigh again.

              I swear, I’m the only person who can fix the wifi at work.  Everyone else either doesn’t know how or isn’t willing to do one of the secretary’s responsibilities.  Ford shook his head.  He put his pager away and began the long walk to work.  A building full of superheroes and not one of them can unplug a router.

[thi5mu5tb3th3pl4ce]

🍌5.04 beware of a lil sadness

BP

I could feel my eyes glistening as I read your descriptions of the films you just watched. I would have enjoyed watching every minute of both films, even more so with you beside me. I’m really glad you enjoyed them and were able to pick up great insights. I definitely agree on what you said about Filipinos vs. Filipino-Americans—there is, also figuratively, a world of difference. I was reminded of the problem I had with “Crazy Rich Asians”. The portrayal of Asians there will always horrifyingly unrealistic, because the writer was Asian-American and no matter how much they want to fight for visibility, at the end of the day, they did not work hard enough to achieve authenticity. Probably a result of innate entitlement brought by their American half. Or maybe I’m just a hater.

This day was not great. It does not come naturally for me to speak accurately about how I feel whenever the feeling is anything sad. I am realizing now that in the past few years, I have lost the ability to allow myself to be that comfortable around people. I wanted to talk about it with you on the phone, but all I could do was tear up several times, tell you how much I missed you, and change the topic. I would be on the brink of saying something about it, but a voice in my head would go, “Don’t ruin a nice trip.” But I know you, you are always so ready to be there for me and protect me from my own irrational, anxiety-driven thoughts. Still, at least through typing this, you have the option of reading this at a better time, maybe at the end of the day when you are home and resting and not first thing in the morning.

Nothing terrible happened, I just felt like I was covered in a blanket of mild depression as I woke up. Maybe it was the fever, maybe it was the mood swings brought by my period. But I know now that it is because of something deeper. Talking to you for a bit and seeing you gave me ease in that moment. 

I went out for a jog because I thought it could bring my temperature down. Subconsciously, though, it may have been for a different reason. My Tita was having breakfast with my mom when I went downstairs. The last time I saw her was in 2017. She pointed out how I was much thinner back then. Although she didn’t mean it in a bad way, nor is that generally supposed to be a true insult, for some reason I found myself sprinting around the UP oval despite having a 38.2 degree fever. I hate it. Why did I let her do that to me? Why would I let anyone do that to me? It reminded me of a time a few years ago when I overheard a bunch of actors “ranking” the women in the crew, and when someone mentioned my name, one of them said “hindi talaga siya maganda, eh” and I pretended not to care. If I really didn’t care, why did I completely change my hair and start to wear more makeup soon after that day? I hate this. At the end of the day, the way I look should be the least of my problems. I don’t even know why I devoted a whole paragraph to this. Maybe it’s my super-secret, very deep insecurity (which I shared with you) of not being ____ enough. This goes beyond my appearance. I should stop worrying about that.

I realized the true reason for my sadness when we drove past the gates of the cemetery. It’s that time of the year....a year ago, I was in grief. What’s fucked up is that maybe I actually wasn’t, I was burying it deep down under a pile of work and a responsibility to be the one consoling my mother and my brother (who was my Lola’s favorite).

My Lola died first, then Nana died a few months later in July. Two mother figures I have lived with since birth died in one year, and I feel like I haven’t cried about it enough to this day.

I had a vision as a drove into the cemetery. About a year ago on the morning of my Lola’s funeral, my mom told me she couldn’t bring herself to do the eulogy. My brother can never be bothered to do anything like that. I had to do it. I did not want to fucking do it, I was not prepared. But I had to.

While everyone was preparing for the mass, I went out of the chapel (which was by the entrance of the cemetery) and walked around the entire park out of nervousness. I was walking around and pacing like an idiot. I was trying to memorize the speech I had typed in my phone in bullet points. My feet were taking me somewhere but my mind was in panic mode, trying to make sure I would be concise in whatever I had to say. I was looking down at my feet the whole time I was walking and thinking. I eventually looked up and found myself at the other end of the park, at my Lolo’s grave. My Lola was to be buried beside him there.

I walked back, gave the speech, it went okay. I was not satisfied but I was definitely glad it was over. 

