#and ford’s just like ‘yeah.. but I think he’s in need of guidance. of the paternal sort.’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harryandmolly · 5 years ago

Text

Complicit // 14 // Final

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, love, love languages

WC: 8k

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He really, really should’ve had a plan.

But, in all fairness, Shawn’s never done the whole “jump on a 12 hour flight on a whim to chase after the love of his life” thing before, so how could he have been expected to make such a plan?

But still, he thinks, standing against a wall under a baseball cap outside Naples International Airport, he could’ve done some more thinking before all this. Or at least could’ve made a pseudo-plan on the plane.

The most Silver could give him in terms of guidance was the address of the house and that Naples is the closest airport. She’s never been to the “Vineyard” before. When Shawn asked if the “Vineyard” was a nickname or if it meant the house is on an actual vineyard, she didn’t know that either. Not extremely helpful, but he’ll figure it out. He has to.

From what he gathers on Google Maps, sucking up international roaming data charges like nobody’s business, Ravello is about an hour and a half southeast of Naples. Not ideal. But the Amalfi Coast is a pretty big attraction, so he figures there’s probably a train. He just has to find a train station.

On the way out the door with his backpack, the only luggage he bothered to pack, he Googles a train route.

Walk half an hour to the Calata di… something something and take the N5 to… somewhere and walk 3 minutes to somewhere else to catch a bus to somewhere…

.... no fucking way.

He bites into his lip and squints around. Should he rent a car? He winces. Driving in Italy sounds terrifying. What if he gets into a crash? Who is he supposed to call?

No. He needs to hire a car to take him to Ravello. That’s the plan.

More Googling. More squinting. He’s vaguely grateful that he’s been able to stay under the radar so far. He’s not sure he could handle this and dozens of screaming Italian girls begging for selfies without snapping.

He ducks behind a large leafy fig tree when he sees what looks like a group of middle school-aged girls on a field trip scramble past, squealing and laughing. Close call.

He leans against a column and sighs. Silver also gave him Mia’s personal cell number. He could just call her and tell her he’s here and hope she wants to see him and come pick him up.

Shawn sighs heavily, pouting. He’s not going to do that. This is his only shot at being a romantic hero, like, ever. He’s not going to pansy out and call her for a ride. He’s going to show the fuck up because that’s what Mia deserves.

Whether she wants to see him is another matter and he’d rather not worry about that until about halfway up her driveway.

He sets off toward the transportation center at a quick stride, curls fluttering between the brim of his cap and his forehead. He swerves suddenly to avoid another throng of young women that look ready for a beach vacation.

He parks in front of a driving service and a tall, unnaturally beautiful blonde man who doesn’t look up at him.

“Uh, ciao?” Shawn tries.

He glances up. Shawn holds his breath for the pop star response. It doesn’t come. He exhales.

“Do you speak English?” Shawn asks, wincing at how ignorant he sounds. The man nods boredly.

“Cool. Uh. Ok. I need to go to Ravello.”

“Si, Ravello. There is a train,” the man drawls, the slowest talking Italian Shawn’s ever met.

Shawn nods, uncertain. “Yeah. Right, yeah. But… can I get a car to drive me?”

The man even blinks slowly. “There is also a bus.”

Does this guy just not want business? Shawn sighs.

“Do you not take people to Ravello?” he tries, looking to bridge whatever gap this is as quickly as possible.

Finally, the man seems to give in. “Ravello is a long drive. 125 euro. We take--”

Shawn slaps his Visa down so fast the man stops abruptly and stares at him. He sees a tinge of crazy in Shawn’s travel-weary eyes. He fights the urge to roll his own and books the trip.

Shawn had hoped he’d start to relax in the car since at least then he’d know he was heading somewhere. There was no relaxing to be done.

His driver Giorgio seems to have gotten his start in Formula One. Shawn figures he should be grateful, given that the speed they’re driving at will probably cut the travel time in half. But he can’t help but wonder about the headlines if he dies in a fiery crash against the side of an Italian coastal mountain.

Pop Superstar Shawn Mendes Dies In Search Of Love, Giorgio to Blame

Shawn Mendes Perishes At The Height Of His Career, Unrecognizably Mangled

Shawn Mendes Is An Idiot, Fatally

He’s so sure there’s no way they’ll make it between the two trucks Giorgio decides to squeeze them through, but they do. Shawn slams his eyes shut and focuses on the Cez-approved meditation breathing exercises that, by the way, do not save you from your crazy Italian driver who almost plows into the back of a Peugeot going god knows how fast on the E45.

But at least he points out Mount Vesuvius. And doesn’t crash them into it.

They lose sight of the ocean for a while, which makes Shawn panic. The guy isn’t using a GPS, claims he knows every corner of every town on the Amalfi Coast. That sounded a lot better to Shawn before he got in the car, before they were winding through something called the “Riserva Statale Valle delle Ferriere,” which seems as good a place as any to ditch a body.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

It’s a chant in his head until, by some miracle, he catches sight of the water again and it’s exactly like every Instagram travel post he’s ever seen of the Amalfi Coast. He thanks whatever god there is, and thanks Giorgio, too, who grunts.

Ravello, Shawn’s not surprised to report, is fucking beautiful. Cliffs appear out of nowhere and spill off down bleached white coastline to crystalline turquoise water. It’s a goddamn postcard. The town, from what he can see of it from above, is a scattered board of colorful post-its clinging to the side of a mountain. His hungry brain tells him he can smell fresh pasta and seafood, but he knows it’s just an illusion of a man who ate half an airplane meal and a couple stale biscotti several hours ago.

Rather than descend toward the coast, Giorgio winds him around the hills past farms of lemon trees. The sun hangs low. Shawn thanks his lucky stars that he’s not having to deal with locating this place in the dark.

Giorgio stops at the base of a dirt road sporting a sign with Mia’s address. Shawn practically flings himself out of the car, almost forgetting his backpack. He shoves his Tom Ford sunglasses on against the harsh snap of the late afternoon sun. He looks around. Along the dirt path, hardly even a road, are rows upon rows of grape vines. It seems the house name is literal after all. He’ll be sure to tell Silver if he makes it out of this alive.

He starts walking.

It’s a trudge, really, up a reasonably steep hill. He slips once or twice and puts a knee into the dust, kicking up a froth of it around him that clings to his sweaty skin and white t-shirt. By the time he finds Mia, he’s going to look like he swam and crawled all the way to her.

Good.

He crests the hill to find… more hills. There are a series of large buildings that don’t look anything like homes, more like warehouses or farmhouses. Given that it’s not yet harvest season, only a few hands are out tending the vines. He descends towards them, probably looking as ridiculous as he ever has in his life.

They seem to want to ignore him. It’s a habit of Italian men, maybe. He has to wave and walk straight up to the closest figure, an older, shorter man with only a few teeth to speak of.

“Ciao. Uh… Mia Bianchi?”

Shawn hopes if she’s the lady of the house, they’ll know to take him to her. The man stares back blankly.

“Uh… dove… Mia Bianchi?” he tries again. The man looks over his shoulder at his coworkers, who’ve stopped to stare at the tall, sunburnt Canadian idiot. Shawn sighs.

He doesn’t even have a picture to show them. She’s the love of his stupid life and he doesn’t even have a picture of her.

Except that he does. He has a lot of them. Black and white and sparkling. And completely inappropriate to be sharing with a bunch of strange farmhands. He grunts and reaches for his phone anyway, nearly dead, just like his chances of making this stupid romantic gesture work.

Shawn zooms in carefully to just her face and shows it to the smaller man. He squints and attempts to touch the screen, but Shawn nearly slaps his hand away.

“Dove Mia Bianchi?” he almost whines.

One of the younger hands strides up and glances at the picture. He exchanges a few words with the others and looks Shawn over. He sighs and nods at a golf cart a few yards away, then walks towards it.

Shawn blinks, then follows.

If nothing else, it’s a faster way to get over the hills. Plus, if he’s on the vineyard, she can’t be far, right?

“Mia?” Shawn asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

The guy shrugs. It’s not very comforting. But Shawn’s out of options, so he gets in the cart.

The hills just keep going. After about ten minutes of cruising along and over them with nothing but vines in sight, he’s suddenly incredibly grateful for the ride. He glances over at his driver, seemingly much more sane than Giorgio.

“Shawn,” Shawn says, pointing to himself with a flat smile and a little wave.

The man nods. “Maurizio.”

“Grazie, Maurizio,” Shawn grunts, sitting back as they ascend another, steeper hill. He worries for a moment about the possibilities of this golf cart skidding back down from whence it came. It becomes unimportant when they reach the peak and he sees a house.

Well, it’s not just a house. It’s practically a palace. From behind it, he can see the way it sprawls over tens of thousands of square feet. There’s a pool, he thinks, and a few different gardens, and it looks like a grove of trees, maybe olive or citrus, he’s not sure. At some point, the path turns from dirt to pebbles and the ride gets louder. It almost drowns out Shawn’s heartbeat in his ears.

Maurizio slows under the shade of two old stone pine trees and turns up a narrow path lined by lush, well-tended gardens replete with color. He takes the curve around the fountain in the center of the path slow enough for Shawn to notice the detailing. The basin of the fountain is held up by a sculpture of a renaissance-style naked woman. Curled against her, with his arm around her hips, is a man helping her hold it up. His face is tucked tenderly into her neck.

The cart stops. Maurizio clears his throat. Shawn stands and steps off.

“Uh, grazie!” he calls as Maurizio starts to gun it back down the path. Maurizio looks back at him and laughs in a way Shawn doesn’t need translated.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Shawn sighs for the millionth time that afternoon. He knows.

It’s golden hour on the coast. Behind the red tiled roof, the sun spills marigold light everywhere it touches, including the belltower on the chapel beside the main house. Green shudders flap gently in the evening breeze. The front door is wide open. The smell of fresh bread has Shawn’s mouth filling with saliva. He starts to head toward the door when he hears something.

Off to the left, down a grassy footpath, he follows it. It’s as familiar to him now as her perfume, as the feeling of her hair in his fingers, as the smile she gives him when he’s very good for her.

He’d know Ol’ Blue Eyes anywhere now.

It’s one of his Italian tracks, playing off a turntable parked in another open door on the side of the house. He drops his bag beside it, smiling when he hears pruning shears and quiet steps. The record sleeve reads “Come Back to Sorrento.”

He takes a deep breath and follows the sound of the shuffling steps. Sinatra’s voice fades as Shawn nears a small grove of olive trees. The grass below his feet is dappled with shade and the streaming sunset light. A breeze rustles a wave of red fabric out behind the trunk of a tree toward the back of the grove.

Shawn holds his breath, watching a long bronzed leg follow it, stepping backward, then another. She’s on her tiptoes, barefoot in a deeply red mid-length sundress, the cap sleeves fluttering around her arms that follow her focused eyes to the branches above her head. She hasn’t spotted him yet. He could still run. He doesn’t have to stand here until she throws her pruning shears at his head for showing up at her family home unannounced in fucking Italy.

Mia turns her head to check on another branch and he lands in her periphery. Her lips part. Her eyes blow wide like saucers. The shears fall by her feet. She lowers off her toes to face him. The wrap dress hugs her everywhere he’d like to.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, lifting a hand into her hair just as another breeze picks up around them, lifting her dress around her knees to wave at him.

“So… uh… ciao,” Shawn nearly chokes.

Mia just stares for a minute. It feels like forever since she’s seen him, even if it’s only been a couple weeks.

He’s fucking glorious even covered in dirt. His hair is a little matted and sweaty, like he was wearing a hat. His white shirt clings to him. His black jeans have patches of dirt on the knees that give her flashbacks to the day she took him to Malibu in her Aston Martin. She shivers.

“What-- I mean, how… I don’t…”

“Silver told me you quit,” he blurts.

Mia’s eyes seem to swell again, then shut as she groans. “She gave you the address.”

“Yeah. I think… I think maybe she wanted you to want to see me.”

Mia chews on the inside of her lip. Another breeze tickles through the olive branches, surrounding them with a light earthy scent. Shawn shifts anxiously on his feet.

“So you just… showed up,” Mia murmurs. It’s a statement of fact, expressionless. She doesn’t sound annoyed or surprised or, to Shawn’s slight disappointment, pleased. But he knew better than to expect that. Or he thinks he should have.

Shawn shrugs. “I think after everything you’ve done for me, you deserve the effort.”

Mia’s lips tuck in slightly at the corners. She nods down at her feet. “Effort, huh?”

Shawn fights the urge to reach for her, even though it feels right. He wants to do this delicately.

Patience. That’s what Silver told him. If there’s anyone besides Mia he should be listening to right now, it’s Silver.

“I came because I want to talk to you. About everything.” His voice sounds impressively calm to his own ears, even as he feels his hands shake.

Mia looks up and immediately past him into the kitchen. She cards a fluttering strand of hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

“I have extra towels. You can clean up in the guest bath.”

She swerves around him and into the house. He stands there in the grove for a moment or two, blinking after her.

He’s not knocked out, he’s just… regrouping. That’s what Shawn decides in the shower as he scrubs the salty sweat from his hair and watches reddish dust swirl down the drain.

He was struck dumb when she led him up the stairs to one of what looks like many guest rooms. She got him a fluffy towel and showed him how to work the faucet because it’s a bit tricky. She turned and left without another word.

Shawn didn’t have a speech prepared or anything, he didn’t write a sonnet on the long trudge up to the house, but he didn’t expect her to shut down as soon as he started getting into it, whatever it was going to be. That took the wind out of his sails.

He’s not giving up. Not yet. If after a real conversation she says she does not love him and wants him out of her house, he’ll go. He’ll hold his head high and leave, knowing he put his heart on the line. And he’ll be ok.

Shawn’s breath shakes. He blinks quickly under the spew of warm water above his head. He plants a hand against the wall for stability. It’s the first time he’s let himself think about it, really consider the idea. What if he really actually made all this up in his head? What if she’s really as good as what he pays for and feels nothing for him beyond a professional sort of fondness? Or perhaps worse, what if she’s had feelings, but they’re not enough?

He closes his eyes and slowly scrubs his face with his pruny hands. He’s conspicuously been in the shower a long time. He bets she doesn’t mind -- gives her time to strategize.

Shawn lifts his head and turns off the faucet. He doesn’t want her strategies or her carefully delivered lines. He wants her.

He wants Mia as much as he wants Penny.

For once, Mia does something that would make the former owner of this home, her great grandmother, very proud. She sets aside her panic, confusion, irritation and angst and prepares for a guest.

She sets the table. She decants a bottle of Castello di Ama chianti. She hauls the record player back inside and switches over to Dean Martin’s Italian Love Songs and decides not to overthink the choice. She sets to work on a quick spaghetti alla vongole with the clams she bought at the market this morning. Her homemade loaf of ciabatta rests warm in a checkered cloth on the table.

Anything to distract herself.

But then she almost lops off a finger slicing the bread. She nicks the pad of her thumb and gasps, instinctively squeezing her fingers around the wound to staunch the bleeding.

“Hold on, I’ll get a napkin.”

She turns from the counter to see Shawn in a t-shirt and sweats at the bottom of the stairs, his hair shining wet against his neck. He swipes a paper napkin off a credenza and meets her at the counter. She watches him as he checks the cut, dabs it with the paper, wraps his hand around it to apply pressure and holds it over her head.

He looks down at her. “Does it hurt?”

“No, not really,” she murmurs, sounding sheepish.

He’s closer now to her than he was before. Holding her arm over her head seems an oddly intimate gesture between two people who’ve seen and done a lot more. It’s heightened by the way he caresses her palm with his fingers. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“God, I missed you so much,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

Mia aches with the returning words and lets them rattle through her bones. She’s not going to say them back.

“I really don’t know what you were thinking coming here. Did you cancel work stuff? What about the album? And the tour?”

Shawn seems unfazed. “I’m on a break before we start working on tour promo. I actually went to your house. Got worried when I didn’t see Pammy’s leash outside.”

Mia’s eyes flash with affection. “She’s… staying with Gus for a while.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I bet you miss her.”

Mia’s eyes drop. Her other hand, gripping the counter behind her to keep from grabbing at him, squeezes tighter.

“Of course. All the time.”

After another few seconds of Shawn’s intense staring and Mia’s equally intense avoidance, he lowers her hand. The small cut has stopped bleeding. He cups her palm, kissing it gently. Mia turns away.

Shawn’s head drops. He sighs.

“So. You quit.”

Mia continues slicing bread. “Yes.”

“I’m surprised. I know how happy it made you.”

