#Anti Ford makes fun of Jerk Ford for his size | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lsttcs · 4 years ago

Text

The album of the year written by our local and poet will not be attached to this. If so we state unincluded and are way past convergence dates

The waltz Oblique LOVE

Tomahawk Center Dream Space Edition

An it ‘Ain’t Arcty-Trerell Certified Inspirational News Catalogue

Rated Tera by Soci: A+L€£¥A+

“Eggs aren’t on knees and Existence is a Republic”

-an anti-yellowcosm-, artifact compile and mine- truth source-and human as capital, abolitionist journal- a follow through based on obscura of one era retrofitting spanner-dichotomizations us. And still loose all other truth sources, we work for it

“Watch the world. Watch the world”

We are looking for funds and grants

We don’t print lore, National Secrets, or like music. We Listrn to

President Biden Arrained And detained with graceful period of angst for Grand Jury on Vpter Fraud Continuom

Half steps were taken to understand the walls around places by citizens that were more stationary then them. And then, so strange. That much. The nature of gennecis catslogue 1 and 2 with the numbers widespreadly held as Roman numerals, even though written as such and auto as given, the gennics as over powered and unpackigable into any set of the nature of the stemmed and bracketed charge and listing of corruption. Dialects were unfounded in his public representation and thus his stand along all these times is in lieau by way of the summation of voter fraud processing. We have been here before and care dearily for our world, our country, citizenship we all hold dear. It is the stata of the chaotic and expansionist times we are in to relegate the most harmoniously due process. To natural litigation and flowing and gifting order. And the right situations as manigable, appenndible, and ammenidble. To those that lead to lead life well and for us to need them as to it’s most content and serious.

They only manufacture Manufacturiable Gravity

They only took to stamps on items more than one. They spend their lives and their lives were soon to be spent as adegies, conpartmalized to all kinds of felt unneededs. Plastic sealing is not a felt as the term would need so this unneeded to seal, the adegistics of their cartoonishness rushed cashregister shelves to poison those said items many for one and as many. Our stance is the poison is so we can keep with laws of emotions. Cry. They deserve to make that one day instead of pain. Lost money, lost goods, lost consuming, lost beings. Bar and scan and heat and crying. To the gravity they deserve.

A noted @fromslave Roagdid script to escape preli

Fell out

Catch us yawning

Slumber

engines as

moving

Their snoring..; And matte

Can’t say’s wil filibusters

It’s a box and Du

HaIo.(-)

So mean in inventive is also it and I wasn’t a part

The streets pour on

Shielded

His cursor, jerk!

In either wet ink note

Thrown roof pristine for forgotten crutch

To not leave it their clack

Cannot demand the label stick back

Part of it

Gifts of as

Plotting to it Gets

you

outa

Hotspots Potholders for Pocket Size

Absorbs into yes☑️

This is our grace🤳

Revitalizes Newtons🎒

Pays your money for taking nothing from a sip of a inexhaustibly innocent beer🗽

Reviewer🏗

Jogger🎠

Talks to where your foot was for colleges💔

Eats an advertisement🕋

CartoonsHow2

•Become a Bartender as ol

C@Z b_xbmmmmv&-<{ ;-) (burp

•Win and old miss%[t

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Dancing..

📐🤍🌫

1 thought your going over (from the tune as the roots info the branch becomes

First things many. In order not last; firstly, beatings through the ranks on exits. Like the grip on shoes, pajama pants made of them. Lots of time to manage the overshoot, questionable bathroom art expression. And that matches the surprise. A blatant hole since we like to both guard and deny the obvious without worth to rationality. Drives to give people lunch. Figurines on fire to get huddles over lunch so all median experience is voided. Those eras where best can’t say, so the best job and the best lunch anyone gets, anyone who doesn’t tear the place clear. Too much work again

Plateau mess verses Tear Factor

Girl misrecognized for post based broadcast editor due to the tapologic settles,.-cuts, tampering. WideSC

We have televisions to tell us everything in color and motion and power modes is a war. We digress by circus tent post raising sociality that the box tells us to steady against every other composite and material find or fond. We had to keep it up we could have learned and as well as the abject discourse around funding tell us this; so to our friends, we look at vertical arrows on sets and remotes and tap solid.

Angry we have but one version streaming, we count quiet. We circle loud. And hold sacred only the relevant above all else in what is risk and to such accordance as table top. We put our pride and patriotism in just the broadcast reverb of the most dynamic ebs as safe from the ferocious drifting ends and our hegonomy of related to beacon and wizard

She had a wine bottle in her grand day so the shot didn’t knock me to the ground. It fit in the swearing syndrome. Of oath? Let’s not anyone mess up.

Taken around new stunning lawn workings

The foliage has a day job and the garden is equally split between foliage with a nighttime propensity. It is all stacked impossibly as the pictures show. The snow is ice and will be their till stamped into ice further, not till it becomes water. That is to think the gardeners should trust new the way they’ve amassed based on this plot to a completely filled center, brimming for the season in what we know caters to those that need to be buried under the snow, the plants, of course. Said past lives, it was not given what the gardeners used exactly to fertilize, but as a fellow winter being who is vastly experienced in the outdoors, I knew fully that it was something that was never a part of my life. I was mightily above all they had grown and had never experienced it till being taken on my favorite of gardens, a grand stroll. If they had not been able to do such work the garden would not be so high. Beautiful, hints, and winter wind. Only one packet of seeds. I won’t let on so obvious but I might have seen a packet. Without a doubt, many plants.

