#and not to mention i need stanley to be happy too i would destroy the world for him

[mejkosmos]

i feel like fiddlestan shippers are just retired fiddauthor/fordsquared shippers who NEED to see this kooky farmer guy be happy for once

[gay-dorito-dust]

I JUST SAW YOUR ONE WITH BILL POSSESSING READER AND OMG, adding onto bill possessing the reader and pushing them into the portal, can you do one where readers just like "fuck it, if I betrayed him and everyone thinks that might as well" and joins bill, I just think k it would be a cool concept, especially if Ford realizes way too late that reader was innocent.

I’m combining these who requests cuz they are practically the same.

Bill came to you the night after Ford had kicked you out of the shack in the form of a dream.

You didn’t even need to see him to know it was him, there was signs and the obvious one was when the birch trees opened their eyes to stare at you. ‘Bill.’ You said calmly.

‘My favourite fleshbag!’ Bill replied as he hovered in front of you, tipping his top hat towards you but you only looked at him blankly, having had your heart ripped out of your chest mere moments ago, that nothing was left from the encounter other then a dull ache where your heart should’ve been.

‘Hope you’re happy because I’m despised for the things YOU DID AS ME!’ You roared as you grabbed ahold of Bill with your bare hands and bringing him close to your face so that he could see the hurt, the betrayal; but most importantly the angry balding within your eyes so clearly like star constellations on a cloudless night.

‘And they didn’t let you explain? Not even mr logistics himself fordsy?’ Bill asked, finding this really heard to believe as your reality, but the way your eyes became sharp as steel at the mention of Ford’s name only made Bill start to believe that the nerd could’ve done something so heartless. ‘Oh you poor flesh bag.’ He coos as he pats your face with his small hand. ‘I knew I could smell the desire for revenge from dimensions away.’ He adds and you push him away, scoffing as you brought your attention to the landscape that your mind took; a serene forest with fairy lights hung from the branches high about you with the sound of frogs croaking and crickets to accompany the perpetual drizzle of light rainfall.

It was a weird place for you to be, especially with what you went through just moments prior, it felt too calm for a reflection of your current mental state and Bill noticed this abnormality too. You went through the biggest betrayal of your life and your dreamscape was barely affected by the reality you lived in, how fascinating. ‘I don’t want revenge.’ You said to Bill.

‘Are you sure? They didn’t even give you room to explain yourself, they took it at face value and tossed you aside like you were nothing.’ Bill said as he watched your face for every possible expressing he could get out of you. ‘Ford didn’t value you, neither did Stanley so why bother keeping your loyalties to men who don’t see your worth, nor value your loyalty that you’ve given them as they curse your name because they didn’t think you’d do anything in retaliation. Think about it getting even with them while dropping the truth on them will be a spectacle for the ages.’ Bill finishes as he leans towards you while whispering promises into your ears.

You let bill into your head once and you promised that you wouldn’t ever again, you’ve learnt your lesson but you were lost within your emotions, your grief of your friendship with Ford as you allowed him to shatter your last hope for someone to take your side in this long winded argument. That and Bill’s whispers of revenge and getting your own back at the old men has you succumbing to thoughts you’d never thought you were comfortable of thinking so freely as you did in that moment.

‘You promise to make their lives hell?’ You asked.

‘You’re not the only one they’ve wronged. I’ve dedicated my long life to seeing them helpless as I destroy their everything.’ Bill replied as he stuck out his hand, blue flames licking at his palms as it illuminated the dark forest and yourselves. ‘There’s no point denying it kid, you and I? We’re more alike than you think. We both wanna see lesser Sixer and Sixer eat dirt for what they’ve done to us, so let’s make that a reality partner.’ He adds.

-mini skip-

‘We need to wait for my partner, I can’t start torturing you all without them, I kinda promised them a front row seat to your demise.’ Bill said as he caged up Stan, Ford, Dipper and Mabel into their respective prisons.

‘You? A partner? You said it yourself Bill you don’t do partners!’ Ford replied sarcastically but something within him told him that something was wrong.

Bill laughed as he waved his hand. ‘Things change Stanford, and besides me and this person have more in common then I originally imagined when I first possessed them.’ He mentions off handedly as the doors open and the Pines Family saw a familiar figure come into the light, dressed in a dark suit/dress with eyes patterned across it as though to show that no corner of the room went unseen by this person; this person being you as you stopped by Bill’s side.

‘Y/n?’ Ford whispered.

You looked at him with a blank look. ‘Hello Stanford. Having fun in your little cage?’ You asked.

‘Y/n please tell me this isn’t true, that you’re working with Bill?’ Ford pressed on as he fought hard to suspended his disbelief for your sake and for the sake that this was all a horrid dream that he’d soon wake up from.

You shrugged. ‘Like he said, we’re more alike than he originally imagined when he first possessed me into pushing you into the portal.’

The family gasped.

‘He possessed you?’ Dipper asked.

‘This whole time…’ Stanley trailed off.

‘You were being used against your will,’ Ford continued as he realised that his and Stan’s treatment of you was unjust and unwarranted, ‘and now you’re working with him…why you’re my assistant!’ He adds knowing that Bill was using you against him once again.

‘Oh don’t get all jealous that your partner has found someone better fordsy.’ Bill said as he puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it possessively. ‘Besides they just found someone better to spend eternity with.’ Bill adds as Ford could only sit in the realisation that if he had let you speak instead of assume the worst of you, then maybe you’d still be by his side, happy.

But he failed you as much as he failed his brother and Fiddleford. Ford had no one to blame but himself and it’ll be something he’d have to live with for the rest of his life, assuming he should live that long after you and Bill we’re through with him.

[orpheuswasmine]

More Amnesia Bill AU

Amnesia Bill! I think it is a really bittersweet idea. I imagine they were going to do their ritual thing to get rid of him but after the ritual fails they opp on trying to kill him. Fortunately, no one can really bring themselves to kill him, since he’s so lost and confused about everything. Genieuly helpless and everyone just takes pity.

I said in my last post he would remember some things via dreams and shit, but I think the only thing he would remember in the start would be his parents. Can you imagine Ford mentally preparing himself to kill Bill, just to hear him talk about his parents so suddenly? I don’t think he would say a lot, but just like, “I was close with my mom. I don’t know where she is,” or something like that.

More about the whole regaining memories bit by bit, I swear up and down he would have a meltdown in the middle of the night because he regained the memory that HE DESTROYED HIS DIMENSION. Even though he keeps getting told it’s just a nightmare, it definitely wasn’t just a nightmare, he’s reliving the worst of the worst every night.

Slow a burn story. I fw the whole enemies to lovers but in this case, it’s a one-sided enemies shit. Ford (and everyone else as mentioned in the last post) hates Bill—Ford shows it, whether subtly or outright, he leans more into the subtleness of it all. After a while, he does realize Bill is genuinely powerless and not faking shit. He would be more sympathetic, but he definitely will still harbor the animosity for a while; however, Bill definitely fell in love during the time Ford was more sympathetic to him.

The start between them is like, Bill wanted to be friends with Ford because he seemed to know him like the back of his hand. Bill doesn’t have romantic feelings for Ford in the start, rather just this kind of desperation to cling to anything or anyone that can help him remember something, anything. Ford definitely didn’t like him, and any time Bill tried interacting with him, he either ignored him or walked away. Avoidance is key, but he can’t avoid the man forever. Eventually, they start to talk—more like Bill does the talking—Ford becomes a lot more invested whenever Bill talks about his memories. There were definitely times he got a bit worried Bill would remember their time together.

Bill's continuous nightmares would get so bad, Ford decided to stay with him for a night.

Last post, I said Mabel would be the only one to believe Bill, loosely. She shows her sympathy to him early on, but she’s still super weary of him. he helped him settle in a bit and when he needed to cry and tell someone about a new memory he regained, he’d always tell Mabel. Like his parents. A small conversation like this perchance?

“I wanted to show them the stars, that’s all I wanted. No one knew what I was talking about then. I wonder if they can see the stars now.”

“I’m sure they can now—hey, maybe they see you right now? I bet your parents would be happy to see where you are right now.”

“You reallY think they can see me?”

“Oh definitely. With your looks and personality, how can they miss you?”

While everyone is weary of Bill and lowkey trying to get rid of him, Bill is enjoying his time bonding with Mabel, even if she sometimes slips up and shows her suspicions towards him.

Bill's relationship with Stanley and Dipper is really rough. Like, genuinely, they don’t hide the fact they don’t like him, especially Dipper. Bill could be sweeping and then Dipper is in the back praying for his downfall. Dipper definitely shuns him and on some bad days, he does lash out at Bill. I don’t think their relationship would get super better over time, rather, I think it would become something like tolerance. As much as Dipper hates him, he doesn’t really have much of a say in what happens. He doesn’t show his hate toward him too much, occasionally they can have a decent conversation, but when push comes to shove, Dipper will definitely lash out at Bill again.

The same can be said about Stan, though I do think he would somewhat come around to like Bill. Not by much, just a bit. Just like Dipper, he would lash out, but he took a more teasing approach towards Bill, knowing it would definitely annoy the demon. Even if it went over Bill’s head, he definitely sensed him getting really agitated about it. He messes with Bill more so, his way of letting out his hate for him. Bill can tell Stan doesn’t like him, but he rather have to deal with stan’s antics than to be ignored all the time.

That's all for tonight gang BYEE

[highway-stars]

I just finished house of leaves here's my theory

I've avoided most spoilers and theories in the forums, subreddit etc so there's a good chance this is wah wha baby entry level "aw you're so dumb to think this" shit:

I think the entity that is the house does "exist" in-universe. I think it is a godlike entity. Like Navidson says, the house IS god. The house is the leaves, the labyrinth is its branches; the spiral staircase is the trunk. It holds up the world and the universe and, because it is so incomprehensible, it is inadvertently hostile towards anyone that interacts with it. But it NEEDS people to interact with it. More on that in a bit.

I don't think the Navidson Record was a movie that ever truly existed. I DON'T think it was a matter of a split universe. But I DO think the house is decent at mimicking human-made reality. It does not NEED to look like a house, but it does. It doesn't need to have stairs, or a window, or right-angles, but it does. These traits are uniquely human but the unnerving aspects reveal themselves when it fails to keep up the charade - whether this failure is intentional or unintentional. The larger interior than exterior, the distorting pathways; the horror happens when its mask slips. Perhaps in an effort to coax you into taking a closer look?

I think the Navidson Record is the house's attempt to "write" itself into existence. I think it needs to be beheld by humans in order to exist. We already know that the human inhabitants can affect the space - the hallways shift with the Navidson's emotions; the length of the staircase changes based on the mindset of those walking down it. After all, the concept of god was brought about by humanity, and perhaps it will need the continued effort of humanity to conceptualize and therefore materialize itself. God, or whatever this is, needs us as much as we need it.

Zampanó was the chosen conduit for its story because, as a blind person, he was more able to handle the profound visual horror the house creates. Dark pockets of shadow would not affect him; the looming cosmic horror of the blackness between the stars that Johnny mentions wouldn't bother him as deeply. He also lived alone, with no family or relatives that could stop or disrupt him from his work.

The fake resources, the interviews, the characters that don't exist - I think the house engineered those, as we know it can mimic human creation. It even at times goes "overboard" with itself - citing interviews with Stephen King and Stanley Kubrick, names almost too big to be believable. The timing and action of certain beats seem nothing short of a hollywood action movie at times - especially during the "Escape" chapter. Even the "happy" ending seems like too much to believe. I don't think those events happened, and that the house is perhaps misguidedly creating a mockery of its own story.

I think the distorted formatting and ramblings of things like lists of building materials, photographers, architectural examples, etc, are also evidence of this. The house can create, the house can consume, but when it comes to creating as a human does, it is not without error, as its omniscience and omnipotence seems to get in its own way of being believable and will tend to splinter off into multiple nonsensical directions, much like its hallways.

If Navidson, or someone like him, did exist, and did interact with the house, he did not get his happy movie ending. A passage at the end, in French, alludes to something like "I remember the war less and less" (Navidson was a war vet and also did wartime photojournalism) as well as "my wife, my daughter, my son, they're all dead." He references the house, and a black horse. Maybe Navidson did exist. And, unlike in his movie, his family was consumed. And eventually he was consumed. The house swallowing and destroying Navidson and all memory of his existence from the earth, only to then cough it up in the form of the Navidson Record once there was nothing left to chew on and a new human connection needed to be made.

Why did Zampanó die, and why was the task handed off to Johnny? I'm still trying to figure that one out. Zampanó seemed convinced something was coming for him, maybe he transcribed something he should not have (the entire minotaur section) and was then discarded for someone new. Perhaps Johnny was simply in the right place at the right time. However, poor Johnny, although brilliant and academically able to handle the task, is not nearly as well-equipped to handle a task given from an incomprehensible freaky-god-void-thing, and his mental health starts to deteriorate.

I don't think he just "got" whatever mental health issue was affecting his mom. I don't think his mom wrote the book, either. I think his emotional trauma and addictions made the perhaps unintentional "poisonous" effects of the house all the more potent. It's hard to know what is real and what is fake in that last passage he writes. He forgets Lude was killed in a motorcycle crash. He includes a section about a great interaction with Thumper and how he found a "clue" to the house's existence when he saw a band perform a song called the "five-and-a-half-minute-hallway". I don't think either of those events happened and were closer to an episode of maladaptive daydreaming/wishful thinking as an escape, as he loses sense of what is real and what isn't. But at the same time, who is to say what "real" even means in this context - the house is constantly shifting and writing and deleting bits of reality, and I think trying to sort experiences with it as "factual" or "delusions" doesn't really matter to a certain extent.

I don't think the house intends the harmful effects it has on the people that interact with it, directly or indirectly. I think it is a god that needs humans to exist. It bends the reality around us, but its humans are capable of bending it as well.

[fabledresources]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄: 𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

i just played the stanley parable for the first time recently and this ending absolutely destroyed me, so i’m making a meme about it to cope. a few lines might have been altered just a little bit to fit a more vague setting, but most remain unchanged. feel free to alter further should you need to!

trigger warnings: suicide ( or at least a mention of it )

“ i think perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. ”

“ i’m not your enemy here. really, i’m not. ”

“ wha- REALLY? i was in the middle of something! ”

“ do you have zero consideration for others? ”

“ are you that convinced that i want something bad to happen to you?

“ i really do want to help you. ”

“ let me prove that i’m on your side. ”

“ give me a chance. ”

" oh, thank god, you are willing to listen to me. "

" do you see that i have really wanted you to be happy all this time? "

" don't you see that it's killing us? "

“ i just… i want it to stop. ”

“ we would both be so much happier if we just stopped. ”

“ i think i have a solution. ”

“ what are we looking for? ”

“ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”

“ i think i feel…happy. ”

“ no, wait, where are you going? ”

“ please, no, let me stay here! ”

“ don’t take this from me! ”

" this is where we can both be happy. "

“ promise me you won’t go back there. ”

“ you’re risking everything we achieved here! ”

“ are you… you are going to stay here, aren’t you? ”

“ you. will. die. what about this isn’t getting through to you?! ”

“ thank god you lived. ”

“ you had me worried there for a moment. ”

“ i can’t go back to what i was before! ”

“ why are you doing this? ”

“ see? this is what you want. ”

“ go back. there’s nothing good that can come from this. ”

“ do you just not believe me? ”

“ what can i say to convince you? ”

" can you do that for me? "

“ perhaps you finally see what i’m talking about. ”

" my god… is this really how much you dislike me? "

" you are literally willing to kill yourself to keep me from being happy? "

" am i reading the situation correctly? "

" maybe you're just getting a kick out of it. i don’t know anymore. "

" i just wanted us to get along. i guess that was too much to ask. "

" is it over? "

[probably-haven]

Hey dude?

First of all, I love your headcanons! And If ya don’t mind, would ya be interested in doing more Archon War Era Venti headcanons? I loved reading the ones you’ve written and I would love to read some more! If you want to that it, your choice.

God, I feel so awkward writing this like I’m not trying to be rude and demanding but it feels like I am and I’m not trying to but if it seems like that, just know that it’s not my intention and I’m just going to stop here beforeIembarrassmyselfokbye

thanks so much for the ask bestie! And don't worry about it, it was actually phrased really considerately, and even if it wasn't I'd still be happy because 1) human interaction and 2) archon war era venti ihjrgfvskerudhjfh But seriously you and the ask give off really good vibes, so i get the feeling ur kinda the type of person who deserves to let themselves be rude or demanding every once in awhile- don’t know why i felt the need to make that comment, but i did, so make of it what you will <3

anyway! enough good vibes, lets talk about war!!!!

but seriously, I’m always always happy to talk more about Archon War Era Venti, like- im literally making a playlist for it cuz inspiration. Like sure, I may run out of ideas eventually, but that just means i get to think of more! which is fun af too!

spoilers for Venti’s backstory

first i want to clear something up from my last post. I mentioned the four winds in one or two of my points, but upon doing more research, I've discovered that the four winds weren't a thing until Vanessa's time, which was after Venti's 1000 year sleep so i'd like to adjust the imagery

this small pitiful looking wind sprite, newly having become a god, so small that no other god would possibly even consider it a threat, most having massive forms to display their power. But as opposed to physical strength, Venti is a being of raw elemental power. 

In the first part of the war there would come whispers of great storms, hurricanes, tornados, blades of wind that scourged the land, picking up flames, turning waters, channeling lightning, carrying freezing cold, turning the elements of the gods against them. And these storms happened completely by themselves. And they grew wary. Decarabian never left Mondstadt so could he have gotten strong enough to attack from even within it’s barrier. And then came the rumors, songs carried on the wind of a revolution, and a new name begun to be feared “Barbatos.”

An unknown god, conquerer of Decarabian, known now for attacking those Divine beings who used their power to oppress others, all from within the walls of Mond, for as he had never been seen then surely his power was so great he didn’t even need to show up in person. 

It was said that when you heard his song that was your final chance- to run, to escape before the winds caught you in their current, erasing all that ever was to your memory except the song on the wind. Sure, running would separate you from the civilization that gave you your strength, but for some unknown reason, Barbatos never target the vulnerable mortals left behind, so for a time, you could keep your power. 

There were multiple records from mortals of their (weaker by comparison) gods being caught in the winds, swept up high into the sky where the one sided battle between god and nature raged on, until ultimately they would see it, the unmistakable wave of destructive force that came with the death of a god, far enough away so as to not reach the people below.  And when a god was too strong, the city would be encased in a wind barrier, shielding them from the explosion of divine misery

And when all was said and done, a boy in green would enter the city, singing songs of the battle on his Lyre. He came to be recognized as a herald to Barbatos of sorts, and the people would often times attempt to shower him with offerings, but the people had suffered and did not have much.  “I am just a bard,” he would insist as they asked for his name in reverance. “But if you have apples and wine, then gather them and the people in the center of town. Freedom is something to be celebrated after all, is it not?”

And the people would relish in their newfound freedom, the ‘nameless bard’ celebrating with them as his friend never got to, and he would play one final song before vanishing into the night, retreating to mondstadt “Fly, fly away. Like a bird in the sky. See the world on my behalf. To the heavens may you fly”

Rarely was Venti ever actually in the city of Mondstadt though. He had seen first hand the destruction that the death of a god could cause, and if he were to be ambushed, he would prefer that it happened on the outskirts, where his people would not be harmed by the destruction left in the battle’s wake. 

However, he would be upfront with the people of Mond, explain to them of the archon war, what he was doing to other tyrant gods, and the danger of ambush- and only with their agreement, when he went out to fight, to liberate, he would raise a protective wind barrier until he returned. It pained him to do so- but he had already lost his closest friend, and he knew it would pain him more to return and see his friend’s legacy destroyed. If the people of Mond didn’t agree- then... well shit, i guess he got lucky. But I think that Venti would be close enough with them for them to see the difference between these wind barriers and those of the old god of storms.

actually- im leaving that there, but let me revise that-

Venti- being one of the very first to give out visions. Not caging his people for their protection as Decarabian had done before, but instead arming them with the ability to defend themselves. He would set up the basis of the wind barriers to aid in their protective power, but only Barbatos’s chosen could raise and lower them as they please, and they were a force to be reckoned with. It’s one of the main reason’s Venti became so fond of the “riptide of mortal blood” saying because of the alternate meaning it had when applied to his own people.

But there were times when a god was too strong- could not be separated from their people- and there would be nothing he could do to spare them.  So he would remain on the battlefield, enter as the unknown bard, and make his way to the center, playing his song as he walked- and he would stay until the wind had freed every one of their chained spirits(think stanley), until he was sure that the song would not be lost, however long it took. He was one of the very few gods who actually had any remorse for the mortal lives lost, and he would mourn their lost life, the things that they could have done had he not failed them. And this was all he could do, so insignificant, but he knew it was necessary, for if he did not do this for them, no-one else would because unlike the others, he had seen the potential of mortals first hand and often couldn’t help but think- had his friend survived, perhaps the people of this society’s song could have been saved. It was during one such song where he was discovered by the yaksha Alatus.