Mia’s stomach swoops. The ease with which he talks about her profession still strikes her sometimes when she least expects it. He talks about it like it’s any other job, like he never for a second thought to judge her for it.

“It got too complicated. I have other things I wanted to focus on.”

She takes the freshly sliced bread to the table. He follows with the bowls of salad and pasta.

“Like what?” he chirps.

Mia grunts, irritated. “A project. It’s a charitable thing.”

He seems to decide not to push for the moment. She tucks into her bowl of pasta, eager for something to shut him up.

He hums, bobbing his head as he slurps up a bite. “This is fucking great. I didn’t know you can cook.”

She shrugs. “I’m an Italian woman, Shawn. If I can’t cook, I shame my ancestors.”

He smiles as he swallows and reaches for his wine. He looks oddly relaxed, comfortable in her favorite surroundings. It strikes her as odd, suddenly, that he’s here. She’s never brought any non-family member here before. Not even Silver. Definitely not a client.

But Shawn brought himself. He flew 12 hours and, Mia knowing the journey well, probably took trains, buses, ferries and god knows what else to arrive on her doorstep.

She has yet to truly reckon with it. She sips at her own glass and watches him look around.

“This house is incredible. It’s a family place?” he asks.

Mia swallows and nods carefully. “For a long time. My great grandmother was the last one who lived here full time. We sold the vineyard in the 90s. The rest of the estate is still ours.”

Shawn looks around at the vaulted ceilings and the rustic stucco walls and stone floors. A glass door looks out onto a vast back patio strung with twinkle lights that overlooks the acres of vineyard land that used to belong to her family. The farmhands have packed it in for the evening. There’s no one in sight all the way to the horizon, where the sun has burst into flames of pink and gold. Shawn hasn’t felt this far away in a long time.

When he looks back, Mia doesn’t bother to look away. She knows the games are over. Glancing away from his pretty face so he doesn’t catch her staring won’t work anymore. He’s not here for a game. She swallows and feels her heart in her throat.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” Shawn murmurs. He sits forward across the smooth oak table. The sunset light catches him through the window. It makes his intense gaze even more entrancing. Mia’s fingers twitch around her wineglass.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t think I’m ready to hear whatever it is you’re about to say.”

She watches something flicker in his eyes uncertainly. He wets his lips and seems determined to soldier on.

“Mia, I know this wasn’t the plan. For either of us. It was never supposed to become… this. But I think it’s been something real since at least Vegas. Maybe before. And I think it’s as real to me as it is to you.”

Mia’s heart sprints. She knew what he was going to say. She’s known since he showed up in her little olive grove. She’s not sure why being so close to hearing the words has her pulsating in her own skin. She shifts in her seat.

“Shawn, please…” she begins, shaking her head, “I don’t want to put you through this. I know you’re already here and… god, I still can’t believe you’re here. But I don’t want to make you say it.”

“Why?” he presses, “Why can’t I say it?”

Mia closes her big brown eyes. He misses them immediately.

“Because it’s not going to make a difference. It can’t.”

She opens her eyes when she hears his wooden chair creak. He’s sitting back, his jaw tight, his eyes still on hers. He swirls the wine in his glass absently.

“Tell me I’m crazy. Not for coming out here, not for wanting this with you, tell me I’m crazy and I imagined all of it. Tell me it was all for show, all for money. Tell me Rio wasn’t real, or your house, or my house. Fuck, tell me Vegas wasn’t real. Mia, tell me you don’t love me. Please. If it’s true, please tell me.”

It’s silent. They’re far enough up the mountain from the town of Ravello that there’s no sound but the breeze in the trees and Mia’s heartbeat in her ears. She feels her face going scarlet with every word. Her hand shakes in her lap where he can’t see it.

She sits up tall, channeling Silver, and thumbs at the base of her glass.

“Like I said, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“How could it not?” Shawn hisses. He sits forward again, his gaze imploring, “Mia, it’s the only thing that matters.”

Mia scoffs. It’s patronizing and ugly. Shawn flinches.

“We both know better than that. We’re not teenagers, Shawn. Actually, even if we were, we’d be in the same position. You’ve been very famous for a very long time. I was never an option for you the same way you’ve never been an option for me,” Mia explains, her voice quivering under her false calm.

“Jesus Christ, Mia, you’re not an option,” Shawn spits. His eyes seem to darken, or maybe it’s a trick of the fading sun, “You’re the one. You’re the fucking one.”

Mia’s eyes drift shut as they well up. She lifts her hands into her silky hair and releases a rocky sigh.

“You’re not thinking. You have to think, Shawn, not just feel. This is your whole life we’re talking about. You know I can’t just fit into it. I would be catastrophic for you. Anyone could tell you that. Andrew would be first in line, I bet.”

Shawn stands. He walks to the door and stares at the rolling hills strung with vines like Christmas lights, neat strands growing darker with the night. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“If I let Andrew tell me who I can and can’t be with, my life isn’t mine. I’ve experienced something close enough to that this summer. I know I agreed to it, I know I was complicit in the whole thing, but I’m not interested in that anymore. If that’s where I really am in my life and my career, none of this is worth it. And that’s not even about you, Mia, that’s about me. I won’t put up with that. I’d sooner fucking quit and never play a show again if it meant I couldn’t be with someone I love because of however it looks to some people.”

Mia’s chest shudders. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. I can’t live with that, please.”

He whirls on his heel and stares at her, eyes hot. “Don’t say what? That I’d give it up for you if I had to? Fuck, Mia, of course I would. What kind of fucking human being would I be if I picked being famous over the person that I love?”

“Stop, please,” Mia begs, shaking her head, pressing her face into her hands.

She hears him shuffle over the stone to her. His fingers are gentle as they pry her hands off her face. He cups her wrists, massaging them slowly.

“Hey,” he whispers, the aggression in his voice gone as quickly as it came, “It doesn’t matter. That’s not our reality, it doesn’t have to be. I don’t have to make that choice, so neither do you.”

Mia’s lower lip quivers. “Shawn, I don’t think you realize what would really happen if you stood up in front of the whole world and told them you love a whore.”

Shawn releases her hands. The corners of his lips turn down. His eyes are hard and somehow cracked.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say that. I know you don’t even believe that. You’ve never thought of yourself like that, I know you haven’t. You know you’re so much more than that.” His voice grows louder as he continues until he’s shouting.

Her brow furrows. “You don’t know! You don’t know anything! The things I’ve done, the things I’ve said, the things I’ve had done to me. Shawn, if you had an inkling of the depraved… fuck. If you had any idea at all, you wouldn’t be saying this. You probably wouldn’t come near me ever again.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” he barks back, his eyebrows lifting, “Really? Fine. I’ll call that bluff. I’ll sit here with you all night if you want. Tell me everything. Every filthy detail. Sorry, Mia, it’s not that fucking easy. I won’t love you any less.”

“You can say that now! You don’t know, Shawn! You don’t even know me. What do you know? You know my dog, you know my music taste, sure, you know my name. What if everything Penny did was a lie? What if you love a ghost?”

Shawn goes cold. He stiffens all over. She watches it from his eyes down. She freezes in place.

“Don’t try to tell me I love something that isn’t real,” he breathes. There isn’t even a hint of uncertainty in his face or voice. Mia looks down at her feet.

Shawn steps forward again. Slowly, gently, he cups his hands around her neck, his thumbs working softly into her jaw.

“We can talk about image and PR and logistics. We can talk about Andrew and the headlines and the future. But don’t insult me, honey. I know what’s in front of me. I know what I love. I love you. I love you, I love you. We can talk about the rest, but we can’t talk about that. That’s real and it’s not up for discussion.”

Mia’s eyes close, pressing the building tears down her cheeks. Her head lowers in defeat. Shawn’s hands skim down her shoulders to her upper arms. He plants his lips on top of her head and breathes. Two deep inhales, two deep exhales. Then he steps away and heads back up the stairs.

Neither of them sleeps that night. He’s in the guest room down the hall from her master suite. At around 3am, she gives up altogether and sits out on her balcony under the crescent moon wrapped in a chenille blanket. She’s convinced that inside she can hear him breathe.

Meanwhile he sits at the end of his bed, sheets half torn off from his tossing and turning, begging for words. He’s never had to beg before. His artistic, lyrical brain has handed them to him his whole life. Those aren’t the words he needs now. He needs the ones that will convince her.

When she wakes up, he’s downstairs in a t-shirt and boxers. His hair is sticking up everywhere. He’s staring hopelessly at her espresso machine. She knows he hears her come down the stairs, but he doesn’t turn around.

Silently, Mia arrives by his side. She presses a few buttons until the machine starts to whir. She reaches up to the cabinet above her and pulls down two tiny espresso cups. When she hands him one, their fingers touch. They both nearly jolt apart.

She spends the morning outside. She gets her white sundress filthy picking citrus off the trees. She hauls baskets and baskets full up to the porch. Each time she brings one up, it disappears and ends up on the counter, but she never sees Shawn move them.

At lunch, he smells more seafood. She glistens with sweat over a deep dutch oven full of hot oil, frying calamari. He slices lemons and opens the bottle of white she has on the counter, pouring them glasses. They eat silently, picking at their salads, letting Rosemary Clooney’s voice do their talking. When he finishes, Shawn looks at Mia. Mia looks up at Shawn. He takes her hand and guides it to his lips, a silent thank you. She lets him touch her for five seconds before she pulls away and heads back out to the lavender garden. When she comes back for dinner, the kitchen is clean and the fruit is stored in the butler’s pantry.

She roasts a chicken with rosemary and thyme, along with some potatoes and carrots and lets him rest his hand on her knee while they finish a bottle of wine.

“I found a guitar upstairs,” he confesses, chewing his wine-stained lower lip.

She glances over at him. “My grandfather’s. It’s old and shitty but yours to use if you want it.”

He nods appreciatively, rubbing his thumb into her warm skin. She aches to rest her fingers on his pulse, just to prove he’s really there.

That night, they clean up together. He walks her to her room and kisses her cheek. She doesn’t hear his footsteps walk away from her door for a long minute after she closes it.

His gentle plucking of the guitar from down the hall puts her to sleep.

She’s gone when Shawn wakes up. He lets himself panic for only a minute or two. All her stuff is still here, and this is her house, after all. She returns around lunch in an old pickup truck with bags from the market. Eggs, cream, cocoa, fresh mascarpone. She announces she’s making tiramisu for after their branzino dinner. She smiles a little, tentatively, and it nearly makes him fall at her feet.

Neither of them seems interested in disappearing today the way they did the day before. They hover near each other, rotating positions, swirling like opposing magnets. Shawn keeps the guitar close. Once he gets it in tune, it doesn’t sound too bad. He works on a melody. He thinks it must be good because she’s humming along in the kitchen while she prepares a batch of limoncello and rosemary gelato.

(He doesn’t know what army she’s cooking for, but he just hopes he gets to be a part of it.)

He finishes the song that afternoon, pacing around the lavender garden with a sprig of it tucked behind his ear. When he’s satisfied and turns to head inside around sunset, he clocks her on a balcony above looking very settled, like she’s been there a while. She’s far enough up that she didn’t hear it, so she must’ve just been watching him.

They eat in silence -- branzino with lemon, citrus salad, arugula with balsamic, then tiramisu for dessert. They nearly finish two bottles of wine, like they’re both preparing to get mouthy. Shawn goes first.

“I think I knew when I bought the necklace. Like, I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. I knew what it would mean to you to have that. I wanted so badly to give you something as meaningful as what you’ve given me.”

Mia stiffens at the sudden conversation after a long drought. She recovers quickly, thanks to the wine.

“What I gave you was sex, Shawn. A lot of it. Really good sex that required you to make no decisions, gave you no responsibility. I took care of you in a way you’ve never been taken care of before.”

His eyes flash and Mia regrets her words immediately.

“If you really think I don’t know the difference between sex and love by now, you must think I’m a fucking moron.”

Mia’s chest deflates as she sighs. “I don’t think you’re a moron.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re treating me like one,” he jabs, draining his wine. She misses his heavy, warm hand on her knee when he stands and starts pacing back and forth in front of the table.

Mia stares at him, tensed with every word she won’t let herself say, every feeling she’s been beating back for months. Her spine aches. Her brain swims. Her mouth is dry.

Shawn stops suddenly so that his boot skids a little on the stone floor. Mia blinks quickly.

He stands in front of her, staring. Slowly, without moving his eyes from hers, he lowers to his knees, turning her in her seat to face him. Having his hands on her again makes her want to scream. She waits, holding her breath.

“I just need you to say it. Please. I know you don’t think it’s enough, so it can’t hurt, right? Because there’s a part of me, the piece I hate, the piece I’ve always hated and that’s always hated me that still wants to convince me it’s not true. So please, please, just once, just say it. Say it if it’s true.”

Mia’s knuckles are white as she grips her chair. They feel oddly detached and wiry when she pries them up, flexes them, and sieves them into his hair. His eyes shut. He lowers his head to rest in her lap. She takes a deep breath.

“I love you, Shawn Mendes.”

Mia’s on the counter in an oversized t-shirt, swinging her feet, eating limoncello and rosemary gelato out of the freezer bowl. Shawn stops at the bottom of the stairs and smiles at her. His love for her gets so big it feels ready to explode out of his ears.

He shuffles up to lean beside her at the counter with the extra spoon she offers. They eat quietly, smacking their lips.

“So what’s the charity project?”

He catches her off guard while she puts away the rest of the ice cream. She stands upright, a little too straight, then catches herself and forces herself to relax.

“Uhm… it’s an idea I had a long time ago. A non-profit sort of thing for La Splendeur. A way to look out for the girls that are working jobs like mine but on the street. It’s always seemed so arbitrary to me, you know? The women that wind up as courtesans making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year flying all around the world doing the same thing that women standing on street corners do, constantly putting their lives in danger. Sex work is so odd that way.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. “How can you help them?”

He watches her brighten a little, scooping hair behind her ears as she explains.

“Resources make all the difference. Women like that end up there because they don’t have resources. We can provide shelter, safety, rehabilitation if necessary. We can start a scholarship fund. We can offer career counseling and interview practice and resume building. Or we can help them organize and stay safe so they don’t end up with pimps. They just need help, and money can provide a lot of that.”

He bobs his head, clearly interested. “So where does the money come from?”

“Philanthropists and investments. Between Silver and I, our network is pretty vast. A lot of the donors will likely prefer to remain anonymous because of the nature of it, but we only need a couple powerful people that would speak up and draw attention. If they say it’s ok to care, it’s ok to care. Julia Granger and Christian Becker could be those people.”

Shawn cracks a smile. “So where are you in all this?”

Mia smiles back, infected by the pride written all over his face. “Silver and I are finalizing the paperwork for the creation of the non-profit. We’ll start approaching investors formally when I get home.”

Shawn ducks his head, turning his enormous, goofy smile down at his feet. “That’s incredible, Mia.”

His voice is gentle, touched. She tingles all over. She wants to run into his arms just to feel them around her again. She locks her own around her chest instead.

“Th-thank you. It’s been a long time coming.”

They lock eyes again. The air sizzles.

Mia smiles sadly. The silence is pregnant with potential headlines written about the Canadian golden boy loving the whore who wants to help the whores. Shawn scrabbles for words to fight them off but comes up choked and huffing breath.

He watches her disappear outside, heading for the vineyard.

The bottoms of Mia’s feet are nearly black. She takes a sick sort of pleasure in it. It makes her feel like a kid again, she guesses. Reminds her of chasing Peter around the gazebo, skinning knees, playing “scuba divers” in the pool while their family ate and drank and sang, happier in Ravello than they ever were in New Jersey.

She sits on the swing beneath the pergola, listening to him sing now. The house is so much quieter than it used to be, but no less filled with love. It’s a different kind of love. And despite their desperation to beat it away, it gets stronger every second. Shawn is the strong one, the brave one, she thinks, letting it into his heart before she could.

Because it’s not like he’s not scared. She knows he is. She can hear it in his voice and see it in the way he holds himself around her. He can’t know what would happen if they made it real -- could they last? Could they manage to see past all the bullshit the papers would surely print and hold on? If they did, would their love be worth anything after all the bulletholes and sharp words?

She hugs her knees to her chest and closes her eyes, leaning into his melody. She has the song memorized now. He keeps playing it the same way like he’s planning on changing something but never does. She already knows it’s perfect.

It’s a love song about tortured yearning, a hidden love, a love that’s bursting, searching for the sunlight. Mia thinks it’s his best ever. She considers herself biased.

After the sun sets, she heads inside. He’s not really playing anymore, just kind of plucking away. She needs to think about getting dinner ready. He’s sweet, offering to cook, since she does so much of it, but she really loves cooking Italian food with Italian ingredients in Italy and won’t think of wasting an opportunity. Plus, she still loves taking care of him.