There are no hope for Game wire console Fires

Someone wrote it along time ago. We left the stack of paper, like plyed. Make a character out of it, choose your player. When things have a more oscilating current we will also have the gentleness to grab items from video games and then it’s what you would have it. The piece was old and the atmosphere has been stolen many times over. Riding soundtracks into the future is one angle so look at a flame. No one can throw it off the furniture when. It has gennics and utility. So the same manners. I myself choose the character of shadows and use him like he leaned in centered to a camp fire and got ash like a reflection. That’s a face and a proxima. Until then, plug into what’s safe.

A Bag Tour Town Continuoum

You can work in the album of the year but it’s the colliding of boarding passes. It puts it into a breakfast style discourse over video game consoles and their first genesis. You can review the bag one but the current bag says it’s in your bag that it’s eco-spectoral truisms. Now it’s coming with nickle bags or Parental Advisory stickers. Different software are fighting over control sockets. Now it’s hushed over our bargroves that we frequent when we tour towns that there’s centaur lore and actualized small pocks by the degressed nature of the soles of our feet as we walk closely distant or far from those by now, far out of relevance. It’s fun and tastes like sweat. The authors here might actually writ their own reviews if this standard is set. Every kind of social scape, we live in motion.

Named after your Indica Head Strand

The capabilities of Hoboken NJ to entertain supposed aliens is magnetic and trenched. They spray from beer taps onto would be journalists as I sit near there. It’s so nice being a drink. That’s how good the locals and commuters are. They always give me a good drink. I’m careful not to spill it on my pants so they don’t robe me over to the conviniently named cobbler, twee to my hair. Let’s drop the prices and abolish the ones just take them apart, the ones that shouldn’t be. This is humanity. This is existence.

Incubations on the Incubation through for such sexualities and identities popular of conga, relay, and rhombi Set in times are

easily identifiable. To make warmth towards the easiest far away but still identifiable to a pillow or comforter has term lengths of dunce and approbations towards said fillings we are always after. Who ate my truth? After or, dim toss, ring’s slide. Then and only then, we can deal with even more arduous of effort and strain as we have been taught to. As we have been?

Every Moment Since I Bought A Slipper

Man predicts early wave but is infested by catering gravy. He gets as passionate as anyone and many people learn in similar ways that he has already womped in love after the torture of his life and slips on a skateboard, he’s two and the ocean is salty. His tears are for the skate board’s girl, his love

Alarm Clocks Growing the Very same Phospori of our Sleep State

Eats at a restaurant and never goes home. Not in this world. Every happy knock and a bedazzled shelf of gravity. Catering in and we can only critique value or aesthetic of drawn, split, megaphones. Everyone knows okay. The waiter is coming. His alarm clock went off and he grit the truth. The number. He’s awake.

Day itch Doing Friday Comes Out

To collect stamps can ford a lifetime passion. It makes irrelevant the rain drops. Stamps as repeating. A collection. Less and you first should be the motto when they get as many as scale. The thing should hold, needs the very least, the idea of upkeep. The thing is. I don’t know and yours, there are many. To collectors of this past one, some were free and some, encased; as them all, we were looking.

Heh Wireless Derelict Object Carrier

��Today. Screams shrill as confetti. Tomorrow. Pukes floral as friendly. “There’s a phone between it™️””

Guy Windows

Averse to choices? No but averse to over promotion. One guy won the heat because he was able to fit into, “the point of his life is, you can’t tell what I’m saying.” We take backtracks as he did. We make ledges fit to windows, sit in them. They are temperature tested. And yes, blinds can be installed. He rode off on his bicycle. Did you see? See our values. Don’t absorb the wrong truth and block to the right sound pollution. We are the best. Don’t cater to the other guys? Windows.

At the

To fix the

“Tell the Pebble”Mustache Discourse /shared dances

To save a failing crime script writer

Crime PubJudiciaryService Dance Lessons and TV. Or is it a dual write?

Heh Wireless Derilict Object Carrier

“Are our target audience’s desires for animated sitcoms on plastic and f-hemming corpses as dissuaded Freudian from said Sitcom on Chia-Pets? No. Your calls are our priority?”Can we bless it Treesing?””

Ouch My Exclamation now

You put the healing touch as your only chip and they rummage through gi-joe merchandise. Okay so all the pain pills to deoxidze body h20 were so when they put you at the wrong task you can mess up by someone you’re helping but, one masseuse too spurred. So it’s an old icon. Define time. Did they know you? I think I know they made me do this. Smile goes here so no spokes image. Speaking non-fissures of living sculpture don’t want their metrics speaking unless it’s in the right, crack? At least sometimes. So save some. Downed vacation rain. I like that form of intellectual bunk bed streaming too. To be good and decent of course. Work me wrong, I’m still working for us at our best. Loads six sheets in a shoe and still.*Saetia - the burden of reflecting *https://youtu.be/q_XryN5y6PE *Saetia a Retrospect - Track 12 *hehehe. I must add. For my own as others and honesty. I have been every living moment, fascinated in bliss and trust when people do that spit squeeze motion into their palmed hands. At the end of that long piece. War to perfect desire. It’s a branch grow. Present? ALWAYS PEACE. Byeeeee anti spelling suave. From you tube, facist mind.

Adverbs renamed. This is _getting long_. First fail, FDA? Just smoke is all the sign of what can be helped and they invite me to roast and they’re not one, so, you. It. As always. Sleazy, looks like it wandered in here from some other dimensional sect. Viggim. Is not the name of the poison nor the mod. They say they’re not strong and we get The Beings. There is goo in sex and cigarettes and I am mad at capital property- them.