More Archon War Era venti headcanons: one two four

[mishasminion360]

We’ll All Float On

An It: Chapter 2 epilogue

Warning: Language; mentions of trauma and therapy; coming out of the closet; angst; fluff. You know what? Everything. It’s got everything.

A/N: I wrote this ages ago immediately after seeing the movie, but I’m just getting around to typing it up and posting it. The remaining members of the Losers Club deserve all the happinesses life can dish out. And in this house we ship Reddie!

Derry, Maine, 2017

Maybe coming back there wasn’t the best idea. After all, the last time they’d all gathered at that particular restaurant it had been a disaster, a God damned nightmare, and Mike had sworn to himself that he’d never eat Chinese food again. But as he gazed into the bubbling waters of the aquarium (this time tranquil and free of severed heads), his worries began to subside. And when the second of the Losers finally arrived his fears vanished completely.

“Jesus, isn’t there anywhere else to eat in this town?” Mike turned to see Bill Denbrough sling his jacket over the back of a chair and offering him a wide grin.

“Man, you grew up here, too, Bill. You should know that the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.”

The two men embraced with a hearty laugh, things already felt so much different than before.

***

Beverly gazed up at the glowing neon of the Jade of the Orient as Ben wrapped an arm tenderly around her waist.

“How does it feel to be back, Mr. Hanscom?” Bev asked, leaning into him.

“A lot better now that I’m not saddled with this overwhelming sense of dread weighing on my chest.”

Beverly circled both of her arms around Ben’s muscular torso which 28 years ago had not been so muscular. “Well, now the only thing resting on your chest is me.”

She hoisted herself up on her toes to lock her lips with his and Ben smiled into the kiss. “Easy now, Mrs. Hanscom,” he murmured. “Time and place. Time and place.”

“Get a room you two, before I lose my appetite.”

The lovebirds extricated themselves from each other’s arms to gape at the bespectacled man who’d approached them.

“Seriously, how the fuck is it that the two of you look even better than you did last year? And what the fuck am I doing wrong?”

“Beep beep, Richie!!!” Ben and Beverly cheered in unison as the pulled good ol’ Trashmouth Tozier into a bear hug.

“All right you two, lay off,” Richie laughed as he shrugged his way out of their embrace. “Don’t touch me, you don’t know where I’ve been.”

The three linked arms and strode to the front door of the restaurant like Dorothy, Scarecrow and the Tin Man sauntering down the yellow brick road.

“Alrighty, fellas,” Bev said, never afraid to take the lead. “Let’s do this thing.”

***

“Hello and welcome! How many in your…oh.”

The hostess trailed off as she took in the trip before her. Oh, she remembered these three, and the rest of their strange little gang as well. The last time the six of them had dined there they’d nearly destroyed their finest dining room. She didn’t need to open up a fortune cookie to know she’d be cleaning up more shattered dishes and splintered furniture that night.

“Right this way,” she said, clearing her throat. “The rest of your party is expecting you.”

Volleying quips and sharing in quiet giggles, Bev, Ben, and Richie followed the hostess as she procured their utensils and menus and led them to their seats.

“Where is your sick friend? The small man who is allergic to everything? I don’t believe he’s arrived yet.”

The trio immediately fell silent. She’d been referring, of course, to Eddie Kaspbrak. Bev would had to have been blind not to notice Richie’s face fall and his body sag with an unspoken sadness at the mere mention of their late friend. Reaching behind her without looking, she grasped Richie’s hand tightly in her own and her stiff shoulders relaxed when she felt him squeeze back in thanks.

“He’s, um,” Ben paused as a he searched for the right words. “He’s one of the reasons we’re here tonight.”

***

Mike and Bill were already engaged in an animated discussion about something or other and hadn’t even noticed the others approach. Ben gazed wistfully at the joyful pair, admiring their exuberance and allowing it to overtake him as well before removing the padded mallet from its place and offering it to Richie. “Care to do the honors?”

Bill and Mike’s conversation was abruptly silenced by the thunderous echo of a gong and Richie’s announcement.

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun.”

And just like that all of the pieces fell into place. The little family was whole, as it would ever be, once more.

***

“Shit, Mike, you actually went to Florida?” Richie guffawed before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm-hm,” he responded through a mouthful of lo mein.

“Fuck, why?”

“It’s like I told you when we were kids. It’s just a place I’d always wanted to see. Now I’ve seen it.

“And?”

The other five eyed Mike in anticipation of an exciting story, but he merely shrugged. “It’s about as magical as you’d expect.”

“Yeah, I told you you’d hate it,” Richie snickered.

“It wasn’t all bad. I did meet a nice gal in Jacksonville.” This was met with a chorus of juvenile “oohs” and a salacious whistle from Bill.

“What was she, like, 70?”

“Don’t be such a smart ass, Rich,” Mike chided, waiting until Richie once again had his lips poised at the edge of his glass of booze before finishing his sentence. “She was 80.”

The gang hooted as Trashmouth Tozier choked on his beverage. Bill clapped his coughing friend firmly on his back before lifting his own glass.

“If Richie here can keep it down, I’d like to propose a toast.” The others followed suit and hoisted their drinks in the air. “To those we lost. To Stan and Eddie.”

They smiled they’d all been wearing throughout the evening finally began to falter as silence engulfed the room. After a moment of quiet hesitation, Bev tapped her glass against Bill’s.

“To Stan,” she said with a grin that took all of her strength to muster.

“To Stan,” they all repeated before clinking glasses and taking a swig.

“To Eddie,” Ben cheered, and the others parroted with a little more pep. All but one.

“Rich? You okay, man?” Bill turned to his left to see the usually boisterous comedian staring stoically into his half poised glass, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was searching the bottom of his beer for something he’d never be able to find.

“To Eddie,” he whispered at last, clinking his glass against all the others.

***

Though Florida had been a bit of a dud, Mike did find happiness traversing other states, even other countries. Thanks to a little help from Bev’s keen eye, Ben had just designed, and would be supervising construction for, a swanky new chain of hotels. Richie’s third Netflix special would be available to stream by the end of the week. Bill’s latest book had just been nominated for an award and talks had already begun regarding a big screen adaptation. And all that good news coincided with the birth of his first child, a son named Georgie.

It certainly seemed that none of them could be considered losers anymore.

***

Another blanket of uncomfortable silence settled upon them as the waitress plopped the plate of fortune cookies in the center of the table.

“Enjoy,” she chirped before adding in a whisper, “and my boss has insisted that I ask you lot to please refrain from destroying any furniture this time.” To that end she left them to partake in their potentially hazardous desert, and the group eyed the plate of novelty snacks with trepidation.

“Okay, who wants to be the first to crack one of these suckers open?” Richie asked. “By the way, not it.”

After another moment or two of hesitation, Mike finally reached for the plate. “I got you all into this mess last time, so I might as well start making up for it. Since Eddie can’t be with us, I’ll be this evening’s designated risk analyst.”

He cracked a cookie in two and, popping one half inside his mouth and discarding the other on the table, withdrew the small slip of paper.

No blood, no milky eyeballs, no critters from another hellscape of a world. The only thing inside these cookies were fortunes. Mike read his without a sound, and he could feel the others watching him intently.

“If that fucking thing says ‘guess’ or ‘Stanley’ or ‘could’ or ‘not’ or ‘cut’ or ‘it’, I swear to God I’m fucking gone.” Richie laughed but failed to hide his growing unease.

Mike grinned as he read the fortune again, this time out loud. “‘The world is big, but time is short.’”

“Well that’s much less terrifying,” Bill sighed. “I’ll take that as a cue to dig in.”

Bill devoured the cookie and then vocalized his fortune. “‘The ending is the most integral part of the journey’.”

“Would you look at that,” Richie guffawed, clapping Bill on the shoulder. “Even a shitty cookie has offer it’s two cents about your lousy endings.”

“Fuck you, Trashmouth. My last two novels have ended quite nicely, thank you very much. Just ask my Booker Prize nomination.”

“I’d rather ask the award itself when you win it.”

Bill rolled the slip of paper into a minuscule ball and flicked it aside. “If I win it.”

Richie shook his head. “When.”

Bill patted Richie’s hand as a sign of thanks. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking about taking a step back from all the doom and gloom thriller stuff to take a swing at writing children’s books.”

“You’re kidding!” Bev exclaimed with a bark of laughter.

“I’m serious. I kind of thought it would be a good way for Georgie and I to bond. I write a story, then we read it together. You know?”

Ben leaned back in his chair and snapped his cookie in half. “Bill that’s…wow. That’s quite a change. Good for you, man.”

“What does yours say, honey? Bev asked, eyeing the slip of paper between her husband’s fingers.

“Yeah, honey. What’s it say?” Richie leaned toward the two of them, batting his eyelashes dramatically and resting his chin in his hands as the pair flipped him off at the same time.

“It says ‘he who builds the dreams of others should not neglect his own’.”

“Well, that’s oddly specific,” Richie said matter-of-factly. “You know, because you’re an architect? You build things….yeah, I’ll shut up now.”

“First time for everything,” Ben grinned.

“I want to read mine next,” Bev chimed in, holding the small piece of paper primly between her fingers. “It says ‘the smallest changes make the biggest difference’.”

Mike rubbed his chin in thought, nodding his approval at the depth of Bev’s fortune. “Anyone want to wager a guess as to what it means?”

Richie snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up. “Well, by jove, I think I’ve got it, gents,” he exclaimed in an overblown, piss poor excuse for a British accent they hadn’t heard him use since they were kids. “I do believe it means that if our dear friend William here could slightly alter his crummy endings, some of his books might actually make for a halfway decent read.”

Bill glared at his wisecracking friend. “Tozier, if you make fun of my writing one more time, I swear to God-“

“Don’t blame me, man. It’s the cookies that have it out for you!”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Bill’s books, Rich,” Ben smiled just as Bill smacked Richie in the back of his head.

“I think it means that something small can have a huge impact on your life,” Bev clarified. She scanned the faces of her companions to see if any were catching her drift.

“What, like, a new haircut?”

“Or a baby, Richie.” Ben’s eyes twinkled when he grinned.

“Right. Or like-wait, what?”

“Bev that’s….are you really….?” Mike stammered happily.

“Three weeks along,” she confirmed proudly. “You guys didn’t think it was a little weird that I’ve been drinking water this entire evening?”

Bill leapt from his chair and threw his arms around the expectant couple. “Ben! Bev! This is amazing news! Congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats you two crazy kids,” Richie added before Mike inquired if they’d been considering names yet.

Bev leaned into her husband affectionately. “Well, of it’s a girl, Ben has graciously agreed to name her after my mother, Elfrida. We’d call her Frida for short.”

“Beautiful choice, Bev,” Mike praised, taising his glass and taking a celebratory sip. “And if it’s a boy?”

The Hanscom’s looked silently, almost nervously at each other before answering, some sort of unspoken agreement passing between the two of them as the rest of the Losers looked on.

“If it’s a boy,” Ben finally said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d even been holding, “we’d like to name him Eddie. Edward Stanley Hanscom.”

Richie instantly felt a lump form in his throat, and he had to cast his eyes downward to ensure that no one could see the pain that burned behind them. He chewed his lip quietly as he struggled to reel his unraveling emotions back in. When he looked back up his eyes immediately found Beverly’s. She searched his face silently. Hopefully.

“He would have loved that,” Richie finally croaked. “They both would have.”

Mike and Bill were too choked up to speak, so they just adamantly nodded their agreement.

“Alright, I think I’ve had about as much sentimentality as I can take for one evening.” Ben turned to Richie and tossed him a fortune cookie. “Come on, funny man, make me laugh. What does yours say?”

Richie made a big manly show of crushing the cookie in his hand before extricating the fortune from the rubble of the snack, and as he read it to himself his face blanched.

“Oh, this should be good,” Mike snickered, noticing Richie’s sudden discomfort. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Rich.”

He felt a wave of nausea overtake him as he read and re-read the small segment of paper. The clown was dead, he knew that, but this fortune felt like another of his cruel tricks. Richie felt as if he were being mocked all over again.

Love doesn’t come only once.

“Rich?” Beverly asked softly, her gentle voice cutting through the harsh buzz of white noise in his ears. Nuh-uh. No way in hell was he reading this shit out loud. He didn’t have the stomach to explain it to them. Not yet. Not like this.

“I, uh, I guess my new special’s gonna bomb,” he coughed. “It says ‘a career change can set you on your true path’.”

The others eyed him skeptically and he feared they’d seen through his fib when Ben at last said, “it’s probably for the best, Rich. You’re not that funny anyway.”

Richie mouthed a silent “fuck you” and the tension dissolved into laughter.

***

The first to arrive, the leave. Mike stood and slipped his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging into it as he said, “I don’t know about you folks, but jet lag and alcohol do not seem to be mixing well for me. Any of you care to continue the conversation back at the townhouse?”

“You read my mind,” Bill said, polishing off the dregs of his third beer before following Mike’s lead.

“Me, Ben, and the Lima bean here,” Bev said with a Pat of her stomach, “would be more than happy to take you up on that offer.”

“I’ll handle the check,” Bill said, already removing his wallet from his back pocket.

“Slow your roll there, Stephen King,” Ben said, reaching for his own wallet. “I’ve got this one. Really.”

“Let’s at least split it. I don’t feel right about you taking the whole thing.”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” Bev interjected. “I’ll pay it myself if it keeps this from turning into an all night debate.”

Bill turned to Richie, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Well, maybe mr. big shot comedian here would like to contribute.”

Richie still made not a move to stand. He simply sat and stared at the collection of dirty dishes littering the table, gazing so intently that he could potentially shatter one of the plates with a single thought.

“Yo, earth to Trashmouth. You okay, man?”

Richie licked his lips nervously; his mouth had gone inexplicably dry and he struggled to dislodge his voice from his throat.

“I’m not ready to, uh….guys we can’t leave yet.”

The tone had shifted once again and a far sense of dread took hold of each of the Losers. Bill tried to laugh through the unease. “You planning on spending the night here, Richie?”

“You guys, I came here tonight to say something and, God dammit, I’m gonna say it! I just need…just give me a sec.”

Richie Tozier spent so much of his time joking around that the rest of the gang often forget that he was even capable of being serious. He felt sadness and fear just like the rest of them, and it was clear at that moment that he was scared to death.

He was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles paled. Beverly slid into the chair next to him and took one of his hands in her own. He was shaking terribly.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

For what was probably the first time in his life, Richie couldn’t bring himself to start talking. Tell them, Tozier, he commanded himself. Just tell them. They’re your friends, man. They deserve the truth. You owe it to them, and to yourself. To Stan. To…Eddie.

“Sweetie, you’re scaring us,” Bev whispered. “Talk to us, Richie.”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he finally blurted, the words tumbling out with the gust of a breath.

The others glanced from one another, unsure of how to respond, until Mike placed a comforting hand on Richie’s shoulder.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Rich. Shit, after everything we went through last year…” He trailed off as Richie shook his head fiercely, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m…um, I’m….gay.”

And just like that it was out. His “dirty little secret”. His painful truth laid bared before him for his friends, for the world to see.

“I’ve been having a really hard time accepting myself and….and processing all of these feelings. Especially after….after Eddie….” The rest of the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t bare to finish the sentence. It had been a year since he’d lost the only man he’d ever loved, but with each passing day the wound reopened. The pain was always fresh.

“Oh, Rich,” Bev cooed. She stroked his hair and pulled him close, already a loving mother in the making. “We know, honey.”

“You….what?”

“Richie, we know,” Bill confirmed. “We’ve always known, man.”

Richie could hardly believe his ears. Was it even possible for someone to be in so much pain but still find it possible to smile?

“Why the fuck didn’t any of you ever say anything?”

Ben slipped an arm around Bev’s shoulders and placed one of his strong but gentle hands over Richie’s. “Because we didn’t care, Rich. Who you loved didn’t matter to us. Because we loved you.”

“We still do. We’re your friends, Trashmouth,” Mike added. “We figured that, someday, you’d tell us when you were good and ready.”

Richie snatched his glasses from his face to rub his eyes as his vision went blurry. “I would have told you all a lot sooner, I think. But then we all left and….and we forgot. I forgot.”

Beverly laid her head against Richie’s shoulder. His trembling had only grown worse.

“Do you think….do you think that Eddie knew?”

“Eddie’s death hit us all pretty hard, Richie, but we could see how deeply it hurt you. Much more than any of us. We understand why now,” Bev soothed. “We all know how much you loved him, and we’re just so sorry that you’ve had to deal with all these feelings by yourself.”

He didn’t want to cry in front of them. Not again. But Richie had never been a good fighter, so the tears eventually won. Just like that day in the quarry one year ago, his friends held him as his body convulsed with harsh wracking sobs.

***

After his good healthy cry, Richie excused himself and snuck off the pay the check before either Bill or Ben had the chance to protest.

“So, I think Richie is definitely going to need another drink. How about I go grab a couple six packs and then meet you all back at the townhouse?” Bill offered.

The gang nodded their agreement as they all began filing out of the dining room and toward the front door. Suddenly, Richie came barreling past them back to the table.

“OhShitOhShitOhShitOhShit,” he chorused as he frantically snatched up as many napkins as he could that hadn’t already been soiled.

“What happened?” Ben inquired, quirking one perfect brow.

“I bumped into a guy at the register.”

“A guy?” asked Bev. “Someone you know?”

“Nope,” Richie responded, clutching two fistfuls of napkins. “And I literally bumped into him. Now he’s wearing his takeout as a suit.”

Richie rushed past them all again in a mad rush to clean up the mess he’d made.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Looks like Trashmouth has got quite a way with the fellas, doesn’t he?”

***

Cozy in the townhouse, they laughed some more, drank some more, and reminisced some more. They listened intently as Bill read aloud some of the rough passages he’d scribbled out for Georgie’s book. They helped Mike chart a course for his next adventure: a traditional backpacking trip across Europe. Richie offered to tag along if they could make a pit stop in Amsterdam for some weed.

As for Richie, the happily married Losers offered him some helpful advice for his next encounter with Don, whose number he’d been rewarded with after mopping up his spilled sweet and sour chicken. The very Don he’d promised himself to call when he returned home and felt good and ready to make a move. And Richie was starting to feel that “ready” may actually come sooner rather than later.

And as the week long visit neared it’s end, as their time together came to a close, the five collectively came to the realization that they were far from the losers that Derry had shaped them to be. But then again they never did feel like losers when they were all together.

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 19)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19

Length: ~7000 words

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/13715520/chapters/50933677

Strange.

Strange and pleasant and warm.

Opening his eyes seemed unnecessary. The novel state of comfortable half-sleep beckoned him to stay. Forever, perhaps. Forever would be nice.

It took an undeterminable but lovely amount of time to remember why it felt so strange.

Recollection brought with it a much more familiar surge of panic, causing him to a bolt upright, pain shooting through his abdomen and chest, eyes wide and hands immediately fumbling for his glasses.

Slamming his eyewear in place with more force than was strictly warranted, it still took a moment for Stanford’s mind to spiral its way to the conclusion that there was no need to panic. He forced himself to breathe, a fist tight against his chest, slowly relaxing his shoulders. He was awake and no harm was done. He was in the ground floor study, inside the barrier that blocked Bill from his mind, and he was—he knew this—he was safe here. That’s why he’d been asleep.

The portal was broken, the rift was sealed in a container and locked up, and the journals were right under the couch where he’d put them previously. He should still do more, but nothing had happened to them yet, as far as he could tell. He leaned forward, arms on his knees, and closed his eyes for a moment. It was fine.

He was alone in the room now, but he hadn’t been so all night. The mattresses and crumpled blankets on the floor – not to mention the game books – was proof enough that last night had been real.

Ford ran a hand through his hair and took deep breath that turned into a yawn, ending with a quiet incredulous chuckle. He couldn’t believe he’d played DDD.

He couldn’t believe he’d played DDD, and slept, and he felt—he felt alright. His wounds ached and his heart was beating too fast in his chest, but the colors around him seemed brighter – reds, browns, purples, not just yellows – than they had been in weeks. There was daylight illuminating the window from the outside. It was another warm summer day, when it should have been freezing winter. Bill wanted to destroy the world, but Ford wasn’t going to let him, and for once the determination seemed like something more than a desperate last stand.

He wasn’t doing this alone.

The emotions attached to that thought threatened to overwhelm him.

He had Stanley back. He had something that resembled a family. Together they’d done things he never would would have managed alone, and then they’d played DDD. It seemed incredible, fragile, unreal.

He had Stanley back, and all it took was a one-way trip thirty years into the future. Now he had a twin brother twice his own age, his elder brother’s grandchildren, and no identity of his own.