The stairs to the wine cellar are cool, worn stone. The cellar is built into the foundation of the house, which was once part of a fortress that stood on their property in the 11th century. Now lined with shelves of hundreds of bottles of every variety of Italian wine, it’s one of Mia’s favorite spots.

His footsteps are quiet, too. He’s adopted her barefoot lifestyle. He stops at the bottom of the stairs.

Facing the wall of dolcettos from the 80s, Mia twirls a finger around a protruding bottle, covered in dust, with a foil cap.

“I used to hide down here when Peter and I played hide and seek. For some reason he never thought to look down here. I always thought it was so obvious.”

Shawn steps closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders slightly hunched.

“Maybe he wanted to let you win.”

Mia smirks, looking over her shoulder at him. “Maybe.”

She turns, her arms crossed behind her back, leaning against a shelf. He fixes his eyes on hers, biting the inside of his lip.

“I’m not… I mean, I’m not saying it would be easy,” Shawn murmurs, rubbing at the back of his sunburnt neck, “I know better than anyone how it all works. I don’t want you to think I’m just ready to throw us both to the wolves. I wouldn’t do that to you or to us. I just want to talk about it, for real. I… I know we’re worth it, honey.”

Mia’s chest inflates. She tilts her eyes up at the low ceiling. Her tears start hot and fast.

“I could be the thing that ruins everything you worked so hard for. I don’t want that for either of us. I’m not sorry about who I am or what I’ve done, despite what I’ve said. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be ripped apart publicly for it. That kind of attention puts more pressure on a relationship than either of us is really prepared for. You have to know that.”

Shawn nods slowly. “I do. I know. I don’t want that for you or for me. But I don’t think that’s the only outcome possible. I think this would take a lot of thought and discussion about what we’re both comfortable with. And it’s going to take some of both of us… letting go a little. Which I know isn’t your favorite thing.” He looks at her pointedly, the corner of his mouth lifting.

Mia chuckles for the first time in days. “Point taken.”

Shawn senses cracks in the veneer with the way she’s looking at him now, like she actually might be considering it, all of it. For him. With him.

He takes a chance, and takes her hand.

“And the most important thing is we go at our own pace. We… I mean, obviously, we’ve done and seen a lot already. And I know I have so much left to learn about you. We can focus on that first, just getting to know each other more. I know how to make a relationship really loud, but I know how to keep it quiet, too. If that’s what you want.”

She looks down at their entwined fingers. She blinks quickly and feels her heart rate pick up, like her body knows something her mind hasn’t decided yet. She swallows and looks back up at him.

“I’ve never been both Penny and Mia with one person before. Because I know I am both. Penny’s as much a part of me as Mia is. I got good at letting them share my body because they never inhabited it at the same time. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. How I’m going to be caretaker and businesswoman, domme and girlfriend. I don’t know how to be someone who wants to be honest and upfront about my history and also wants a big white wedding and a couple kids. So if I don’t know how to do that, be that, how can you know and love that about me?”

Shawn’s smile is cautious but warm. He scoops up her other hand and cradles them close to his chest. He’s not afraid of showing her how his heart is clanging around in his chest. She’s had a piece of it in her body for a while now.

“Because it’s you, Mi. Whether or not you’ve meant to, you’ve let me know both. I’ve loved both this whole time. I just want the chance to be there with you as you figure it out.”

Mia looks up at him. She thinks about the night they met -- watching him come completely undone, taking a sip from his glass, waking up to see him slam his eyes shut to pretend he wasn’t watching her. She sees the same look of wonder in his eyes now as he looks down at her, all of her. Mia always knew she was worth loving. Having someone else figure that out was always the part she wasn’t sure of. But she’s sure now. He is, too.

Mia pulls her hands from his, sliding them up his chest. She plucks at the curls at the back of his neck, tugging him closer as she presses back against the shelf. Shawn’s breath hitches in his chest. His hands fall to her hips.

Mia nods, no words of protest left. His lips are gentle against hers, confident and calm. She lets him take the lead this time.

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

Grazie mille 💜

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existing-on-cloral · 5 years ago

Text

Brooklyn’s Night Terrors

Chapter Nine: Buck-Handled

Bucky Barnes is sharp as a knife and as deadly as one too. You don't mind making him your date to the party, though, since Steve'll be there.

"Let me get this straight," Bucky said. "You want to go to the party with me?"

"Yes." You planted your hands on your hips. "If you want to."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Is it 'cause of what I said about Steve earlier?"

You sighed. Bucky was too good. "I can..."

"No, no, I'll go with you." Bucky set his hands on your shoulders. "If it helps my best friend, I'm in. Besides, I've been trying to get him to start dating. He's the last eligible bachelor in New York City, and there's plenty of girls that have got their eye on him." He paused, then grinned. "But only one that he's got his eye on."

Blood rushed to your cheeks. "Buck. I don't know if I want to..."

"Give him a dance, doll." You flinched at the word 'doll', as it carried a reminder of Steve's voice, hot and heavy, as he crawled on top of you... Bucky snapped his fingers in front of your face and you jumped. "You in there?" You nodded. "Trust me. Just one dance, and he'll talk. He'll do whatever you want him to." He winked and left, touching your shoulder briefly. "I'll pick you up at six thirty on the dot."

You pumped your fists in relief. Phase one of your plan was complete. Now it was time for Operation Peter Parker.

"Oh, hey!" Bucky call back, catching your attention. "Wear something blue. Just a thought." He winked and left, whistling what sounded quite a bit like "The Star-Spangled Man With A Plan". As the door began to swing shut, you heard him shout, "Hurt one hair on his head and I'll snap your neck without a second thought!" all too cheerily. Before the door could even close, Peter dashed inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"I... Cannot... Catch... A... Break..." Peter panted, rushing to the water cooler and grabbing a bottle out. He downed it in several gulps, turning back to you and throwing the bottle in the trash.

"Recycle, Parker," you said, crossing your arms. "How did it go?"

Peter switched the bottle to the recycling bin. "I saw him... And then..."

"And then?" you prompted.

"I ran." Peter hung his head. "I ran out of the room and came straight here. I'm sorry."

You walked over, tilting Peter's chin up. "Don't be sorry. It's okay to be nervous. Do you want me to come with you?"

"Would you?" Peter, paused, then reconsidered. "Not like, to creepily stand over him and threaten him, but, yeah."

Thinking back to Bucky's threat promise, you shivered. "Don't worry. I'll just be there for guidance. And backup."

Peter giggled. "I hope I won't need it, but thanks. I'd feel better if you were there."

"Great! Let's go!" You grabbed the back of Peter's hoodie and dragged him out of the gym. "Don't worry, I'll find him, you just worry about what you're going to say."

"And you're grounded if you don't say it," Sharon threatened as she walked past the two of you.

You waved. "Hi, Agent Carter. Peter and I are on a mission. Nothing to do with the Reaper, I promise." Shooting an evil grin to Peter, you added, "We're getting him a date to the party."

Sharon's eyes lit up. "Good luck, Peter!" She ruffled his hair and smiled at him. "Who's the lucky person?"

Peter blushed. "I'll tell you if you can tell me where he is," he mumbled.

She looked at you. "Maximoff?"

"Maximoff."

"Dammit, Doc, we had a deal!"

"Our deal was, as I recall, I'd help you ask him out in exchange for silence about a certain-" You glanced at Sharon nervously. "-captive."

Peter shook his head. "That's not who-"

Slamming a hand over his mouth, you gave Sharon an innocent smile. "He's so cute, isn't he?"

"Adorable. And seventeen. And out of your league." Sharon turned and walked off, heels clicking on the floor.

"This is my son, Carter!" You sighed and turned back to the shaking Peter. "Calm down, kid, it's gonna be okay."

"But she's gonna tell him!" Peter protested.

Whoosh.

"Tell who what?" Pietro said, appearing out of nowhere and wrapping an arm around Peter's neck. Peter squeaked. "You didn't see that coming, слаткиш?"

You let go of Peter's face and stepped back, spreading your hands. "Peter, why don't you tell Pietro?"

Peter's shaking only got worse and he began to gulp for breath. "I can't... I can't... I'm scared..."

"Do not be frightened, слаткиш," Pietro said. "I am here to listen."

The closeness of the two boys, both physically and emotionally, warmed your heart. Though you weren't sure what Pietro was calling Peter, and if it was something like "friendo" the poor boy was screwed. Still, he had to try.

"What are you calling me?" Peter asked. Pietro stepped back and relinquished his hold on Peter, moving his hands to the (much) shorter boy's arms. It occurred to you that both might be a little touched starved.

"If I tell you, you cannot make fun of me," Pietro said. Peter nodded. Pietro inhaled deeply, then, talking as fast as he could run, blurted, "Iamcallingyoucute!"

Peter jumped. "Sorry, what?"

Pietro lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'm calling you cute. You're cute. A little. A lot." He let go and backed up.

You interrupted his word vomit with a little squeal. "See, Peter! Go ahead, say what you were going to."

Peter walked towards Pietro until he was within hugging distance. "I... Pietro... Will you go to the party on Friday with me?"

Pietro's eyes fucking lit up. You could have sworn Christmas lights were dancing in his irises, the way that boy looked at Peter. "Yes! I would love to!" He swept Peter up in a hug, squeezing him until Peter cried out.

"That's a sight for sore eyes."

You whirled around to see Steve standing behind you, hands in his pockets, wearing a button-down so tight it was probably held together by some space magic or something. "The poor kid's just survived a kidnapping, and to him, the attack on Sokovia happened a week ago." He smiled down at you. "I know how it feels."

"I guess." You turned back, watching the two boys launch into a conversation about football. (The Wii kind. Peter insists it's better, as he is a baby nerd.)

"So, the party." Steve crossed his arms and you could have sworn you saw the button-down stretch. "Are you going with anyone?"

"Are you asking?" you blurted.

Steve shrugged. "I figured we could try it. See how it feels to both of us."

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. "Oh. Um. I'm already going with someone, Steve."

The look on his face made you wish you could turn back the clock and never ask Bucky. You made a mental note to tell Bucky that he had been right, and that you were an idiot for not seeing it, but it was too late now.

"Who?" Steve asked.

"We don't really need to have this right here, do we?"

"Who?" His eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed up. "Who are you going with?"

"I'm going with Bucky!" you snapped, the words so forceful you almost spit in his face. "Are you happy?"

Steve fell silent, then whispered, "No." He turned around and walked away stiffly, calling over his shoulder, "Don't bother coming by tonight!"

You gritted your teeth and turned back to the two boys, who were still chatting away about the party. Peter shushed Pietro and turned to you. "Is everything okay?" he asked, concern spreading across his face.

"No." You pushed past him and headed for your office. "I've got a team to rile up, excuse me."

Friday came quicker than expected, and soon you found yourself in the shotgun seat of Bucky's old Ford Taurus. "You sure this car is safe?" you asked, tugging your dress over your knees.

"Nope!" Bucky pulled out of the parking lot and started down the street, looking scarily calm behind the wheel. "Better than Steve's car, though," he added, giving you a half-joking smile.

"Right." Steve. You looked out the window, watching the lights of New York City change as you drove uptown. "The new Avengers facility should be really nice. I've never seen it before."

"It's really nice," Bucky agreed. "I have my own room there and everything. We're setting up for Peter after the party."

You smiled at the thought of young Peter, finally in a safe space. "I think we can clear his name, don't you?"

"If Steve can't clear his name, no one can." Bucky's shoulders straightened, confident in his old best friend. You winced. He noticed. "What's got you down?"

"Oh. Steve." Willing yourself to just tell him, you said, "He came and asked me to the party."

Bucky whistled. "I warned ya. You had an idea he was interested, didn't you?"

"Interested in my body, maybe," you joked.

Bucky slammed on the brakes. "Say what now?"

"Buck, there's people-" Horns started to honk behind you. "Drive!"

He slowly put his foot back on the gas. "Doc."

"Yes?"

"Have you been fucking my best friend?"

You winced. "Maybe?"

Bucky shook his head. "There's no maybe about fucking. Are you or aren't you?"

Sheepishly, you nodded.

He gritted his teeth. "How did he react to you rejecting him?"

The memory resurfaced and you swallowed back the guilt. "I said I was going with you and he told me not to bother coming by his house that night."

Bucky's mouth twitched up in a smile. "Here's the thing you gotta know about Stevie. It's an all-or-nothing deal with him. You must be pretty special to him if he's willing to try friends with benefits, 'cause normally, he's gotta have the romance with the sex."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Really." Bucky turned to you, eyes warm. "Don't worry, doll. Remember what I said to you about the party?"

"Wear blue?" You patted your skirt.

"No, about dancing with him. Give the poor boy a dance, and then see how you feel. If you don't feel that pretty little spark, then just tell him and you have to break it off totally. No fucking." Bucky looked back at the road. "I know it's not ideal, but that's the way Steve works."

"Okay," you said reluctantly. "I'll dance with him. I don't know if he'll dance with me, though. He seemed pretty offended."

Bucky pulled into the parking lot of the very impressive new facility and parked perfectly in the front row. "That's Steve for you. He's always been like that. Just remember-" Bucky got out of the car and walked around to open your door. "-all or nothing."

You took his arm and the two of you walked inside to your first party since college. "You much of a partier back in school?" Bucky asked.

"Just in my freshman year," you said, glancing around the room. There was a dance floor and a karaoke machine and a full liquor bar set up. "Buckled down and studied after that."

"Seems like you," Bucky said. "Never thought you'd actually come to one of these."

The two of you sat down at bar stools and Bucky ordered two beers. "Well, Sharon said it was mandatory," you laughed, clinking your bottle against Bucky's and taking a swig.

Bucky shot you a confused look. "These are never mandatory, Doc. You said Sharon said that?"

Slamming your hand on the bar, you cursed under your breath. "When I find you, Sharon Carter..." you threatened quietly.

"Uh, no need," Bucky muttered, smacking you on the arm. He gestured to a high-top table in the corner, where Sharon and Steve were sitting and talking. "Wanna dance?" he said, quickly changing the subject.

"Sure." You downed a couple more sips and joined Bucky on the dance floor. The song was upbeat and Bucky swung you around easily to it. It was the most fun you'd had in ages. Everything was so awesome, even the little corner where the kids of the employees were having a playdate. The glass around them was clearly soundproof and likely one-way, as they took no note of the festivities.

"I want a couple of those someday," you called over the din. "They're cute!"

Bucky laughed. "Tell that to the diapers!"

"What?"

"Hey, it's Bucky!" Peter popped up behind Bucky and gave him a friendly hug. He waved and said hi to you, then called Pietro over. "What a party!"

"It's her first one!" Bucky said, pointing at you.

You laughed. "Buck-" Unfortunately, you were rudely interrupted by Peter and Pietro both started yelling at you for not coming to the parties. "Guys, come on, it's not my element."

"You dance well, though!" Pietro shouted, smiling at you. Everything about him was so energetic and fun. You could see why Peter liked him.

The song cut out and the DJ turned to the microphone. "Alright, we're gonna slow things down a little, guys. Everybody grab a partner and come on down to the dancefloor!"

Peter shook Pietro's arm. "A slow song! Come on, I'll show you how to dance to these." He pulled the young man away from you and Bucky, chattering on about high school dances.

"Go." Bucky nudged you in the direction of Steve as the song started. "I'll grab Carter." He winked and headed for the table, offering his arm to Sharon. She took it and let him lead her to the dance floor.

Now was your chance. Forcing your legs to move, you walked over to the table, wobbling a little on your feet. Remembering a trick you'd seen in a movie (that had worked for them, dammit), you flicked Steve's shoulder and said, "Hey."

Steve looked up from his drink. "Hey."

"I'm sorry about earlier this week. I talked to Bucky, and..." you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Do you want to dance?" Steve filled the silence quickly, offering you his hand.

You took it, and Steve stood, pulling you gently to the dance floor. He set his right hand on your waist and took your hand in his free one. You in turn set your left hand on his shoulder and stepped close. Your chests were almost touching.

Swaying gently to the beat, Steve pulled your hands in closer. "If you talked to Buck, I'm sure he told you how I am with romance." His blue eyes burned into yours, beautiful in the dim light.

Steve was so fucking beautiful.

"It's all or nothing with me, doll," he continued, squeezing your hand. "If you want to keep what we're doing, that's fine, but I need to know that you feel something other than lust."

He hadn't shaved in a few days, and the lights illuminated his stubble. You smiled up at him and took your hand off his shoulder to brush over his jawline. "I do. I... Let's try it out, Steve."