Just a month later, Nana went from a strong, feisty old lady to being weak and immobile. She started going in and out of the hospital, and I would be the one driving. She took care of my mom since birth, and she took care of my brother and I the same way. When my parents split up and times were hard, we didn’t need to spend on maids to take care of us and the house because we had Nana. Our family was indebted to her in ways that can be too painful to grasp now that she is gone.

She saw me through different phases of my life, especially the worst ones. She would open the gate for me at 4am, either drunk or wired. She would ask me where I had been and I would lie to her every single time. 

I remember when we were asking each other those questions when you slept over one time, and one of them was “What was the saddest day of your life?” I answered my suicide attempt, but honestly, that was only second. The saddest moment of my life has yet to uncover and process fully. These memories of last year are still buried deep, and I haven’t been able to talk about any of this with any friend (except for Celest, but even with her, everything I told her was just at surface-level).

On the last day Nana came home from the hospital, we thought she would be okay. We were already somewhat relieved, as we were on our toes the past few weeks. I came over to where she was staying (just right beside our house, at her sister’s apartment). I knocked on the door and her sister answered. I told her I was gonna come by to see her before I left for work, and her sister told me not to go upstairs and just come back tomorrow because she looked tired (after work, I had plans to go to Fete with Sel). I didn’t bother insisting, I just immediately ran to work.

At Fete, an hour in to my 1/4acid trip, I got a call from my mom. Nana had died. I could have seen her for one last time that morning, but I chose not to.

I am confident that getting my heart broken in any form will never hurt as bad as this. My heart was broken, and it will always be.

I couldn’t cry during Fete. Things never process immediately for me. We left and just spent the rest of the night at our friend’s house in Antipolo. I cried like a baby when I got home, and woke up with my eyes thrice its size. 

I wrote and posted an entry that night (I took it down right away).

Lost 2 moms already this year, my lola died a few months ago, and in the middle of Fete tonight I got a call that Nana was gone too. She took care of me since literally the day I was born. From every day that I was playing in her room when I was a kid, to my pissy pre-pubescent days, to my fucked up college days, to whoever the fuck I am right now. I still aint fuckin shit and she didn’t even live to see me in a nice version of myself, and a nice version of myself would have been the most proper way to say thank you to her for her literal blood, sweat and tears for me and my family. Hating yourself or obsessing over how inadequate you are isn’t an excuse to just sit there. You have to do better. It’s not for yourself anymore. It’s so you can present yourself to the people who raised you and those who love and care for you in a way that reflects how good they were to you. It’s for them. Just do better.

Most of my regrets come from my grief. I feel stuck in a limbo of grieving and feeling numb. So today, yes, it must have been the fever or the PMS, but more than either of that, it is the fact that it is only after a year that I am realizing that I am not okay.

If I knew you at the time, I’m sure I would have behaved differently. I would have allowed myself to feel because you would bug me to. Instead, I was tied to a now-irrelevant man who not only failed to help, but made everything worse.

I’m sorry for the length and the tone. All of this was basically a summary of my day—my brain getting lost in painful memories I refused to go back to, on top of other relatively trivial matters, like future unemployment and just not being satisfied with myself at all. I genuinely thought it was PMS, though. Its effects on my mood can get to horrible lengths. My suicide attempt was on the third day of my period. Not that I will kill myself, it’s just that I am at my most unstable at this time of the month. But I promise I try my hardest to make it out alive, no matter how deep I am buried in darkness.

My crewmates will be invading my house in a few hours. I guess this could be a good thing. After all, they were there for me last year more than my ex was. We shot a lot of sequences at my Lola’s house when we couldn’t find any other location. They appreciated her, and they also were able to meet Nana several times. Perhaps they are who I need to be with tonight, instead of getting drunk on my own.

I hope the beauty of being in a festival celebrating my favorite medium (*CINEMAAAAHHHH*) and the pride of seeing your music videos screen in front of an audience will lift you up from this very pensive entry. I know it will for me. I am extremely proud of you. If I were there, my eyes would be filled with stars watching your video play, and watching you watch it play.

The only thing reeling me out of my terrible memories is the present moment of being in love with you. A day will never me completely terrible for me because I have you in my life. And with that, I am a much cheesier cloth than you are.

Anna