Decomposing, Covers

A pristine vitamin or gristle preventative foray into the discourse of Spiritualism and Matchmaking. By the stolen cubby closet and the Spacht grid. A Mufflers live action rendition. <italic>available at most major wireless cable services</italic> a bring the living room to theater experience and the most welcoming and quality Continental experience.

Young Boy Creates Classless Torture Capital Bodily Correction Wave Over A Cashier. At Exactly the normalized peak holiday gathering time

A major conference populated locality was all watching related intel units of prime directive service, eating and littering ultarista brand packaging and depositing the tubular material stuff in the crevices of an electric dryer and washer store at the pro sports homing location. One was reported initiating a belly button prodding movement while the most patriotic and civilian of festivities carried on. “It was the only thing I want till I’m dead and whatever’s next” cried a boy, brought to a shear fit of tears by men glistening in the love of the show. Storms canceled but tables were served. Seeded versions (sponsored) in standard everything, “The Moon is A sticky note. Eat seeds, eat bud”

At approximately 9. Yelled 3numbers. Strange, 7.

And the servings of the mutt-re paired well. Everyone reaches towards there is some times a beaming glisten of oil on the balsamic vinegar They Yelp without end to repair us into conspiracy with our, orbiting familiars of popularity, though we cannot stomach the distaste in such a great place. This is the last. I would. Croutons have salads sometimes. Cigars? We couldn’t tell. Napkins masked with parsley.

Finishing clean hands

We destand the hand. We when we ate the star of the page. Disappearing. Always in there. There’s a story in this. Two people made it. One put it on for the holidays, the other well

A great clean advertisement.

From the wind in the not angry enough internet, bar , groves

“a boy

A cold freezin' night

Holy cow!

Why do you always get away with things?

It's not fair, I tell ya. It's not fair

I wanna blow your brains out with...

I am gonna kill you

I need to think of something, so you stay alive

As long as I want you to, because so I can kill you

You are such an idiot idiot idiot idiot

I can kill you with a rifle...”

One Has >Wireless

We r ready. Grab locks. Eat. A tower. Ice ice baby. Ice ice ice baby. Best term ever. Songs reclassified. You’re okay but I think they’ve released this. I hope they have the amply. Sandwiches small. I’m getting smaller and crushed. So you’re okay? Yeah I know what I want.

Heh Derlict Object Wireless Carrier

Is a subsidiary. They have not created anything. That’s why located where the zeros ate wooden hands. That is a National Bank. Subsidiary capitalized. We have no money. They will be located. The olddddd call coming in says where we looked just changed never. Just new. We are a bank frenzy turned it off. We were punched, locations. We do that too. But it’s dark. Took the score zero score half eight you can do it yourself with our body loud phones, it’s dark now, take a crisp !!!!ring your own neighborhood we got! Well, try our green Patented Pay Single Payers. It can’t be made nice but forgetting this is more. This is the standard. Coal Tunes™️ on your keys. Loose but quote the precedent, but the other guy “synonym dumb name, wait, no it’s your closed”. Winter small town, I would bank for more than a color scheme, I would bank for your money. Be nice to balances, easily, as so very nice to banks, ringing.

Stalk Recovered Albo

Belly buttons. Album. -punc-/(in clarity lesions)

A r of trail Kafka Decal. Lob

on cle auto correct criges

Fire advert Soon

4 every moment Alone

Recovery and eats. A job with lunch. A stat, a whole lot of all you can crimshae Laughing, waiter, laughing, eating. Will this break divider? Called next meal, sitting, eats. Ghost motion famous? Plates, construction. Different place. Tried to say better place. Eats. They don’t love you. ‘S. Kiss the chef.

Heh Wireless Derelict Object Carrier

We remember when hands free was invented. And remember past drives for important communications. Not early reprocessing of service that drops. To place you in a new career. Your own maintenance and engineering drives valued. Not leadings around to drop service and taking care of that, and, that. Our fascination. Quality.

Low lige’s fooce Mobile

Temp stop getting in here. We wait to congregate and warm same as you all. Ask the major motions. Okay so we have streaming Sandler accent and a lack of prison. Well when we get home. A thought is “just is just unreal”. “Thing” is heard””. We like them and don’t say compatriot. Share the wealth, call someone.

The Inboaseraewerg fu fu Binder Company

Th<z_html>is Is

The future<z?_a_ref>stub

note

rejline

strudded

Weight

Body

Heh Derelict Object Wireless Carrier

Can’t we all live healthy? That Sideshow Bob is Otto and of course Homer J Simpson is smart. More than that, Homer never has burped. It’s a growl. He’s that smart. The world sucks. Subscribe. Stealing possible secret thinking formulas for the future of your connectivity. So you don’t have nothing but two beers and headphones. We have high tech.

On Fast Moving

We don’t keep foul, one... Second. Four. To be more like our parents we plume cornucopias shrewdly for a real and a stadium seating on what we don’t understand. The basis is, they both win. At least one fan, so honor your mother and father too. On the song lyrics page, incubus tells you, use whole wheat. That’s how irrigation. Itineraries, tape cassette fascination.

Objective of States unstated of Obscura

People without non grata complexes surrounding them have a hard time understanding angles and momentum in mirror and cosm of image reproduction. They think their beauty marks stated at conferences and converges always glow and beacon as a Statue of Liberty. Let us hope for a poem. So we can gobble up every one. Those with their own holidays... Cautious, cautious. What’s truisms. Those at the snuff and settings. Is there?