His face lit up and his arm on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer, until his lips were at your forehead. "I'm gonna do this right, doll," he promised. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you, Steve."

"Tell me you like me, baby."

"I like you, you punk," you giggled, drawing on what you knew of Steve and Bucky in the 40's. "Let's dance."

Steve let go of your hand to cup your jaw and kiss you.

To your left, the wall of glass shattered and Sam Wilson burst in through the wreckage.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #i gave bucky a ford taurus cause that's what i drive and it's shit #also reader learned the shoulder touch #go reader #miles should make an appearance but ive already used too many universes

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videogamelover99 · 7 years ago

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Waking Days Ch.3 - Vegas Lights

A/N Guess this is back you guys. I’m so glad you’ve been patient with me for so long, and finally this chapter is out. I’m hoping to get posting at least once a month now. For now here’s this chapter. AU by @doodledrawsthings. Based on @pengychan‘s Flat Dreams fic.

“Please tell me that’s not it.” Dipper knelt down in the grass.

“I’m afraid it is.”

“I doesn’t look too bad.” Mabel said, turning her head with a forced smile on her lips.

“It looks horrible.”

“It’ll be okay.”

Stanford laughed at the twins’ bickering, but the laugh was clearly forced. Over the brief period he and his brother visited Dimension 52 the hole grew even more, now taking on a shifting mess of color, glowing an intimidating red that bathed the rest of the tree in an almost demonic hue. Golden thread wove through both sides of the crevice, the physical representation of the effects of the chronometer. It bore close resemblance to a gaping, bleeding wound, held closed by half-attempted stitches. A leftover memory of Bill Cipher’s terror, not that different from what Ford remembered of the Nightmare Realm. It felt wrong just being there.

The Oracle showed up regularly, if it was just to check up on the rift or on the Pines Ford wasn’t sure, but the being soon became an almost normal presence in the household. The visits of his old friend reassured as much as they troubled the scientist. If anything, he should be glad she had agreed to help, but the frequently worried look on her face made Stanford extremely unnerved. If a being with knowledge of the future wore that look, then certainly things weren’t at all good.

If that wasn’t concerning enough, the way Cipher turned tail and left every time Jheselbraum came around certainly was. Ford would almost feel sorry for him if it wasn’t for, well, everything.

Stan, while quite suspicious at first (‘no, she hadn’t tried to possess me. Do you really think I’d fall for that trick again?’) Had quickly warmed up to the oracle. After trying (and failing) to sell some of his junk to her, the conman had somehow decided she was the next best thing since sliced bread.

…

“I’m rich! Finally!”

It was a cool, misty Sunday morning when Stan suddenly burst through the back door, the poor thing squeaking on its hinges, and tossed a packed-looking duffel bag onto the kitchen table. The other members of the Pines family, who just a few seconds ago were eating breakfast, all stared at the new item in bemusement.

“Uh, Grunkle Stan, what’s with the suitcase?” Dipper finally asked, poking the thing lightly with a finger.

“Ooh, are you going on vacation?” Mabel stood on her chair to get a better look.

“We were on a vacation for nine months.” Stanford pointed out, hardly taking his eyes off of the paperback he was reading.

“Oh yeah, but would you really call battling sea monsters every day a real vacation?” Dipper frowned.

“It is for this family.”

“Okay, no, I’m not going on a vacation, though right now that sounds really tempting.” Stan butted in, reaching over Dipper’s shoulder to unzip the duffel bag. Inside was green, and not the kind you find on trees either.

“Wow.” Mabel whistled appreciatively, looking at the bag full of hundred dollar bills in a newfound light.

“Who’d you rob?” Her brother frowned, peering at the cash with a much more wary look.

“Nobody! Nobody that actually needed it, at least.” the old man shrugged.

Ford finally put down the book, eyeing the money. “This isn’t from that pug trafficking incident you told me about, is it?”

“Hey how’d ya guess?”

“Pug trafficking?” Mabel now looked a lot less awed.

“Hey, don’t worry, Sweetie! I promise no dogs were harmed. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout…” Ford muttered, once again picking up his book.

“So anyway, I’m rich. Who knows what I’m going to do with it?”

“Buy a really expensive perfume?”

“Build a new room for Soos.”

“OOH! Buy a trained tiger!”

“Great pitches kids, but nah.” Stan grabbed one of the handles, pulling the money closer. “There’s one place I’ve been dying to go to. Hadn’t been there since my marriage.”

“You got marri-”

“Anyway, waddaya say, Sixer? Ready for some nightlife? Babes? Action?”

Stanford slowly put the book down, and met his twin’s gaze with his own, steely one. “The universe is falling apart at the seams. Our enemy is living under our roof. And you want to drag me to- to- that-”

“Wow, way to ruin the fun. After thirty years in sci-fi land I’d expected ya to lighten up already.”

“You’re sixty, Stan, not exactly ideal age to go gambling, and we don’t have time for this.” The scientist stood up, tucking his paperback under his arm. “I’m going downstairs to figure out how to save the world. Again. You can do whatever you want.” And just like that, he left, leaving his three family members staring at each other in silence.

“Okay, I coulda handled that better.”

“Uh, Grunkle Stan? Why exactly did you want to take Grunkle Ford to Vegas?” Dipper asked.

“Okay, so, I may or may not owe a giant sum of money to someone-”

“Of course.” Dipper rolled his eyes.

“And gun-slinging backup doesn’t hurt...Also fun.”

“I don’t think he’s the type, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel stated sadly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Bill is.” Dipper mused.

“Wow, okay, no. Could ya imagine having that monstrosity on a road trip? Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about it.”

The girl snorted. “Yeah, I think I can.”

“Speaking of which, where is the little creeper gone?”

“Uh…” The twins shared a look. Mabel shrugged helplessly. “We should probably find him before he burns down the forest or something.”

“Good point.” And with that the two disappeared, leaving Stan alone with an unfinished piece of toast and a bag full of illegal cash.

“Huh. Is that something I should be concerned about?”

Stanley whirled around, bag suddenly clutched to his chest. “Jesus Christ, lady, give an old man a warning!”

Jheselbraum (he got it right, right?) raised an eyebrow, folding her arms and leaning casually on the edge of the table. “Strange, I do not think that man knew his name was going to turn into something explicit. But I suppose it happens.”

“I- what?”

“Nevermind.” The oracle turned her attention to the bag. “And I’m guessing that was 100% legally acquired?” She couldn’t quite hide the amusement in her voice.

“Oh yes. Absolutely.” Stan gave her a sarcastic grin. That grin slipped away quickly, however, as the cogs in his brain began to turn, suddenly giving him an idea as he eyed the woman in front of him. “Say, what’s yer opinion on road trips?”

…

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.” The alien in the shotgun seat shifted uncomfortably, struggling her best to say annoyed. Stan brought the car into the left lane, quickly passing a truck on the side.

“Really? Ya didn’t exactly seem that reluctant goin’.”

“I- We should be working on closing the rift, not, not galavanting on some weekend quest to pay off a guy you stole from.”

“Hey, who said anything about stealing? I was borrowin’.”

“And i suppose the death threats that he leaves in your voice mail are friendly banter?”

“Aw, you’re being sarcastic. And here I thought you were a stick in the mud.”

“...” Nora sat back in her seat, tossing one leg over the other, and stared out the window. Bits of Oregon wildlife flew past them, forrest green melting into a choppy blir as the car flew by at a grand total of 50 miles an hour. The Stanleymobile really needed to upgrade.

It didn’t take long for Stanley to admit the real reason he was reluctant to go alone. Apparently he was completely willing to blow all of his money by himself. No, what got him concerned about bringing Stanford was not company as much as muscle. Owing a lot of money to a crime boss apparently did that to you.

“And what exactly do you want me to do?” She frowned. “Sit there and look pretty?”

“We-ell.” Stan paused, scratching his cheek with one hand, the other resting on the steering wheel. “You can see the future, right?”

“It’s not that simple.” She frowned. “Also sorry for not seeming that excited, but if you were planning to use that to win some easy money, you’re out of luck. My vision doesn’t work that way.”

“And what’s ‘that way’?”

“Complicated.”

“Fine.”

There was silence. Nora didn't really know why she was so antagonistic toward Stanley. So far, the human hadn’t done anything that would deserve it, if the whole using-her-for-gambling thing didn’t count. But there was something in the back of her mind, an itch that was scratching at her, telling her that the man next to her was not what he seemed.

That was truly ridiculous. She looked into his and his brother’s timeline many times. She knew him, just like the rest of the Pines, like the back of her hand. And yet-

Maybe she just wasn’t used to the company. Back in her own dimension, the Oracle had many people with whom she’d conversed. Many came to the mountain to seek her guidance, and the company was always welcome. But there was always some barrier, a wall between her and the other that prevented her from truly- what? Connecting? She was always there to get wisdom and assistance. It was a long time before she could just speak to someone, without needing to be that.

It felt refreshing, but also slightly off-kilter.

“Y’know, that’s not the only reason I wanted to bring Sixer.” Stan’s voice made the woman turn back to him, her thoughts pushed back into a jumbled mess for the time being.

“Oh?”

“He just- hasn’t been sleeping for a while, y’know? And I thought- ‘hey, great idea. Let’s get him to ignore the second end of the world for a while’. Didn’t exactly work, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Nora sighed through her nose. “Your brother isn’t like that. You know it.”

“Yeah...yeah.”

“He’s very determined. Very passionate. That isn’t a bad thing.” The woman brought her hands up to fiddle with her pendant, lost in thought. “But it can easily get out of hand.”

“Yeah, I get what ya mean.” Stan frowned, staring straight at the road ahead. “You know, he called me too old to go gambling.”

The woman paused for a moment. “I am one trillion years old, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Huh...wow. Uh...you look younger than your years?”

“Thanks.”

“Though maybe if you stop dressing like it’s the war time…”

The oracle frowned, wrinkling out her skirt. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

“Nothing! Way better than wearing a wizard robe, anyway. Just looks like you came straight from the 1940s, is all.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh hey, by the way, it’s Nora, right?”

“...yes.”

“Huh.” Stan snorted. “Knew a gal named Nora once. Real pain in my ass. You’ve got a lot in common.

Nora rolled her eyes. “Keep driving.”

“Sure thing.”

…

The first thing to assault her eyes were the lights. Hundreds of them, bright neon and colorful, hanging on buildings, advertising food, hotels, casinos. People stood on the sidewalks and threw pamphlets at tourists and passersbys, cards containing contact info of strippers and nightclubs, people yelling, cars honking aggressively, music blaring from hidden speakers, fountain jets raining down, illuminated by multicolor lights. There was so much, too much, it was overwhelming- Nora couldn’t look away. That man on the street- wife walked out on him, having a midlife crisis, taking it out on the girl next to him. The girl- adulterer, before she was even eighteen, raised in the middle of nowhere, wanted a life. What she got was angry drunkards and little pay. The woman on the street, tugging her child after her- married, on vacation, is about to meet her oldest daughter after a year apart. Every person, every place and every conversation had something to offer her, a troubled past, and hopeful or depressing future...She was used to this, used to the rapid fire of her predictions, fates intertwining, alternating, branching out into infinite different scenarios. But there was just so much...

“So, uh, what’d ya think? Worth the trip?”

Nora jumped, whipping around to look at Stanley hero, brother, savior, liar- “Uhh, it’s...something?”

“Come on! City of chance, of risk and it’s ‘something’?”

“It’s just...it’s a lot.”

…

After hustling into the hotel, via underground parking, Stan elbowed his way through the long, carpeted corridors of the hotel lobby, his companion trailing a few paces behind him, looking around at the crowd with wide eyes. The receptionist at the desk eyed both of them with a bored expression. Checking in was the easy part. Trying not to get jumped by a crime boss was another. Stan eyed his phone as he led Nora to the elevators, the bag of cash, discretely covered up by as stack of dirty clothes, over his shoulder. Floor 19 7pm. See me. The vague text sent an uncomfortable prickling feeling down his spine. He’d faced the end of the world, and yet the threat of organized crime still rubed him the wrong way. Call it bad memories. Being stuck in the trunk of a car for 31 hours could do that. He needed to make this quick and high tail outta here. And, Stan quickly reassured himself, he wouldn’t exactly be alone.

Though looking over at the oracle, who now eyed the fancy furniture and decoration with with annoyance, Stan wondered just how much faith he could put in his new inter-dimensional buddy. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, per say, hell, he’d trust her over the angry yellow demon any day. Still, there was something off about her. Something that Stanley’s instincts had to remind him constantly of. Just how much did Ford really know about this woman? And who said she was who she said she was? Call him paranoid, but when was he not? Came with the trade, so to speak.

“So who are you meeting with? And how much can I bet on your survival?” Nora jumped up on the bed, the obscene amount of comforters bouncing under her weight.

“Nice to get some reassurance for once. And couldn’t you just look and see, anyway? Don’t you know the future?”

“I could…” she shrugged, “but it wouldn’t tell me anything. Not really.”

Well that was vague as hell.

The man grumbled, shouldering his duffel bag. “So your one superpower is basically useless. Well why the hell did I bring ya here then?!”

“That’s what I’ve been asking.”

Stan sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Look, just...I’ma go and had ‘im the cash, hopefully won’t get jumped, and you, uh...do whatever you wanna do. I don’t know, watch TV or something.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“What question? Okay, bye!”

And he ran out, slamming the door behind him as he did.

…

He did not find the guy. The vague text message was the only thing he got, and after about an hour of scouting the corridor of Floor 19 Stan finally gave up and shrugged it off, deciding that the cash should be good for something, and made his way downstairs for the one thing this place was truly famous for.

...

“Hey buddy.”

Stan scraped up his tokens and grinned at the speaker lazily. “Yeah?”

The man looked like he was in his late thirties, his face still free of any wrinkles. Dark hair framed his long, oval-shaped face, a pair of expensive-looking spectacles sitting on his hook-shaped nose. “I see you’ve got quite a streak going. I won’t bother you, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in a game against me?”

“What kinda game?”

The man grinned, a golden tooth glinting in the dim lighting. “A game of opportunity.”

“Huh.” Stan watched the man grab a free table, sitting down and gesturing at the older man to follow suit. “I think I like ya already.” He sat down opposite. “So what d’ya want to bet on? Start small?”

The man was still smiling, something that Stan would find unnerving without the buzz of alcohol. “Oh no. There’s a loss far worse than money you can recover. Of course, I’d be needing the same in return.” He leaned in closer. “Time is much more precious than money, my friend.”

It was poker. It was literally just poker, and looking back, Stan kinda wished it wasn’t. Looking at a mystical game of chess or some kind of enchanted contest of weirdness would at least be bearable. His ego would still be intact. But poker? No, even the price of what he lost could not compare to just how humiliated he felt losing at the thing he was best at. But Stan lost, and the man just swept up all at chips, the subdued smile never leaving his stupid, pointy face. “Such a shame, really. I had honestly hoped I’d finally found a worthy opponent. You were close, my friend, but them’s the breaks.”

Stan briefly tore his hands away from his face to sigh, looking at everything but the man. “So what? You said we weren’t betting on cash. Just tell me what ya want so I can go already, you sleazy bastard.”

The man’s face warped into something truly sinister, his smirk spreading across his face. “I already took it, my friend.”

Suddenly, Stan felt like he was hit on the head with something impossibly heavy. Everything spun, his limbs felt incredibly weak, and as he stood up on wobbly legs he felt his spine curve downward a lot more than before. His eyesight was just awful, and it didn’t clear even as he rubbed his eyes. The skin on his hands felt thin and papery, and as the man slowly stumbed out of his seat and towards the hotel elevator, he knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

...

While Stanley went off on his quest to pay back what appeared to be the mafia, Nora realized there wasn’t really anything to do for her, not really. Watching television was like subjecting herself to a primitive form of mind-control. She could, of course, meditate, but that grew harder and harder the more time she spent on earth. Everything else was too distracting, too bright and loud for her to find that small empty space to bury her thoughts in. They just came crashing back in after she dispersed them, assaulting her with visions and worries and questions that she, for once, did not want answers to. She’d agreed to come here, why? To get away from Bill, was the immediate answer, but that didn’t work out the way she had wanted it to. Now instead of Bill there was Stanley. Stanley, who argued and made poor excuses and laughed at his won lame jokes in a way that made Nora’s heart ache. It was new, but incredibly familiar, like a case of deja-vu that did not end in a few seconds, but only strengthened every time Stan threw some banter her way. Honestly she’d have preferred Bill sulking around somewhere to this, this open interaction she didn’t have for so, so many years. It wasn’t until Ford’s brother left that she could finally start to sort it all out in her own head.

