#also May with a twin sister named April or June is definitely something I could see 911 doing if they had decided that lol

[tsuki-chibi]

Adrien AUG-reste Day 16 - Milk wasted

This story is part 5 of a series: a sequel to my Marinette March, Adrinette April, Marichat May, Ladrien June, and Ladynoir July stories; I highly recommend reading those first.

You can also read this story on AO3: Petrichor

---

“Félix,” Renard whispered in shock. The name brought to mind his cousin, of course. It had been a little while since Renard had seen Félix, but he didn’t consider that to be a bad thing. Félix’s last visit had definitely been eye-opening and had forced Renard to accept that he would never have the brotherly relationship with his cousin that he wanted to have.

“Yes. Do you know me?” Griffe looked at Renard with curiosity.

“I – you said Félix Agreste. Not Félix Graham de Vanily?” Renard said.

Griffe frowned slightly. “Graham de Vanily is my mother’s maiden name, but I’m an Agreste.”

“Your mother is Émilie Agreste, then?” Renard asked quickly.

“Yes,” Griffe said slowly. “Just who are you?”

“My name is Adrien Agreste,” Renard said. Both Griffe and Chloé reacted with surprise to that.

“You’re Adrien?” Chloé exclaimed.

“Wait. I am so confused,” Lacorne said, holding up her hand. “When I did research in the library, I saw a picture of the Agreste family. There was no mention of anyone named Félix. Just Adrien and his mother and father. That’s why I thought that you might be Adrien.”

“I actually lived with my aunt in New York for several years,” Griffe said, exchanging a long look with Félix. “Adrien is my twin brother. I recently returned to Paris, and that’s when I got the Black Cat miraculous. The picture you saw was probably one taken when I wasn’t here.”

There was more to the story than what Griffe was telling, Renard could tell. He wondered why Griffe had been with his aunt – presumably Amélie, unless the Émilie and Gabriel of this world had more brothers and sisters. But he didn’t think that Griffe was likely to tell them. He was already being cautious with his words, and, in spite of his curiosity, Renard couldn’t exactly blame him for that.

“So do you know Adrien? You brushed me off when I asked about him,” Lacorne said to Chloé.

“You were a random stranger asking me Adrien. Of course I brushed you off,” Chloé said. “Adrien and I aren’t friends, but I do know him. I assumed you were just another fan of his.”

“Why aren’t you friends?” Renard asked before he could stop himself. In his world, he and Chloé weren’t close anymore. But they had been for a long time.

Chloé looked at him for a moment before her expression softened a bit. “I’m afraid that the Adrien Agreste in this world probably isn’t much like you.”

“What does that mean?” Renard said, but Chloé just shook her head.

“I met Félix in New York. I knew he would make a good Black Cat,” she said. “So when he came to Paris, I offered him the miraculous and he accepted. And just in time, too. The rest of the team was having a hard time.”

“That’s crazy,” Lacorne murmured. “There is a Félix in our world too, but he’s one of the last people I would ever give a miraculous too. I never would have guessed that’s who you were.”

“You thought I was Adrien,” Griffe said, an amused smile curling over his lips.

“I did, especially once I saw that there was an Adrien here,” Lacorne admitted. “How did you become the guardian, Chloé?”

“It’s a long story,” Chloé said lightly. “And one I’m not sure I should share. You’re already going to have to get that one milk wasted to deal with everything he’s learned.” She nodded at Renard, who blinked in confusion.

“Milk wasted?” he asked.

Chloé smirked. “Don’t tell me you’ve never tried to drink milk when you’re transformed with the Black Cat miraculous. I know you’re from an alternate universe, but the miraculous should largely function the same.”

“Uhh… no?” Renard said, wracking his memory for just such an occasion. But he couldn’t think of any. He and Ladybug had gotten drinks during their patrol before, but he usually favored coffee when he was tired or tea when he was feeling more alert.

“I suggest you try it someday,” said Griffe, exchanging a grin with Chloé. “Let’s just say that Plagg’s obsession with dairy carries over a bit. Just make sure you don’t do it if you have somewhere to be or something important to do. The effects take about an hour or so to wear off.”