No Hop Method

Runs around the date that we all can trust in our inferences as needed for those in the box to shit them selves. A fair game. Then they delayed. Some people have won here, many victories. Ask if they found the reason cameras are humilic and we learn about them in stages or threshes. And that moment has it’s own elite. The motif and the pair. They both won that’s what makes this game take some time. The minus system deserves more credit but stereo is important. Everything is. Examine every pebble on every box to be back next time. I want to dates with the score so to comparing blindly, I still have not been and this I am not, but I am not kidding, the next sport

There’s no point inning

Cleans with the favorite. Favorite rat tail league smile. Breaking the function of slyabels won’t get there. Quiet. Great “bounce minus”. Great bounce bounce bounce.cs A glitch we always hit. Czautocloud. Into the sky and the cloudy paper non rearing of bold blooming in meta sexuality. He ran the whole enforcement of a stranger. A sector of regimentology. Let’s hope they zap love through beer hoses because this guy is going up to bat again. Lives in a hotel. Okay perfect sport. Well my friends are from there. You are truly an expert. In the American League and National league. We. Have fun. We. Have fun. When is he at the home? The American League? I am humilic.

Jalopy Tube jumps Obscura

Everyone gathered around the lake. They thought they were being curt to the extreme sport, Jalopy Smith. It was extreme. They gathered around the best possible solutions, zero carbon laughable oververt, a cough that he thought was extreme and not paying attention, one judge gave him a ten, he thought, he laughed. The other judges gave him nines. They were from different places. Looking at it I thought it was a bit askew. A move as ordered and expected on this outrageous lake terrain park. The fans will freeze their scores off to vote again. Thank god they weren’t in that childishly fabricated judge’s room. Everyone got through. Some had a devilish fascination with the three foot wall ride that no body talked about the lack of reality of.

There Doing this Without Me Valet Company

Don’t forget our hand. Stick it in there yourself? That our job. Experience with runaways crates and cartons. Experience with bumpers, holes, and true grace of automobile handling. Based in the greater Bergen, Hudson, Passaic, Essex- county areas. Call Mr Hughes to talk about our arrangements. 201 463 4224. Verizon Wireless. Service rates may apply. Nothing to get me in the state to face these people horrible people? Hostage to framework? Not our problem? Give us a call.

Curtain Call At my or less the Oarless Raiser

A notebook owner once wrote about a dining experience where you threw silverware on a ballast to raise dining areas. Over half a decade has past and we still find people that can’t properly wash their utensils. Whose to blame, we’ll rewrite it for them. Stuff yourself. At least the flowery smelling well groomed cleaners clean the ceiling. They did it then and they’ll do it again. We’re going down there.

With movies like “the Man from Toronto”

on the horizon it could be supposed there is a strong pull within Hollywood to molt the experience of watching and performing in a movie. With our current world, it must be asked first, what kind of movies, and how wise? Well the best and most genious surely. But what do we fear from what we love and what initiative could give this, it’s gold, it’s chrome? It’s a good time to pose for a Polaroid, a Kodak, but with the difference in terms and uneasy projecting, would a non-inclusive, not humane approach to this “fín”, bring forth the worst parts of living in a proximad boo for “film”.

An Actual Momemt

“Can I order the Simpsons?”

“Hello?”

“Can I-“

“Playlist is highlited”

“As I’ve stated, on the couch.”

“I did not hear you”

“Page is buried”

“You’re going to miss it”

“I’ve heard you”

“Something is playing”

“It stayed with me”

“What was that?”

“Somewhere else”

An Actual Moment On the

Tramopoline

A Paper Straw by those who run the pressings

Can trick anyone. The waitstaff into thinking the place is a clock. Type of creed, old, never cooked, order everything raw. He’s getting perks and tips. Plus gets all the friendly company feeding him near Hollywood gusto and inspiration. Feels really timely and knows what to do there, walkers or customers, business and respect, by, and himself previously, by when the emu commercial plays. All chirps to sip soda. That’s the thing about the paper straw, I gladly ripped myself and I’m unhurt. Foods always good. Like where they put them. Table, straw paper, adigies on transversal that bolster the credits. I know where I am. Goo boy? Maybe I’ll get a desert pizza. Not sure if they have them. Some people say it’s a spell. There’s at least a few places. I like all the people, all the places everywhere!

Happily Stole word for Removing Items hotdog smell

This yarn stretches. As. And the only sentence is one word that’s why we bolster for you all and don’t demean except in vocation that “it affected you” you stole the tube, the sleeps scoop out of the brown yellow. Would one or the other so my armpits smell. Must have been the mood. Decor was laid and gritty.

A need to piss The First Los kind of Album Purchased

We hedge mamma bucks when we listen to falsetto so of course the true example true. Guitar and solo. A creed with a reference always verging due to hits like “cap’s lock - strawman guide” and discographies come to but it’s because not about that do some kids we’re freer and some kids were on the payroll. Let the most daunting album art not be our fate. Are they paid in their height? Some skateboarders aren’t. Let the first album purchased on its own ring true for once because each spanning is dynamic.and get/wizz. Another layer makes it more digital, your life, listen.

Left them burning Colored NAILS

It was an album of the year, people were screaming, without vice. Takes from a poisoning spree to send tracks like that and you that’s at the duals in multiple produced tracks. Remember when they just appeared? Some do before their time. We learned about bonding, melodies, loud, music. Remember when we had that device. There were clear identities. The punk and the state. Reminds, can’t always hear the words. When everyone got their day. Great part.