There was some scrambling behind the door. Nora sighed, opening her eyes. For a second she thought it was the mafia, but as the rest of her five eyes granted her a brief vision, she realized that was not the case. Something was terribly wrong.

The Oracle flung the door open, and a man tumbled into her, almost bringing both of them to the ground. A raspy voice whispered curses under his breath, and Nora finally recognized her human friend. Slowly, she closed the door with her free hand, using the other to help the man onto the bed.

...

“What. Did you do.”

“We-ell, I, uh, hey you know how it is. The city of lights and all that, hadda at least give it a go-” There was a cough, but the voice did not clear up, just as ragged.

“...”

“A-and look, I thought I had pretty good odds, y’know? Been here more than you can count, have way more luck than imaginable, so, y’know…”

“Stanley, please tell me you didn’t make a bet with a god.”

Stan looked to the side, hands fiddling on his lap, and tried to ignore the sudden vicious pain in his back. And the ache in his joints. And the sudden rattle that appeared in his breath. “I can explain.”

Nora glared at him, the pointed look twice as terrifying. “Oh yes please do.”

“So, uh, there was this guy-”

“Oh who am I kidding! I should have known you would do this.” The woman threw her hands up, pacing back and forth in the suite. “I did know you would do this. But I didn’t- I didn’t think this you would be that stupid.”

“Alright, point taken! Now would ya stop trying to insult me every five sec- agh!” The con-man hunched over, his speech suddenly interrupted but a long coughing fit. It tore at his throat and made his chest ache like nothing he had ever felt before. Great. This is how I die. Over a stupid bet.

Wasn’t that how he expected to die, anyway?

The Oracle rolled her eyes, waiting until the hacking stopped and Stan regained his breath. “Right, don’t talk.”

“I got it.” He whined back, his body still fighting to cough up his own lungs.

“So, there was a man? And I suppose he offered you a drink?”

Stan shook, pounding his chest with all the strength his now frail arms could give him. “Was already drunk.”

A frustrated sigh. “And I suppose after you got hammered he offered you a deal?”

“A bet.” he coughed out.

Nora sighed. “But not for money.” She sat down next to him, shoulders hunched over.

“Oh yeah! He said somethn’ all mysterious-y, something like ‘You have-’”

“A loss far worse you can recover.” She finished for him. “I know what timeline this is.”

“Yeah, exactly that...You’re worse than my mother.”

She cracked a smile. “I’m an oracle. I’m worse than anyone’s mother.” Then she frowned. “You look terrible, by the by.”

“Thanks, I kinda guessed.” Stan slowly slid off the couch, straightening his back and heading toward the bathroom at a steady pace. “Well, time to see how well I-”

The scream and crash that came out from behind the door startled Nora to her feet. “Are you alright?”

“I’m hideous!”

“Well, yes.”

His hair was white. Pure white, like a blank sheet of paper or the way the goat looked whenever Mabel was in a mood for playing dress-up. It was still there, thank God, but looked a lot thinner than it did only a few hours ago. The wrinkles that started showing up around the time he hit 40 were somehow only deepened, the now grey-ish skin sagging in places and folding up in others. What was once his face now seemed wrong, an unwarranted glimpse into what he should not be able to see, a punch of an existential crisis right in the gut, a-

“Stanley? Are you alright in there?”

Stan slowly backed away from the mirror, away from- that, shuffling out of the bathroom with more effort than should have been necessary.

Nora stared up at him from the edge of the bed.

“I think I just aged thirty years in one day. And man, I wish that was a joke.”

The Oracle sighed, casting her eyes somewhere Stan couldn’t follow, “You’d bartered on the thirty years you wanted back. And you lost.” She stared at him dead in the eye. “What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t think anything! That guy-” Stan cut himself off, doubling into a wracking cough that made his aged body hurt in all the places he didn’t know he had.

“Careful, don’t have a heart attack, you’re ninety-two already.” Nora muttered under her breath, and the man wondered if that was a joke, too. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” She stood up, carefully guiding Staney to the armchair in the corner, helping him sit. “You are going to stay here, and hopefully not die by the time I get back. And I,” she stepped back, something settling in her gaze that made the con man shift a little. It was at that moment that he really saw something ancient before him, more ancient than even he felt like right now, and that thought chilled him to the bone. “I’m going to fix this.”

Stan blinked. “Got a plan more detailed than that?”

“Yes.”

“...Care to explain.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “The man that aged you, he’s most likely a lesser god or some kind of spirit. I’ve seen a couple of his type before, but never this bold. Anyway, their ‘deal’ is time. More correctly, lifespan. They barter and bet on the victim’s years, the mortal hoping to gain a few more decades on this plane of existence. Of course, it’s rigged, and the mortal always loses. This kind of gambling, ‘life gambling’, is banned in about 5 billion dimensions. This one as well. Still, I suppose Earth is remote enough to not me noticed by interdimensional relations. Or so they thought.”

“So, okay, he’s some kind of demon life gambler? What’s the point of taking time away though? Does he sell it?”

The Oracle smiled. “No, though that would be a feat to see. They consume it, the life force they take from people. Old gods have so few followers that their powers deplete to almost nothing. The only way they can keep themselves immortal is feeding off regular people.” She shrugged. “Though some of them do it for fun. Life force is still a lot of energy, after all.”

“And you’re- what? Gonna call the space cops on him? Take him for a night on the town?”

“Honestly, who do you take me for?” The Oracle straightened up, turning to head out the door, a smile already forming on her lips. “I’m going to beat him at his own game.”

#gravity falls #fanfiction #human bill au #stanley pines #stanford pines #nora #bill cipher #mabel pines #dipper pines #waking days #i realized there is pretty much no bill in this #instead have some nora and stanley bonding time #yes that title is from p!atd

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rum-and-shattered-dreams · 3 years ago

Text

Agreed!

And randomly expanding on this because I’ve been working on this/thinking about it a lot for a potential bonus chapter of my fic:

I was rereading Lost Legends the other night and noticed a trend with Stan that’s kind of cool in the sense that it’s realistic, very human, and gives him more depth to his character development.

And it expands on theories as to why Ford held a grudge. It boils down to, he’s human, has emotions and boundaries that he’s likely bad at communicating, is probably over-sensitive, which is something he needs to work on, and yeah, he did see a need to have space. And... He might not have been totally wrong. But they are both at least partly responsible for not communicating about it and resolving it in a way that didn’t involve 10+ years apart. But Filbrick is still the ultimate responsible party, considering he was the adult who should have given them support and guidance.

This got away on me so more under the cut so it doesn’t clog up anyone’s dash:

When Stan and Ford were younger, Stan seemed to have issues with saying “I’m sorry.” He’d talk about why he did something, basically having low self-esteem/thinking he’s a bad kid, (which is kind of guilt-trippy to the person hearing it because now they’re focused on trying to make the person with low self-esteem feel better while pushing aside their need for an apology). but he wouldn’t say he was sorry or take responsibility for his actions. (like if he’d just admitted, even to Ford, that he stole Pa’s necklace and why he did it before things got out of hand.)

The same thing happened with the project. He didn’t take the responsibility to tell Ford “hey you might want to check on your project just in case” then never did apologize for the accident. Maybe he would have if their dad hadn’t intervened. (Again, Filbrick... Maybe YOU need to take some responsibility.) But I get the sense that this was a bit of a trend between them. Stan would make a mistake or cut corners or lie or accidentally mess something up, not apologize or correct the behavior, and Ford would end up sharing in the consequences or trying to cover for him. (Think of Kez’s story arc from Infinity Train as an extreme example of this. She didn’t mean to hurt people. She didn’t mean to make mistakes. But others were angry with her because she never apologized or took responsibility for them. None of that made her “bad”. It was just something she needed to work on.)

And I think Ford let it go a lot because Stan was there for him. He stood up to bullies for him. (Sheesh, just talk, you two.) But that builds resentment over time.

I could also see Ford being the kind of kid who, on a logical level, knew that Stan’s teasing (calling him nerd, poindexter, saying things like “ladies first” (1)) was playful banter, his way of showing affection, and his way of compensating for his own self-esteem issues but there’d be part of him that would take it to heart and feel like “Even YOU think I’m a weak, weird nerd. Even you don’t understand me.” And let’s face it, Ford was looking for understanding there, or rather, he wanted a deep connection with someone who shared his love of science and anomalies. I can imagine that he started feeling more and more lonely as he became a teen, as Stan started dating, and as their interests aligned less and less. Eventually, West Coast Tech sounded like the kind of place where he might finally make that connection.

He was probably also the kid who retaliated out of hurt/resentment by correcting Stan’s grammar which, he likely didn’t understand was crossing a line (and sometimes it probably was from a genuine place of trying to teach him but, to Stan, it poked at his self-esteem issues).

But back to what I was saying about Stan. When he was kicked out, he didn’t have any great options. His best option was likely minimum wage job where he might be able to work up the ladder to lower management and maybe consider getting his GED and going back to school if he could stomach it and hoping to find connections and support along the way. But he wanted to prove to his family that he could be something ASAP, not scrape barnacles from a dock. He didn’t have any guidance to help him make better decisions, to help him learn to take responsibility for his own choices, emotions, lies, and for times he hurt or wronged people regardless of if it was accidentally or through good intentions that went awry. (Again, Filbrick, this was your job as a parent to teach him that. Sheesh. And honestly Fuck. To teach him that scraping barnacles is actually okay. It’s a job that needs to be done and should be respected as such. Success is based on personal happiness not society’s elitist ideals of success. If Stan wanted to scrape barnacles and live at home, not that he did, then that should have been viewed as “cool, whatever makes you happy. Your ma will like the company.”) So he cut corners, conned people, and spiraled deeper into self-hate, depression, homelessness, and the criminal world.

And yes. It would have been nice if someone had reached out to help him, if society was different.(2) (And I question why Ma didn’t reach out in a more active way. Stuck in an abusive situation herself? Afraid of Filbrick?)

But Stan also, apparently, didn’t reach out for that help either. And, regardless of his reason for calling Ford (ask for help, just say hi, lie that he’s doing great etc), it’s understandable why he hung up. Fear, self-hatred, admitting defeat etc. But, if he’d stayed on that call, if he’d opened with “I’m sorry, Ford.” I think, given what we saw of Ford in canon (quick to apologize once he clearly sees he fucked up, quick to want to fix it, quick to want to connect with the kids, the photo of Stan and himself he kept, the fact that he always seemed to have to remind himself he was mad at Stan, the fact that he invited Stan to play DD&MD with Dipper and him), he would have accepted it and helped him. Maybe not immediately. He might have even hung up on him at first. But he’d likely feel bad about it and go searching for Stan if he did. (But I think he’d melt sooner than that if Stan made an honest effort at apologizing and explaining his situation without blaming anyone or assuming anything about Ford or pointing to his own low self-esteem. Ford would probably try to be “tough” at first but this is the guy who stood up for Stan against the Sibling Bros after learning he’d lied. He would have eventually said, “Do you need me to come get you? No? You still have your car? Okay, then come to my cabin. We’ll figure this out. Here’s the address.”)

But, without that contact, Ford was distracting and distancing himself from everything with his obsession and probably letting Filbrick get into his head with the way he talked about Stan.(3) (And the fact that society at the time would have agreed that Stan was just a conman and criminal and that it was entirely his own fault. Of course it wasn’t... It wasn’t entirely NOT his fault, but again, support is kind of important to being a functional human and Stan didn’t have it.).(4)

So I kind of see Ford’s reaction as very human - imperfect and based on emotions, limited information, and the views of the world around him.

Fast forward to the portal incident. Another mistake. And yes, I view this as a mistake on both of their parts because while Ford fucked up on a monumental level with Bill and the portal, he was trying to take responsibility for it and reached out for help. And yeah, he made mistakes in his judgement of Stan and the way he spoke to him. But when they fought and Stan was hurt, Ford stopped and apologized. Stan was the one who kept going. Understandable. Very human. But still... A rage and adrenaline-fueled mistake on his part. This time, things went so BADLY that Stan took serious responsibility for it. He dedicated himself to it even though it wasn’t totally his fault.

That’s huge growth. He pushed aside his self-esteem issues and tendency to cut corners in favor of putting in the effort to fix things.

And he continued taking responsibility as he formed a relationship with Soos, Wendy, Dipper, and Mabel. He took responsibility for the bills, for running a business, and for pushing himself to learn everything he did to repair the portal. We saw it develop in the series when he saved Waddles and eventually took Dipper’s feelings into account in DD&MD and said he was sorry. (Given the way he teased Dipper, that was probably a thing that happened with Ford, too).

But the really cool thing the series did that I absolutely love is that they showed how taking responsibility isn’t always rewarded. Even if you believe it’s the right thing to do, even if you dedicated more of yourself to it than anyone should ever expect of you, you might get punched in the face. And sometimes, when you’re trying to help someone, the help you offered isn’t what that person wanted (even if it is what’s best for them). And you have to face that you’re not going to get a thank you but that doesn’t mean that you give up or that it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Stan saved Ford’s life. But Ford didn’t want to be saved. Ford takes personal responsibility too far, expects himself to die to fix his mistakes or to do something great that will change the world for the better. He needed to open up to support and trusting others even if its messy and imperfect and not what he thinks is best. He did call for help after Bill’s betrayal and it ended in disaster. He closed himself off to accepting it. (He did accept help from Jheselbraum but that fits too neatly into his trust of what he views as authority figures that he needs to question more often. That just happened to be a time when it worked out for him). When he stepped out of the portal, all he saw was that he failed again... Because of something Stan did.

And he felt bad about his knee-jerk reaction later, and acknowledged that Stan saved him. With the way it was wearing at him, I fully believe he would have at least tried to apologize even without Weirdmageddon.

And Stan understandably sulked for a while. Like any human would.

Also can I add that if Stan was honest with Ford about not having any place to go without the shack, well... Ford didn’t actually say he was kicking him out. Just that he wanted his stuff back and to close The Mystery Shack. I mean, who wouldn’t want their home and ID back? Who wouldn’t want to close an attraction that appeared to mock everything they were passionate about? If someone came into your home and made it into a museum that turned your interests into a public mockery, you’d be hurt too, right? Probably would be angry and not immediately see there was a well-meaning reason for it? And Ford is not socially the brightest bulb, especially after being away from this dimension for so long. He wouldn’t have come to the conclusion that Stan would be screwed without staying at the Shack without more information. But if he knew, if he could relate his 30 years of wandering with no more than the clothes on his back to Stan’s situation, I think he’d be empathetic. (And it’s true that he didn’t see the moral issues with the mind control tie but the root of that is that he offered it as a way to help Stan win. Some part of him wanted that for him and thought he deserved it and would be a good enough mayor to merit whatever means it took to get him there. And I think that comes with an assumption that Stan would be staying in Gravity Falls.)

But despite both feeling like failures, they still got up again and kept going.

Stan went above and beyond, putting aside the anger he felt and the blows to his self-esteem to save his family and the world. He reached selfless levels of taking responsibility for both his own reactions to events and things that weren’t his fault and became a hero.

And, Ford was still a hero too. He learned that he can accept the support of people who actually care about him, that he doesn’t need to impress or trust what he sees as authority figures, and that sometimes people mean well even if he can’t see it or even if they make mistakes.

Then he had to pull the trigger to erase Bill. He had to put aside the crushing guilt over his mistakes and the grief of essentially killing his own brother to play his part in saving Dipper, Mabel, and the world. He had to confront that he still cared so much for Stan that it HURT to pull that trigger. And he still took responsibility for his mistakes by putting everything aside and doing it with an arguably greater sacrifice. He was ready to die, himself. He wasn’t ready to sacrifice Stan.

So, in the end, Stan took responsibility for more than his share of things and finally found peace and happiness.

And Ford was able to trust the help and support of people who actually care about him and to more than forgive Stan. And... To be alright with surviving.

(1) Obviously we know know that calling someone a “lady” isn’t an insult. But the jab is a product of the time period and, in context, would have been taken as Ford being seen as “not man enough,” which, even when I was a kid, was a Very Bad™ thing for an AMAB to be. A kid at my elementary school had his ribs broken over not being “man enough”

(2) I think Stan knew society and the school and work system were messed up and that he was right to want to rebel against it (and basically become a pirate). Ford, however, well, I think he started off thinking it was messed up but as time went on, his dad and teachers got into his head and he started believing that you have to be clean cut and work hard and have an education and so on.)