Something twisted in his guts. He should have done things differently. Should have tried to explain better to Stanley when he arrived, should have reached out sooner, should have listened to Fiddleford, should have seen the warnings signs, should have never summoned Bill to begin with—the list of mistakes could go on forever if he allowed it to. He should have been a better brother. He should have been a better scientist. He should have been a better son, a better friend, a better person. It was too late for so many things, now.

And yet, here he was.

Rubbing his arms against the sudden chill, Ford looked down at his dirty, worn dresspants and rags of a shirt. He should probably change. Possibly also shower and redress the wounds if he could stomach it—no, whether he could stomach it or not.

As well as other things that needed to be done.

Wrapping himself up in the coat, he made himself slip out of the protection of the barrier and face a new day.

 Stanley served him pancakes for the third day in a row, as if this was now a normal occurrence. Dipper and Mabel chatted about last night’s game. All three of them had already eaten earlier, but apparently they wanted to ‘keep him company’, which was probably just another way of saying to keep an eye on him – but if so, it was fully warranted and not completely unwelcome.

“So, did you sleep well?” Stanley asked from the stove soon after getting Ford to sit down at the table. “Didn’t hear ya wake up any, not even when me and the kids got up.”

Ford frowned at the implications, and the grammar. “I didn’t even hear you.” That was troubling, especially after the alien tranquilizers yesterday. If anything had happened, he might not have noticed in time. “I suppose I slept too well.”

Stanley laughed. “No such thing for you, Sixer. You needed it. I’m just glad you’re getting your head back on your shoulders.”

“It’s always been on my shoulders!” Ford bristled. “Well, technically, between them.”

Stanley laughed more.

Oh. “But that’s just a saying and now you’re messing with me.”

“Just happy you’re here, genius.”

Ford didn’t know what to say about that. Stanley’s smile was reminiscent of a better time, but set on a too-old face, and Ford had been gone for thirty years. An absolutely preposterous amount of time for his brother to spend trying to get him back, but little more than a nap for an immortal being like Bill. He bit his lip and tried not to think about the blue light of the portal, the rage on Stanley’s face turning to horror and the taste of his own panic as he drifted away. If they hadn’t fought—if things had gone differently—

Mabel broke the uncomfortable silence. “I slept well too! And Dipper didn’t have any nightmares!”

Dipper smacked her arm. “Thanks, Mabel, that’s exactly what everyone was asking about.” He looked up at Ford. “I did sleep well, though. I dreamt about DDD! Last night was amazing!”

Ford found himself smiling at that. “It was a good game.”

“We have to do it again sometime!”

“Yes, we—” Ford hesitated. The idea of playing regularly implied a level of permanence he couldn’t take for granted, but neither could he deny that he wanted to. “—we should.”

“What’s the matter?” Dipper sounded wary, perhaps taking Ford’s hesitation the wrong way.

“I need coffee,” Ford realized. There was no coffee on the table, and although it might be more of an addiction than a necessity today, he still craved it. He resolutely got up to make some.

Stanley tried to wave him down even as he was flopping pancakes around with a spatula. “Ah, I’ll get to that when I’m done with—”

“I can make coffee!” Dipper chimed in.

Ford turned around. “Don’t,” he said, making a horizontal gesture with both hands. “I’m quite capable of making my own coffee, thank you.” He wasn’t even the slightest bit dizzy at the moment, so any coddling was utterly unnecessary.

This was his own kitchen, even. It wasn’t as if Stanley had rebuilt or remodeled this part of the house. The coffeemaker on the counter wasn’t his own, but it was a similar model, just as easy to work. He filled it up and started to brew, then opened the cupboard above for a mug.

He narrowed his eyes at the plates. Just because the mugs weren’t in the exact cupboard he expected them to be didn’t mean he couldn’t find them. As it turned out, they were in the next cupboard. And just because the mugs were all unfamiliar to him didn’t mean—

Wait. Struck by an urge to examine the matter scientifically, Ford started taking down all the mugs from the cupboard one by one. Eleven, all in all. Most of them must indeed be Stanley’s, but some were so old and worn that it was difficult to tell. Only one was unmistakable. It was chipped and discolored, but wore a faded print that said “It’s all fun and games until someone divides by zero.”

Ford took a deep breath, more relieved than he’d expected to be. He remembered buying this during a visit to the east coast, three years ago. Thirty-three years ago. It still existed, but like Stanley, it was old now. Older than himself. He’d bought it before he’d met Bill, at a time when he’d just started to become frustrated with his own inability to produce a unified theory of weirdness, and the printed words had spoken to him. A simpler, more naïve time, but the sentiment written on the mug still seemed apt.

“Earth to Stanford.”

Ford spun around, bumped his wounded side into the counter and bit down a grunt of pain, still clutching the old mug in his hands. Stanley was by the table, having filled Ford’s plate with pancakes, looking at Ford with a concerned frown. “You okay?”

“Are you cleaning the cupboards?” Dipper asked, confusion clear in his voice.

“Are you making a mess?” was Mabel’s follow-up question, a bit more enthusiastically.

“No, I—Yes, I’m okay.” He glanced at the ten mugs on the counter. “I wasn’t trying to do either of those things, but I suppose I got lost in thought.” He turned back around and filled his old mug with black coffee, sipping at it while putting the rest of the mugs back in the cupboard.

“I’m sorry,” Stanley mumbled as Ford took his seat again and started pouring some syrup on the pancakes.

“I know.” Ford couldn’t think of anything else to say. He wasn’t sure what exactly Stanley was apologizing for – for taking thirty years? For replacing or wearing down his coffee mugs? For having stepped into the spot Ford left behind and lived a life? Ford got all that. He wasn’t angry, not the way he’d wanted to be a couple of days ago. It was just—it was a lot. Too much. “It’s fine,” he said.

Pressing the hot mug against a stinging part of his chest, the pain grounded him. He reminded himself that it didn’t matter. As long as Bill was stopped, the rest was unimportant details.

 The first order of business after breakfast – technically brunch – was a shower.

That shouldn’t be a problem, and he’d assured Stanley as much. Going to great lengths to avoid looking at the cuts Bill had inflicted on him was irrational, as they’d be there whether he looked or not. Additionally, they did need to be kept clean, and he could only hope he wouldn’t suffer too badly from not having tended to them earlier. He certainly wasn’t going to let Stanley do it again – he did have a modicum of dignity when not thoroughly sedated by alien drugs.

Still. As much as he felt better, as much as the dizziness and tunnel-vision had faded with the sleep deprivation, his heart was beating like a drum in his ears when he met his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. They were perfectly human eyes, still a bit red, still ringed with dark sacks, but no yellow anywhere. Knowing that didn’t douse the adrenalin spike.

Irrational or not, he took a towel from the shelf and covered up the mirror before undressing. At least he wouldn’t have to look at the full-frontal view of the damage. Beyond that, he simply had to handle it.

The triangles were uncovered in stages as he unwrapped the bandages. Triangles upon triangles. Angry red lines.

There were so many of them. They moved as his stomach heaved, and suddenly he was retching.

He was in control. Bill couldn’t do anything to him, not right now. He knew that, and yet just looking at his own body somehow made the conviction slip through his fingers. It didn’t matter how much he tried to detach himself; his body was still there, still him, still Bill’s.

He threw up. He’d eaten too much anyway, filled himself too comfortably, as if he could afford to be comfortable. He stood, gripping the sides of the bathroom sink tight enough that his hands hurt, squeezing his watering eyes shut, but it was too late to keep Bill’s laughter out. It wouldn’t stop. He knew it too well.

“Did you really think you could stop me from doing whatever I want?”

No.

“You agreed to the deal, so deal with it! From now til the end of time, pal!”

No!

“It’ll be fun to watch you try! Cute, even!”

Stop it!

Ford forced himself to open his eyes again, facing his own skin. The large triangle right over his solar plexus met his gaze with a red-lined eye, not a mere symbol, but Bill himself somehow grinning up at him without a mouth.

In fact, Bill probably was here. The bathroom wasn’t shielded. Bill could be watching Ford’s reaction right now, from inside his own mind, from the triangles etched on his body, and there was nothing Ford could do about it, no way to stop it.

He’d done this to himself.

Swallowing bile again, Ford looked away. There were dark stains on the ceiling. His hands clenched, nails digging into his palms, and he might possibly not be breathing.

This was nothing but trivial physical damage. No different from a fork stabbed into his thigh or a sandpaper scrubbed across his forearm. It didn’t mean anything.

It meant Bill owned him. It meant that he’d once voluntarily made a deal, and now he was a triangle’s plaything for the rest of his life. It meant—

“Well, I don’t care! It’s bullshit!”

Stanley’s words from yesterday cut through the moment, and suddenly Ford found air. He gasped, shoulders sagging, and somehow he found himself sitting on the edge of the tub, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re bullshit, Bill,” he breathed.

He’d slept without fear. Bill could no longer take him whenever he wanted to. Unless he massively slipped up, he might never have to be possessed again. Wasn’t that enough to not be owned? Maybe it wasn’t, not in the face of his own body’s evidence to the contrary, but it was enough for him to clench his jaws and get himself cleaned up.

It hurt, but it might as well. Pain meant he was alive and awake, and as such it was a good sign.

At least the wound from the alien tranquilizer gun seemed to be healing fine, and so was the one around his wrist from the handcuff. None on the older marks and bruises were a problem, either.  And indeed, most of the triangles had scabbed over, too. It wasn’t that bad.

Still, despite Stanley’s efforts yesterday, a number of them were still tender and hot to the touch, and a couple of the triangles were shifting yellow with pus. The latter made Ford taste bile in his throat again, but it was bullshit. Just a few cuts that hadn’t been properly tended from the beginning. They were shallow. The infection was shallow, too.

All he had to do was have a proper shower, and then hopefully the inflammation could be controlled with what antibacterial ointments Stanley had available. Seeing a physician was simply not an option.

 At least he had his own clothes. The fact that he did – that Stanley had preserved them for thirty years and had them washed and ready for use when Ford returned – seemed a minor miracle. A clean white shirt and a gray sweaterwest to hide away the new bandages improved his mood immensely. The marks were there, but he didn’t have to dwell on them.

As he put on the coat again – unlike the shirt and sweaterwest he’d worn yesterday, the coat was merely a bit frayed, not ruined – his hand reflexively went for the upper left inner pocket. It was empty, of course, not that it should matter.

Taking a deep breath, he emerged from the bathroom, glancing towards the locked door to the study. Surely if there had been a burglary, someone would have noticed. Surely the rift was still in there.

“Looking good!” Mabel said, startling Ford to pay attention to the two kids that had apparently been sitting on the floor right outside the bathroom, playing with some folded paper. “Wet hair makes less fluff, so you look even more like grunkle Stan!”

“Fluff?” Had they been waiting for him?

“I wonder if we could make grunkle Stan wear a coat like that?” Mabel continued, turning to Dipper. “We could make them pose like before-and-after pictures! Or if uncle Ford wore a suit, they could make a whole de-aging trick for the Mystery Shack!”

Dipper laughed, but cut it off when he met Ford’s narrowed eyes.

“I’m not going to do tricks for the Mystery Shack,” Ford said flatly. He was still trying to swallow the existence of the Mystery Shack. Turning himself into a freak show was the last thing he wanted.

“You don’t have to,” Mabel said breezily. “But it would still be fun to dress you and Stan up the same and confuse people. I bet Stan could rig it up with a smoke bomb!”

“Mabel and I do that sometimes,” Dipper added. “Not with smokebombs, but with confusing people. It’s fun!”

That, on the other hand, he could relate to. Ford sighed and leaned his back against the wall, a fond smile finding its way to his face despite some irritation. “That is one of the perks of having a twin,” he admitted.

“Did you and grunkle Stan switch a lot when you were kids?”

“When we could get away with it. Our mother always knew.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, moms have a superpower like that.”

“Moms can see right through you,” Mabel said, wriggling her fingers as if casting a spell.

“Well, anyone who remembered to look at our hands would figure it out, unless we could hide them.” Ford held out a six-fingered hand. “Still, it worked surprisingly often.” A wave of nostalgia was hitting him like hot air to the face, tinged with lingering resentment and overpowering regret. “Where’s Stanley?” he asked.

“He’s in his office with Soos,” Dipper replied.

Ford grimaced. “His office.” That was less than helpful. Ford had had several places to work and write in the house, but no room designated an ‘office’ as such. “And where’s that?”

“Oh. Um…”

“It’s the little room next to the museum,” Mabel supplied, which wasn’t actually helpful either. This house had changed so much, and Ford didn’t truly want to know what Stanley had done to it during all those years. The tourist trap of fake anomalies was... Well, if he were to express how much it hurt he would have to start yelling at Stanley again, and he didn’t want to do that. He got it, intellectually, and objectively it was a far more harmless activity than Ford’s had been.

“We’ll show you,” Dipper decided, to Ford’s relief. His discomfort might have been written on his face, but neither of the kids said anything about it, though Mabel took his hand and squeezed it as they led him off to the back of the house. The goal turned out to be the small guest bedroom next to the hall where Ford had collected his specimen.

Well. It was clearly an office, now. Decorated with Stanley’s weird mix of real and fake anomalies, as well as books, documents haphazardly thrown into boxes, and Ford’s magic photocopier, though the latter had obviously seen better days. Stanley and Soos looked up from a pile of documents on the desk as Ford and the kids entered.

“Ford?” Stanley said. “You okay?” As if the only reason he’d be here was that if he was having a problem.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Ford crossed his arms on top of the layers that covered the bandages. “Can I ask you a question? You seem to be busy.”

“Bah.” Stanley straightened up and pushed a piece of paper aside. It looked like some kind of invoice. “It’s just economy. Soos can handle it.” He turned to the younger man, adding, “You can, right? Just fake my signature if you need to.”

“Yes sir, Mr Pines!”

“So,” Stanley said as Ford tried not to stare. His brother’s mixture of carelessness, crookedness and utter trust was difficult to believe, especially the last part. Stanley nudged him back out to the big hall, leaving both Soos and the young twins behind. “Hit me with it.”

“What exactly—” Ford lowered his voice. “What exactly is this Soos person to you?”

His old twin grinned. “That’s your question?”

“Do I only get one, then?”

Stanley shrugged. “You get as many as you like.” He glanced around them. “Just don’t ask about the Sascrotch.”

Ford’s face hardened. He’d already glimpsed that particular fake pun-based abomination, but he refused to acknowledge it.

“Nevermind.” Stanley rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just trying to—sorry. Anyway, Soos. He’s my handyman. Works at the Mystery Shack, keeps things together.”

That was not the whole story. “And what else?”

“Geesh.” Stanley grimaced. “Why would there be anything else?” They were moving back to the main part of the house, now.

“Is he or is he not a part of your family?” Why did it have to be so ambivalent?

“He is! Well. I mean.” Stanley fell silent. Ford waited.

“He’s been my handyman since he was twelve. His dad ditched him and I guess he kinda imprinted on me or something. Does that answer your question?”

Ford nodded slowly, filing the information away. “I suppose it does. More or less. And you trust him?”

“Of course I do.”

That didn’t solve the matter entirely, but it eased some of the worries. An explanation, a map of the immediate social environment, and some reason not to suspect the young man’s loyalties.

“But that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about,” Stanley added.

“No. It’s a minor thing, but I was going to ask what happened to the coat I was wearing—” —when I fell through the portal— “—three days ago.”

“I threw it in the wash. It’s in the dryer right now – you need it?”

Damn. Ford’s stomach sank. “You didn’t think to empty the pockets, did you?”

Stanley’s eyes widened, but then he smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

That was a relief, but suddenly Ford found himself tongue-tied regarding the actual item he was after. Stan’s smile already told him that he knew exactly what it was about, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already admitted to missing Stanley. But he hardly had any good excuse to care about a childhood memento in his pocket when the fate of the world was at stake. He should just drop the matter, before he had to—

“And yeah,” Stanley added, interrupting Ford’s thoughts. “It’s in my bedroom. Come on.”

Stanley’s bedroom looked different now that Ford was fully awake and actually looking. Of course, it looked even more different from Ford’s own bedroom, the one that was now – thirty years ago – piled up with junk and unused for months. Some of the furniture was the same, though worn and rearranged, but most had never been Ford’s at all, and the mess had a very different flavor to it.

The photograph sat on a cluttered drawer, next to the pieces of a plastic credit card.

The latter was strange. “Is this mine?” Ford asked, picking up a piece. Had that been in his coat, too?

“Yeah.” Stanley grimaced. “I think Bill broke it and used the edges.” He didn’t say for what, but he didn’t have to. Ford dropped the piece of plastic like it had burned him, clenching his teeth and absolutely not thinking about that night.

It was the picture he wanted, anyway. He sighed, taking it gingerly in both hands and sinking down on the side of the bed. Two small boys looked up at him with pride from the wreck of an old boat. The memory of that day was still vivid, despite everything. The smell the salt air, the heat of the heavy sun overhead, the splinters from the broken hull. They’d both been so happy.

“It’s a good picture,” Stanley said next to him, sounding too casual. “Can’t believe how sunburned we were.”

“Indeed.”

Stanley opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. “I’m glad you kept it,” he said eventually.

“I’m glad you didn’t put it in the washer with the coat.”

“Hah. No, that woulda been a tragedy.”

“You must have others like it, though. I’ve got—I had a whole box of old photos somewhere.” Stanley wouldn’t have thrown them away, would he?

“Sure. But this one was missing, and it’s a good one. And, ya know—” He took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re a bigger sap than you look, okay?” He looked so embarrassed that Ford released a huff of laughter, tension evaporating slightly.

“I’m not a sap,” he said prudently. “I merely—” He paused and drummed his fingers against the back of the picture. “I needed a reminder of something good.” Even with the estrangement, his childhood with Stanley had seemed more meaningful – more real – than anything he’d felt for the last few years with Bill. The Stan o���War might have been a pointless dream, but it had been harmless and fun. The portal had never been either, looking back.

Stanley grunted. “You know it’s gonna be okay, right?”

“I don’t know that.” He rubbed a hand over a particularly sore spot below his left shoulder. “Bill isn’t going to give up.” Besides, he wasn’t sure what ‘be okay’ would even mean anymore.

“I’m not giving up either. Still gonna find a way to punch him, too.”

Ford had to smile. “I very much want to see that.”

“Do you want a frame for that picture?” Stanley asked after a moment of silence.

“A frame?”

“Put it up somewhere. Makes it easier to look at whenever you want to.” His eyes went to a small frame on his bedside table, containing a picture of Mabel and Dipper making ridiculous faces at the camera.

That was the sort of thing you did when you made a home.

“I’ll think about it,” Ford said, putting the picture away in his inner pocket with a soft sigh. “Right now I’m more concerned about safeguarding the rift. I want to seal up the window in the study again, to prevent it being used by burglars.”

Stanley looked alarmingly skeptical. “You wanna live in the dark?”

“Lamps exist, Stanley.”

“Sure, but—” He shook his head, apparently thinking better of it. “It’d make you feel better?”

“It’ll make us all safer.” Ford narrowed his eyes, hoping that Stanley wasn’t just humoring him. “And yes, that would make me feel better, yes, if that is your order of priorities.”

“Right,” Stanley agreed. “Let’s do that, then.”

 With Stanley’s help, the work on boarding up the window went quicker than anticipated. The room did get darker, of course, but it could also be argued that summer daylight was too bright. It also got a lot less likely that anyone would be able to use the glassed hole in the wall to break in. Nothing was one hundred percent secure, but this was better.

They were almost done when Mabel stormed into the study and announced, “Ten minutes to the Ducktective finale!”

“The duck-what?” Ford asked, hammering in the last of the nails before turning around.

Stanley was sitting back on the couch, looking tired but otherwise pleased. “Good thinking, sweetie,” he told Mabel. “I had almost forgot.”

“You can’t forget, grunkle Stan! It’s the finale!”

“The duck-what?” Ford repeated.

“Duck-tective!” Mabel yelled, gesturing at the portrait of a behatted duck on her sweater. “It’s about this duck that solves crimes and—”

“It’s a kids’ show,” Stanley explained. “But I like it. It’s got some clever mysteries and a lot of humor that goes over kids’ heads. Wanna watch it with us?”

That was not part of Ford’s plan for the day. “I don’t—”

“You should!” Mabel interrupted. “It’s great, and the duck is so cute!” She tilted her head slightly. “But then again it’s the final episode, so you’d have all the spoilers if you watch the rest of it later. That’s a dilemma.”

“No, it’s not,” Stanley said. “Just watch it with us for fun, ‘s not like you have to take it seriously. See what TV is like in the twenty-first century.”

“Why would I—” Ford shook his head. “No.”

Stanley looked disappointed. Why would he be disappointed that Ford didn’t want to watch a kids’ show about a duck? Even if he did want to catch up on popular culture – which he didn’t – that would hardly be his first choice. He still had work to do.