“Huh,” Renard said thoughtfully, finding himself intrigued in spite of himself.

“I guess we know what we’ll be doing when we get back home,” Lacorne said, looking at him with amusement, and Renard had to smile.

[feralnumberfive]

I expect no one to read this at all. It’s more of a way to get some feelings off of my chest. This is a look into my personal life and what I went through in 2020. I cried quite a bit while writing this, haha.

My farewell letter to 2020:

To you 2020, the year that shook the world. You’re certainly one to go down in the record books. You changed my life as you did to everyone. To you, the month of March. I had hit the lowest part in my life since the shock of my parent's divorce 11 years ago. My beloved cat had died in October of 2019, a few days short of our one year anniversary of fostering him, which soon turned into us adopting him. It was sudden and unexpected. I still can remember clear as day that horrid call I got from my sister from the vet. “Hey, we need you to come up here. It’s kidney failure.” As she spoke through her tears, I instantly began to cry. I had felt sad for months after that. 

In December of 2019, the adoptive dad of one of my closest friends committed suicide. She was torn apart, having had three people she knew died earlier that year. I stood by her side and watched her cry. We colored together in the counseling room, making small talk and doing anything I could to comfort her. 

From late February into March, another one of my closest friends revealed to me a traumatic experience she went through. She had been raped by a classmate of mine, one who I considered to be good acquaintances. She was a grade younger than me, and was practically completely dependent on me and my friend, as she was too scared to tell her parents. She eventually completely relied on my friend as I became shoved out of the problem. Her story and the amount of support required from her, which she never gave back to me throughout our friendship, made me realize at that moment I had hit rock bottom. I was tired and so sick of it all. This sentence that I'm about to say is one I've never admitted to anyone: I didn't want to be around anymore, or at least alive. I needed somewhere to escape. I didn't want to commit suicide due to expectations I held upon myself. I was also too scared to commit suicide. 

I finally admitted I needed help, which was scary for me to do. In March of you, 2020, I was diagnosed with situational depression. I was soon put on an anti-depressant. It felt good to put a name on it, but little did I know I would pay the price for my relief. Preparing to go off to college, I needed to get a First Class Medical Certificate in order to apply to the flight program at the colloege I wanted to go to. I went and got my FAA Medical Certificate done, ticking off the boxes on my journey to fulfill my life long dream of becoming a pilot. 

Spring Break came and after watching schools around me close, it was announced that we wouldn't be returning until mid April, and then the end of April, then until May. I quickly realized it wasn't possible to return and that unbeknownst to me I had already spent the last days of my Senior year at school in March. A frantic question was suddenly formed amongst my classmates and soon the world: Will the class of 2020 graduate? I, being burnt out, didn't care what would happen to me or my class. We soon became a laughing stock and a sight to pity around the world. Class of 2020, Corona Class, The Class that would be telling this story to their kids. It didn't matter to me. As I held up the “Class of 2020″ shirt my uncle got me with the zeros as tp rolls, I sighed. I just wanted to graduate without getting laughed at. Spoiler Alert: That didn't happen. 

Around this time I ended my friendship with the girl who I cherished but didn't cherish me back. I still to this day can’t exactly understand why I did that. I blocked her and left without saying goodbye. That wasn’t the right thing to do at all. She had been raped and needed support, but here I was leaving her. She always needed and wanted my support but never gave it back. It was always “Aw you have a problem? Here, let’s try this minimal effort plan to help you. That didn’t work? Oh well, let’s get back to me.” This is no excuse at all for my actions of cutting her off. I really still don’t know why I did this. I had hung out with her everyday in the summer of 2019. Here I was, easily letting her go. Jackie, I’m so sorry. I hope you are doing well and get into ISU to follow your dreams of being an engineer. 

In May I received news that still hurts and effects me to this day. I had been denied my Medical Certificate. It wasn't due to me being on an antidepressant, is was due to the fact that I was depressed. This was soul crushing news, but there was still a chance I could reapply for the Medical Certificate if I jumped through multiple hoops. May also provided the announcement that my safe haven in Oshkosh, Wisconsin wouldn't be happening this year. It was definitely understandable due to the virus, but still very saddening to me. It’s really the only thing I look forward to each year, but I understood and agreed on why it was canceled for 2020.