(3) TBH I think Ford was obsessed with proving himself because, under the “smart guy who could change the world facade” he viewed himself as inherently less of a person than everyone else. He had an immediately visible reason for people to treat him like a freak and IME when you grow up socially awkward and “ugly” - meaning something unchangeable about your appearance fits society's current and subjective definition of unattractive and people give you “proof” of it by treating you like you’re gross - you place yourself below everyone else. Looking acceptable is a thing that they have and you never will. So you hope that you can be good enough at something that it might raise you to their level and yeah, you get defensive with it, hoping this is the thing you can do that they can’t, that this is the thing that will make you special because you want to believe the world is fair, that it wouldn’t make you an outcast without a reason. But no amount of awards will ever make you feel better because they’re not people. They’re not connection with others. And... you realize that anyone could win them. You’re still not special. Not even on their level. You realize that they can learn any skill you can. And they can probably do it better because they have more social experience, more confidence, and of course, their appearance is acceptable while they’re doing it.

(4) Yeah you can take responsibility for yourself to an extent but society needs to take responsibility to offer support to those who need it. That’s the whole point of living in groups

And just as an end note:

I think Dipper saving Ford in D&MVTF had a big impact on Ford that we didn’t get to see fully explored because Weirdmageddon started. Dipper REALLY came through for him. And Ford was opening up to someone again. While it went badly at first because of Ford’s reaction, having Dipper look up to him at first did him good, showed him he was still worth something to someone, that he could make a connection again despite messing up so badly in his past. He just took it too far and got over-excited with wanting him to stay and be his apprentice. (and maybe he was trying to say “hey I’m useful! I can teach you stuff! Please love me!” to Dipper.)

But I think it helped reinforce to him that the people who demand that he impress them are not the ones he should try to impress or listen to. That the people who like him without demanding anything are his real friends. (abuse survivor thing there - it’s tough to see past the manipulation of abusers like Filbrick and Bill. It’s tough to accept or even imagine that someone might love you regardless of if you’re useful to them or not. And, sadly, you can start to see the world in their terms, hence the cycle of generational abuse. And I think Ford did absorb a lot of Filbrick’s and even Bill’s judgmental views. But there was some part of him under it all that knew it was wrong, that felt guilt and empathy. And Stan being willing to sacrifice himself combined with everything he felt when he had to pull that trigger brought it back to the surface.)

Okay but back when the Science Fair Incident (from now on will be referred to as SFI) first happened, Ford was completely justified in his anger. He was justified to tell at Stan because while we, the audience (that's something a lot of us in many fandoms need to understand is that we are the audience and we will often times understand and know things that others in canon do not) know that it was an accident, Ford does not.

After their other interactions about college, Ford assumes that Stan was trying to sabotage his chances of getting into West Coast Tech. It definitely wasn't that unreasonable (especially considering what Stan said after Ford confronted him but that's besides the point).

If the two had spent some time thinking and communicating, then Ford would know that the SFI was an accident, not on purpose. No one gets kicked out, happy ending.

But no.

Filbrick steps in and kicks out Stan before Stan can say his side of the story. Meaning that Stan has no way of telling his brother what happened.

Is Ford justified in carrying out the grudge? Eh. Slightly. If you assume that he still thinks Stanley sabotaged his chances at going to school then yes. But Ford's not stupid. He probably does figure out it was an accident at some point. But why, you may ask, does he continually bring it up?

If you think A) he still assumes Stan sabotaged him, then yeah, he continues to act like a jerk around him because he's still pissed.

But in option B), it could just be that Ford's been telling himself that he's better off without Stan, that Stan's been holding him back, that life's going to be okay ((Spoilers: it's not )), after the SFI that he starts to believe it himself. There isn't too much evidence in canon to support this one but if y'all like this one then by all means choose it.

Personally, I think option B is more likely. The two had a very, very codependent relationship and major self esteem issues. All they needed was to talk. But no. Filbrick stepped in and said "No 💖"

I Hate Filbrick Pines :D

#stanford pines #stanley pines #meta #Fuck you Filbrick #But sadly I do also understand that he was a product of a lot of fucked up stuff too

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christinamirabilis · 7 years ago

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Question thingy cos I’m procrastinating going to bed which I will be heavily regretting at 7:30 when I have to get up for class but yolo

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? I don’t really use any of them tbh, like, I like to have all of my music in iTunes/on my phone - but if I ever stream music it’s actually normally on YouTube.

is your room messy or clean? Right now it’s very messy, I was supposed to clean it days ago but I’m lazy.

what color are your eyes? Blue.

do you like your name? why? I’ve always been indifferent to it - or, really, it’s that depersonalised feel where I tell people my name is Christina and I answer to Christina but when I start to think about it, say it out loud slowly and mindfully, it feels like a foreign object in my mouth. So I try not to do that because that’s uncomfortable as fuck. But anyway, yeah, indifferent, but ever since I learned about Christina Mirabilis and how much she has come to mean to me, it’s better, like, it feels like fate I guess. If such a thing exists, which is another thing I am ambivalent about.

what is your relationship status? extremely single so if anyone wants to take one for the team and date me, that would be swell.

describe your personality in 3 words or less? neurotic, means well.

what color hair do you have? purple

what kind of car do you drive? colour? sadly I do not have a car, but I do have a scooter, it’s silver.

where do you shop? like, as in where do I buy my groceries? Haha lmao but honestly this is so vague. Bitch I’m poor and fat, I shop anywhere where I can find something that doesn’t look completely hideous and that my card won’t get declined trying to buy.

how would you describe your style? see above. Would like to dress way cooler than I do but lack of money, and - more importantly, since thrift shops are a thing when you’re skinny - being fat.

favorite social media account? Tumblr I guess, even though it’s often incredibly frustrating, because Facebook is a shitstain on the fabric of humanity and I don’t have Twitter and rarely use Instagram.

what size bed do you have? double.

any siblings? little sister, she’s 25, lives in Melbourne.

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? somewhere that is perpetually warm, where I can speak the language well enough to practice as a clinical psychologist, but still in a big city - I’m thinking either Sydney or Queensland, or California. South of France would be fucking lit too, I guess I know enough French that I could become fluent with total immersion. Anyway, I just want to be warm year-round, seasonal depression always kicks my ass, I fucking loathe being cold.

favorite snapchat filter? fuck man I don’t know, I don’t remember the last time I used a snapchat filter.

favorite makeup brand(s) depends on which type of makeup, I have different favourite brands for different products. But, generally, cheap, I guess. Although my two favourite makeup items are an eyeshadow that I got from Topshop, and a Makeup Revolution highlight.

how many times a week do you shower? most days.

favorite tv show? that is a really difficult question, I have so many favourites. Right now it’s Game of Thrones, obviously. But I think Dollhouse is possibly my all-time favourite TV show. And right now I’m watching Vikings, which I’m fucking loving, just finished the second season. Although HONESTLY I don’t give a fuck about Princess Aslaug, when the fuck are Ragnar and Lagertha gonna get back together because Lagertha is my fucking bae.

shoe size? normally 7 or 8 in NZ sizes, or 38EU.

how tall are you? 5′2″ of pure queer fury.

sandals or sneakers? docs.

do you go to the gym? lmao.

describe your dream date? I’ve done this before but basically - luxury version with the girl I’m in love with involves long extended holiday wandering around the Mediterranean and just having lazy days of eating and napping and swimming and having sex and exploring and shopping. Other than that, I just really love to go to an outdoor bar on a warm summer’s afternoon and have sangria or margaritas or wine and antipasto or tapas, and just chill and chat, and maybe have a sneaky cigarette. just, like, yeah. perfect.

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? none, I don’t carry cash most of the time.

what color socks are you wearing? grey with black polka dots, with a rabbit on each, they used to have pom poms on them for the rabbit’s tale but they’ve long since disintegrated.

how many pillows do you sleep with? I sleep on one pillow but I have another one on the other side of my bed.

do you have a job? what do you do? I am a supervisor in a bookstore.

how many friends do you have? I don’t know off the top of my head, I’m not inclined to sit here and count them.

whats the worst thing you have ever done? taken my pain out on my own body rather than directing my anger at the people who hurt me.

whats your favorite candle scent? I don’t know but Sophie got me this Limoncello-scented one from Bath and Body Works in Vancouver but it’s humungous and heavy as fuck so she couldn’t afford to send it to me but I hope maybe when she eventually comes back she’ll bring it with her because I think that would be my favourite scent.

3 favourite boy names? I don’t know, honestly, I don’t often think about boy names, I guess cos I’m fucking gay as shit so boys never cross my mind in any capacity. But I like Elliott. But I also like that name for a girl so idk,

3 favourite girl names? I have heaps but the first three that spring to mind are Anneke, Rhiannon, and Sinead.

favorite actor? don’t know tbh. Probably Harrison Ford as Han Solo, cos he’s my son.

favorite actress? a hard choice but Emilia Clarke is the one I crush on the hardest so yeah idk.

who is your celebrity crush? who ISN’T? I swear I’m in love with half the women in music and film. Emilia Clarke is a big one, obviously, but also at the moment I’m crushing mega hard on Tash Sultana.

favorite movie? I don’t know, I’ll just say Amélie because that film never fails to cheer me up.

do you read a lot? what’s your favourite book? I do read a lot, and I have no fucking idea.

money or brains? In a partner? Brains, I guess, although that’s very subjective, given Gardner’s Theory of Multiple Intelligences - I guess it depends on what you value. I, personally, value emotional intelligence.

do you have a nickname? what is it? Stina.

how many times have you been to the hospital? Uhhh. I don’t know off the top of my head, and I probably can’t count accurately because there are a few admissions that I just straight up don’t remember. At least 10 times, I would say.

top 10 favourite songs? nah, that’s too hard.

do you take any medications daily? yeah, I take sertraline (anti-depressant), prazosin (alpha-blocker - for PTSD), and birth control (for PCOS). I also take magnesium and vitamin D because they’re both fucking lifesaving tbh.

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) I don’t know. All I know is that it never fucking does what I want it to.

what is your biggest fear? The people I love dying, especially my close family.

how many kids do you want? more than one but no more than three.

whats your go to hair style? down. I always wear it down. I have a pretty large side-undercut, so.

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) The house itself is really big, it’s an old villa, but it’s divided into two flats, we’re on the bottom floor. It isn’t huge, we have a tiny lounge, a slightly-larger-than-average kitchen, and average-sized bathroom/laundry - but our rooms are all fucking humungous.

who is your role model? my therapist, my old high school guidance counsellor, my friends.

what was the last compliment you received? Owen said my hair looked good today.

what was the last text you sent? it was a really long Facebook message to the girl I’m currently talking to, we’re going on a date on Thursday, I’m excited.

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? Idk, I figured it out pretty young, I was a bright kid. Maybe five or six?

what is your dream car? I don’t really know. I like 70s muscle cars but honestly at the end of the day any car is a good car. Plus, practically-speaking, I would like something that is kind on the environment, an electric car or a hybrid.

opinion on smoking? I think that it is something people do when they need something to alleviate a distressing situation. It’s no secret that smoking is more prevalent among the poor and the mentally ill, as well as those with high-stress jobs. I am an ex-smoker who relapses one or two times a year, the last time I had a cigarette was early April. I sometimes start smoking again when I am not doing well emotionally or if I’m really stressed (eg during exams). And I don’t like it, it makes me feel tired, it makes my throat phlegmy, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth and it makes me stink of smoke, and it is fucking expensive, but it meets a need. So my opinion is that I don’t like smoking, but sometimes it has a hold on me that I can’t resist, and I have the utmost compassion for anyone who smokes.

do you go to college? yeah, I’m in my last year of my undergrad.

what is your dream job? clinical child and youth psychologist.

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? inner-city suburbs - far out enough to still live in a free-standing house with a garden, but close enough that I can walk to the city, or be there after a short bus trip. That’s the situation I live in at the moment and it’s perfect.

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? No, because I’m a snob and only like to use my own shampoo and conditioner. But I don’t see anything wrong with it, since you’re paying for them. Taking appliances and dressing gowns and towels, however, is not acceptable in my opinion.

do you have freckles? Not really.

do you smile for pictures? Sometimes but I hate having my photo taken so it always looks strained.

how many pictures do you have on your phone? Not that many at the moment, I just did a big dump of photos onto my laptop, I like to do that from time to time so my iCloud doesn’t run out of space.

have you ever peed in the woods? yeah, and on the side of the road, and once behind Sophie’s house when her flatmate was taking a really fucking long time in the shower and I desperately needed to pee.

do you still watch cartoons? nah, but only cos they’re not my cup of tea, absolutely no hate.

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? I’m a vegetarian.

Favorite dipping sauce? see above.

what do you wear to bed? pyjama pants and an old t-shirt.

have you ever won a spelling bee? no, they’re not a thing in New Zealand, but if they were I would have fucking cleaned up - not to blow my own horn or anything but I am a freakishly good speller. It’s kind of a not terribly useful skill though, and doesn’t say anything about my level of intelligence. Just like my weird propensity for memorising numbers, even if I haven’t used them in 10 or 15 years (like my NCEA student number, and the mobile number for the cellphone I lost when I was 14).

what are your hobbies? netflix, napping, and memeing.

can you draw? nope, not even a little bit.

do you play an instrument? yeah I play the violin, and I can also play piano, and I’m a decent choral singer, and I was once an okay percussionist, and I am a below-average guitarist, and an abysmal flute player. But those last three were self-taught so yeah.

what was the last concert you saw? The Veils BUT I’m going to see Sigur Rós on Friday and I am dying of excitement.

tea or coffee? peppermint tea.

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Dunkin Donuts, but not for the coffee, I just really like donuts. Plus we don’t have Dunkin Donuts in Wellington so it’s a huge novelty for me when I get to have them, I’m almost as excited about getting Dunkin Donuts when I fly into Auckland on Friday as I am about seeing my favourite band live haha.

do you want to get married? Yes.

what is your crush’s first and last initial? I don’t currently have a crush.

are you going to change your last name when you get married? No but I will consider hyphenating if that’s something my wife wants to do.

what color looks best on you? black I guess.

do you miss anyone right now? I kinda miss Soph but these days I’m just starting to, like, I don’t know. Adjust. Which is nice. Realising that the way things worked out is for the best, because otherwise I would have been in for a lot of misery. Even though Sophie is a wonderful person whom I love and care about a huge amount. Apart from that, I miss being close to Nic, because she is like a sister to me, and I wish that we lived near each other so we could support one another.

do you sleep with your door open or closed? Closed.

do you believe in ghosts? No, but I could be convinced to change my mind with enough evidence.

what is your biggest pet peeve? People with bad manners, it is really not that fucking hard to say “please” and “thank you”? I mean, I’m talking in a work context here pretty much, customers can be so fucking rude. And the rude ones are all, without a single exception, baby boomers. So... yeah.

last person you called? Owen.

favorite ice cream flavour? I’m not really an ice cream person but I really like Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, that’s another thing I’m super looking forward to when I go to Auckland. If it seems like I’m obsessed with food, it’s because I am - but I am especially obsessed with getting all of the bread and sugar I can into myself in the next week because next week I’m starting the keto diet and I’m dying a little inside just thinking about it, I really fucking love sugar and bread.

regular oreos or golden oreos? regular.

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? rainbow.

what shirt are you wearing? t-shirt with very thin stripes.

what is your phone background? beyoncé in the formation video.

are you outgoing or shy? depends on the context, but mostly shy.

do you like it when people play with your hair? yeah.

do you like your neighbors? I don’t know them but they seem nice in passing.

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? always.

have you ever been high? yes.

have you ever been drunk? yes.

last thing you ate? cheesecake.

favorite lyrics right now? eh.

summer or winter? SUMMER.

day or night? Idk I like both, it depends.

dark, milk, or white chocolate? milk.

favorite month? January.

what is your zodiac sign? Aries but I don’t believe in that shit.

who was the last person you cried in front of? Either my therapist or Owen and Autumn, I can’t remember. Possibly both, I went through a stage of pretty much constantly crying a couple of weeks back lmao.

#lottieface #question thingy #as always kudos to anyone who reads even half of this shit

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eastofthemoon · 8 years ago

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Towards The Sun- Chapter 7

Title: Towards the Sun: Chapter 7

Series: Voltron Legendary Defender

Rating: PG

Characters: Keith, Thace, Shiro, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran and OCs

Summary: After the rebels escape, Thace is now staying at the Castle of Lions and Keith has questions for him that can no longer be put on hold. However, once he gets his answers, Keith is afraid how everyone else will take the news.