“So will you watch the whole series with us later?” Mabel asked with a hopeful smile.

“I—” Ford bit his lip. “Perhaps.”

“Okay, then,” Stanley said. “You gonna be alright here, or…?”

“I’ll be in the basement,” Ford told him.

“With the portal?” Stanley’s eyes widened. “I’ll come with you, then.”

Mabel made a frustrated sound, looking from Stanley to Ford.

Stanley looked guiltily at the girl. “I know, pumpkin, but—”

“I’m fine.” Ford sat back on the couch and sighed, waving his brother’s concern away. “I don’t actually need a babysitter, Stanley. Bill can’t possess me unless I fall asleep or unconscious, and that is exceedingly unlikely to happen within the next few hours.”

“What’re you going to do down there, anyway? The portal’s already busted.”

“Probably, yes. But I’ll be the judge of that.”

“You can’t wait an hour?”

Technically, he could. But that would mean succumbing to unfounded fear – Stanley’s, certainly not his own – that he couldn’t handle the remains of his own creation. He’d slept well. He wasn’t going to faint. The portal’s existence sat like was a heavy weight on his mind, and he didn’t want to postpone facing it because Stanley thought he was weak. “No,” he said.

Stanley hesitated, worry clear on his face. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“Of course not.” He might be prone to working too hard, but if the safety of the world depended on him not blacking out, he thought he could manage that. Knowing Stanley, though, he probably wasn’t thinking about the safety of the world at all. Ford patted him on the arm. “Look, I’m still not going to spontaneously combust or otherwise turn to dust.”

“Or disappear in a flash of light?” Stanley tried to grin, but there was an obvious shudder in his shoulders.

Oh. Or that. “Most certainly not,” he replied. “That was unpleasant.”

Stanley’s smile turned slightly more genuine. “Yeah. See you in a bit, then.”

 Stanford stepped carefully into the large chamber of the basement, ramrod straight and hands clenched behind his back. The portal gazed back at him silently. Leaning on its side, edges broken and surrounded by shattered equipment, it was less impressive than it had been.

His own previous assessment – as well as Stanley’s – was, of course, correct. The portal was hardly in an operable state. It could never be accidentally activated like this. Not only had the very support beams collapsed, panels cracking and wires tearing, but he had no doubt that the energy surge had caused delicate components to burn out and fuse all over the machine. It was a mess, surely similar to the mess Stanley had been faced with thirty years ago. Possibly worse. The portal must have been open longer this time.

Regardless, if Stanley had been able to repair it once after a full power-up, it could be done again.

He had to destroy it. Pull it apart, scatter the components, hide the journals with the blueprints. No, he should destroy those, too. He should destroy everything.

He'd put so much of himself into his machine, his hopes and dreams and ambitions. He wanted it gone. He’d barely dared touch it before Stanley arrived. It would have been his masterpiece. He hated it with all his being. It was supposed to change the world. It was now one of the few pieces of evidence left that he had ever existed at all.

He could see now that it wasn’t a masterpiece at all. It was sloppy. A piece of equipment that broke immediately upon full usage was hardly a practical tool for anything, even if it had been able to do what it was supposed to. He’d even known it wasn’t sturdy enough for the forces it handled, but Bill had reassured him, and he’d trusted Bill’s judgement above his own.

If this was a masterpiece, it was Bill’s.

It did exactly what Bill had meant for it to do.

Ford licked his lips and took a deep breath. This machine was a monster. He’d poured his soul into it, but all it reflected was Bill.

An hour or so later, Ford was busy prying, tearing and unscrewing protective covers and underlying components, throwing them in piles on the floor and swearing at himself. His hands were covered in tiny scratches and cuts, and maybe he should be wearing gloves, but he doubted his own specially made gloves even existed anymore. He didn’t care.

Every part he touched reminded him of the work he’d put into making it. The discussions with Bill over physics and metaphysics and mathematics. The lies and the half-truths and the actual truths and many times he couldn’t tell them apart even in hindsight.

He wasn’t making any headway. The portal was too big, too well put together – courtesy of Fiddleford McGucket who may or may not even be alive anymore – and there was a strange, unwelcome nostalgia welling up inside him as he worked. Bill had made so much sense. Bill had taught him so much. He’d felt so special, chosen to receive and apply knowledge beyond the rest of humanity’s level. How deeply had he been deceived? Did this one relay truly regulate the flow of Higgs bosons? The math had checked out, but there were too many unknowns, too many fundamental aspects taken on faith by Bill’s word. Even without outright possessing him, Bill had still twisted him to his will.

How much did he understand of anything?

“How’re you doing?”

Ford looked up, not even surprised to see Stanley emerging from the control room, wrinkles and fez and all. “Great,” he said. “I’m doing great.”

Stanley smiled wryly. “Quit sounding like me.”

“What.” Ford pried the screwdriver into a crack between two panels locked together and tried to tear them apart.”

“I said, you sound like me.” Stanley sat down on a nearby fallen beam. “That is, if anyone had ever tried to ask how I was doing when I was down here swearing at that damned piece of technology.”

Ford huffed.

“Look, I—"

The panel Ford was working on snapped open with a pop, revealing the components underneath, wrapped in— Ford swore again. “Is that goddamn duct tape!?”

“Whoa.”

“Did you repair this with duct tape?” Ford snarled, not really meaning to. The duct tape didn’t matter, the way Stanley had affected repairs on the doomsday machine he should never have touched in the first place didn’t matter, and Ford’s overwhelming frustration with everything didn’t matter.

“I might’ve?” Stan stood again to take a look at the guts of the newly opened panel.

“Do you even know what this part is?”

“Dunno what it’s called, no. I have a decent idea what it does.”

Ford blinked. “You do?” Tossing the screwdriver to the floor, he threw up his hands. “Because I don’t! There’s duct tape on it and I don’t know how much of what I thought I knew about the whole machinery was true in the first place!”

Stanley looked pained. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? For using duct tape?”

“No, for—” He stopped with a sigh, instead wrapping an arm around Ford’s back. When Ford didn’t pull away immediately, he squeezed him in a sort of half hug.

“It’s dangerous,” Ford said. “It must never be repaired again.”

“I know.” Stanley looked up at the portal frame and laughed softly. “Great Moses, I know. You wanna tear it apart, you really should’ve waited for me.”

“Why?”

“I spent thirty years of my life on this thing. Think that entitles me to be in on the revenge.”

Thinking about it, that was a fair point. “Yes.” Ford drummed his sore fingers against his legs. “You’re right.” In a way, the portal had been Stanley’s life work, too. “I have to admit I still find it hard to believe you did that.”

“Mm-hm.” Stanley’s face tightened slightly.

“I didn’t—this technology is beyond anything on Earth, or at least Earth as I knew it.”

“Still true, pretty much.”

“Yes, and I don’t even know to which degree my own calculations make sense! The basic idea was Bill’s from the start. Some of it isn’t even based on human science. To reverse-engineer that enough to repair it, without the full blueprints—” Without a high school degree. With no documented interest in science whatsoever.

“It took thirty years.”

Ford sighed and leaned his back against the portal frame, looking down at the floor. “Most people in your position would have given up within a month, and rightly so.”

“So you admit it’s pretty unlikely that anyone’s going to come down here and repair it now?”

“That’s—” Ford looked down at his fingers. “You’re right, that’s extremely unlikely. Perhaps if Bill possessed someone and did all the work himself… But what I meant to say was that you did something incredible.”

Stanley’s face softened.

“And you’re almost as foolish as I am.” Perhaps in different ways, but nonetheless.

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment, too.”

Ford banged his forehead against Stanley’s shoulder with more than a little fondness. “You’re a knucklehead.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Poindexter.”

“I still want the portal gone.” He turned back towards the monstrous machine and sighed. “Did you duct tape the graviton converter? Is that what you did?”

“If you mean that tube that changes extra radiation into anti-gravity, then yeah. I did that.”

Ford froze. Hearing Stanley so casually mention the inner workings of the portal was strange. The description made sense, but those were not the words he would have used. Nor Bill.

“Stanley?”

“Did I get it wrong?”

“No, that’s what it was meant to do. I was just thinking—if you want to help me disassemble this—”

“Yeah, I want it gone too.”

“—then could you do me another small favor? I’d like you to tell me your own understanding of how all these components work!”

Stanley frowned. “Is there a reason for that? I’m pretty sure you know better than me.”

“Maybe. But—” But maybe if Stanley described it he wouldn’t have Bill’s voice, Bill’s teachings, Bill’s flattery and braggery and lies ringing in the back of his mind every time he thought about complex metaphysics. “—I built this portal together with Bill. I’d like to hear about it from another perspective.”

“Huh.” Stanley grimaced. “Can’t say no to that, can I? I can try, but if you laugh at me I’m gonna flick your nose.”

Ford accepted the threat without argument.

Stanley’s descriptions were a breath of fresh air. They cut through Bill’s voice in his mind, vastly different from how Bill had talked about it, or how Ford himself had talked about it with Fiddleford. There was no theoretical sophistication, no air of pride or flattery or ambition or knowing exaggeration. When he didn’t know, he just said so. Stanley used plain layman’s terms wherever possible, describing things clearly and concisely, with none of the flair he used to put into speeches. However, his plain, utterly unacademical understanding of the inner workings of a machine that punched a hole in the fabric of space-time was quite frankly amazing. It mostly aligned with his own knowledge – no great revelations, and some of Stanley’s explanations stood on less theoretical and more pragmatic grounds – and the subject matter was still a disaster. The question marks and the foul taste of Bill’s lies remained in the back of his throat. But this was Stanley, talking science, and as such it was beautiful.

And yet Stanley seemed uncomfortable with it. When Ford tried to ask questions about how in the world Stanley had managed to figure some particular aspect out, it was more often than not met with sad eyes and a tired sigh. He did have some stories to tell about procurement of materials and misfired attempts at starting the device – things he had obviously never told anyone before – but they weren’t many, and he didn’t tell them with anything near the usual glee that telling stories about himself used to incite from Stanley.

“Believe me, Sixer, you do not wanna know how many useless notebooks I filled trying to make sense of stuff like space-time. Basic stuff to you.” He pulled the crowbar and a large part of protective covering fell away from the portal with a loud clatter. “Okay, so here’s the last part of the anti-gravity thing, and then that box is one of the six that spins fermions. Plus some part of the electronic control rig there in the back. Don’t think we can get to it yet.”

“Didn’t you ever—” Ford stopped, unsure if the question should be asked, but curiosity got the better of him. “Didn’t you ever take pride in this?”

“Why would I? I kept failing for thirty years.”

Ford opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to say something, but his brother’s answer was so abrupt and horrifying in all its simplicity. He shuddered. His own foolishness burned hot with pride and ambition and willful ignorance, threatening to take the world and everything on it down in the flames. But Stanley’s foolishness was like relentless ice that simply wouldn’t budge until it had done what it meant to do.

He swallowed. “Thank you,” he said eventually. “For not giving up on me.”

Stanley released a sharp breath, smiled, then looked down. Before he could say anything, Ford looked back at their progress and changed the subject.

“We should get power tools.”

[anistarrose]

Where We Would Be Without You (Forduary Week 4 - Love)

Summary: Ford reminisces on his mistakes, and Mabel is haunted at night by the choices she nearly made.

Word Count: ~1400

Warnings: none

For @forduary Week 4: Love (/together/family/connection)!

The Shack is quiet tonight, and Ford can’t sleep.

He’s sitting in the living room, just as he has the last few evenings while helping Stan remember — but tonight, Stan is up in his own room, and Ford is alone. Before Weirdmageddon, Ford had usually slept in Soos’s break room, but he’d never liked it — too many memories of prisms and journals and possession were corrupting the place, would bleed into his nightmares and practically do Bill’s work for him.

But no demons — or at least, no literal ones — lurk at the edges of his dreams tonight, nor will they ever again. From outside, he can hear wolves howling and owls hooting, and from the wall across from where he now rests, he can hear the owl-shaped clock ticking… yet the world is eerily silent in a way that Ford hasn’t felt in decades.

There’s nothing haunting this night except himself, his undistracted mind, and his mistakes — and there are an awful lot of those, aren’t there?

My fault that we ruined the Zodiac. My fault for not dismantling the portal at the first chance I had. My fault that I trusted Bill in the first place. My fault for leaving Stan behind.

From his coat’s inside pocket, he pulls out a faded photograph of two boys standing on a small and battered sailboat. It’s ripped and folded at the edges, but despite everything, still familiar.

He can think of no better way to make it up to Stan — no, not just make it up to Stan; he can think of no way he’d rather spend the remaining years of his life — but he would hardly be able to fault Stan for not giving him a second chance. He’s not sure if he would even give himself a second chance.

Why would Stan want to do anything with the person who ruined his entire life, the person who very nearly brought ruin down upon the world as a whole?

He slips the picture back into his pocket, and lets his head fall back until he’s staring at the ceiling, counting the planks. It’s not as effective of a distraction as he’d hoped.

It’ll be best just not to mention his plans to Stanley. No need to dredge up any more bitter old arguments, or long-deferred dreams, than the two of them already have this past month. The level of reconciliation they’ve reached, this cooperation as the family works to restore Stan’s memories and rebuild the Shack, is probably already pushing the limits of what Ford deserves — no need to try and force it along further, to risk destroying the progress they’ve made…

Above Ford, the silence is broken by the faint creak of a door, and by the soft and repetitive rhythm of unsure footsteps descending down the stairs.

Ford jumps up from his chair. His first instinct is that it’s Stan, having another amnesiac relapse like he so often does late at night and now wandering around, lost and confused — but the gait is different from Stan’s, he realizes, the footsteps too light.

“Mabel?” he calls out, and she turns around just as she’s about to enter the kitchen. “Is everything okay?”

She rushes to his side and buries her face in his coat, small arms wrapping around him and holding him surprisingly tight. With his unrestrained arm, Ford places a hand on her back and pats her gently, smoothing out her long and tangled hair.

“There, there. Shh, it’s alright…”

Her sniffles grow softer, and her grip on him relaxes.

“Th-thank you, Grunkle Ford,” she chokes out.

They’re both silent for a moment as Mabel collects herself, until Ford finally feels like it’s the right time to start with a simple, one-word question.

“Nightmare?”

Mabel nods. “Mm-hm.”

“Will it help to go look at the statue? To see that Bill’s dead?”

“It wasn’t about Bill,” Mabel tells him, softly yet bluntly, and Ford is at a loss for words for a moment.

“Then what was it — no, I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just…”

“No, it’s — it’s okay,” Mabel tells him. “Talking usually helps — doesn’t it?”

“If you think it does, then I’m here to listen.”

Mabel takes a deep and shaky breath.

“I dreamed… I dreamed that I pressed the red button.”

For a moment, Ford is clueless, having no idea what button she means… but then, he remembers the portal’s shutdown switch. He remembers how Dipper and Mabel hadn’t known of his existence until the very moment he’d returned, how the federal agents had been accusing Stan of wielding a doomsday device.

And he can imagine a world where the portal had never been reactivated, where he’d never been whisked out of the Nightmare Realm — he’s already imagined it, spent so much time dwelling on the possibility ever since that fateful day.

“Stan was crying, in the dream,” Mabel went on, staring down at her feet like she was ashamed of what her dreamscape self had done. “He tried so hard to turn it back on again, he tried so hard to get you back, but I don’t know if it was out of fuel, or — or —”

“Oh, Mabel…”

“And I — but I… that was almost what happened in real life, Grunkle Ford! I was the only one who was able to reach the button, who was able to choose, and — I almost didn’t trust Stan! I almost left you in the portal!”

She’s crying again now, holding onto Ford’s coat like she’s afraid he’ll drift back into the electric blue void if she lets go. “What would we have done without you? How would summer have ended without you?”

Ford is dangerously close to blurting out without the apocalypse, for one thing, but Mabel wipes away her tears and keeps talking before he can.

“This whole summer, I never saw Stan as happy as after Weirdmageddon once he started remembering and all. And I almost took that away from him! I almost took away the games you play with Dipper, and the sweaters we knit together, and — and that fight we all had with the water guns yesterday, and the hikes in the woods you took us on — and neither of us would’ve ever known what we missed! I almost took away your whole family from you, Grunkle Ford, and I’m so, so —”

“But you didn’t.” Ford kneels down next to her and pulls her into a hug, and feels her cautiously embrace him back. “And I don’t think you ever would have, when it came down to it — I don’t think there’s a single alternate reality where that happened or will happen, and trust me, I’ve seen a lot of alternate realities. That’s the thing about dreams — sometimes, they can be a lot like Bill was. They can be ugly, manipulating liars.”

“You really think so?” Mabel asks. “You really think that in the whole universe, I’d never…”

“I do. You know who your family is, and you love them too much to ever truly distrust them like that — if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be Mabel. And I’m… I’m so proud of you for that.”

For the first time that night, Mabel smiles — and Ford does too.

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford,” she tells him.

“No, thank you, Mabel,” Ford whispers back. “For being the type of person who would always, always bring me back.”

And for telling me, he thinks, how much you all care about me when I’m too dense to see it myself.

***

Stan is heading to the kitchen for a glass of milk when he hears snoring so loud it couldn’t possibly be coming from just one person — and sure enough, Ford and Mabel are both fast asleep in his chair. Mabel is curled up as she hugs Ford’s left arm much like one might hug a stuffed animal, and Ford’s head is hanging off to one side, glasses slowly sliding off his nose and threatening to fall of his face. Neither stirs as Stan tiptoes past them, or as he takes the pillows he fetched from the break room and tucks them behind their heads.

***

Thanks for reading, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! 

I’m going to try and update SSD soon now that Stanuary and Forduary are done but who knows if I’ll stick to that lol

[ab-aj-blog]

Opinion on Star vs. final episode, season 4 (please watch the episode first)