In June I got the news that a beloved teacher of my family and I passed away due to a heart attack and complications of Addison’s Disease. She was the best math teacher I had ever had, and the best in my High School. Math is my worst subject, but she never made me feel stupid like the other math teachers. She always made sure I understood what I was doing. Sometimes when she didn’t feel like having class she would have a free day. She would gossip with my classmates and tell us stories of her youth. Sometimes though she would give us free days due to having intense migraines that sometimes hospitalized her due to her disease. It wasn’t fun to see her like that. 

In June she was hospitalized where even her husband and two kids weren’t allowed in to see her. The only person allowed into her before she died was her twin brother. The family decided to have a public funeral, with tons of people in the community and school district socially distancing and wearing masks to pay their respect. I began to cry as I listened to her husband tell everyone that he wasn't ready and was so scared to be a single parent. Their children were both under ten, and were now motherless. Mrs. Johnson it was so hard saying goodbye to you. I loved you so much, and I still do. You gave my friend who had lost her dad food and comfort. You did so much not only for my family and I, but for everyone in the community and school district. I miss you so much. 

Hot days came with hazy skies. Everyday I checked the wildfire smoke map as I watched the sun turn bright pink as the sun became a blazing red when the sun went down. For weeks our sky looked hazy. Some days looked cloudy, but it was actually smoke. As someone who lives the Midwest, this was quite surprising. 

In August I experienced something that will forever be remembered by me and everyone who lives in my state. A Derecho tore through and ravaged my hometown and the state that I dearly love. We watched through the window as trees snapped in half and branches and leaves whirled around everywhere. We watched through the window as water roared down the road, appearing as if a stream had started right next to us. We watched in fear as shingles were torn off and large items were blown through our yard. As the electricity flickered out, we wondered if we would be crushed by either tree that were on two sides of our house. Wet leaves were torn apart and slammed into our window, where they stayed there for a month afterwards. They looked like confetti, torn into thousands of tiny pieces. 

To the branches and trees I still see today in the neighboring towns and cities, broken reminders of the damage done. To you, the metal grain bins that still sit out in the flattened cornfields. Our once tall and proud cornfields that are a proud symbol of my state were now flattened to the ground, completely parallel to the rich farming soil that it stood in. Painting the countryside in flat waves of green with splotches of silver from grain bins and white from barns and houses damaged. Our proud stalks became damaged goods that costed us billions. To the buildings that still show their battle scars from months ago, the houses with the tarps on their roofs and the old wooden barns that couldn't handle the 140 mph. To you, Donald J, Trump, the President of the United States who was supposed to tour Cedar Rapids to exam the damage that still lies there today. You stayed in the airport and immediately left after getting your business done. You didn't care about us, you were there to do business and leave to start your campaigning.

My small town was able to clean up within a month or so, but even still TODAY the bigger cities are littered with damage. There are tree trunks and branches scattered along roads. Thousands of houses still have tarps on their houses and siding missing. 

In August my grandma was also diagnosed with Dementia. I've watched her deteriorate over the past few months. Every time we call she forgets that I’m not in school. Sometimes she forgets my name. When we tell her we’re on our way to visit outside her window, she forgets within 10 minutes. Grandma, I hope you never forget that I love you.

In September I finally met with a therapist. I am so thankful to be working with her. After months of my family getting angry and upset at me for being scared to go to the store, my therapist diagnosed me with Social Anxiety. I was so relieved to be diagnosed with it and to be working out the issues I have with my therapist. We work together weekly to help me become a better and more comfortable version of myself. 

Over the summer months the health of my already diseased cat took a steep decline. She was my cat, and I felt powerless as I slowly watched her die. She could no longer stay inside due to her having constant accidents. As we made our plan to take her to the vet to give her a peaceful death, I received a heartbreaking call from my mother on a cold September night. My little Jill had passed away in her sleep on our porch. I came over to say goodbye to my baby as I pet her cold fur one last time. I love you my little Jilly Bean and I miss you everyday. I miss and love you so so so much. 