Archive of Our Own

Once Lance had proudly hung the drawing in Blue, the group went off to join the others in the meeting room. Without meaning to, Keith found himself sitting between Thace and Shiro at the table. He felt a little awkward since he wasn’t quite certain what Shiro thought of Thace at this point, but choose not to dwell on it.

Allura folded her hands on the table as she turned her attention to Ford and Oberon. “So, what exactly are these conditions?”

Ford ran a hand through his beard as he cleared his throat. “So, like I explained the leaders of our rebel cells have decided to form an alliance with you.”

“And Leah is eager to do so,” Oberon explained as leaned over the table. “However, the other cells are a bit nervous exposing themselves to the empire. Therefore, as a bit of a safety measure,” he looked to where Thace sat, “they want you to stay with the paladins.”

The group stared stunned and even Thace looked shocked by the news.

“Ookay, that’s surprising,” Lance said softly.

Keith blinked as he tried not to stare openly at Thace.

“Why?” Shiro asked as he narrowed his eyes. “How is it a safety measure?”

“They figured Thace can act as a sort of diplomat between our two groups,” Oberon explained and then coughed, “and the other is..well-”

“It’s too dangerous for me to go back,” Thace simply stated. “That’s the bigger reason isn’t?”

Oberon and Ford shared an uneasy expression. “Yyyeeaah,” Oberan said as he gave a shaky smile. “Sorry, Thace, but at this point you’re as wanted as the paladins and the princess here are.”

“Leah argued your case as best as she could,” Ford explained, “but the other rebels cells just thought it was too much of a risk for you to fully come back to the resistance.”

“But Thace risked his life,” Keith argued with a growl. “Zarkon would have gotten Voltron! We should have-”

Thace placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Clam down,” he said. “I hardly take it as an insult. It is a valid concern.”

Keith blew air out of his cheeks. “That still doesn’t make it right.”

An amused grin appeared over Oberon’s lips. “Heh, you are his kid alright.”

Keith instantly blushed and Thace tossed a glare. “Oberon..”

“What? It’s not an insult,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, think of all the father-son bonding you two can have now.”

Keith froze and his tongue felt numb. Thace wasn’t going anywhere, at least he didn’t have to now. He chewed his bottom lip. I..I don’t know if that makes me happy or not.

Thace’s eyes softened as he cleared his throat. “I believe...this isn’t a decision that should be rushed into.”

Keith stiffened and felt like he had been punched in the gut. What was that suppose to mean? Did Thace not want to stay here with him? His hands tightened into fists.

“I agree,” Shiro jumped in as he placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “With all due respect, having Thace live here permanently is a big chance for us to adjust too, especially given the circumstances.”

Keith noticed Shiro shifted slightly closer to him.

Allura frowned, but gave a nod as she looked to Oberon and Ford. “I agree with Shiro, while we do want to form a proper alliance, we will need some time to ponder this ‘condition’.”

“Don’t blame ya, Princess,” Ford simply stated. “Hope you don’t mind if Oberon and I stay here until you reach a decision.” He rotated his shoulders. “These old bones would prefer the fewer flight trips if possible.”

“Of course,” Allura said as she stood. “I’ll have Coran take you to the guest quarters for the time being until we have reached a decision on the matter.”

“Sounds lovely, Princess” Oberon said with a chuckle as he stood. “Thace, why don’t you join us? I do have a few things to discuss with you.”

Thace raised an eyebrow as he rose. “Alright,” he said and looked to Keith. “We can...speak later if you wish.”

“Uh, sure,” Keith said as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

Thace patted his shoulder before proceeding to follow Ford, Oberon and Coran out of the meeting room.

Hunk drummed his fingers on the table until they were gone and looked to the group. “So...anyone else here thinks it’s a bit odd Thace didn’t just agree to stay here?”

“It is a tricky matter,” Allura said gently. “We certainly never expected for Thace to stay here permanently, and there are certain things to..consider if that is the case.”

Keith twitched a bit as he narrowed his eyes. “If you’re referring to ‘me’ being one of those things, Princess, you shouldn’t,” he said quietly. “The alliance with the rebels is more important.”

“I beg to differ,” Shiro said as crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a part of this team, Keith. How you feel about Thace living here is important.”

Keith lowered his gaze. “Possibly...but Thace didn’t exactly seemed thrilled at the idea to stay here anyway.” He looked to the Shiro. “You saw, he basically said he didn’t want to be here.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “No, he didn’t and you’re over thinking it.” He pointed at Keith. “I”m betting the guy said that so that YOU wouldn’t be thrown into something you didn’t want to happen.”

Pidge nodded. “Yeah, and besides it is a lot for us to think about.”

“Yeah...that’s true I guess,” Keith said, but a part of him would feel better if Thace had just said so if that was the case.

Shiro rose from his seat and look to the others. “I think this is an excellent time to run some training exercises. Just because we have more guests aboard doesn’t mean we can treat it like a vacation.”

“Yes, Sir,” the paladins said in perfect unison.

Shiro nodded. “Go get suit up and meet me in the training deck.”

“I’ll join you,” Allura said as she stood. “I do want to see if we’re able to go up a level on the gladiator.”

“Ug, please, no,” Lance said as he rubbed his back. “My muscles are still sore from the last advancement we did.”

Keith went to follow, but was stopped as Shiro touched his shoulder. “Hey, listen,” he said in a whisper. “I am here if you need to talk later. Okay?”

Keith gave a small smile and nodded. “Thanks, I know,” he said as he went to leave. “Although, honestly, some mindless training is the best thing I need right now.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes, but smiled as he ruffled his hair. “I’ll see you on the training deck then, Buddy.”

“Yeah,” Keith muttered as he fixed his hair. Focusing on training rather than worrying what Thace is thinking? Sounds good to me.

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Oberon leaned in the chair as he held up his drink. “Got to admit it, Thace,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You got a real nice set up here.”

Thace sighed as he sat across from him. “It is hardly a ‘setup’,” he muttered. “I wonder if Ford is alright in his room.”

“He’s fine,” Oberon said as he set down his drink. “He just needs a rest, so stop avoiding the subject.”

Thace frowned as he gave a hard stare. “What subject?”

Oberon scoffed. “Don’t pretend. I’m talking about your kid?” He leaned forward. “I thought you would jump at the chance to be able to stay with him. What was that all ‘we can’t rush into’ stuff?”

“I have to consider his feelings on the issue,” Thace growled. “Not everyone is as happy go lucky as you. I’m not certain Keith would be comfortable having me here.”

Oberon raised an eyebrow. “Has he told you that?”

Thace frowned. “Well, no, truth be told he’s still trying to grasp the concept I’m his father-”

“And how is he going to get to know ‘his father’ better if you go running off somewhere to a remote planet?” Oberon asked as he sipped his drink.

Thace sighed as he rubbed his eyes. Despite knowing Oberon since they were cadets together, he could never understand how he could view things in such a simple matter. Course, just when Thace thought he had him figured out, Oberon always awed him with almost sage like advice.

He suppose it was for that reason they were friends. “Oberon, I left him and his mother when he was an infant. I can’t assume I can be allowed back into his life.”

Oberon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose you know what his mother thinks of all of this?”

Thace winced and stared at the floor. “She died when Keith was a child...and I didn’t even know.”

Oberon was silent. His eyes glowed with sympathy as he reached over to touch Thace’s arm. “I’m sorry, Thace. I didn’t know her, but I know how much you loved her.”

Thace gave his hands a squeeze as he nodded. “Thank you, and it is only another reason why I would not blame Keith for not wishing to be involved with me.”

Oberon frowned. “Oh? How so?”

“Keith was left all alone when Amy died, and had to be cared for by strangers until he had the luck of Shiro’s family, the black paladin, taking him in.” His hands gripped into fists. “How can I call myself his father when I wasn’t there when he clearly needed one?”

Oberon leaned back in his chair as he grasped his chin. “If you ask me, it’s the opposite. It’s even more important you do so now.”

Thace blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Keith has most likely questioned about who his father was his whole life, and now that boy is tasked with helping to free the universe,” he said as he picked up his drink. “Doesn’t that sound like a kid who could use some fatherly guidance?”

Thace paused at that. Oberon had a point, but still...

“Okay, look, I get where you’re coming from,” Oberon said, sincerely. “You are trying to be considerate of the kid, but having to be a father myself, I do believe you two owe it to each other. You got a second chance here, Thace, when you honestly believe you would never get to see your son again. You shouldn’t pass this up.”

Thace huffed. “You make it sound so simple.”

“No reason it can’t be,” Oberon said with a shrug. “And if that doesn’t convince you, do it for Amy.”

Thace froze and he looked up. “For Amy?”

Oberon nodded. “From what you told me about her, what do you think Amy would ask you to do?”

Thace was silent as he thought it over. “She...would want me to connect with Keith, or at least try.”

“Then, if you loved her the way I do Leah, do that for her,” Oberon said. “What do you have to lose?”

Thace was silent as he felt he was once again struck by the weird sage like advice of Oberon.

“And on a less serious note,” Oberon said as he leaned forward. “Think I could convince that Lance kid to let me have a ride on the Blue Lion? Give me something to brag about to the others you know?”

Thace sighed as he rubbed his eyes, once again question how he became friends with this person.

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The training had been exactly what Keith needed, and he still felt that way despite the exhaustion at the end of it.

“Good job, team” Shiro said as he flexed his arm. “We didn’t quite break a new record, but we’re getting there.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a record for amount of sweat?” Pidge asked as she leaned against Hunk and wiped her forehead. “Because if there was, I would win it.”

Shiro chuckled. “Sorry, I don’t think-”

An ear piercing grinding echoed throughout the room. Everyone jumped in alarm, but relaxed as Shiro clutched his arm and made it stop. He cursed as he gripped it tightly with his human hand. “Damn, it’s doing it again.”

Hunk sighed as he and Pidge moved closer. “Okay, we have GOT to solve this problem because this is getting worse.”

Pidge frowned as she looked it over. “Shiro, I hate to say it, but we may have to take this thing apart somehow to find the problem.”

Keith’s eyes widened in alarm. “Is that really necessary?”

“We’ve been going over this thing with a fine tooth comb,” Hunk said as he removed his helmet. “But it’s hard to see the problem without going deeper.”

“I get that,” Lance said as he scratched his head, “but still seems kind of drastic.”

Shiro sighed. “I am reluctant taking it apart, but at the rate this is going I’m afraid it’s going to get worse or maybe even stop working if we don’t fix it soon.”

And that’s not good, Keith thought, especially if it does it in the middle of a fight.

Hunk clasped his hands together in thought. “Let’s look it over one more time before we have to go that route,” he said as he crossed his arms. “As smart as Pidge and I are we can’t promise we can safely put it back together without damaging it more or Shiro for that matter.”

“I would prefer that,” Shiro said as he winced. “Let’s go to the lab now and see if you two can fix it.”

“Anything Keith and I could do to help?” Lance asked.

“Stay out of trouble,” Shiro said with a crooked smile as he left the room with Pidge and Hunk in tow. “I’ll check in with you two later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Keith said softly as he watched them go and sighed.

So, now what do I do? I’m too tired from any more training, but don’t feel like heading back to my room yet.

A hand on his shoulder broke Keith’s train of thought and turned to see Lance giving him a grin.

“Hey, how about we go grab something to drink?” he said and took a sniff. “Although, on second thought, after we shower. You reek of sweat.”

Keith smirked and gave a small nod. “Yeah, I would be for that,” he said as they headed out of the room.

It didn’t take long for Lance and Keith to remove their armor, shower and be back in their everyday clothes. The two of them then ventured into the kitchen where Lance poured each of them a drink and sat at the table next to Keith.

“Thanks,” Keith said as he took a sip.

Lance practically drained his glass as he leaned back in the chair. “Ah, that hits the spot,” he said and then raised his gaze at Keith. “Sssooo...looks like Thace might be living with us?”

Keith cringed as he leaned against his hand. He should have known that was why Lance suggested to get a drink together. “Yeah..weird, huh?”

Lance scoffed. “Honestly, not really? We live in a flying castle with two aliens..well three if we include you..although seven if we also count the mice-”

“Lance,” Keith said dryly.

“Right, right, getting off track,” Lance said as he leaned over the table. “But, hey, having Thace here would be good for you, don’t you think?”

Keith fingered the brim of his glass. “I’m not sure since I don’t really know him.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “He took care of you for like close to a month when you’re hurt, and you had all the time at the rebel base together. He’s not that much of a stranger to you, is he?”

“That’s different,” Keith argued. “Then he was this Galran soldier I was trying to figure out why he was helping me, and at the base…”

“He was the guy that may or may not be related to you,” Lance said as he crossed his arms.

“Exactly,” Keith said as he ran a hand through his hair. “Now that I know he’s my dad..it kind of feels like he’s a whole new person.”

“Okay, I get that,” Lance said, “but you realize you can only use that as an excuse for so long right? Best way to get over that problem is just to talk to the guy.”

Keith’s eyes hardened.

“Am I wrong?” Lance replied.

“No…,” Keith said with a pout, “but I have no sweet clue how I could go about it.”

And what’s the point of doing it if Thace will just want to leave in the end? Keith thought bitterly.

Lance grasped his chin in thought. “Well...could always grab a ball and play a game of catch?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Lance shrugged and looked ready to say more when the door opened. The teens glanced up as Thace and Oberon entered the room and paused.

“Oh, hey,” Oberon said as he waved. “I thought you were in training.”

“We just finished, and the others are assisting Shiro with some maintenance,” Keith said as he gripped his drink. “What are you two doing?”

“Making Thace give me a tour,” Oberon said rather cheerfully. “Although, it’s proving to be rather pointless since it seems he knows next to nothing about this place.”

Thace twitched slightly as he crossed his arms. “As I’ve said, I haven’t been here long, and I was hardly going to be exploring a home that wasn’t mine.”

Keith narrowed his eyes slightly. “Well..,” he said slowly, “you’re going to have to know it if you end up living here, right?”

Thace went quiet as he locked eyes with Keith. “That...is a fair point,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Keith blinked puzzled. He had been expecting Thace to deny he was living here, but that made it sound like he was considering it?

Why can’t the guy just make up his mind about it?! Keith thought.

Lance frowned and then snapped his fingers as he rose from his seat. “Then, I guess it’s up to Keith and I to play tour guys for you two.”

Keith lost his train of thought as he stared dumbfounded at Lance, and Thace looked equally shocked. “What?” Keith and Thace asked in unison.

“Ah, excellent idea!” Oberon said as nodded to Lance. “I realize we can’t go everywhere in the castle, but I heard there was an observatory deck we could go to.”

“Oh, sure we could take you two there,” Lance said as he grabbed Keith’s arm. “Right, Keith?”

“Uh..yeah,” Keith said as he glanced to Thace. “You alright with that?”

“I have no objections,” Thace said.

“Good, then let’s go,” Lance declared as he dragged Keith out of the room. “Come on, this will be great.”

Keith gave a sigh as he saw the two Galrans were trailing after them. How do I get dragged into these things?

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Keith was certain if it had just been him and Thace they would have walked in silence, but that wasn’t the case with Lance around. Keith always knew the guy was a chatterbox, and it was becoming crystal clear that Oberon was the same.

“So, how are Tral and Xenia liking their new home?” Lance asked with a concerned frown. “They okay?”

“They’re fine,” Oberon reassured him. “Took some adjustment, but the whole place is covered in snow. They’re quite delighted by the stuff!”

“Oh, man, really?!” Lance said as his eyes lit up. “Next time I see them, I’m teaching them to build a snowman!”

Oberon laughed. “I have no idea what that is, but fill your boots.”

“On that note, I also want to get Xenia crayons. She has artistic talents that should be encouraged-”

“I hate to interrupt,” Keith said coolly as he pointed ahead, “but we’re here.”

Lance blinked as he glanced to the door and scratched his head. “Huh, didn’t realize we got here that fast.”

Thace stepped up. “Well, then shall we proceed?”

Oberon gave a nod, but just as his feet brushed the doorway he paused. “Oh quiznack!” he exclaimed and snapped his fingers. “I just remembered I should contact Leah.”

Thace’s eyes widened. “Wait..you mean you haven’t yet?”

“We went directly into the meeting and it completely slipped my mind until now,” Oberon said with a shrug. “It does happens.”

“Says the person that prides himself on being an expert spy,” Thace said with a huff.

Keith raised his eyes in disbelief. “Yeah..I have to agree with Thace here on that one.”

“Hey, I have yet to get caught,” Oberon argued and then looked over to the boys, and Keith noticed most particularly in Lance’s direction. “Lance, don’t suppose you can show me where I could go to contact her?”

Lance frowned, but then his eyes widened slightly as a sly grin spread across his face.