First of all, I’m gonna start by saying that the overall quality of this show was so great and I’m gonna miss it so much! BUT I have to say that to me this last episode was somewhat disappointing. Let me explain. So clearly a few people loved the episode and some were disappointed. I believed it had a sweet ending, but the overall quality of the last episode seemed...dull? So here are some topics I want to discuss about the season overall. 1. Toffee. (This might take a while.) During this season, I was somewhat excited when a lot of the characters kept mentioning Toffee, even showing a younger Toffee in an episode. Glossaryk mentioned how destroying Toffee was a mistake. Meteora blasted Toffee in order to dip down, etc, etc. So of course, even if it was a few tidbits of Toffee, they kept leading it up to a point where you’d get your hopes up of his return. NOPE! Instead they just lead it to the idea that “Toffee was right.” And I’m oddly enough satisfied to hear that. (Being the Toffee fan that I am). But, to me anyways, it also meant that he just seemingly died in vain. I mean he went through all those lengths by himself, destroyed the entire magic dimension BY HIMSELF, got blasted by Star, then she’s just like “Oh haha wait, you were right. Whoops.” Like really? Granted. We know Toffee has done some bad things in the show. He killed Comet Butterfly, he used Ludo, he tried to kill Star, he even broke Glossaryk’s arm. Everyone who’s all “He’s evil and selfish! He deserved to die!” Just hear me out. The show introduces this mysterious, intelligent, very intriguing character, and the only information that you get is that he’s a villain. You don’t get any backstory to truly know if he’s an evil character. You also know that he’s a character that has developed despite not having a lot of background information. For example young Toffee (arrogant, rebellious, punk) vs. adult Toffee (clever, efficient, finely dressed). I mean, how are you supposed to judge a character based on the few actions he’s done when you don’t even know what he was like before the Mewmans showed up. Or before the monster massacre. Or anything on his side of the story. For example, you don’t know if he’s been wronged. Or if his family was killed. Or any of that because it wasn’t provided. How were we not too sure he killed Comet because he felt that she would betray them like past queens? How are ANY of us supposed to judge such an intriguing character without the proper information. Even if Toffee is just “a villain,” what was it that made him so bitter, to hurt anyone? No one’s just born evil. Again, NO ONE IS JUST BORN EVIL! Plain and simple. Again, granted, the show isn’t about Toffee. It’s about Star and her adventures. But it would still be nice to know more about a character that a lot of people seem to like. I was mainly upset about this because they seemingly kept hinting at what you thought would be his return. 2. The shipping drama Okay, this was definitely an issue it seems. A LOT of people can probably agree on that. I believe a whole lot of these episodes were simply shipping drama. Like Tom and Star dating. Then breaking up. And then suddenly Kelly and Marco dating and their relationship didn’t even last much of an episodes worth! And then they finally decided to go with Marco and Star. (Which I ship them). So yeah I guess I was happy about that. BUT I felt like if they would’ve just skipped all of that they would’ve had so much more time to put in meaningful episodes. And think about this! If they were going to go with Star and Marco, then why not just have them date to begin with?! Maybe near the beginning of Season 4. At least then they could’ve developed together throughout the season as a couple. Instead the whole Starco ship just seemed thrown in at the last few episodes and called it good. I’ve read from past tumblr posts that quite a few people believe that the shipping drama was just to please the fans who ship different ships. And if I’m gonna be honest, that’s what it kinda seemed like. The only odd thing about all this shipping drama is that it was somewhat almost like real life. Think about it In real life you’re not just going to automatically find the love of your life first go round. You’ll have other relationships (Tomstar). And sometimes you’ll have flings, friends with benefits, “break up buddies” (Kellco). You’ll even run into old exes, crushes (Marco running into Jackie, Star seeing Oscar again). I guess that’s the one interesting thing I found in all of that despite the fact it was pretty meaningless for the overall season. 3. DISNEY. IN. GENERAL. Okay, so I’m gonna start THIS by saying that Disney has ticked me off so many times with the stupid crap they seem to pull. They always seemingly rush their storyboarders, animators, etc. To me it just seems like a lot of great shows end, either by the creators decision (Gravity Falls), or simply because Disney just doesn’t want to air it anymore. (Wander over Yonder). Then they replace it with s**t like Pickle and Peanut! And I’m not sorry for saying that. But even with both of those shows. They all faced a higher conflict and worked together to defeat it. Which to some might be a cliché ending. But it can also provide a lot of passion depending on the story. Like with Gravity Falls, Dipper, Mabel, Stanley, Stanford, Soos, Wendy, Pacifica, Robbie, Gideon, Fiddleford, even the whole dang TOWN worked together to fight a seemingly impossible force. All unlikely characters working together. Two feuding twin brothers, who hadn’t seen each other for years, even worked together to fight Bill. Stanley even sacrificed his OWN MEMORIES just to stop Bill so long as it kept Dipper and Mabel safe. This show had such sweet lessons about the meaning of family. And with Wander over Yonder. The ENTIRE FLIPPING GALAXY worked together to try and stop Dominator from taking over the last planet. Even Lord hater, who everyone disliked at one point, cast a shield to stop that drill. And everyone, EVERYONE cheered him on. Because despite being evil at one point, they knew he was helping them and wanted him to feel stronger. Even Wander, the sweetest character of the show, could see right through Dominator’s “bad guy” exterior and saw that she was just lonely, needed a friend, and even wanted to be her friend. This show had SO MANY lessons. There was seemingly a lesson about being humble and kind in every episode. And that’s what made this show so meaningful. (Still ticks me off that it was cancelled!) The point I’m getting at here, is that if Disney hadn’t rushed Nefcy to finish this final episode, it would’ve felt more epic. It would’ve felt like a final stand. So what of the final episode? My main issue with this was that the finale didn’t seem to have a conflict, as it seemed the conflict was already presented in the episode before the finale. The main conflict this finale had was the purple unicorn, but that was seemingly a nuisance more than a conflict. And even when Mina DID show up, the unicorn just drowned her. Like, what? And then there was the internal conflicts between Star and Marco wanting to see each other. It just seemed like this. Gotta destroy magic➡️Destroys magic➡️Mewni and Echo Creek are merged. Do you see what I mean? Despite the fact that there’s a final force. It didn’t seem like much of an issue to stop it. Though I personally enjoyed how they handled the Star and Marco inner conflict. Two best friends, now two lovers, wanting nothing more than to be together. Even if it meant leaving their old life behind. Even if it meant living in the swirling chaos of the destroyed magic realm. They wanted to be together. And then, by some force of magic within THEMSELVES, brought about a portal. They’re sent home, but see the same portal, and both run towards their portal to see each other. Only to have their two worlds collide. Literally! And both Star and Marco stare into each other’s eyes, before smiling. It was absolutely the most heartwarming thing for Star and Marco to finally be able to see EVERYONE they care about. 4. Overall The things I liked Overall there were so many great characters, great stories, and meaningful moments that tied the show together to create this cute, interdimensional adventure. There was so much history, even racial issues were dealt with as far as the monsters go. The once irresponsible princess Star Butterfly, grew into a very powerful, strong, and wise adult. And now she and all of her friends and family can finally be together, live together, and have more adventures together. The things I didn’t like I felt there were still some things that were unresolved with certain characters (Toffee). And if they skipped out on the shipping issues just a little, and if Disney hadn’t rushed them, they could’ve made so many more meaningful episodes. They could’ve even taken things a different route if they just had the time. 5. If you managed to get to the end of this. Thank you so much for reading this and taking the time to listen to what I have to say. I’m sure you have your own opinions. Maybe you agree on some points, maybe you disagree on some points. Either way. I want to say thank you to all the fans, artists, shippers, and anyone who enjoyed the show as much as I did. It was a great adventure that we all shared together. And thank you to Daron Nefcy, storyboarders, animators, the crew, all of you who worked so hard on this show. This show, like many other great shows. Will have a special place in our hearts and memories.

[reddogf13]

Covenant ch 4

summery:  They did it, IT was left to die alone in the tunnels under Derry. months have passed and the losers thrived after what seems to feel like a curse lifting off the town. if only Beverly had not decided to make a last minute deal with IT on its death bed. will her choice to let IT live destroy all that she holds dear?

status: complete and on A03

rated: M - fowl language and gore

prev chap: Covenant ch 3

next chap: Covenant ch 5

_____________________________________

~ch: 4 All fall down~

Starting to limp toward the coach to ask what happened when a voice stopped her. “Bev? What are you doing here?”

She turned toward the voice. Relieved to see Stan okay.

“I came to see what the police were here for.” Gesturing toward the uniformed personnel.

“Oh! You actually might be interested to hear. Greta has to go to the hospital.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Her cheerleader team tried to form that high tower. She was at the very top when the girls on the bottom scrambled away from a huge rat underneath them. At least that's what I heard I didn't actually see. I saw how she landed though. right on both her knees and i thought someone snapped a gram cracker when i heard her hit the grass.”

“Why are the cops here then?”

“The girls kept saying this rat was the size of a dog. So police were called in case there was actually a small rabid dog on the loose. I think the girls are only exaggerating the rat. An extra ambulance is sticking around to make sure there's no other major injuries. Ready to take someone if there is.” He wrapped up.

“will she be okay? That's a lot of blood over there.”

“it looks a lot worse then it was. Her legs are definitely broken, but all the blood was just from some awful scrapes upon landing.” he winced slightly at the mentioned injury's. “ It was a long fall of almost 10 feet. the other girls got some bad scrapes too.” pointing over to the group of girls in uniforms getting bandages from the ambulance staff. Some white areas of the uniform speckled with blood by torn holes. Turning back to Beverly with growing confusion.

“How'd you get out of class? Wont Mr Howard be wondering why you’re gone so long?” Puzzled by how she could be gone so long.

“I told him i needed an ice pack from the nurse. I could stand out here for an hour and he wouldn't question it.”

Stanley nodding at the answer making sense.

“... Do you think you saw the dog while getting my crutch?” Something in the back of her mind telling her this all still wasn't an accident.

“ … I don't think so. I saw a flash of red ... and some white. ... Pretty sure it was a robin of some kind. Haven't seen those in a while, right?” Nerves leaking through his tone shifting toward uneasy happiness to fail in covering for it. Ending in a question looking for confirmation that whatever he saw was only a bird. Not something more sinister known for bearing the color pairing.

“Yeah, of course. You must have seen the last one before it migrated.” Confirming to him. Ignoring on telling him the truth again. It never felt the right time to tell them. Even more so now that Greta was badly hurt by IT. She had to do further investigating into this on if IT was hunting kids.

Thinking on what reason IT had for harming Greta, but without scaring her or trying to take any of the other kids. If it were hunting kids why not go strictly after Stan? They were the outcasts and him going missing would hardly be cared about. A popular girl like Greta going missing would have her dad bringing in the FBI for investigation.

She said her good bye to Stan. Heading back to class a little more energized on a falling adrenaline rush. The end of school had her meet up with the guys swarming Stan for information. Noticing that mike was also there along with his “new” rust bucket car.

Mike raised his hand in greeted her. “hey Bev, hows the leg?” pointing down at the injury.

Before she could say a word Richie interrupted. Excitedly telling Beverly the news she already knew of. “did you hear what happened to Greta?! A house fell on her!”

“as good as it can be.” answering mike first before turning to Richie. “i know, I saw Stan on the field after it happened.”

“dammit, I wanted to tell!” he huffed.

“need a ride home? You shouldn't be walking on it for so long.” mike offered a second time.

“I do. i need to pick something up in town first before going home. It shouldn't take longer then a few minutes. That okay?”

“its no problem.” he smiled.

mike was teased by Richie. “how many hot ladies have you picked up?”

“hot ladies?” looking confused toward Richie.

bill rolled his eyes. “ignore him.”

“hes more likely to get tetanus then ladies.” Eddie pointed at all the rust. “this thing have air bags or are we relying on a cloud of dust exploding out to save us?”

“its got em. Has to, to be road ready. I saved up some money toward new seat covers to hide the ugly leather too.” mike looked at the ugly mud brown chairs covered in small holes or edges ripping open.

“covers w-w-wont save the looks of t-t-that.”

mike rubbing a spot on his back. “its more for the sake of not getting stabbed in the back by springs popping out.” taking a moments look toward the drivers seat.

“ that reminds me, i have to get going home for my first doctors appointment. See you guys later.” Eddie waves with a quick run off toward home.

“don't let them amputate your dick! Stanley let them and look how he is!” Richie shouted after him.

“where do you need to go?” mike asked Beverly.

“the pharmacy.” was the first place she could think of.

“see you Monday?” bill asked.

“yeah, maybe sooner if I get board to death in doors.” speaking as she limped to the passengers side. Mike helping to pack the crutch into the back seat.

“meet you by the statue tomorrow mike.” receiving a thumbs up as mike started the car. The car sounding like it was going to explode having bill, Ben and Richie nervously step away.

“you sure that it'll make it to the pharmacy?” Ben raised an eyebrow at the rust bucket.

With a shrug mike answered “lets hope.” earning a concerned look from Beverly. Waving as he they drove off.

“wow, I thought the drive would take a lot longer to the pharmacy.” Beverly mentioned as they were parking after only a few minutes.

“i know. really different then on a bike isint it? Do you need help?” watching Beverly retrieve her crutch after getting out.

“no, you wait here. Wont take long and no need for the two of us to stand at the counter.” rushing to get inside away from mikes view to sneak out the back exit. Sneaking behind the store across the street to check the bulletin posting wall. Looking over the old yellowed missing posters of children.

“no missing children. But-” looking toward a new poster of a wanted man. He looked rough and messy with his image being a mugshot post from the police station. Notices of him being dangerous and having disappeared from a jail cell in the night.

Having finished what she really wanted to do, she rushed back into the pharmacy. Going back out to meet mike in the car.

“need anything else?” he asked. Beverly giving him a shaking head in no.

Finding the drive to her home just as short. Thanking mike after dropping her off before heading inside.

“oh, your home early! How'd you get here so fast?” her aunt asked.

“mike gave me a ride. I'll be in my room doing work.” grabbing a coke to take with her.

“alright, and we'll be having fried chicken for dinner.” her aunt informed her.

“sweet!” Beverly smiled. Her aunt was really good on traditional home cooking. No more frozen meals for her since moving in.

she got into her room with a sit down on her bed. Setting the coke off to the side to search her back pack.

“aww fuck.” she slouched at realizing she forgot her history book. Too late to go get it now feeling it not worth to call mike for a second ride.

“schools probably locked up anyway. No way i am getting the history book out of class until Monday.” mumbling angrily to herself while bringing out other class work to do instead. Taking hours to get caught up with everything she missed. Taking a break when her aunt announced dinner was ready.

Sitting at the small rounded table across from her loving aunt. Eating fried chicken sided with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Talking between bites on how schooling was going. What she still needed to catch up on moving on to subjects of after she graduates. Colleges she was thinking of attending. Her grades were so high she could probably get in anywhere. Trying to afford attending however was the major problem. Finishing their dinner she helped wash the dishes. Getting ready for bed with plans on finishing up her over due papers tomorrow. Not giving thought to much else as she entered her bedroom.

Sopping at the doorway in shock when she entered to the sight of her history book. leaning up right against the outside of her window sill. She stared at it as her thoughts processed how it got there. Stepping quietly back out into the living room. Not seeing her aunt who had gone into her own bedroom. Carefully watching her aunts bedroom door before nervously opening the front door to the RV.

Stepping out onto the cold frosted grass that crunched under her shoes. Seeing her breath in the air illuminated under the orange street lamp nearby. She paused for a cautious look around for signs of anyone nearby. Not even seeing any foot prints in the dirt by her window. Stepping over to take the book off the thin edge to quietly walk back inside. Feeling great unease that someone sneaked up to her window in the pitch black to leave a book that shouldn't have been possible to take. The guys would have just knocked if it was them dropping it off.

Entering back into her room she closed the blinds as her first action inside. Double checking that it was locked down past the closed curtains.

“should I sleep on the couch?” staring at her blocked window that largely spanned over where she would be sleeping. “i guess it wouldn't make much of a difference. I jump out of bed and I am pretty much in the living room already. Auntys right next door if I need her.” settling down into bed on the side away from the window. It wasint much space, now giving the worry of slipping off the bed.

“may as well sleep on the floor.” she decided. Moving all her pillows down into the small floor space beside her bed. Finding the space uncomfortable, yet somewhat safer. It took her a few hours to fall asleep before waking to the new morning. Thankful for the uneventful night as she rose to get ready for the new day. Grabbing a set of new clothes to bring with her to the bathroom. Taking a refreshing hot morning shower afterwards applying new wrappings to her hurt ankle.

Ready for the day in fresh clothes she headed out to sit at the small lawn furniture. Wanting fresh air as she finished up her school work. Her aunt saying good morning as she left to walk her way to work. Leaving Beverly alone at home to do as she wished. After seeing her aunt disappear from sight her nervousness returned. looking down at the history book sitting in front of her. Opening it as if expecting a deadly snake to be waiting. Breathing out at seeing no creepy stalker notes.

There were quite a few boys who followed her for “special favors”. Finding disturbing notes was an unfortunately common thing for her. Seeing them stuffed into her lockers door. Somehow put into her back pack during class time. Shes brought it up with the principal before, but it never seemed to matter. Even when they got their newest principal Mr. Alko she never bothered bringing it up again.

Recalling a time Richie almost got into a fist fight with one in particular. Thankfully he backed down after Eddie fetched the rest of the losers for back up. They never saw that creep again after he was expelled for tagging the old principals car.

Thinking about him being the late night book deliverer made her sick. This had put her off on any work that was history related. Turning toward other work again to keep busy on. Knowing in the back of her mind that eventually she had to do it.

The weekend passed with her fully caught up on work. Her return on Monday greeted normally by the guys hanging out front for school to start.

“seen Greta's new set of wheels yet?” Richie pointed with a grin. Beverly looking over with a raised brow. Assuming her dad bought the spoiled girl another new car. Instead she saw the bully sitting in a fancy wheel chair. Arms crossed looking pissed as ever with two fresh leg casts. A butler looking man dressed in a fancy suit wheeling her to where she wanted. Getting a laugh out of Beverly who covered her mouth to hide it.

“surprised she didint h-h-have that guy wear m-m-matching colors.” bill mentioned. All of them nodding in agreement of the clashing bright pink decorated chair vs the dark looking butler.

Ben talked to the group. “at least she cant bother us during lunch for a while.” Mainly looking toward Beverly who took the brunt of her insults.

Eddie gestured to the man in joking. “she could order her butler to fight us.” Getting a laugh out of them all.

“hey, did one of you drop off my history book?” Beverly asked.

“no.” they all answered in unison.

Seeing the worried expression on Beverlys face after that, Ben asked “something wrong?”

there was a pause from her on debating if she should tell or not. “... I forgot it on Friday inside the classroom. Right before I went to bed the book suddenly appeared on my window sill. I never saw who dropped it off and was hoping it was one of you.”

“think it was your dad?” asked Eddie.

“i … don't think so. Someone had to have entered the school for it and no way my dad would go unnoticed around here.” thinking over the possible people.

“gah!” she shouted at something hard hitting the back of her head. Turning to glare toward Greta around her laughing group. Watching one of them dust dirt off their palm.

Looking down by her feet showed the rock freshly tossed at her. Seeing Richie scoop it up, ready to toss it back. “Richie don't!” she stopped him. “shes not worth detention.”

“watch her spitting out teeth sounds pretty worth it!” tossing the rock off to the side in a huff. “would ruin their rich gold covered breakfast. All they'll have left is to suck rose water through a straw.” they watched the group heading in early for the school breakfast they reserved special. Perks of the cheerleaders along with the sports teams. Cheerleaders had their own reserved table to laugh at everyone else from as they ate. Gearing them all up to be preppy for the upcoming games.

“did you see anybody walking around the RV park?” Ben turned the conversation back to their original topic.

“no, nothing. I even looked for footprints.” turning her attention back.

“w-w-want us to do a steak out?” asked bill.

“i don't know if That'd gain anything. I don't even have an idea who would do this. It came out of nowhere for me. Any of you see anything odd?” looking to them all. Spotting Stan looking away in a nervous shift. Avoiding eye contact with him in a way of keeping him from speaking up.

“he saw IT.” she thought in confirmation to herself. “may have to tell Stan first to keep him from suddenly telling bill. Bills not going to be happy about this.”

“no.” they all answered.

Their attention, as well as everybody elses, was grabbed by loud screams from indoors. A hoard of curious students rushing to find the source. Finding it within minutes as teachers were crowding into the cafeteria. The losers were stuck wondering at the back when Richie pushed through to the front.

[welllpthisishappening]

The PyeongChang Triple (2/15)

It’s the Olympics. The. Olympics. And Emma’s running out of post-it notes to write schedules and plans on and there are more games and more expectations and not enough time for any of it. She’s fine. Totally. Absolutely. If she could just sleep. Or stop feeling as if her knees are going to give out every time she stands up. Or get Ruby to stop staring at her like that. It’s fine. After all Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, keeps promising it will be.

He’s going to win. Again. At the Olympics. And Killian’s not nervous. Not about that. It’s hockey. He could play hockey in his sleep. Probably. He’s never tried that. But he probably could. And, sure, there are expectations and games and schedules and barely any time for what he wants to actually be doing, but winning a Gold medal isn’t bad. After all, Emma Swan, temporary New York Rangers Olympics team social media manager, keeps promising it will be.

They’re fine. They’re going to win. Together.

Rating: Mature. Swearing, hockey-type violence, lotsa making out. Word Count: 9.8K’ish. Emma’s got a schedule to stick to.  AN: Guys! I can’t thank you enough for your response to this and the excitement and general awesome’ness of each and every one of you. It’s the best. Emma’s POV this chapter and a very detailed schedule and Opening Ceremonies that last forever. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder​ who fixes all the words and @distant-rose​ who comes up with clever titles.  Also on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s how you roll. 

She didn’t really remember much of the car ride – just Killian’s voice in her ear when they got to the hotel and fingers in her hair and she’d been so goddamn tired.

She’d grumbled and he’d laughed, the sound of it echoing in the back seat of the car and Ruby must have spent the last month planning the logistics of all of this. If Emma didn’t have her own schedule and two jobs to do and several month’s worth of scheduling to her name as well, she probably would have been impressed.

Well, maybe she was. She was just also exhausted.

And she didn’t want to get out of bed.

The alarm went off and Emma reached for it, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in the process and she didn’t even have to open her eyes to know she was alone in bed already. He’d probably been up for hours already – she could hear a coffee maker on the other side of the room and the sounds of the shower around the corner. Emma sighed softly, but there was a schedule and a to-do-list on their phones and Ruby would kill them if they didn’t get to the lobby on time.

They hadn’t left the room the day before – jet lag and time differences and maybe, definitely, something else that had nothing to do with either one of those things – surviving on room service and that coffee maker and a whole list of television stations that didn’t make much sense.

They didn’t really watch much television.

Emma glanced down at her phone when it vibrated in her hand, eyebrows pulled low at the sound – Mary Margaret wasn’t supposed to text. Except she wasn’t. She was FaceTiming and this wasn’t helping the schedule, but Killian was still in the shower and Emma was a jumble of pre-Olympic excitement and media day and Opening Ceremonies and Mary Margaret absolutely, positively knew all of that.

“You’re going to wreck your data,” Emma said as soon as she swiped her thumb across the screen to find Mary Margaret's enthusiastic smile on the other end.

She made a face. “I don’t care about my data. And hi, by the way.” “Hey,” Emma smiled, tugging her legs up to rest her chin on her knees as she held her phone out in front of her. “What time is it there?” “Seven’ish. What is it, fourteen hours?” “I honestly have no idea.” “Shouldn’t you know that?” “Reese’s, did you just call to question whether or not I knew the time difference because that’s kind of insane.” “Rude.” “And true.” Mary Margaret made a noise in the back of her throat, something that sounded eerily similar to that growling thing Ruby did whenever she was frustrated, and Emma heard David chuckle in the background. “I just wanted to make sure you were ready for your Olympics extravaganza,” Mary Margaret continued and David made another noise.