September also brought the news that a precious B-25 had a crash landing. It always hurts to hear about a Warbird crashing or getting damaged. I was happy to hear though that they were going to fix it back to airworthiness.

In October I had to make a difficult decision with the FAA. Do I try to visit four different doctors for phycological examinations in order to complete my Medical Certificate or do I wait to get off my medicine and start feeling better on my own? I opted for the second part due to the decline of visiting all of those doctors coming up in November. We had been given that option early in the year, but Covid prevented us from traveling out of state to see those doctors. I sent a letter to the FAA to let them know what I was doing. I received a letter about a month ago that stated that I still needed to visit those doctors or something like that. I honestly didn’t look through it that well because it’s just such a pain in the butt.

Another thing about you 2020 is that you provided me with he opportunity to meet amazing people. I began to watch The Umbrella Academy in September, but I decided to make my account on October 1st. I’ve met tons of funny and talented people on here. The show itself had provided me tons of comfort. It has given me the courage to start writing fanfiction for it along with starting back up on drawing fanart

The end of 2020 has slowed down for me. One of my aviation heroes died this year, Mr. Chuck Yeager. It was heartbreaking for me to hear that. One of the worst days for me was ironically on my birthday in December. I felt really bitter and down and just wanted to sit in my room, but I didn’t. I don’t like celebrating my birthday anymore. As I get older it feels less and less special and in turn I feel sad about it. Another reason why is that I don’t like having a fuss made about it. I don’t like the attention from it haha. It’s okay though because even though this year I felt upset I eventually felt a bit happier as it turned to night. 

This year I witnessed history being made. Let me be clear that history is made every year, but this year was very eventful. I witnessed innocent black lives being slaughtered by the very people who are sworn to protect everyone. It’s so disappointing and soul crushing to see all of this. I don’t know if I’ve made it clear on here, but I strongly stand with the BLM movement. I may not understand what they haven been going through for decades, but I stand with them to make things right. Black Lives Matter, not All Lives. All Lives only matter when it’s actually true and Black Lives are included. If you saw a house on fire in an entire block of houses, you wouldn’t say “All Houses Matter!” No they don’t, that house on fire matters. Black Lives Fucking Matter, and All Cops Are Bastards.

To you, the Pledge of Allegiance. Everyday in elementary school I proudly held my right hand over my heart as I stared up at Old Glory and recited you. This year helped me realize that “With liberty and justice for all.” is total bullshit. The only thing I truly appreciate about my country now is the scenery and nature it provides. 

To you 2020, as I finish writing this letter on December 31st. You’ve made me cry a lot, including right now. You’ve deeply effected my life and brought me lots of sorrow. Despite all of this, I don't feel upset about you. Yes, you gave me some events that will always haunt me but that’s okay. 2020 even though you’ve hurt me, you’ve also shaped me. Yes, you also made my lose faith in my country and humanity, but I can only hope for the best. You’ve pushed me to become a better version of myself. 

So to you 2020, you’ve been a hell of a year. I’ve hated and loved you, but mostly hated you. I went through some shit, but others have gone through worse this year. To those of you who have had a very hard time this year, I love you. I sincerely hope things get better for you. Friend or stranger, you can always rely on me as someone to talk to, to rant or vent to, and to cry to. This year was excruciating, but don’t give up. It has ended and a new year has begun. Sure 2021 may also be bad and we’re all exhausted from 2020, but let’s fight till the end. 

[thelastspeecher]

Stan Pines, Farmhand - Chapter 11: Best Laid Plans

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6 Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11   Chapter 12   Chapter 13   Chapter 14   Chapter 15   Chapter 16   AO3

I definitely did not plan on posting this today, but like what happens in this chapter, plans don’t always work out the way you want.  I’m pretty excited.  This chapter is really cheesy and fluffy, and so is the next one.  But the one after that?  ...Not quite.  Also, the de-aging thing from the previous chapter was resolved “off-screen”.  Anyways, enjoy!

April 1, 1977 – Gravity Falls

               Stan followed his girlfriend and his twin brother deeper into the abandoned mines.  