0 notes

donutpwns · 7 years ago

Text

Journey to the Roots - Part 2

Part 1 - Part 3

How did he get himself mixed up in shit like this?

The thought was playing on repeat in his brain as he drove, sparing the occasional glance at the kid in his backseat. She’d shoved most of the trash back there to the floor to make herself more at home and, after a half day of driving and a brief pit stop for her to barf up what had to be a metric fuckton of glitter and what she claimed was the remains of ‘Stancakes’, had settled herself to sleep. Stan found himself feeling slightly bad at the sight of her curled up under the thin, hole-infested excuse for a blanket he used when he had to sleep in his car, which was more oft than not these days. He had learned to ignore how crappy it was given he basically lived in his jacket, but maybe he should think about investing in a new one.

Damn, he really was going soft.

With a sigh, he rests his cheek on his fist, elbow poking out the open window while he drives one handed and enjoys the crisp November air. It’s getting colder and colder the further north they get; he hopes the kid’s sweater is warm enough for snow given the increasing amount of slush he’s been seeing on the highway for the last six hours. Maybe he should liberate her a jacket from a store with lax security before they get there. Probably about time for him to liberate himself a new jacket too.

He can’t stop thinking about what the girl said about being his niece from the future. About Ford. About the photo of the two of them at boxing practice, his arm slung around his nerdy brother and grinning like the dope he was, that had gone into his wallet the moment he could slip it in without the kid noticing. He wasn’t sure if he believed her about everything, but he couldn’t let go of the nagging idea that if Ford was in trouble, he couldn’t just leave him. Stan still had a lot of mixed up feelings about his brother, about what had went down nearly ten years ago, but he was still family. If there was a chance that he was in trouble and Stan could help, he had to do it, right? Even if there was a large chance that Ford would just give him the boot the moment he saw him. Hell, at least he’d be in a new state then, and if Ford wasn’t in trouble, he was still probably better equipped to deal with the kid.

She’d kept talking about someone named Bill, someone that had tricked Ford and put him in danger. A half-ass conman from the sounds of it, and Stan knew a thing or two about half-ass cons. Stan could believe that Ford had been tricked; his brother might be a genius but he was dumber than even Stan when it came to people. Ford liked to think his six fingers was the whole reason he’d never made many friends when they were kids, and Stan had been fine letting him believe it, but his inability to talk to people was at least a partial factor. If he wasn’t unintentionally talking down to people, then he was believing any lie said at least halfway convincingly.

“Yoooounkle Staaaan…” the kid is yawning from the backseat, sitting up and rubbing at her eye. He’s not sure how he feels about that name, but he figures there’s no point in arguing with her about it. It’s not like it really bothers him the way being called Lee bothers him these days, that hitting too close to home, so he’d rather save his energy.

He has to actively focus on not crashing the car into the guardrail of the highway when she starts climbing over the middle console to sit in the front seat. He bites back a swear as a driver in the lane next to him honks when he cuts into the other lane before jerking the car back in line. “Geez, kid, you couldn’t stay in the back until we stop?”

“Nope! Bwop!” she drops herself into the front seat with zero grace and tugs the seatbelt around her. Stan doesn’t know how good a seatbelt works when someone is sitting cross-legged but he chooses not to comment. Safe enough for a petty cop to not pull them over, at least. Probably. He hopes. She’s brought the blanket up front with her and uses it to cover her lap before patting her stomach. “Younkle Stan, I’m hungry and you’re all out of surprise tacos.”

Right, kids needed to eat. Stan himself could do with some food as well; the kid had eaten the last of his food supply when she’d eaten the days old taco. Now that he thought about it, that might’ve had a good deal with why she barfed. Well, he needed to get them each a jacket, might as well get them some food as well. He sees the sign showing the next exit, hopefully they can find a good super store to ‘shop’ at there. “So, kid, what do you know about shoplifting?”

Mabel flashes him a metal filled grin as she shoves her sleeves up. “Nothing bigger than your sleeve! That stuff is for night theft. Also, always have a smoke bomb ready in case you get caught.”

Shit, they were related. And Stan had apparently taught her well in the future. Good job, future Stan. Stan sends a grin right back at her. “That's right, sweetheart. So, you think you're ready to be my partner in crime?” he winces when she lets out a squeal so high pitched he's pretty sure it could break a window. “Holy sh-iny new shoes! You're like a dog whistle turned human!”

Mabel’s practically vibrating in her seat. “I get to do crime with my Younkle Stan~ oh, but we can only steal things we need. Okay? Cause that way it's hafta-crime, not fun-crime. Though hafta can be fun...hmm…”

Stan takes the exit while she debates her morals, looking for the first gas station he sees. There he's able to get directions to the nearest super store, as well as the wallet of a guy too focused on a thing of rotating hot dogs to notice Stan slipping it out of his back pocket. Sucker. Stan uses the money in it to pay for his gas. How's that for a fun hafta?

Mabel has managed to flip herself in the seat, socked feet against the headrest. Stan glances to make sure her shoes are in the floorboards; they are. Stealing shoes could be a real pain so he'd rather avoid it, given they needed to get jackets and food. He takes the time to flick her forehead before moving around to climb back into the driver’s seat. “Sit up and buckle up, kid. Last thing we need is getting pulled over on our way to commit crime.” He says his usual silent ‘please start’ prayer as he turns the key and thankfully it only stalls for a second before the engine is turning over. One of these days he’s going to have to take the Stanleymobile to an actual mechanic and not just a chop shop that he’s managed to temporarily be in good standing with.