“Sure, sure, I’ll take ya,” Lance said as he began to lead the way. “Keith, go take Thace without us and we’ll meet you there.”

Keith’s jaw fell slightly. “What? But-”

“Relax, you’ll be fine,” Lance reassured him as he shoved both Keith and Thace to move forward through the door.

“Right, besides I won’t be more than a few ticks,” Oberon insisted as he began to head in the opposite direction. “I trust you two can entertain each other until we get back?”

Thace narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but then his eyes landed on Keith and his shoulders suddenly relaxed like he remembered something.

“We..can do that,” he said slowly.

“Great,” Lance said as he clapped his hands and waved at them. “Be back in a bit.”

Keith blinked stunned as he gradually look to Thace. “Why do I sense we were just tricked?”

“I’ve learned not to ponder too hard on it,” Thace said as he entered. “No harm in playing along for a moment.”

Keith didn’t feel as positive, but considering he had nothing better to do, he found himself following his father up the steps.

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Lance gave Oberan a smirk once they were out of Keith and Thace’s sight. “I saw what you did there.”

“Oh?” Oberon said innocently. “And what did I do?”

Lanced pointed behind him. “Forcing Thace and Keith to spend a little one on one with each other.”

Oberon laughed. “You catch on quick, Kid,” he said in an impressed tone. “Hope you don’t mind, but figured it be good for both of them given the circumstances.”

Lance dropped his grin into a more serious frown as he nodded. “No, honestly, I was planning on doing something similar if Keith didn’t do something soon.” He shoved his hands into the back of his pants. “He can be so stupidly stubborn sometimes.”

“I know the feeling, trust me,” Oberon commented as he crossed his arms. “Had the same problem when Thace when we were younger.”

“Yeah?” Lance said curiously and then paused. “Uh, on that note, do you really need to contact Leah?”

“Yes, that part wasn’t a lie,” Oberon said as they paused. “However, I figured after that maybe you could show me a different part of the castle and see how long it takes Thace and Keith to realize we tricked them.”

“Sure, I could do that,” Lance said as he thought. “Could show you the recreation room where we keep a bunch of games.”

Oberon’s eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Ooh, what kind exactly?”

“Nothing much,” Lance said with a shrug. “We made up a couple of board games, but we made some replicas of the kinds we have on Earth.”

“Thace had told me about Earth games,” Oberon stated as he grinned like a little kid. “Let’s try one of them out after my call.”

“Ah, okay,” Lance replied. He was slightly surprised by the eagerness, but hey might as well roll with it. “Let’s go play while Mister Mullet goes talk with Mister Serious.”

Oberon laughed as he slightly slapped Lance’s back. “I like you, Kid! We’ll get along just fine!”

Lance grinned back as they continue to venture down the hall. He just hope things were going well on Keith’s end.

#voltron #thace #galra keith #vld #fanfic #what if the storm ends #my writing

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thelastspeecher · 4 years ago

Text

Angenie AU - Untangling

Yes, that is an absolutely horrific title for this ficlet, but I really wanted to give this ficlet a title and this was the best I could come up with. And it sort of fits. Gotta untangle all the chaos and crossed wires that happen in this ficlet. Also, fun fact I recently decided for this AU, which is revealed in this ficlet: this is a rare AU where Angie takes Stan’s last name when they get married.

(This ficlet is the third chronologically. First chronologically. Second chronologically.)

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Stan and Angie followed the McGuckets into the living room. Mrs. McGucket looked around the room with a slight grimace.

“Well, this is disgusting. How’d this place come to such a state?” she asked.

“You’d have to ask Ford that,” Stan mumbled. Mrs. McGucket glanced at him curiously. “My brother. He’s the one who owns the place. Actually, the reason we came here was to check on him.”

“Hmm.” Mrs. McGucket snapped her fingers again. Silver sparkles filled the living room. When they cleared, the room was clean and neatly organized. Mrs. McGucket took a seat in the recliner that had magically appeared, lounging like it was a throne. Mr. McGucket stood next to her, a hand on the back of the seat.

“I think it’s best if ya tell yer whole story, son,” Mr. McGucket said. Lute joined his parents.

“Yeah,” Lute said. Stan looked at Angie. She smiled at him encouragingly. He took a breath.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“The manner through which ya met our daughter would be good,” Mr. McGucket said.

“Right. I was in the Middle East-”

“Why?” Lute interrupted.

“I had business to do there.”

“What kind?”

“Look, buddy, just let me get to the important part, okay?” Stan snapped. Lute scowled, but made a “carry on” gesture. “I was in the Middle East. While I was wandering around the desert, I found this oil lamp just sorta sitting on the ground. I picked it up. It looked kinda dusty, so I rubbed it. And Angie came outta it.”

“How long were ya in the lamp, sweetie?” Mrs. McGucket asked Angie.

“I ain’t quite sure, Ma,” Angie replied. “But prob’ly at least a couple weeks.”

“Poor thing,” Mr. McGucket said.

“I used my first wish for money-” Stan continued.

“Of course ya did,” Lute muttered.

“-and I used my second wish to free Angie,” Stan said, ignoring Lute’s interruption. “I didn’t expect her to stick around to give me the third wish, since, now that she was free, she didn’t need to. But she did. And after a while, we started dating.”

“There was no datin’ while I was beholden to him,” Angie said. Lute rolled his eyes. “Lute, if I wanted, I could’ve left him at any point.”

“Still feels weird,” Lute mumbled. Mr. McGucket shrugged.

“It ain’t that dif’rent from how I met yer mother. ‘Course, I used my very first wish to free her.” Mr. McGucket smiled at Stan. “Don’t worry, son, I won’t judge ya fer usin’ yer second to free Angie. The order don’t matter. What matters is that ya freed my daughter instead of wishin’ fer somethin’ to benefit ya.”

“Yeah.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “So, after Angie and I started dating, we sorta kept doing what we were doing before.”

“Which would be?” Mrs. McGucket asked.

“Traveling. Had some fun. Went to weird places. Angie almost destroyed multiple landmarks with her magic.” Stan smirked at Angie. She rolled her eyes, the gesture very similar to her brother’s from a moment ago.

“Wait, what?” Mrs. McGucket asked.

“Yeah, Angie sucks at magic. Unless it’s an actual wish, she messes up a lot. She’s gotten better, though. Now, she only really screws up every other spell.”

“Rude,” Angie said playfully, punching Stan’s shoulder. Stan chuckled. Mrs. McGucket pursed her lips. “Ma?”

“I might want to give ya some exercises to help ya gain more control.”

“That’s better than what Stan’s been sayin’,” Angie said. “He keeps thinkin’ that there’s somethin’ wrong, that I should see a magic doctor or somethin’.”

“I ain’t no doctor, medical or magic,” Mrs. McGucket said. “But I can do a quick scan of ya, Angie, to see if there’s somethin’ a bit off ‘bout yer energy that could be causin’ difficulty in spelling consistency.”

“Sounds great,” Stan said. Angie frowned at him. “Like I keep saying, someone as smart as you should be better at your job.”

“But the scan can wait until after ya finish yer story,” Mrs. McGucket said.

“Right.” Stan cleared his throat. “We traveled for a while. Eventually, we visited my hometown so I could talk to my mom. And while we were visiting her, she told me that she hadn’t heard from my twin for a while. So we decided to check in on him.”

“And?” Mr. McGucket prompted. Stan opened his mouth.

Wait. Do I really need to tell them everything? They don’t need to know the dirty details about my twin brother going to a different universe or whatever.

“…When we showed up, the house was empty,” Stan said after a moment. Angie frowned at him. He soldiered on. “I decided to use my third wish to find out what happened to Ford, and when I did, Fiddlesticks got teleported in front of us and then passed out.”

“Fiddleford,” all four McGuckets corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“He’s yer brother-in-law, you should really learn his proper name,” Angie hissed. Lute leaned forward.

“Hang on, what did ya just-”

“Is that the whole story?” Mr. McGucket interjected. Stan nodded. “Hmm. Well, I could use some time to ruminate on that. Sally, want to scan Angie?”

“Sure thing.” Mrs. McGucket got up from the chair. “Angie, follow me to a private room, please.”

“Sure, Ma.” Angie stood on her tiptoes to kiss Stan on the cheek. “Play nice with my Pa and brother, okay?”

“Since you asked,” Stan sighed. Angie chuckled and followed her mother out of the room. An awkward silence fell. “So…”

“What are yer intentions with my sister?” Lute blurted out. Stan frowned at him.

“What?”

“Lute,” Mr. McGucket sighed. He raised an eyebrow. “Though, in all seriousness, do ya intend to marry Angie?”

“We’re already married.”

“What?!” Mr. McGucket yelped.

“We stopped by Vegas a bit ago. It felt right. So we got married.” Stan shrugged. “No big deal.”

“I- yes, it most certainly is a big deal!” Mr. McGucket said firmly. “Marriage is a big commitment. And yer s’pposed to share the moment ya take on that commitment together.”

“There were like, a coupla guys there.”

“Share it with yer fam’ly,” Mr. McGucket insisted. “Not a ‘couple of guys’.”

“Angie already told you that she felt weird about talking to you, since she wasn’t sure how you’d respond to the whole genie thing,” Stan said. “That’s why you weren’t invited. My folks weren’t invited, either.” Mr. McGucket continued to scowl. “But, I dunno, if it turns out to be as big a thing for her as it is to you, maybe we can-”

“Stanley?” The men looked over. Mrs. McGucket stood in the entryway, her face carefully neutral. “Come with me.”

“Uh, okay.” Stan followed Mrs. McGucket out of the room, down the hall, and into a bedroom. Judging by how neat the room was, Mrs. McGucket had used her magic to clean it, too. Stan sat next to Angie, who was sitting on the bed. “What’s going on?” His eyes widened. “Wait, did the scan find something?”

“Yes. It did.”

“Is there something messing with Angie’s magic?”

“Not yet,” Mrs. McGucket said slowly. “What I found with the scan, it’ll disrupt her magic, but not fer a lil bit. It’s too early on. No, her issue with her magic seems to be that she wasn’t given any proper trainin’. I’ll be sure to give her some guidance and leave her with steps fer practicin’ when we part ways.”

“Then what did the scan find?”

“I overheard that ya got married to Angie in Vegas. Which is a good thing,” Mrs. McGucket said evasively. Stan frowned, bemused. Angie put her hand on his knee.

“Stanley,” she said softly. She squeezed Stan’s knee. “I’m pregnant.” Ringing filled Stan’s ears.

“You’re what?” he asked.

“Pregnant.”

“With twins,” Mrs. McGucket added. Stan’s jaw dropped. “It’s too early to tell much more ‘n that with a basic scan like what I just did. But Angie told me some of what she’s been experiencin’ health-wise lately, and what she said confirmed the results of the scan.”

“You’re- you’re pregnant?” Stan whispered. Angie nodded, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I’m- I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yes, dear, you are,” Angie said.

“What?!” a voice shrieked. The door to the bedroom slammed open, revealing Lute. Lute glared at Stan. “The first time I see my baby sister in ages, it’s with some feller what freed her from a lamp, then dated her, then married her, then got her pregnant? This ain’t right!”

“Lute!” Angie scolded, jumping to her feet. “Nothin’ is wrong with any of what ya just said! Yer just strugglin’ with it ‘cause this is the first time you’ve met Stan.”

“And this first time, I’ve learned everything I needed to ‘bout him,” Lute said firmly. Stan got to his feet.

“C’mon, man, stop overreacting like this.”

“I ain’t overreacting,” Lute snarled, stomping over to Stan. He jabbed Stan’s chest with a pointed finger. “Yer a stranger to me, but ya knocked up my lil sister. I don’t want ya ‘round here.”

“Like you can make me go anywhere,” Stan scoffed. Suddenly, copper sparkles appeared around Stan, blinding him. When his vision cleared, he was in the front yard. “What the-”

“Lute, what did ya do?!” Angie’s voice shouted from inside the house.

“I didn’t do nothin’!”

“Yes, ya did!” Angie argued. Stan rushed back inside, slamming the door behind him. “What was-”

“I’m fine, Ang,” Stan called. “I wound up in the front yard. Don’t know how.”

“Lute did it,” Angie said. Stan headed for the bedroom. Mr. McGucket had joined his wife and children there. Angie glared at her brother. “Guess he’s a genie, too.”

“I ain’t no-”

“Every genie’s magic has its own color,” Mrs. McGucket interjected. “Angie’s is gold. Mine is silver. The magic what accompanied Stan disappearin’ to the front yard was copper.”

“Not to mention, Lute, you wanted Stan out of here,” Angie pointed out.

“Bang-up job on that, by the way,” Stan said. “You sent me, what, thirty feet?”

“Sorry, next time I’ll send ya to the bottom of the ocean,” Lute said tartly. Mrs. McGucket glared at him.

“Lute Everett, that’s it!” she snapped. She grabbed Lute’s ear and dragged him out of the bedroom.

“Ow, ow!” Lute yelped. “Ma!”

“Yer father ‘n I ‘re goin’ to have a talk with ya while we let Stan ‘n Angie deal with their big news,” she said firmly. Mr. McGucket sighed. He looked at Stan and Angie.

“Congratulations, you two.”

“Thanks, Pa,” Angie said quietly. Mr. McGucket kissed her forehead.

“I’m just glad to have ya back. Ya comin’ back with a husband and baby on the way, why, that’s just sugar on top. But I better go help scold some sense into yer brother.” Mr. McGucket patted Stan on the shoulder and left. Stan closed the door behind him.

“Your family’s intense,” Stan said. Angie smiled and sat back down on the bed.

“We’re married. That means they’re yer fam’ly, too.” She frowned. “By the way, my fam’ly don’t really tolerate lyin’.”

“So?” Stan asked. He sat next to her.

“You lied.”

“About…?”

“About what ya found when we arrived at this house. Why’d ya tell my folks that Stanford wasn’t here? He was.”

“I know Ford was here. I was the one who got him through a portal and into a different universe, remember?”

“Why’d ya lie?” Angie repeated. “My folks have a lot of experience and wisdom. And my ma’s definitely a better genie than I am. They’d be able to help us-” Angie stopped mid-sentence. She stared at Stan. “You don’t want their help.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Look. I’m sure that your parents are nice people. But Ford was clearly in some deep shit before he went wherever he went. I don’t want your family sticking their big noses into whatever Ford was up to here.”

“Big noses, huh?” Angie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on. You know that I wasn’t ragging on your nose,” Stan scoffed.

“I certainly hope not, ‘cause there’s a high likelihood one of yer children will have that nose.”

“And it’ll look as gorgeous on the kid as it does on you,” Stan said firmly. Angie smiled. “Seriously, though, I really don’t want your folks to get involved in Pines family business.”

“I’m involved.”

“You’re a Pines. Or did you say you’d take my last name just to make me feel better or something?”

“No, I took yer name ‘cause it looked so good on ya,” Angie teased. She interlaced her fingers with Stan’s. “Now that I’ve contacted my fam’ly, I can settle back into my proper identity a bit and get the paperwork done, make me legally a Pines.” Stan grinned at her. She looked down. “You really don’t want my fam’ly to know anything ‘bout Ford’s sit’ation?”

“No.”

“All right.” Angie took a breath. “We’ll keep ‘em out of it.” Stan kissed the top of her head.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Wow, a ‘thanks’ that I didn’t need to use magic to get?”

“I’m gonna be a dad, remember? I’ve gotta learn how to be responsible and use manners and shit like that,” Stan said. Angie chuckled. “Damn, we’re gonna be parents. We’re gonna need a house for the kids.”

“I’m assumin’ that ya want to stay in Gravity Falls so’s that it’ll be easier to get yer brother back.” Angie looked around the room. “This ain’t that bad of a place. We could stay here.”

“In my brother’s creepy rundown shack? Uh, no. We’ve got enough money to get something nice.”

“All those five-star hotels really spoiled ya, huh?”

“Yep,” Stan said cheerfully. Angie laughed. “Maybe we can go for a drive around town later to look for a house appropriate for someone in our tax bracket.”

“Like you pay taxes.”

“When I’m a dad, I probably should. Don’t wanna go to jail when I’ve got two kids at home.”

“Aw.” Angie kissed Stan’s cheek. “Yer already changin’ yer criminal ways fer yer babies, and they ain’t even born yet.”

#Angenie AU #Stangie #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Ma McGucket #Pa McGucket #Lute McGucket #McGucket Family #ficlet #my writing #normally I would ramble in the tags a bit but I have to go to work lol #speecher speaks

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kawaiifunhologram-blog · 6 years ago

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