               “Ya really wanna spend yer birthday chasin’ down dinosaurs?” he asked, his voice echoing.  “Ya wouldn’t prefer to go to that restaurant with the ocean view?”  Angie shook her head.

               “That place is expensive.  Trackin’ dinosaurs is free.”  She looked back at him.  “Ya didn’t have to come with.”

               “You’re my girlfriend.  It’s your birthday.  If I abandoned ya, Lute’d have my head.”

               “I know ya didn’t really like Gravity Falls the last time we visited.”

               “Gnomes chewed through the brake wires of the car I’ve had since I was sixteen,” Stan said flatly.  

               “Yeah.”  Angie fell back a few steps.  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.  “Thank ya fer workin’ past yer hatred fer this town to spend time with me.”

               “Heh.  It ain’t a big deal.  Especially since this is way better than hearin’ Lute rant about how ‘that ain’t what southern men do’.  Your brother’s got some interesting thoughts ‘bout what bein’ a southern gentleman means. And for some reason, he seems to be under the impression that I’m one.”  Angie chuckled.  She froze.

               “Did ya hear that?”

               “Hear what?”  A roar echoed.  

               “That.”  

               “Yep.  Definitely heard that.”

               “I’ve found the nest!” Ford called.  He ran back to them.  “But there’s a slight problem.  I disturbed the mother.”

               “That’s more than a slight problem, Sixer,” Stan said.  “I think it’s time to go.”

               “What?  But we didn’t get any pictures!” Angie protested.  Stan grabbed her hand.

               “If ya get killed on my watch, yer folks’ll kill me.  C’mon.” She pulled her hand out of his grip.

               “No, I need at least one picture.”  Angie strode away determinedly.  “If’n yer so concerned ‘bout my safety, ya can follow me.”  A shadow fell over her.

               “Angie!”  Stan tackled her to the ground, narrowly avoiding the dinosaur’s claws.  They tumbled down a nearby slope, coming to a stop at its base.  He looked at Angie, whom he was effectively pinning to the ground.  She was so close that he could count every freckle on her face and see a thin silver ring around her pupils, contrasting the bright blue of the rest of her iris.  It reminded him of something.  He thought back to the small box he had left back with Fiddleford, at Ford’s house.  

               Now’s as good a time as any.  She stared at him, a pink flush beginning to spread across her cheeks.

               “Will ya marry me?” he blurted out.  Angie’s eyes widened.  

               “What?”

               “Banjolina Quinn McGucket, will ya marry me?” he said, more firmly this time. “I know I’m not on one knee, and the ring’s back at Ford’s house, but-”

               “Yes,” she interrupted.  

               “Wait, really?”

               “Yes, really,” she said.  “Ya goober.” Stan grinned at her.

               “I’m yer goober, now,” Stan said.  Angie smiled.

               “Ya most definitely are.”

----- 

May 1978 – Gumption

               “So, the wedding’s in a month, right?” Lute asked Angie.  Angie rolled her eyes.  

               “Ya got the invitation ages ago!  An’ all the information is in that there binder in front of ya.”

               “Oh.”  Lute opened the binder.  “Yep. June 18.  Good choice.  I’ve heard good things about June weddings.”  After her graduation with her master’s degree, Angie had come back to Gumption with Stan, and they were currently finishing up the wedding plans.

               “An’ it’s here in Gumption,” Angie continued.  “In the barn.  So we’ll have to clean it up a bit.”

               “Why not the church?” Fiddleford asked.  He and Ford were taking a break from their research in Gravity Falls to visit Gumption quickly before the wedding.  

               “Stan’s Jewish,” Angie said shortly.

               “Right.”

               “Angie, does this mean ya get to do the thing where ya step on the glass an’ break it?” Lute asked eagerly.  Angie looked at Stan.  Stan nodded. “Dang.  That’s excitin’.”

               “Y’all are weird,” Stan said, shaking his head.  Angie kissed him on the cheek.

               “Yer marryin’ into my weird fam’ly, though.”  

               “Fiddleford, Tate’s up,” Ford said, walking into the living room, holding his son.  

               “Did ya change him?” Fiddleford asked.

               “Yes.”