The moment they’re in the parking lot, Mabel’s got her hand in his, grinning when he shoots her a look. Her hand is so small in his, soft except for a strip of callus that goes across the inside of her fingers. He tries to ignore the squirming in his feeling in his gut that drives him to give her hand a small squeeze back as they walk in. He was going so soft.

The jackets are simple enough; Mabel picks a neon pink thing filled with feathers that poke out once Stan has removed the little anti-theft tag with the help of a pocket knife while pretending to check the size tag. He rips the plastic price tag off the sleeve and gives the girl a little sleight of hand show of making it disappear that has her staring wide eyed. For himself he finds a simple dark red zip up not dissimilar to his usual one that he left in the car. A twirl of the knife and he’s got two anti-theft tags now which he slips into the pocket of a jacket still on the rack along with the price tags.

“Now we just need some food and we’ll be good to go.” He fiddles with the zipper of his new jacket, scratching with his nail until a bit of the paint on it chips away. “What do kids in your time eat?”

“Sugar!” she yells it loud enough to earn them some turned heads, which Stan just flashes his best salesman smile at. She leaps up to latch herself to his arm, forcing him to lean sideways so she’s still touching the floor. This kid’ll be the death of him. “Younkle Stan! Younkle Stan! Can we have ice cream for dinner? Grunkle Ford always gets a wrinkly nose when we do it at home, not that that stops us, but he’s not here so that means judgment free ice cream! And ice cream always tastes better without judgment!”

Stan basically scrapes her off of his arm, frowning. Well, he certainly liked ice cream for dinner, but that wasn’t exactly something they could do in the car. “How about we stick with something that won’t melt once I turn the heat on. We need, like, dry food. Non-perishables.” Stan was an expert of living out of his car at this point, and that included grocery shopping.

She pouts but doesn’t really argue. He thinks she’s going to just follow along and he’s contemplating how many boxes of crackers the two of them can fit in their jackets when she lets out another loud squeal. Moses, he was going to need a hearing aid by the time he was done with her. “Flapjacks, kid, what the hell?”

“I just remembered something we really, really need to get! I’ll be right back!” before he can protest, she’s gone. How a kid running on days old taco could have so much energy he has no damn idea.

Well, while she’s gone.

He gets three boxes of crackers in the back of his jacket, trapped when he zips up the front. Two loose cans taken from a six pack of Pitt Cola fit into his hood without looking funny. In his sleeves he manages to fit six cheese stick snack packs, two packs gummy fish, a package of toffee peanuts, a tangerine, and a plastic wrapped beget that snaps in half when he bends his arm. Finally he finds himself in the ice cream aisle, glaring a challenge at individually wrapped fudgecicles.

Kids liked fudgecicles, right? It was chocolate and Mabel didn’t really strike him as a kid that was picky when it came to sweets. Hm. Maybe he could just…he opens the freezer door to grab a package.

“CHEESE IT, YOUNKLE STAN!” she’s screaming as she comes barreling down the aisle. Her new jacket is bulging with who-knows-what and there’s an overweight security guard hot on her heels. Stan has approximately half a second to process the situation before she’s running past him. He swears, stuffs the fudge bar in his pocket with one hand, and takes off after her himself.

Thankfully, his legs are much longer than hers so he catches up in five strides, even with her manic speed. He grabs her under the arms and hefts her up. Without breaking his speed, he tucks her under one arm like a football. Then he’s dodging shoppers, knocking over a display of cereal boxes in the process. “I thought you said you were good at this?!” he barks at her as he makes a beeline towards the exit and, beyond that, the parking lot.

“I’m good at everything!” her legs give a kick. “Oh! I know what I forgot!” she wiggles a bit in his hold, reaching into the front of her overloaded jacket. He doesn’t see what it is, but he feels the motion of her winding up her arm. “MABLE BOMB! BWOMP!”

Behind him, he hears a scream followed by frantic coughing and the sound of someone falling. He chances a look back; the laugh is out before he can even think about it. The guard is on the ground, frantically trying to scrape bright blue glitter off his face. It’s not a smoke bomb but it’ll do. A nice personal touch to the crime. Stan finds himself feeling oddly proud.

He throws Mabel feet first into the front seat and slams the door behind her. He slides across the hood of the car, Dukes style, and maybe he’s actively trying to look cool because his heart swells when he hears the kid cheer from inside the car. This time the car starts on the first turn, no prayer needed, and the tires squeal on the wet asphalt as they tear out of the parking lot. He’s 80% sure no one was chasing them but Moses is his heart racing and his cheeks ache from grinning.

“Holy shit, kid! Did you seriously throw glitter at that guy?” he’s laughing as he asks it, looking back and forth from her to the road as he tries to get them back to the highway. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other emptying his sleeves and pockets of the food he’d gotten, tossing them to land on the floorboards in front of her seat. “What did you even steal?”

The girl’s hair is a mess, sticking in all directions and clinging to her cheeks. She’s got glitter all over her right hand and the front of her new jacket; that is never going to get out of his car, he can already tell. “I procured the most important stuff ever!” she unzips her jacket and a waterfall of yarn, and at least five jars of glitter, falls out. From one sleeve she produces two long, metal knitting needles, the other a cheap disposable camera. “Now I can make us sweaters and memories!”