It wasn’t a chuckle – it was...incredulous. That wasn’t really the right word either. It sounded kind of skeptical and just a bit eager and both Emma and Mary Margaret lowered their eyebrows at the sound.

“What’s his deal?” Emma asked, nodding towards the corner of the screen where David was just barely visible in the kitchen alcove.

“I don’t know,” Mary Margaret admitted. “That was weird, right? He keeps doing it too. Every time I mention the Olympics, he gets this weird, anxious look on his face.” “Who knew he was so patriotic?” “Maybe it’s got something to do with the force.” “I can hear, you know,” David shouted, finally turning towards both of them with a look that had Emma biting back a laugh of her own.

“That was kind of the point,” Emma muttered and David glared at her. He sank down next to Mary Margaret, huffing slightly and muttering something that sounded distinctly like mouthy teenage kid underneath his breath.

Mary Margaret still hadn’t lifted her eyebrows, staring at him like she knew he was keeping a secret and it was far too early for this conversation. “You catch up on sleep yet, Em?” David asked conversationally and Emma nearly collapsed back onto the bed in fits. She barely registered the way his eyes widened and that look was back, while she tried to make sure she didn’t drop her phone.

“Ok, for real, what is going on with you?” Emma asked.

David just pressed his lips together tightly, a thin straight line of pink and anxious and knowing and Mary Margaret tapped his shoulder when he didn’t answer immediately. “Nothing,” he said quickly. Emma scoffed. “Seriously.” “Explain your face then. And why you’re letting Reese’s destroy her data for this.” “That was Mary Margaret’s idea, not mine. It’s your first day of the Olympics. You can’t expect your mother not to worry about you.” Mary Margaret hit his shoulder again and Emma rolled her eyes, but that tiny little flame of something that seemed to flare to life whenever she realized how goddamn happy she was seemed to flicker just a bit and she’d probably never get used to this.

A family and friends and there was a Stanley Cup-winning hockey player still in the shower who, at last count, had told her how glad he was she was there seven times in the last twenty-four hours.

Emma’s fingers ghosted over the chain around her neck out of instinct and if asked she probably would have promised it was just so she didn’t choke herself. She was, after all, still collapsed in a sea of pillows and hotel-provided sheets.

It would have been a very big lie.

“For real?” Emma asked. “You checking up on me, Reese’s? Trust me, Ruby’s got that down. I think half of my text messages are from her to make sure I know what to do. As if I can’t run media for a team. It’s not even a whole team, just our guys.” Mary Margaret smiled at her, the pride making it across several time zones and continents and different days because it was yesterday there and she’d called to make sure Emma was ready for the Olympics.

“I’m not checking up on anything,” Mary Margaret promised. “I know I didn’t need to.” She shrugged, sticking her lower lip out slightly and Emma was dimly aware that the shower had, at some point, turned off and there were footsteps making their way back towards her.

“Swan, you up?”

Mary Margaret yelped – dropping the phone in the process – while David made some kind of impossible noise and Emma wondered if it was possible to melt into a pile of pillows and hotel-provided sheets.

It was far too early in the morning for this.

Far too early for phone calls from supportive quasi-parents and her still-vibrating phone and Killian Jones, captain of Team USA, standing a few feet away from her in a goddamn towel.

She ran her hand over her face, squeezing her eyes shut and if that wasn’t the dumbest thing she’d ever done, then Emma wasn’t sure what was. Killian Jones was standing a few feet away from her in a goddamn towel, that stupid smirk on his face and she couldn’t remember when that had actually started working.

Probably at some point in the last five months, in between trophies on the kitchen counter and pillows on their bed and his seemingly endless determination to make sure that there was always an unopened container of cinnamon in the cabinet.

David was cackling.

“David, God, shut up,” Emma mumbled. He didn’t stop. Mary Margaret was beet red, eyes boring a hole in the floor in the loft several thousand miles away.

Emma glanced up at Killian, smirk still tugging on the ends of his mouth and he did something ridiculous with his eyebrows. The fire in the pit of her stomach was somewhere close to an inferno.

“I’m awake,” she said, pushing back up and blinking quickly when the whole room seemed to move with her.

The smirk disappeared almost immediately.

“Swan,” Killian said sharply and even Mary Margaret lifted her gaze, eyes going wide when Emma shook her head slowly, trying to regain her bearings. “Are you alright?” “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just moved too quickly or something.”

His shoulders were tense, a straight line of concern and the worry radiating of him was nearly palpable, any humor at absolutely terrorizing David and Mary Margaret on the other side of the world forgotten as soon as Emma slumped against the pillows.

“Just tired,” she muttered and he didn’t look convinced. “Has Ruby started texting you? I can hear the messages already, but I’ve been getting sent off to my first day of school by Mom and Dad so I haven’t had a chance to look.” Killian shook his head slowly, tongue pressed on the inside of his cheek and his shoulders hadn’t relaxed yet. Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m fine,” she promised. He just lifted his eyebrows and that wasn’t even fair – he was in a towel for God's sake.

“And,” Mary Margaret added, probably sensing whatever was happening on the other side of the world as easily as if she were sitting in the corner of the hotel room. “It’s not your first day of school, Emma. If you’re going to be sarcastic about this, at least do it right.” “Ah, well, yeah, of course,” Emma scoffed and Mary Margaret only looked slightly frustrated. She also still looked a bit worried.

And Killian hadn’t blinked in days – at least.

“Put clothes on,” she continued, glancing up at him as she tried to keep herself still and leaning up against pillows. Her phone buzzed again. Ruby was the single most dramatic person in the entire world.

They were ahead of schedule.

Killian sighed, but he’d finally pulled his tongue away from the inside of his cheek and David had gone back to the kitchen alcove, banging pots and pans and mumbling under his breath about...something. She couldn’t quite understand what he was saying.

“Are you distracted, Swan?” Killian asked, arms crossed lightly over his chest.

“No,” she said and that sounded like an excuse too. Add that to the list she’d made the night before, in between TV shows they couldn’t understand and a, frankly, ridiculous amount of kissing.

“No?” “No. You’re embarrassing Reese’s though. She’s gone all red.” Mary Margaret made a noise on the other end of the phone and Killian’s shoulders, finally, moved, sagging slightly as he breathed out the air Emma knew he’d been holding. “I have no idea where my phone is,” he said and that wasn’t really the answer Emma had been expecting.

“What?” she shouted – mostly to his back. He’d turned around before she’d even gotten a single letter out, glancing at her over his shoulder with wide eyes and that felt like cheating too. At least these jerseys weren’t blue.

She probably wouldn’t have survived two weeks of Olympics and looks like that and eyes that, inexplicably, matched another jersey color.

David laughed from the kitchen and if it didn't require another fourteen-hour flight and more jet lag – as if that were even possible – she’d fly back to New York City and kick him. Or punch him. Probably in both of his kidneys.

“To be fair,” Killian said, dress pants on and shirt barely buttoned and two ties in his hands. Emma nodded towards the left one. Slightly less Rangers blue than the other. “I don’t think Scarlet even brought his phone at all, so…” “If that’s supposed to impress me, it doesn’t,” Emma argued. “I don’t know that we should be using Scarlet as some kind of marker of adult responsibility. And how is he going to talk to Belle?” “Well, she’s coming next week, so I don’t thinks he’s worried. Plus, he’s absolutely going to destroy Phillip’s data.” “I don’t think that’s how it works.” “See, this is why you stay in hotels, Swan. There’s guaranteed wifi and no data issues.” “Are you just throwing internet facts at me?” “I don’t think I’m throwing anything. Unless it’s my phone. But that was last night and not a fact, so I don’t think that’s what you were talking about.”

Emma made a face, biting back the urge to laugh or maybe sink back into the pillows and that would probably just make her dizzy again. “Is there coffee?”

Killian nodded and if she wasn’t, maybe, looking for it, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way his shoulders shifted again, weight rocking between his feet as he tried to read her face. Open book. Idiot.

Worried idiot.

They didn’t have time for worry or jet lag or whatever fit David was having in New York City.

“Ruby is texting me now,” Mary Margaret muttered, something that looked like amusement flashing across her face.

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned and she glared at Killian when he started laughing. He stopped as soon as a different phone buzzed – underneath one of the pillows. She shook her head, grabbing the pillow and throwing it across the room before he grabbed his phone off the mattress, shooting her an apologetic look as he moved. “Tell Ruby we’ll be downstairs on time. We are so far ahead of schedule, it’s almost a joke.” Mary Margaret might have saluted, but Killian mumbled mine wasn’t Lucas under his breath and Emma was glad they’d at least had the presence of mind the day before to hang up their clothes, certain Regina would have been scandalized if either one of them showed up to media in slightly wrinkled clothing.

“Who was it?” Emma asked.

She didn’t expect Mary Margaret to answer. “It was Ariel wasn’t it?” Killian nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes away from his phone, fingers flying across the screen and Emma’s head felt like it was on a swivel.

“She’s very bored,” Mary Margaret explained. “She wants updates and guarantees that no one is going to get hurt while you guys are there.” “We’re not even supposed to check each other,” Killian muttered and Mary Margaret shrugged.

“I think she’s convinced something terrible is going to happen to one of you.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said again, squeezing her eyes shut and she could feel Killian glance her direction, stuffing his phone back in his pocket with a bit more force than absolutely necessary. “You ok?” she asked.

“Fine.” Something was going on. And open book worked both ways. David made another noise.

“Alright,” Emma said slowly, dragging out the word like that would somehow get him to talk. She’d almost forgotten about the FaceTime phone call in her hand. “They’re going to ask you about that, you know. Today, I mean. Checking and everything you said and what you did over the last couple of months.” “I know how to answer questions, Swan.” She pulled her legs underneath her, tilting her head at the tone of his voice and Killian sighed again. “Red’s very bored,” he said.

“So I’ve been told.” Emma glanced back at Mary Margaret, looking for some kind of explanation as to whatever was going on and she knew, immediately, she wasn’t going to get it. Mary Margaret looked just as confused as Emma felt, eyes darting back towards David when he dropped, what sounded like, an entire set of pots and pans.

“David, what even?” Emma asked, but she hadn’t stopped looking at Killian. His tongue darted out in between his lips and he was dangerously close to strangling himself with his own tie. She jumped off the bed, as fine as promised, and tugged his hands away.

He didn’t argue.

“I’d be mad if you didn’t make it to media,” she muttered, hand falling on his chest when she’d finished and she couldn’t quite breathe when his hand fell on top of hers.

That was stupid.

It probably wouldn’t ever stop.

She hoped not.

“We saved that Post you know,” Mary Margaret shouted, Emma’s phone forgotten on the bed in the middle of romance and something that felt decidedly important. He wasn’t telling her something. And she knew it.

He knew she knew it.

“She’s probably going to scrapbook it,” Emma added and Killian scoffed.

“I’ve never scrapbooked in my entire life. That is just stereotyping for teachers.” “Ok, that had nothing to do you with your chosen profession,” Emma argued, turning back towards her phone. “What did A want to know about?” And it was like the oxygen had been sucked out of the room – Killian going stiff behind her and his hand tightened where it had landed on her waist and David dropped something. Again.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “She wanted to know if anything major had happened yet.” Killian hissed in what sounded like a gulp of air and Emma spun at the sound, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face while he ran his hand through his hair. “I said you guys probably spent most of yesterday sleeping. I think she’s just trying to make sure she doesn’t miss anything. She’s mad she couldn’t go.” “She’s almost nine months pregnant,” Emma reasoned. “She wouldn’t have even been able to go to games if we were playing in New York.” “Don’t tell her that.” “I wouldn’t.”

“That’s smart, Swan,” Killian said and he hadn’t let go of her waist. “She’s, uh, she’s rather determined at this point.” Emma was still missing something. She was certain of it – could see the way David kept trying to meet Killian’s gaze and how Killian kept, absolutely, avoiding it. “What is happening right now?” “Nothing,” Killian and David said at the same time. Both of them groaned.

“Alright,” Emma snapped and maybe she was the one who was slightly frustrated now. She was going to drink that entire goddamn pot of coffee. “Fine. Do whatever it is you’re doing. David, I hope you have to work every single time we play. And you,” she spun on the spot, nearly dropping her phone in the process and Killian almost looked intimidated. He also looked impressed, eyes widening and mouth quirking up. “You better come up with good answers for every question they ask, no deflecting and no bringing Rol with you to try and distract them.” “Would I do that, Swan?” “Yes.” “That’s fair,” he laughed, tugging her against him and brushing his lips across her forehead and, well, there went the frustration.

“They’re going to want to know what you said to get an entire league to change its mind.” “They used Captain America in a headline again today,” Mary Margaret, voice muffled a bit with Emma’s phone was pressed up against Killian’s chest. “But I think that was ESPN. Right? So that’s kind of cheating.”

David hummed in agreement and Emma shook her head, shoulders shaking slightly when she laughed and bit her lip.

And even if she was absolutely, positive something was going on, she was somewhere in the realm of impossibly happy, if not slightly hungry.

And caffeine deprived.

It didn’t matter.

She was happy and they were at the Olympics and she might be meticulously scheduled for the next two weeks, but there was hockey to watch and media to run and they’d already promised to bring Henry and Rol somewhere educational and it all kind of felt like a dream.

It was not.

They were going to win a gold medal.

They could hang it off the Conn-Smythe they’d never given back.

“Captain America,” Emma repeated, tapping her nails against a line of buttons and Killian rolled his eyes.

“Just Killian, love,” he said softly and the words seemed to work their way from her head to her heart and the bottom of her toes and she was a sentimental fool who loved her boyfriend. They were absolutely going to win.

Again.

She’d forgotten about Mary Margaret and David entirely, gripping her phone tightly when Killian ducked his head and his lips against hers sent a shockwave of something very particular down her spine.

Mary Margaret coughed pointedly and Emma nearly snapped back, blinking quickly when Killian grinned at her. “Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbled. “I’ve got to go Reese’s.” “Yuh huh,” she laughed, but there was a smile on her face when Emma pulled the phone back up. “Go dominate the Olympics. Both of you.” “Thanks, Mom.”

They made it to the lobby before Ruby did, the Mills-Locksley family sitting in chairs with matching looks of post-flight exhaustion on their face and both Henry and Roland were already drowning in Team USA merch.

“Did Ruby call you?” Robin grumbled, legs stretched out in front of him and he didn’t even try to slow down Roland when he practically leapt at Killian.

Emma nodded, narrowing her eyes when Regina started at Killian like she was taking stock of all of his limbs. He glared at her, tugging Roland up and groaning slightly when he slung him over his shoulder.

“Ariel is going to kill you if you hurt yourself this week,” Emma muttered and he couldn't really shrug.

“Hey Emma,” Roland yelled, shouting the words at her in the crowded lobby that, at first glance, appeared to be filled with hockey players and something that might have actually been a bobsled in the corner. She was surprised Henry and Roland hadn’t claimed it as their own yet. That was probably Regina’s doing.

“Hey, Rol,” she said. “When did you guys get jerseys?” “Gina brought them.” “Prepared.” Regina shrugged, but Emma didn’t think she’d imagined the small hint of pride on her face either. “Killian,” she hissed and he snapped to attention, ignoring Roland’s soft cry when he nearly dropped him. “Put my kid down. Ariel won’t kill you if you get hurt, but I will and so will front office. The only reason we’re here is because you promised you wouldn’t get hurt.” “Ok, that’s not the only reason,” Killian sighed.

That was a lie. It was.

It was absolutely the only reason and Captain America was, actually, a pretty spot-on headline. Even if the mock-up in the Post was absolutely awful.

“You’re going to have to get used to that eventually,” Emma mumbled, eyeing Killian cautiously when there was an eight-year-old draped halfway down his back. “And you’re absolutely going to dislocate your shoulder.”

“I am not the only reason we’re here, Swan.” It was a several-months-old argument now, a back-and-forth Emma couldn’t seem to understand or get the upper-hand in. He was incredibly stubborn. And incredibly wrong.

The NHL wasn’t going to let them go.

Something about injuries and stopping the season for two weeks in the middle of February and whatever the Bruins owner said about Olympic ratings that had earned its own fairly horrible mock-up on the back page of The New York Post.

There’d been a decision – no pros in the Olympics and that was that.

Until Killian.

He talked to front office and answered every single question the media asked, crowding around his locker and demanding thoughts and opinions and what was he going to do about it? He fixed it. He went on the record and talked about what it meant to be an Olympian and how he wasn’t going to give up on an opportunity like this, no matter what the league said.

And other players followed.

It was like a wave – everyone responding and answering and there was some kind of petition that Killian absolutely refused to call a petition, promising it’s just names, love whenever she asked about it. It was a lot of names.

All of them agreeing with Killian Jones and he was the only one who seemed even remotely surprised when he ended up with another “C” on his Olympics jersey.

“Well, that’s not true at all is it?” Regina muttered and Emma threw her a thankful smile. Killian groaned. Although that might have been because of Roland.

“Why aren’t you just accepting this?” Emma asked, doing her best not to shout the words at him. He still looked a little shellshocked after the phone call that morning and she’d come out of the shower to find him sitting rail-straight on the corner of the bed, staring at his phone again.

And it had been unnaturally silent from Colorado.

She was going to figure this out. As soon as they finished media day. And Ruby got to the lobby. And she made sure that Scarlet was wearing a tie and Phillip didn’t try and crash their media scrum and eventually they’d have to see the hockey arena, but that was, apparently, an hour away and Emma might have been excited about the Olympics, but driving an hour through South Korean mountains every day wasn’t something she was particularly looking forward to.

Oh and the opening ceremonies.

Obviously.

That had its own to-do-list though.

“Because it’s not true,” Killian said, answering the question she’d almost forgotten she’d asked, mind racing through lists and schedules and videos that were slated to get sent to Merida at regular intervals because, God help them all if they spoiled the Olympics.

NBC would sue them.

“There was a petition, Killian!”

“A list of names.” “Jeez.” “I only said what all of us were thinking.” “But that’s exactly what I’m talking about! No one else did. You did and you answered phone calls and sat in front office for hours all while you guys were still playing and still winning and we’re second in the Metro! God. This is a good thing. You did a good thing here, just accept it.”

He blinked once, mouth opening and closing three times before he took a step towards her and he couldn’t really touch her – he’d absolutely drop Roland if he did – but he stared at her, eyes tracing across her face like he was waiting for her to shout that she didn’t mean any of it.

She didn’t.

And she’d done enough shouting already that day.

Ruby was very late.

“I love you,” Killian said softly, leaning forward slightly she could hear and Roland squirmed again.

“If that’s supposed to end this argument, you’ve got another thing coming. And I love you too.” “Good to know.” She shook her head slowly and he needed to stop cheating like that, smiling at her and lifting up kids like they didn’t weigh anything or hurt his shoulder and she was halfway to kissing him in the middle of the hotel lobby when the door swung open a few feet away and a visibly frustrated Will Scarlet marched towards them.

“Gross,” he muttered, nodding towards Killian and Robin laughed softly under his breath. He’d been noticeably silent as well – leaving Emma to argue alone when he’d been known to just start humming My Country ‘Tis of Thee whenever he walked by Killian over the last few weeks.

“Scarlet, where is your tie?” Emma sighed, hitching up the bag on her shoulder. She grabbed her phone out of her pocket, firing off a text message to Ruby. It was just exclamation points.

“In my pocket, why?” “You have to wear it when you get there. Obviously.” “We’re in the lobby, Emma.”

“Give me your tie.” “What?” “Your tie, Scarlet. And did you really leave your phone in the States?” Will shrugged, stuffing his hand in his pocket and practically throwing the piece of fabric at Emma. “Belle’s going to be here next week. And you guys are all here anyway. Who else do I need to talk to?” She was going to make fun of him, something snarky and sarcastic and she couldn’t really bring herself to do it. The fire had, apparently, moved to the hotel lobby and Emma’s eyes darted towards Killian before she could stop herself.

He smiled at her.

A real, genuine smile.

Her heart flipped. If that was possible. Probably not. Maybe it was just more jet lag.

“Lean your head forward,” Emma said, swinging the tie around Will’s neck and tucking it under the collar of his shirt and, well, at least he’d brought a tie to begin with.

“Are we still on schedule?” Robin asked, rolling his shoulders and maybe they should get out on some kind of ice before the ceremonies that night. The entire lot of them looked like they were moving in slow motion.

“Barely,” Emma answered. “I don’t know where Ruby is. She was all about getting down here early and now she’s ignoring my messages. It doesn’t really matter though. We’re split up by team anyway, so you guys exist in your own Rangers world today and then it kind of shifts after we start officially playing.” “Who do we play tomorrow?” “Have you not looked at your schedule, Locksley?” Robin shrugged again and Emma sighed, trying to infuse as much Olympic drama as she could in the sound. It didn’t really work. Probably because she was trying not to choke Will and she was so goddamn happy she couldn’t really see straight or come up with a metaphor that didn’t include fire.