               “I’ll hold him, then.  He likes gettin’ attention.”

               “No, I’ll hold him!” Angie said immediately.

               “Are you sure?” Ford asked.  Angie nodded.

               “I don’t get to spend enough time with the lil polydactyl.”  Ford handed Tate to her.  “My lord, Tate, yer gettin’ so big already!” Angie cooed at her nephew. She looked at Fiddleford.  “How old is he, again?”

               “He was born November 17, so almost exactly six months,” Fiddleford replied. Angie looked back at Tate.

               “Yer already halfway to bein’ a year old, Tater Tot!  Such a big boy!”  She blew a raspberry on Tate’s stomach.  He giggled.  “Such a happy boy, too!  What an absolute cutie-pie.”

               “Since he started sleeping through the night, he’s definitely started to seem cuter,” Ford said.  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been on Mom to take care of two infants at the same time.”

               “It’s a good thing twins don’t run in the McGucket fam’ly, then,” Lute said, turning another page in the wedding plan binder.  “Otherwise ya might have had to deal with that.”  

               “Are ya goin’ to have more kidlets?” Angie asked her older brother. Fiddleford shook his head.

               “I think just the one child is enough,” Fiddleford said, taking his son from Angie.  “I don’t plan on goin’ through that whole experience again.  It weren’t pleasant.”

               “Adoption is-”

               “Just the one munchkin is enough fer us,” Fiddleford said firmly. “Raisin’ kids is hard work, an’ we’re already busy, what with Tate and our research.”  He smiled at Angie.  “I understand where yer comin’ from.  I know ya enjoy bein’ an auntie, and ya like spoilin’ yer nieces and nephews.  But ya won’t be gettin’ any more from Ford and myself.”  

               “Fair enough,” Angie conceded.  She cocked her head.  “So, ya had to give up doin’ research fer a while.  How’d that go?  Just so’s I know.”  Stan looked up from the wedding plans he had been perusing with Lute.

               “Uh, what?” Stan asked.  Angie looked over at him.

               “I ain’t pregnant now, don’t worry.”

               “I know you’re not, but the fact that you’re askin’ before we’re even married is makin’ me a bit nervous.”

               “It’s just fer future reference,” Angie said with a wave of her hand.

               “Ya might go a bit stir-crazy when it’s yer turn,” Fiddleford told her. “I stayed inside a lot an’ didn’t do much, ‘specially near the end.”  Angie grimaced.

               “Yeesh.  But it’d be worth it.  Fer one thing, Stan’s cuter than Ford.  An’ I know it seems impossible, but that means a kid of ours would be even more adorable than Tate.”

               “Damn straight,” Stan said, turning his attention back to the wedding plans.  “And our kid would have a better name.”

               “Tate is a perfectly fine name,” Ford said defensively.  “Fiddleford and I agreed to forego the McGucket naming convention.”

               “Ya might have mostly foregone it, but ya did name him after Uncle Tate,” Lute said.

               “So?”

               “Do ya know what Tate is short for?”

               “It’s not short for anything.”  

               “Not yer Tate.  Uncle Tate.”

               “Oh, um, no,” Ford confessed.  Angie snickered.  “What? What is it short for?”

               “Isn’t he the one named after food?” Stan asked.  Ford looked at Fiddleford.

               “Fiddleford.  What did we name our son?”

               “We named him a proper name,” Fiddleford said reassuringly.  “His namesake just don’t have that.”

               “What’s Uncle Tate’s real name?” Ford asked.  Fiddleford sighed.

               “His full name is Potato.”

-----

September, 1978 – Gravity Falls

               Summer was beginning to fade, and the town of Gravity Falls was bustling with citizens making the most of the last warm days.  On the drive up, Angie had been bubbling with excitement over getting permission to finish her doctorate by studying some of the amphibians in Gravity Falls.  Her happiness almost masked the dread Stan was feeling.  Something about the lumber town felt odd to him, like bad things would happen there.  But now that he was officially moving boxes into the house they had just rented, the initial unease had gone to the back of Stan’s mind.  

               “Thanks fer helpin’ us move in,” Angie said, handing a box to Lute.