Stan can’t believe this kid; he steals food and she steals craft supplies. He reaches over to muss her hair, “You stupid knucklehead.” He shakes his head, smile unwilling to fade. He fishes the fudgebar, now smooshed and half-melted, out of his pocket to drop it in her lap. “You’re not half-bad, sweetheart. That was the most fun hafta-crime I’ve had in a while.”

She just keeps grinning at him and his heart just keeps swelling.

---------------------

Nearly twelve hours later, Ford can confirm that Dipper isn’t lying. He’s performed the possession detection ritual which revealed faint traces of Bill but nothing recent enough to have a current effect. He ran blood tests, both the standard DNA testing as well as the less standard hot coil test, which concluded that the boy was in fact related to him and not some sort of shape shifting thing. To be honest, he’d truly started believing that the kid was related to him as soon as he’d pulled out the needle to draw the blood. The boy had turned white as a sheet and Ford would swear the boy had tears in his eyes as he tried to play brave. It was so much like Stan when they were kids…

There was also the mark on the boy’s forehead; a mark of the peculiar. Ford had found himself tapping each of his fingers to his thumb while thinking about it. One-two-three-four-five. Repeat. The boy was fascinating. An anomaly in so many ways. Ford wished he had access to his second journal to compare his notes from the time anomaly from three years ago; oh what he wouldn’t give for the time measuring device him and Fiddleford had put together, but it had been dropped in the Bottomless Pit during their encounter with the Timeless MantaLemur. He’d had dived in after it if not for Fiddleford. Of all the things the Pit had decided to keep.

The boy was asleep now, nervous as that made Ford, clearly exhausted from the ordeal. Traveling through time was a lot to process, despite the boy’s claims of having done so before. Ford had many questions about this ‘time baby’ that Dipper spoke of but they would have to wait. All of the questions he had for Dipper would have to wait; questions about his experiences in Gravity Falls, about the Mabel he kept going on about, about why Stan had the two children.

It seemed almost like a sign, the boy appearing with knowledge of his brother when Ford has been debating reaching out to Stan for the near month since the Incident. A month since the photo of two foolish little boys standing with a broken down boat had gone from being hidden in his desk drawer to burning a hole in his wallet while he continually argued with himself the idea of reaching out to Stanley. The idea of having his brother take the journal and sail as far away as possible with it, of hiding it away where no one could find it. If Dipper knew Stan and Gravity Falls, did that mean he never reaches out to his brother to take the journal away? Or does he, and Stan fails to follow such a simple, important request? What effect will Dipper being here have on choices already made? Were they already living in a paradox or was everything happening as it was meant to? Had their timeline split into another one of a million possible versions of every moment? Oh how Ford wished he didn’t have to worry about Bill; a mystery like his time traveling great nephew was great enough to fuel his studies and work for years.

But he did have to worry about Bill and now a child on top of that. Dipper had said he’d faced off with Bill before, in his time, which means Ford had failed in that timeline to destroy the demonic triangle. It’s almost enough to make him feel like giving up, knowing that thirty years from now Bill will still be a menace to not just him but also his family. No, infinite timelines, infinite possibilities. So what if another version of himself had failed? That simply meant that this version of himself had to work harder than that version so that he could succeed. And wasn’t that an interesting thought; rivaling himself in work ethic and effort.

He’s not aware of the fact that he’s pacing until he’s drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of a door opening down the hall. He looks around; he seems to have made his way to the kitchen for some reason. He’s trying to puzzle out exactly why when Dipper comes in, wrapped in the blanket Ford had covered him with after he’d put him in the spare room to sleep. The couch in there was mostly free of the clutter that had taken over the rest of his house and, once he’d rolled up the electron carpet and stuffed it in the corner of the room, the room was safe enough for a child to sleep.

The boy had left the hat in the room apparently; Ford made a note to take a closer look at the thing later, the symbol on it has been nagging at his mind. Things for later. “Ah, Dipper, good to see you’re awake.” He grabs the boy’s chin to lift his face up, studying his eyes. No slits, no yellow. Good. Can’t be too careful. “I trust you, uh, slept well?”

Dipper nods, another yawn escaping him as he wraps the blanket a little tighter around him. Ford had placed a space heater in the room for Dipper to sleep, but the rest of his house was still pretty cold. It seems he had been neglecting his gas bill for some time. “Yeah. Uh, Great Uncle Ford? I’m…kinda hungry. Do you…have food?” he peers around Ford towards the sink.

Ford follows his stare to the dishes that fill his sink and cover every inch of the counter not taken up by more of his books. “Right. Food.” Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure when the last time he had something in his stomach other than coffee and even that supply was beginning to run low. Fiddleford had handled the shopping once he’d showed up, same as when they’d been in college. He takes a few steps over to look in the fridge before quickly slamming it shut again. He’s pretty sure there wasn’t that much green or fuzz last time he checked. “I…may be running low on certain supplies.”