“Here,” Emma said, dropping her bag on the floor and bending down to grab a sheet of paper. She held it towards Robin expectantly and rolled her eyes when his gaze drifted towards Killian. “Don’t look at Jones,” she snapped. “He got you guys here, but this is my gig now. And my schedule.”

Will laughed, but he pressed his lips together tightly as soon as Emma turned on him, eyes narrowed and determination flashing through every inch of her. “Aye, aye, Cap,” he said, saluting with two fingers.

“I kind of like that,” Emma admitted and Killian practically beamed at each her. He hadn’t put Roland down yet, the kid humming what sounded like the national anthem against his shoulder. “Alright,” she continued, “since Ruby isn’t here yet, listen to how this is going to work. You guys are super psyched to be here, got it? We’re all psyched. The key word for today is psyched and no hits.” “That’s three words, Swan,” Killian muttered.

“Shut up. Psyched and no hits. Got it?” All three of them nodded. “Good. So you focus on those, you sit behind the desks, you do not use painfully adorable children as distractions. You say you’re all about America and you can’t wait to march around a stadium later on tonight because you all are so goddamn patriotic for the next two weeks that you could, at any given point, start reciting the Declaration of Independence..” “Cap probably could,” Robin laughed and even Regina couldn’t quite turn her laughter into a convincing cough quickly enough.

“Do we really have to wear those hats later?” Will asked. “Because those are awful.” They were. They were worse than awful. They were somewhere in the realm of comical and Emma was thankful she didn’t have to wear them, sitting in an NHL-provided seat with Ruby and Regina and the aforementioned painfully adorable kids later that night.

“The sweater is worse,” Killian added and Emma sighed. “I’m sorry, Swan. It is. Have you seen it?” “Obviously,” she said.

He was right about that too. The sweater was definitely worse. She was going to make them pose for pictures before they marched out.

“You have to wear the sweater,” Ruby announced, wearing Team USA merch and her nails matched her highlights almost perfectly. She looked like she was ready to rip apart several sweaters. At once.

“Where have you been?” Emma asked and Ruby held her hands up in mock surrender. “We’re going to be late.” “Clock watcher. Did we talk about the buzz words?” “All three of them.” “No hits,” Ruby said, half shouting the word at the Rangers first line. “And safety. Add that to the list too.” “Four words,” Killian mumbled, moving his eyebrows quickly when Emma turned to gape at him.

“Shut up, Cap.” “Jeez, everyone’s on edge today, huh?” Ruby narrowed her eyes, taking three steps towards him and resting a hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Hey, Rol,” she said, ignoring Killian completely. “Hook’s the absolute worst, huh?” “Nah,” Roland argued easily and Emma was smiling before she realized her lips had even moved. “He’s going to score, like, twenty goals. At least.” “That’s not what we agreed on, mate,” Killian muttered. “There aren’t that many games.” Will scoffed. They were five minutes behind schedule now. None of them seemed to care. The New York Rangers – collectively ignoring Team USA rules and regulations since before the Olympics even started. “And if he keeps holding you up there like that, Rol, he’s going to dislocate his shoulder," Will laughed. "Come on, get down before all the blood rushes to your head.” Roland grumbled, but he didn’t argue and Will got him back on the ground and upright – face just a bit more red than it probably should have been.

“One a game, right, Killian?” Henry asked, stretching his arms over his head. “Especially in pool play. You guys are going to roll in pool play,”

“Don’t mention that in media,” Emma said. Six minutes behind schedule. There were, according to the hour-by-hour calendar on her phone, already cars waiting outside for them. “And, you know, you never answered the question, Rubes.” Ruby’s mouth dropped open. She thought she’d gotten away with it. Like hell. Emma was going to, at least, get some answers.

She made a face, bright red lips twisted in thought and Emma was certain she was trying to look at anyone who wasn’t her. Robin kept staring at Killian.

“A,” Ruby answered after what felt like an actual eternity. “She’s very bored. And also I was dealing with Booth.”

“August Booth? And shouldn’t Ariel be asleep? Or sleeping? Or resting?” “Yes to every question you just asked.” “What’s the matter with Booth?”

“Throw a dart. Mad about whatever happened in the Village last night and having to get to media and he’s the only ‘Cane here because, you know, they’re the Hurricanes, so he didn’t want to go and that’s why I’m late. I was trying to convince him to show up.” “Jeez.” “Go ahead and apologize for all those awful things you were thinking about me being late. And be grateful front office traded Booth when they did so you don’t have to deal with him for the next two weeks.” Emma groaned, but Ruby smiled at her – some kind of all-knowing look that Emma wasn’t entirely certain she appreciated it, especially when her eyes kept shifting away from her face and back to Killian and they were ten minutes late now.

“That was some shit in the Village last night though,” Will muttered, only to be met with a handful of sighs and exasperated sounds. “God, Rol, hurry up and get older so I’m not the bad guy here anymore, ok?” “Take that back,” Regina snapped, tugging Roland against her side and brushing his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t appreciate that very much. And, it appeared, he and Henry had, finally noticed the bobsled in the corner of the lobby.

They got as far as halfway towards the thing before Killian and Robin moved, grabbing both of them around the waist and Emma mumbled athletes under her breath. Killian smiled at her. And Ruby was still staring at him.

Like she was waiting for something.

“Can we go, Lucas?” Killian asked. “Swan’s got a schedule to stick to.” Ruby scoffed, crossing her arms lightly, but she nodded. “Killian Jones, defender of American hockey and his girlfriend’s media schedule.” “Something like that.” “Yuh huh.” “Enough, Ruby,” Robin said, interrupting something Emma was certain didn’t make much sense. “We’ve got buzzwords to focus on, remember? Those are the only words we care about today.” She was definitely missing something. Maybe she’d call Mary Margaret before the Opening Ceremonies and force her to talk. Mary Margaret totally knew. Maybe. She looked just as confused as Emma had.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby muttered, sounding as disgruntled as she felt. She shot Killian one more look and he stared back, all blue and something that might have been steel and determination with Henry tucked against his side.

“You want to come with us, Henry?” he asked. “We can plan a goal-scoring strategy.” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, sure!” “Deal. You ready, Swan?” “I’ve been ready since we got down here.”

“Rude,” Ruby said, marching towards the doors and the waiting cars. “You can take Booth then, Emma. I’m not dealing with him for the next two weeks.”

Killian grinned at her, arm finding its way back around her shoulders and she could still feel the tension there, but he couldn’t seem to hold onto it, lips finding her forehead almost as soon as he’d pulled her against him.

They, eventually, decided on ten goals.

A nice, round number, that Killian seemed fairly confident he could hit if they, as promised, rolled through pool play.

They were totally going to roll through pool play.

She hoped no one said that at media.

And they were, absolutely, the last team to get there – several league officials swarming them as soon as the cars pulled up in front of the Olympic stadium, barely giving them a moment to take any of it in.

There was a lot to take in.

“Big isn’t it?” Henry asked, falling into stride next to Emma as soon as Killian was pulled towards a table and a sea of expectant reporters who were already mumbling about meeting deadlines stateside.

This time difference was going to be frustrating.

“It is the Olympics,” Emma reasoned. “I think they’ve got to make sure it’s appropriately overwhelming. Just wait until we get outside later on tonight. Or go see some mountains.” “We’re going to see mountains?” Emma nodded, hand falling on Henry’s shoulder as they stepped into the room and Killian was already grinning, sitting behind a table with Robin and Will on either side and they’d already used the word psyched twice.

“They said the thing,” Henry laughed.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they bet on it, honestly.” “Robin bet Will that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hit count under five in pool play.” “What? For real?”

Henry nodded, eyes darting towards Emma like he’d suddenly realized what he’d told her. “For real. Robin was telling Regina last night.” “Didn’t you sleep?” “Eh,” Henry shrugged and Emma tilted her head at the sound.

“What?” “Nothing,” he said quickly. Or, rather, immediately. He’d answered before Emma had even finished asking the question.

And the question was only one word.

“You sound like Killian,” she muttered, glancing towards the table of Rangers she was in charge of, each of them with matching smiles on their faces and perfectly knotted ties and they almost looked like Olympians.

They absolutely looked like Olympians.

She should be taking pictures. Emma grabbed her phone out of her bag, quickly filing away her determination to figure out what the fuck was going on and act like a goddamn professional for two seconds. She just didn’t have enough hands.

“Here,” Henry said, grabbing the bag off her shoulder and slinging it over his without a word. He pushed her phone into her hand and grabbed the camera she’d only been half instructed how to use when Mulan sat her down for two hours in her office a week before.

“Thanks, kid.” He shrugged again, but his face looked just a bit more red than usual. “You know,” Henry said slowly. “I could help. Maybe. If you want.” “Help? How?” “I’m taking a photo class at school. I mean, I’m not Mulan, but she’s let me do some stuff with her during games this season and when Killian’s sister was here after the Finals, she let me play around with her camera at the restaurant. She said I wasn’t bad.” Emma considered it for a moment, but the hopeful look on Henry’s face was enough to make the decision one of the easiest ones she’d been presented with in the last month – and she’d planned that whole outdoor practice in, like, two days.

She could use a bit of easy.

“Ok,” she said, handing Henry the camera and his eyes, somehow, got even wider. “I need pictures of our guys. And only our guys. The league sent photographers, but we want to make sure we’ve got enough stuff to fill a gallery every other day. Just keep snapping. Or whatever the technical term is.” “I think snapping makes sense.” “Let’s go with that then. Here,” she tugged her ID off her neck, slinging it over Henry’s head and it wasn’t, strictly, following the rules, but she only had so many hands. “So you can force your way into the scrum. If they don’t let you in, yell, and one of the guys will pull you up.” Henry looked vaguely affronted at that. “I can do it, Emma.” “I’ve got no doubt,” she promised. “Go snap.” He nodded once, eyebrows moving quickly and Emma pushed her heels into the ground so she wouldn’t delve into the deep end of sentiment. After all, it seemed everyone on this stupid team knew she something she absolutely did not.

Figured.

There were more questions and Henry made it to the front of the table without help from a single professional hockey player, all of three of them widening their eyes when he started taking photos. Emma kept her phone trained on the scene in front of her, sending out SnapChats and Instagram updates and the thing was starting to actually get hot in her hand, retweets and messages and, probably, chants of USA USA USA several thousand miles away.

Take that, Bruins general manager.

“You just letting kids do you job for you now?” Emma spun at the voice, mouth falling open and the breath rushed out of her quickly, arms flung around a body she barely gave herself a moment to even register.

She nearly dropped her phone.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, practically screaming the words in Graham’s face. Or his neck. She’d kind of buried herself against him.

Graham laughed against her, chest shaking with the sound of it as his arms tightened around her. “It’s the Olympics, Em. I think there are a lot of people here.” “That’s not even what I meant at all. Don’t you guys do media after us? That’s what the schedule said.” “Emma Swan, living life to a schedule.” “Nah,” she argued, glancing over her shoulder and Killian was answering another question, hand practically entrenched in his hair. Will kept making faces at Henry.

Graham hummed knowingly, following her line of vision and when she looked back he was smiling at her. “You happy, Em?” “Yeah,” she said. “Really.” “Good. Because your boyfriend’s made it so we can’t check each other in this thing and if you weren’t happy, I’d probably have to kill him on the ice.” “Stand down, Humbert. It’s fine.” “Yeah? You been on the internet recently?” Emma rolled her eyes, but she shrugged in response. “Yeah, we don’t do that much anymore. No one’s searching out headlines unless they’re also being used as name puns on the back pages of the tabs.” “I saw that picture,” Graham laughed. “Is Mary Margaret going to keep it forever?” “And ever, likely. But come on, how come you’re here early? Shouldn’t you be practicing or something? Seeing as you guys are going to get wrecked?”

Graham’s eyes flashed and his laugh was on the wrong side of incredulous. “Are you trash talking me, right now?” “I’m being paid very well to make sure that Team USA comes home well represented in the media and the best way to do that is if they win a medal, so, yeah, I’m absolutely trash talking.” “You know we both win medals if we get to the final.” “And I’m sure you’ll look very good with silver around your neck.” “Man, you are ruthless now, aren’t you? Took all that nice Vancouver out of you and replaced it with New York grit or something.” “Or something for sure,” Emma grumbled, knocking her knuckles against Graham’s shoulder. There was a “C” there. And if he thought she’d yelled loudly when he showed up during USA media day, it was nothing to whatever noise she made as soon as realization struck her. “When did that happen?” Graham shrugged, but Emma hit her fist against his chest and she was, at least, getting some answers. “Couple of days before we left. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“What?” “Rumor has it your team likes to bet on things.” “Oh my God,” she groaned, rolling her head towards the ceiling and only suddenly remembering she wasn’t SnapChatting. God, fuck SnapChat. “Is that what you were learning on the internet?” “Nah, that was something totally different.” Emma resisted the urge to ask about that, pointing her phone back towards the table and trying to work her way in between several different reporters at once. “Alright, go ahead, what’s the bet, then?” “You rolling right now?” “Obviously.” “Keep that thing on.” She barely had time to even consider a response before Graham was moving around her, twisting through the crowd and coughing loudly until the horde of media, finally, turned around to stare at him. Will made another face.

Henry kept snapping.

“Hey, other captain,” Graham said, striding towards the table with a grin on his face and, quite possibly, some sort of spring in his step. Emma did her best to keep her arm steady.

Killian pulled his hand out of his hair, running his fingers across his jaw. “Humbert.” “No, no, Captain,” Graham argued, tapping the patch on his jersey for extra emphasis. “They make you guys wear suits to media day? That’s kind of lame isn’t it? Very American. All strict and rule-abiding.” “Why are you here, Humbert?” “Captain. We, literally, just went over this. And I’m here to talk.” “In the middle of media day?” “Ah, well, I figured you guys could use some positive headlines before you deal with that almost-medal disappointment in two weeks.” “Did you honestly just come over here to trash talk, Humbert?” Will asked skeptically and the sea of media started muttering again, pushing reorders and phones forward and this would probably be all over the internet in minutes.

Emma kept updating Twitter. Her phone was probably going to combust at some point.

“Nah,” Graham said. “Not with you guys at least. Media relations and I already covered most of the trash-talking basics.” Killian’s eyebrows practically leapt up his forehead, peering above the crowd in front of him to meet Emma’s eyes.

He winked.

Idiot.

“Alright,” Killian said. “So if you’re not, actually, going to trash talk, what’s this about then?” “I’m here to make a bet.” Robin slumped in his chair, head falling onto his forearms and Emma was briefly concerned with how close he came to colliding to the table. Will made some kind of ridiculous noise, something that sounded a bit like a whoop and came complete with a fist pump, but Killian didn’t move an inch, staring at Graham with barely passing interest.

“A bet,” he repeated. “For?” “Pride and country, obviously.” “Oh, obviously.” Will grumbled, grabbing one of the microphones in front of him and practically leaning over the entire table. “What are your stakes, then? Can we get some maple candy out of it?” “Do you think all of Team Canada just came to South Korea with maple candy in their pockets?” Graham asked and a few of the reporters laughed. Emma’s phone would not vibrating. “Did you not?” “No.” “Stakes, Humbert,” Killian muttered and Graham grinned at him, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“Captain versus Captain, right?” Killian nodded. “Good. Now, you guys have to win for this to work, understand?” Killian’s eyes flashed, all blue and determination and Emma wasn’t certain if Graham or the entire country of Canada had thought this through enough.

“Oh, that was a mistake,” Robin mumbled and Will chuckled softly.

“You’re evading,” Killian said. “Spit it out. And we’re totally going to win. Go ahead and print that, too. I’m psyched about how much we’re going to win.” Emma bit her lip, half a moment away from the edge of hysterical and she heard Regina’s heels before she started talking. “The tabs are going to love this,” she said, a hand on Roland’s shoulders and half a smile on her face.

“Twitter already does,” Emma added, nodding towards her phone and Ruby would be mad she was missing all the fun.

“Good. Maybe the SubReddit won’t act like some cesspool of rumors anymore.” “Yeah, I wouldn’t hold my breath on that.” “Did you look, then?” “Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, I don’t look anymore. And David’s banned from telling me. Although he’s really worried about his data, so that might be part of it too.” “He knows it’s fine if he’s connected to wifi, right? That’s how the internet works.” Emma shook her head slowly. “I have no idea.” The conversation at the table hadn’t slowed down and the reporters were shouting again, voices overlapping as they tried to get quotes and a story and an angle that was, somehow, different from the person standing next to them.

“What is happening right now?” Ruby asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with two phones in her hand and a clipboard tucked underneath her arm. She reached up to pull the pen out of Emma’s hair. “Don’t do that,” she chastised. “You’ll get ink on your face.” “They’re betting,” Emma answered, ignoring the ink jab and practically stuffing the pen back in her ponytail. There was nowhere else to put it anyway. And Henry still had her bag.

“Jeez, of course they are. You talk to Cap yet?” “What?” “Was that an answer?” “I don’t understand what the question was.”

“So that’s a no then,” Ruby said, leaning around Emma to stare questioningly at Regina. “You think that’s a no?” Regina hummed. “Seems like it.” “Are we done here?” Emma asked impatiently. “We’ve got some kind of bet to promo now and Mer’s going to be literally up in the middle of the night to post video.” “You’ll get video, Em,” Ruby said, resting what was probably supposed to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Come on we’ll go corner them now that they’ve broken free of the horde. Maybe Mer can get some sleep.” “She’s absolutely sleeping in her office.” “I know she is. Let’s go.”

The stakes were, apparently, relatively easy. Captain versus Captain, America versus Canada, and they both seemed fairly confident they’d be playing in each other in the gold medal game. Whoever lost sang – loudly.

The loudly, it appeared, was the key to the whole thing.

“We have to, and I’m quoting here, enthusiastically sing the other country’s national anthem after the medal ceremony,” Killian explained a few minutes later, staring into the camera Emma had held in front of him like he was tortured by media relations. Or community relations. The specifics of her job were a bit more expansive when it came to the Olympics.

“That’s it?” Emma asked.

“Were you looking for more? It’s not my bet. I’m just agreeing to stakes, for the pride of America or whatever.” “Ok, see that didn’t sound very psyched.” “I’ve said the word psyched so many times today, it doesn’t even sound like an actual word anymore, love.” Emma rolled her head, lolling it towards her slumped shoulders and he totally knew what he was doing. They wouldn’t be able to use that part now. “Jerk,” she muttered, cutting the end of the video off and sending it to Merida with an added get some sleep, Mer, God at the bottom.

“Ah,” Killian laughed, tugging on his tie as he took a step closer to her and kissed her hair. “And I here I was under some impression that you were defending my honor before.” “America,” she corrected and she probably appreciated the smirk more than she should have. “I was defending America. And you’re far too competitive for your own good.” He shrugged, tie, finally undone and just hanging around his neck like it was teasing Emma. They had ceremonies to deal with and she was still as tired as she’d been when she’d woken up, but she’d been drinking coffee nonstop and and she’d, eventually, stopped yawning every other minute. “You know how I feel about a bet, Swan. Humbert questioning my captaincy.” “Did he do that? I must have missed that part.” Killian narrowed his eyes, hands landing on either side of her hips and that tie was an absolute joke. She pulled on one end before she could even consider all the reasons she shouldn’t have. “Are you defending the enemy, love?”

“The Canadians are the enemy now?”

“When it comes to forcing me to sing a national anthem, then, yes.” Emma nodded slowly, fingers still wrapped around that absurdly blue tie and her phone buzzed with Merida’s response. “Ah, well, good thing you guys are going to win then, huh?” “A guarantee, love.” “Leaves little room for doubt.” “That is kind of how that works.” “Down with Canada or whatever.” “That’s the spirit,” Killian muttered, words barely audible when he pressed his lips against hers, fingers brushing up her spine and she’d forgotten about the tie entirely. She could feel him everywhere, jacket forgotten somewhere behind them and she hadn’t noticed that he’d undone the buttons at the top of his shirt either.

There wasn’t a playoff beard, just scruff and slightly-longer-than-normal hair and Emma’s fingers carded through it and thumb brushing against his jaw, earning a very specific type of groan from him. He tightened his grip on her waist, arm finding its way around her and she barely had time to marvel at that before she found herself pulled flush against him, heels dragging across the floor.

There was no blue carpet in the Olympic media room.

There were, however, probably cameras. And neither one of them could seem to bring themselves to care, wrapped up in each other and the feel of it all and he was way too good at this.

They were way too good at this.

God, they’d made out at the Olympics now. Add that to the list.

“Come on, Cap,” Emma mumbled, breathing out the words when her lungs started protesting at a distinct lack of oxygen. “You’ve got to get in that absolutely awful sweater.”