               “It’s no problem.  I’m always ‘round to help my baby sister,” he replied.  He tucked the box under one arm.

               “It’s not like you have anythin’ better to do, anyways,” Stan said, taking another box out of the trailer.  “What exactly do ya do, again?”

               “Mostly just bother my siblin’s,” Lute replied.  Angie opened the passenger door of the truck and took out the terrarium holding Tubbs.  She went inside the house.  Once she was gone, Lute turned to Stan.  “So, when are the two of ya goin’ to pop out a kid?”  

               “Lute, what the fuck.”

               “Hey, it’s a perfectly valid question.”

               “We’ve only been married fer three months.”

               “So?”

               “Isn’t that a bit fast?”

               “Not fer a McGucket,” Lute said.  “Ma didn’t even finish school ‘fore she had the oldest three.”

               “Well, we only just moved here.  Angie wouldn’t wanna stop doin’ her research just after startin’ it.” Stan rubbed his neck nervously. “An’ I’m still lookin’ for a job. ‘Arkansas farmhand’ and ‘San Diego car salesman’ don’t make the greatest resume.  We haven’t even talked ‘bout kids, beyond mentionin’ that they’ll eventually happen.  So, no, Lute, we’re not plannin’ on havin’ kids.  Not yet.”

               “What’s that thing folks say?  ‘God laughs at yer plans’?”  Stan eyed Lute suspiciously.  

               “What are ya gettin’ at, McGucket?” he asked.  Lute sighed and set down the box he was holding.

               “Ma didn’t plan on havin’ the older three.  It’s a well-known fact in the fam’ly that Violynn, Harper, and Basstian were all surprises.”

               “I don’t think I’m likin’ what I’m hearin’.”

               “Pa has seven siblin’s.”

               “Damn.”

               “The McGuckets are a very fertile fam’ly.  An’ unless you ‘n Angie are abstainin’…”  Lute eyed Stan curiously.  

               “Lute.  I’m not gonna talk ‘bout my sex life.  Do ya really want to know if your baby sister’s had-”

               “Fair enough,” Lute said quickly.  He shrugged. “Just somethin’ to keep in mind. Tate weren’t planned, either.”

               “Lute, don’t say things like that,” Angie said, joining them again.  

               “It’s true,” Lute protested.  Angie put her hands on her hips.

               “It don’t matter if it’s true.  It’s rude.  But that reminds me.”  Angie turned to Stan.  “We’re babysittin’ Tate tomorrow.”

               “Again?”

               “His dads have research to do.  I just want to help.”

               “Uh-huh.  Sure,” Stan said.  “It doesn’t have anythin’ to do with how much ya like spendin’ time with babies.”  Angie rolled her eyes and took the box he was holding.

               “They got backed up a bit on their work after he was born,” she called as she walked back inside.  “They need to catch up.”  

               “If ya say so.”  Stan looked at Lute.  “Do ya really think that-”

               “I ain’t a doctor.  I can’t tell ya yer chances fer havin’ a surprise kid.”

               “You literally just told me you thought that’s what’ll happen.”

               “…Point taken.”  Lute handed Stan another box from the trailer.  “If’n it makes ya feel better, I think you’d be a good dad.”

               “Yeah?”

               “Yeah.  Lord knows the Gucklings think yer the best thing since sliced bread.  Yer a natural with kids, even if ya don’t feel like ya are.”

               “I’m pretty sure yer just lyin’ to me to try to get another niece or nephew,” Stan said.  Lute scoffed.

               “I ain’t a liar, no matter how cute I think yer kid would be.”  Angie opened the front door and stuck her head out.

               “Are you fellers goin’ to bring in any more boxes or keep chit-chattin’ at the truck?”

----- 

               “Aren’t you the cutest lil feller I ever done see,” Angie cooed at Tate. She and Stan were at Ford and Fiddleford’s house, babysitting Tate.  So far, he’d been remarkably well-behaved, something Stan claimed was due to his parents being nerds.  Tate giggled and grabbed at Angie’s nose.  She laughed. “Yup.  That’s the fam’ly nose.  And you’ve got it too, Tater Tot.”  She sighed.  