To his surprise, Dipper laughs. He gives the boy a bemused smile; what was funny about this situation? Dipper’s cheeks go ruddy when he seems to realize he was laughing and he clears his throat. “S-sorry. Just remembering something Grunkle Stan—it doesn’t matter. I’m not that hungry, we can get food later.” Then he looks up at Ford and Ford would swear that there were actual stars in the boy’s eyes. It makes him a little uncomfortable the number of times he’s caught Dipper looking at him like that, like he’s the boy’s hero. “So, what’s the plan, Great Uncle Ford? I have lots of theories about how I got here and what we can do to get me back home. I’m sure if we both work together—”

“Whoa, easy there, boy.” He holds up a hand to silence the boy. He takes a moment to consider the last twelve hours. The tests, the questions, the sound of Dipper retching in the bathroom after the blood test. Ford has to check his watch; it’s approaching five in the morning. Dipper had mentioned eating breakfast before he was sent back in time and though it was clear that he didn’t come through at an equal time of day, it had still had been too many hours since he’d eaten. As eager as he is to get back to work, he was still responsible for the boy. He remembers how much he’d witnessed Fiddleford’s son put away the weekend he’d come to visit and Fiddleford had insisted Ford meet his family. Growing boy and all that nonsense. “Let’s get something in you before I get to work on fixing things.”

Dipper’s entire form seems to deflate, disappointment marring his face.

Ford clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck. “And, uh, you can help me? You said you were studying my work in the future, right?”

“Oh, yes! I’ve read the third journal front to back a gazillion times! And the other two, but I haven’t got to read them as much since you didn’t—well, after the unicorn thing you let Mabel and me see them but we were working on the barrier and so I didn’t have that much time to read them more than four times each so—”

“Unicorns? Wait, you guys were able to get the unicorn hair for the barrier?” Ford is sincerely impressed. Dealing with unicorns was one of the most frustrating things he’d had to do since he came to Gravity Falls. He still remembers the echoing voice NOT PURE OF HEEEEEEAAAAART before he was booted out of the clearing with his boots in hand.

Dipper’s face splits into a wide grin, “Oh, yeah! Well, Mabel did.” He smacks his open palm with a fist. “Hair, blood, eyelashes; she even got a load of treasure for Grunkle Stan.”

Treasure hunting! He can still hear the chant of excited little boys, skin made bright red by the sun. It brings a small smile to his face to think that they got some treasure in the end. Then he remembers it's Stan they're talking about and the smile curdles. The boy is bringing out the nostalgic in him which is counter productive to what needs to be done.

“Well, it's good to know you children are safe in the future, and capable it seems. Now, since I seem to be rather…low on supplies, what say you and I take a very quick trip into town to restock?” that wouldn't be too hard; he could just give Dipper the money and wait in the car. The idea of being around people had his fingers tapping and his brain itching. But he had an assistant again! Someone else to handle all the prickly social situations life seemed to demand as well as assist in research. The boy still made him nervous, Ford wouldn't stop checking his eyes for a good while, but if he was forced to be responsible for him and the boy was eager to be of assistance then he might as well get some use out of the boy.

Dipper nodded happily; just as Ford thought, happy to help. “Of course! Oh, we could go to the diner! Wait, is the diner open? I don't know how long it's been a thing…”

“I...don’t know.” was there a diner in town? Maybe, Ford wasn't sure. He remembered the pizza place where Tate had eaten two large Supremes without pausing for breath. It still rankled him that Fiddleford had refused to let him study the child as an anomaly. He swore he had more stomachs than the mutated cow in his book. “I was thinking we could just run to the grocery store?”

“Yes! Then we can get back to work quicker!” Dipper grins but it falters a second later. He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Do you, uh…wanna get ready before we go?” his face is pinched with nerves. “...maybe shower?” he says it in such a small voice that Ford almost doesn't hear it.

But he does and it has blood filling his face and heating his neck. When was the last time he'd showered? Now that he's thinking about it, he can practically feel the filth sticking to his skin. A touch to his cheek feels like he's a few days from an actual beard and he could likely fill a lamp with the oil in his hair. Okay. He was completely disgusting.

Twenty minutes and one cold shower later, Ford is much less gross as they make their way to the car. He’ll admit that the water felt nice on his lingering bruises as well. Dipper has been draped in one of Ford's old sweaters from college and, while smaller in the shoulders and chest than what Ford wears now, still hangs to the boy's knees and the sleeves have to be folded several times before it stops at his hands. He's still got the blanket around him as well. Ford will need to see about getting him some pants; those shorts were not good for this snow.

The drive to town is slow but uneventful. Once they reach the town, Dipper is basically rotating in his seat trying to look at everything, muttering about things that have changed and what has not. Ford finds it easy enough to ignore.

He starts to give Dipper his wallet before remembering the photo and instead giving him a handful of bills from inside. He watches the boy produce a notebook and pen from...somewhere. Huh. They go over the few essentials they need: milk, bread, maybe eggs for protein. Then Dipper is running into the store and Ford is once more alone with his thoughts.

It’s harder to block out the whispers without anything to focus on, so he tries to force himself to run through the Kaplansky’s conjecture, trying to find the flaw in why it hasn’t been solved. Chasing down numbers in his head as opposed to thoughts of emotions or certain geometrical shapes helps calm his anxiety with being out of his house. He was just a guy sitting in his car outside of the grocery store. No one was going to spare him a second glance, no one knew who he was. Numbers, numbers, numbers.

He’s so engrossed in the numbers and not thinking about triangles or eyes on him, that he fails to notice the two figures approaching his car until one taps on his window, startling a yelp out of him and having him reach for the knife he has stashed under the driver’s seat. Then he sees who it is and his eyes narrow. It takes a moment for him to crank the window down. “Dipper, why did you bring him here?”

Dipper looks nervous again, but Fiddleford just looks annoyed despite the obvious tremble in his hands and jaw that Ford suspects isn’t all to do with the cold. “Nice to see you too, Stanford.”

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#this is also on ao3 if anyone prefers to read it there #gravity falls #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #journey to the roots #kainichivonwrites

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