               “What is it?” Stan asked.

               “I want one,” Angie said softly.  She played with Tate’s hands.  

               “Well, it’s not like anybody else is here,” Stan began.  Angie eyed him.

               “What are ya gettin’ at?”

               “If ya decide to take him, I won’t tell.  Ya can head for the border with Tate and I’ll meet up with ya.”

               “Mexico?”

               “No.  Canada.”

               “I did learn French at West Coast Tech,” Angie said.  Her eyes gleamed.  She stood up.

               “Whoa, whoa,” Stan said.  “I was kidding.”

               “Oh.”  Angie sat down again.  “Uh, so was I.”  

               “No ya weren’t!”

               “Hey, you don’t know me.”

               “Yeah, I do,” Stan said firmly.  Angie sighed.

               “Yer right.”  She kissed Tate on the forehead.  “This lil feller’s just so goldarn cute.  It ain’t right that Ford got a baby ‘fore I did.”

               “…Why?” Stan asked.  Angie shrugged.

               “‘Cause it’s Ford?”

               “Fair enough.”  Stan leaned over to look at his nephew.  Tate grabbed one of Stan’s fingers and began to chew on it excitedly.  Stan softened.  “You want a baby, huh?”

               “Yeah…” Angie said softly.  

               “But ya understand now ain’t the best time fer that.  We’re still settlin’ here in Gravity Falls, and ya just started your research, so we should probably wait a bit.”  Angie cracked a half-smile.

               “Does that mean ya want to be a dad?”  

               “…Maybe.”

               “Glad we’re on the same page.  I want a lil one, too, but we should prob’ly hold off a bit.  How long do ya want to wait?”

               “How ‘bout no kids ‘til after our first anniversary?  That way we can go as wild as we want next June,” Stan suggested.  Angie chuckled.  “Think you can wait that long?”

               “Yeah.” She kissed him on the cheek.  “Look at ya, bein’ responsible.”

               “Well, that an’, I dunno, havin’ a kid right away doesn’t seem like a good idea. I’m pretty sure it’s ruined marriages.” Angie’s eyes softened.

               “Stanley, it’d take more than a baby to make me leave ya.”

               “What would it take?” Stan asked.

               “Why do ya want to know?”

               “I wanna avoid doin’ it.”

               “I can’t think of anythin’,” Angie said, bouncing Tate on one of her knees.

               “…Really?”

               “Darlin’, I can’t think of a single thing that would make me so angry with ya that I’d leave.”

               “Nothin’?”

               “Absolutely nothin’.”

----- 

December 23, 1978 – Gumption

               Normally, at the holidays, the McGucket house was even more warm and welcoming than usual.  But Stan couldn’t help the nervousness he was feeling.  Sitting next to him at the dining table, Angie grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

               “Darlin’, it’s fine,” she whispered in his ear.  “You’ll make it through this.”

               “Why do ya want to wait ‘til January, to tell ‘em, again?” he whispered back.

               “Ya know why.”

               “Are the two lovebirds whisperin’ sweet nothin’s to each other?” Lute asked teasingly.  

               “What’s it to you?” Stan asked.  Lute reached out to take Angie’s glass.

               “Ya want some wine, lil sis?”  Angie hurriedly grabbed it from him.

               “No, Lute.  Thanks, though.”  Lute frowned at her.

               “What happened to the Angie I know an’ love?  It ain’t like you’ll get drunk.  McGuckets got fortitude.”

               “I know how our fam’ly works, ya goon,” Angie said.  She shrugged.  “I just ain’t in the mood fer alcohol right now.”

               “Is that so?” Ma McGucket asked.  There was an odd look on her face.  “Is there any reason fer that?”

               “N-no,” Angie stammered.  She swallowed, suddenly turning a slight shade of green.  She stood up abruptly.  “I’ll be back in a mo’.”  She rushed off.

               “She’s been usin’ the facilities an awful lot,” Lute said, taking his seat on the other side of Stan.  “Is she sick or somethin’?”

               “No.  At least, if she is, she didn’t tell me,” Stan said.  He looked at Ma McGucket again.  She smiled knowingly at him.

               Stan turned beet red.