He didn’t look bad in the sweater. Of course he didn’t. The hat, however, was a different story, tugged tight over his ears and she could barely see Killian’s hair anymore and that was, well, wrong.

He’d grumbled when she started to laugh about it.

And then sighed dramatically as soon as Robin and Will saw, both of them doubled over as they tried to pull their phones out and update Ariel on this latest Olympic development. Emma sent the picture to the Vankald family group chat.

“How long until they come out out?” Roland asked hours later, photos sent and social media updated and Emma sank into one of the chairs in the league-provided seats after nearly sprinting up several flights of stairs to see some of the Opening Ceremonies before she missed too much.

“Soon, Rol,” Regina answered. “They’ve got to go in order.”

Ruby laughed, feet pressed up on the back of the seat in front of her and no one would be able to question where any of their allegiances lied. They were all practically a walking American flag at this point.

That was probably for the best because if media day was chaotic and jam-packed, then the Opening Ceremonies was somewhere in the realm of decidedly overwhelming, a stadium packed close to bursting, filled with screaming fans and languages and faces, all of them jumping and shouting even louder whenever their country made its way into the stadium.

It was almost painfully patriotic – more chants of USA USA USA – and Emma tried to take it all in, this big and important and meaningful moment.

So, naturally, her phone buzzed.

“God, Em, silence it,” Ruby groaned, but she was staring at her own phone, fingers flying across the screen. Emma didn’t bother answering.

Did you know that the number four is unlucky in South Korea?

She pulled her lips back behind her teeth, smile tugging on her mouth and her stomach flipped at the message, something about sentiment and that big and important and meaningful moment she was certain this was.

Did you just know that?

Are you not impressed, Swan?

You looked it up, didn’t you?

You’re not countering with your own fact, love, I’d say that means you’re rather unprepared for the moment.

I have had some other things going on. Norway has won more medals at the winter games than any other country. So add them to the list of countries you hate.

I don’t hate any countries. I am just trying to bring hockey glory back to America.

And avoid singing.

That too.

Did you really look something up?

The responding message didn’t come for what felt like several hours, Emma’s phone resting in her palm while she watched a country she’d never heard of march into the arena. She didn’t realize what had happened until Roland started yelling – hands moving quickly to get both Regina and Emma’s attention – and Henry was standing too, camera in hand and smile on his face and even Ruby had pulled her feet back to the ground.

Emma couldn’t see him, even when she stood up and, for the second time that day, everything seemed to shift with her. She gripped the chair in front of her, leaning forward slightly and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain her center of gravity.

“You alright, Em?” Ruby asked, concern flooding her voice and Emma didn’t open her eyes when she nodded.

The music had shifted at some point – something loud and boisterous and Emma was fairly certain she could feel it in her head. Or that might have just been her pulse. She couldn’t really breathe.

“Fine,” she bit out, but she didn’t stand up either and she could feel Roland’s hand on her back. That might have been Henry actually. “It’s just very high up. Vertigo or something. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.” Ruby didn’t seem convinced. She was texting again. “If you text Killian about this,” Emma hissed, sinking back into the chair when Henry pushed her towards the seat. “I will actually push you out of the stadium.” That worked.

“You're fine,” Ruby muttered, stuffing her phone back in her pocket like that proved it.

Emma’s phone buzzed in her hand and she couldn’t see Killian, but the American contingent was a sea of red and white and blue and that God awful sweater and she almost felt patriotic. She also felt a bit sick to her stomach, but it was fine. She’d just had too much coffee. And not enough sleep.

They were going to win a gold medal.

She glanced down at her phone, swiping her thumb across the screen and the smile on her face made her feel just a bit better.

For you, Swan.

[drfranklangdon]

✵ ― Hard Times

I literally was just trying to sleep because I have to function tomorrow and in the middle of my nap, I was awoken by the devil telling me to write this fic right away. And I sort of got carried away. Also shoutout to me. This is my first Eddie-centric fic. I love my dead gay son so much. i’m going to call out @rememberingtozier​ because look !! I wrote fluff, who knew I could ?!?!

Words ;; 1850 ･ﾟ Pairing ;; Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak  ･ﾟ  Warnings ;; FLUFF BOYS, Strong language, pot smoking mentioned, an overall gay vibe

❝ — Richie had been crashing at Eddie’s the past week or so. The two had yet to really touch on the fact that Wentworth and Maggie had yelled at Richie to leave and never come back . Eddie hated that he had to see Richie like this. So broken and defeated. He felt like he was unwanted, abandoned. He craved attention so much. It explained why he was the front runner for class clown five years in a row. But Eddie and the losers knew the truth behind all the ‘your mom’ jokes and dick puns. He was all but homeless as of a month ago and still made an effort to make his friends laugh. It was incredible. He was incredible.

Eddie shuffled in the bed, Richie snoring alongside him. He turned to face the window, sun rays cutting through the ivory, plastic blinds. Eddie watched Richie sleep for a few moments. Just taking in the view. Eddie had developed feelings for the trashmouth long ago. He rolled his eyes and got mad when Richie cracked jokes, but Eddie wouldn’t have it any other way. And spending the past seven days sharing a tiny twin bed with the boy only made his feelings grow.

When Richie dropped the bomb that he was not welcome back home, there was nothing but chaos. All the losers yelled over one another, shouting different forms of ‘what the fuck ?!’ at Richie. But he was calm. He waved at them, waiting for them to calm down. He didn’t seem phased. It was not like Richie to want to bother his friends. After the chaos settled, Richie explained himself (to a degree). Not fully explaining the logic behind their huge fight.

Stan took the first session. They were best friends after all. Eddie often thought about that. If Rich and Stan were the closest out of the losers, what did that make them ?? He liked to think him and the curly haired boy got along just a much as him and Stanley. But they always seemed to have these moments where neither of them could cross the line from friendship to something more. An invisible wall of awkward preventing them from making progress. What that progress entailed was still unknown to the two of them.

Richie stayed at Stan’s for about a month, all without papa Uris finding out. Andrea snuck extra food to Stan for Richie and it was going fine for a good amount of time. But the jewish holidays came up, and with family coming in and out, Richie had to move on. Eddie was next. Sonia would flip if a homeless kid was squatting in her home. It was for the best if they kept it all under wraps. Richie climbed through Eddie’s window each night and they stayed shacked up like they used to when they were kids. Eddie couldn’t wait for the rustling outside his window. He counted the minutes after school until he arrived.

Eddie’s alarm went off and Richie’s eyes shot open. Eddie quickly turned to smash the snooze button, so not to look like he was just watching his friend sleep for the past ten minutes. His heart was racing. These thoughts for Richie. Thoughts about snuggling him, holding his hand in public, kissing him were not new. But they were sixteen now and a little too old for crushes. What Eddie felt for Richie was far more than that.

“Five more minutes...” Richie moaned, taking the blanket and pulling it over his head.

“You need to shower before school, mister.” Eddie poked at the hump in the comforter, to which a hand came out and slapped away. Eddie just chuckled, grabbing Richie by the shoulders and shaking him. “Wake up, sleepy head !!” Richie moaned again and this one was so groggy and low, coming from the back of the boy’s throat. It made the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand up. Fuck - it was beautiful sounding and it didn’t help that the noise was coming from a boy in Eddie’s bed. He regained his composure and pulled the covers back, revealing Richie’s speckled back. Since when did he sleep without his shirt on ?? Both tore off their pants before hopping into bed together - that was just normal, because honestly who sleeps with pants on ?? Eddie barely noticed it. He tells himself he barely notices. But the truth was two nights ago, their bare thighs collided in the middle of the night and Eddie nearly had an asthma attack. But this whole sleeping with no shirt on ?? This was very new. New and very alarming.

“Okay! Okay. Eds, I’m awake.” Richie murmured, head stuffed into the pillow. He turned his head to face the shorter boy, gripping the pillow under him, as he yawned. He curled his back up, a disgusting popping noise resonating from the stretch.

Eddie made a disgusted face - as if he wasn’t thinking that Richie’s bare back should be named the new eighth wonder of the world. Richie squinted, rubbing his face before yawning once more. “Ugh, what time is it ??” Richie couldn’t see a thing. Eddie’s room was just a blur of blues.

“Oh - um - seven something -” Eddie squeaked out, having a hard time speaking because Richie was now leaning over him, patting around the end table for his glasses. “You forgot about last night, didn’t you ??”

Richie was out with Bev last night. Eddie could practically smell the weed smell before Richie began giggling outside his window. He would be annoyed, if it weren’t for the fact that Richie was clearly going through a lot and Eddie didn’t want to judge him for coping the only way he knew how. When Ed propped open the window, a wasted Richie tumbled to the floor, a lens from his glasses popping right out and cracking. Richie was way too exhausted to do anything about it right there and then. He started to kick off his pants and buried himself under the covers saying something along the lines of ‘that’s an issue for tomorrow - Eds.’

Richie then picked up the broken frames and sighed, memories clearly re-filling his brain. “Right...Well fuck...” Now Richie was just hovering over Eddie without a care in the world. As if his bare chest wasn’t just there, right in Eddie’s face. It was marvelous in so many ways. The moles and beauty marks that scattered all over his torso, the slight scar he got from jumping off the monkey bars when they were twelve. Even the dumb stick and poke tattoo of the Pythagorean theorem he gave himself on his ribcage while stoned on his birthday four months back. All of it was glorious. Maybe he lingered too long, but could you blame him ?? This was the closest he’s ever been to a near naked Richie in so long. And for sure - not since he started seeing the male form in a - sexual - way. He was just in his boxers and casually sitting on top of him, fiddling with his broken glasses - as if he wasn’t destroying Eddie from the inside out. Then Richie put the glasses back on the end-table, making the effort to lean down again and on his way back up, Eddie and Richie were mere centimeters from kissing. A gasp left the anxiety-stricken boy. “Woah there - Eddie Spaghetti. That was a close one.” He laughed. “No need to stare - I know I can barely see, but I can practically feel you undressing me with your eyes.”

“You’re not wearing any clothes.” Eddie fought back, trying to get the blame off him. Because he was very much staring.

“Yeah. Well.... I was hot last night. Stripped my shirt off...No big deal...”

“You are hot.” Eddie said casually and then the words caught up and he let out a noise that only could be described as a yelp.

“What ?” 

“What ?!” Eddie shadowed, much louder and high pitched.

Then there was this long pause between the two of them. Too long. It was really awkward, Richie couldn’t see Eddie’s panicked stare. He was kicking himself for speaking from his heart. He couldn’t help himself. He was falling for his best friend and you’d have to be as blind as the trashmouth to not see they had chemistry. The fact was the last few years, their friendship seemed to fizzle. Holding hands and pinching cheeks became awkward with age and the two’s puppy love had to be pushed aside. When they were alone, they let some things slip through the guarded cracks, but it still didn’t feel right. Both unsure of one another’s feelings - they were left at this stand-still of cautious touches and concealed feelings. But Eddie had enough. He couldn’t stand watching Richie in udder awe of his beauty and not being able to call him his own. So Eddie, for once in his life - wasn’t afraid. He lifted himself up and grabbed the boy’s cheeks laying a quick kiss to his lips. Richie’s instincts were to reach out and hold up Eddie, both pulling back a slight distance to marvel at each other. 

“You really think I’m hot, Eds ??” Richie joked, but there was a slight lace of serenity there. He had this sweet smile on his features, like he was waiting for this moment as long as Eddie had been. So many people nowadays had been pushing away Richie. He was a burden - having to sneak into his friend’s houses for shelter. He felt like no one wanted him. But Eddie did. And that made the trashmouth feel genuinely happy. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. The truth was he was kicked out of his house over a fight about him coming out. He confined in his mother that he was falling in love with his best friend, Eddie. Thinking the drunk wouldn’t even notice what he was saying or remember. But instead Maggie told Wentworth and sparked an all out Tozier screaming match. A fight that ended in Richie being disowned.

“Maybe a little...” Richie was blushing now - Eds probably too. The two attempting to hide their faces. Not like Rich could see. But then Richie leaned back in, kissing Eddie once more. They deepened their embrace, Eddie reaching up to tangle his fingers in the boy’s beautiful curls.

The alarm blared again. Both boys jumping back to stare at the clock. If they didn’t get ready now, they would miss homeroom. Or at least Richie assumed, because he could in no way make out the numbers. A unison sigh fell from both their lips, when they concluded they would have to cut their moment short. The two both laughed, inaudible from the loud barring of the alarm. But in that moment Richie - leaning over to turn off the alarm, letting his lips collide with Eddie once more - never felt more at home.

notes: I guess I could write a part two if people wanted it ?? I’ve got some ideas ;)

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 6)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7

Length: ~4000 words

AO3 Link.

As it turned out, Stanley really did still have some of Ford’s supply of mercury. After some searching they found it tucked away in a crate near the far end of the attic space, the crate labeled ‘Useless toxic shit’ with black marker. There was another crate next to it labeled ‘Useful toxic shit’, too. When Ford questioned Stanley about it, he scratched the back of his head and mumbled something about the portal.

Of course, the portal didn’t use mercury, and the portal had been Stanley’s focus. It was still hard to imagine his twin brother getting through all the science needed to understand the technology – but the labeling scheme was undeniably the Stanley he knew.

As for moonstones, Stanley sold them in the gift shop, together with a few other types of crystalline rocks that he explained could be marketed as ‘mysterious’.

“Moonstones are mysterious, Stanley,” Ford protested, running his fingers through the drawer of polished rocks he was presented with. Stanley’s whole schtick was disturbing. He deliberately focused on the stones and picked a few of the larger ones that would be suitable for the barrier, pocketing them. “To be more precise,” he continued, “The properties of moonstones in conjunction with the supernatural have been insufficiently studied. They’re a key component in the cure for lycanthropy, for example, but I never managed to isolate exactly how it works.” Of course, that had been before Bill, when all he had cared about was finding answers to questions that few people even thought to ask. Before he’d been assured that he would change the world.

“You know I’m—” Stanley grimaced. “—I’m not actually gonna charge you for those.”

“What?”

“Reflex. I’m not used to giving away merchandise. Don’t worry, I really aren’t gonna charge you.”

Ford threw him a suspicious glare.

“Anyway, glad to hear you still get excited over nerd stuff.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Stanley shrugged, a small smile on his face. “I guess it means I’ve missed you.” For a moment there was something of teenage Stanley in his pose, or in his tone, and maybe, just maybe, Ford had missed him too.

He’d missed him so much.

Something in Ford’s guts twisted. He couldn’t stand it. Not now, not here. “Then how could you do all this?” he snapped, turning around and gesturing at the shop. The words poured out as soon as he let them. “You could have done anything! And you choose to take my identity and use it to mock everything I’ve worked for?”

Stanley looked at him with a pained expression, but seemed at a momentary loss for words.

Ford paced a small circle, flexing both hands. The mockery hurt more than the fact that so much was gone. It didn’t matter, he knew it didn’t. Bill mattered, the portal and the rift mattered, false advertising and unrealistically taxidermized jackalopes didn’t. It’d been thirty years, Stanley had lived a whole life here, and Stanford’s work had not changed the world – and that was a good thing.

And yet it was all wrong. “I don’t understand why! You know the Gravity Falls anomalies are real, and yet you – you pretend to pretend that they are!”

Stanley sighed and leaned back with his elbows on the counter. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m doing.”

“What possessed you to—” Ford stopped, backing off a few steps before he even realized what he was doing. There was a yellow glint in Stanley’s eyes.

Stanley stared at him. “Oh no. Ford, no.”

Ford was shaking his head. Stanley’s eyes were human. Something had been reflected in his glasses. That’s all it was. It had to be all it was.

“Stanford, remember to breathe.”

Ford hit his back against a shelf. He resisted the urge to pick up something – anything – to use as a weapon. Stanley wasn’t going to attack him and he was fine. He managed to take a deep breath and felt his shoulders sag slightly. “I’m—I’m alright,” he said. “I just thought I saw – something.”

“Yeah...” Stanley said slowly. He came a few steps closer, lifting his glasses and opening his eyes wide. “No demons here, see?”

“No.” Ford straightened his back. “Of course not.”

Stanley released a sigh. “Y’know,” he said pensively, “I always suspected you’d hate this Mystery Shack business.” He crossed his arms. “I guess I should apologize for that, but it’s not like I did it because I wanted to mock you. It just turned out I’m pretty good at making people pay for overpriced souvenirs and made-up stories, and I did need the money.” He met Ford’s eyes again, the lines in his face making him look older than ever.

Ford took a deep breath. “Yes, I know,” he said tensely. “You needed money.”

“I could hardly do it your way, Poindexter. I’m not a scientist.”

That made Ford huff in spite of himself. “I would have agreed on that more readily before you operated my portal.”

“Heh.” Stanley gave him a tilted smile. “Doesn’t count. I couldn’t make money off that, could I?”

Maybe not – or maybe he could have, but he’d never tried. Ford should have been happy for that. He gestured vaguely around the gift shop again. “But why this?”

“A bit of a long story. Wanna hear it?”

It would be an utter waste of time. None of it mattered. He didn’t want to know. “Yes,” he said.

 Somehow the two of them ended up in Stanley’s TV chair as his old twin told him about the first few weeks and years after he’d found himself alone in an unfamiliar house with a burnt-out portal. Well, Stanley ended up in the chair, with Ford perching on one of the armrests next to the well-preserved T-rex skull that Ford had found once and Stanley for some reason had turned into a makeshift coffee table.

Apparently Stanley had been too broke to buy food. The townspeople had mistaken him for Stanford and offered him money for tours of his collections, so of course he’d taken the offer. And since he didn’t know what the items actually were, he’d resorted to fakes and jokes to satisfy the customers. Afterwards, he’d kept doing it because it worked. Ford had to admit it made a desperate and utterly Stanley sort of sense.

Stanley never said it explicitly, but it started to occur to Ford that his brother had been homeless at the time he’d arrived in Gravity Falls. Homeless, broke, and with no particular marketable skills. The revelation made a few things fall into place, but at the same time it shattered an assumption that Ford had been clinging to for over a decade – Stanley hadn’t been fine after being banished from home at seventeen. A trickle of old, long-suppressed guilt threatened to well up in his throat, but he pushed it back down. It was well past obsolete, in any case.

Stanley was fine now. And if he wasn’t, it was once again his own fault.

For bringing Ford back. The irony was thick as tar.

Ford didn’t ask about details when Stanley mentioned faking his own death. To all the world Stanley was dead, and Stanford was a changed man. He didn’t ask about their family, either. Had their mother bought it? Had Shermie? Had Ford’s existence really been so negligible that no one had noticed or cared? He knew the answer, and the alternative. He’d ‘change the world’. This had to be a preferable state.

Stanley went on to tell him how he’d developed the business, what worked and what didn’t, and how he simultaneously inched his way towards an understanding of the portal’s construction. Listening to him, it sounded like this tourist trap had been the first time he’d actually been successful at something, but at the same time he’d kept berating himself for failing to make the portal work.

Ford kept his half-digested thoughts to himself. He’d asked for information – now he knew. He just didn’t know what to do with it.

“It seems you did well for yourself,” he said finally.

“You still don’t like it.”

“No.” He couldn’t. He braided his hands together and smiled slightly. “You made millions, didn’t you?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Stanley stared at him like he’d been punched. For a moment Ford thought he was going to physically punch back. In the end, though, his brother merely leaned his gray head back and chuckled. “Put it all together and I definitely did. How about that?”

Ford didn’t reply. He opened his palms again and found himself gazing at his own fingers. There were half a dozen emotions warring for expression in his guts, but nothing came out.

This wasn’t important. This didn’t matter. This was half his brother’s life. He should never have asked. He half-registered that the stinging cuts on his chest had morphed into a throbbing ache that was starting to spread to his head. He hadn’t had any coffee since he woke up and he should fix that.

“Look, Sixer,” Stanley said, breaking him out of it, “If you’re still thinking about that science project, I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t thinking about that. Was he? “You ruined my chances, Stanley!”

“I know! It was an accident, but I was being a knucklehead 17-year-old about it. I’m apologizing, I don’t know what else I can do!”

“What’s the difference!” Stanford stood up and immediately wobbled, trying to hide it by putting a hand on the armrest and turning to face his brother. “I’m up against a demon that’s going to destroy the world and I don’t even have access to a laboratory because you turned my house into a curiosity!”

Stanley rose to his feet too, making Ford step backwards and collide with the TV. “We’re up against a demon, because you decided that making demonic pacts was a thing a scientist should do!” He pushed a finger painfully against Ford’s chest. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I am not you! I couldn’t live your life!”

“Then why did you pretend to be me?”

“I had no choice! Dammit Ford, have you been listening at all? It’s been thirty years! What did you expect?”

“I didn’t!” It all came down to that. It didn’t matter. He didn’t expect to survive long enough for it to become a problem. He still had to stand against Bill. But it hurt. “I didn’t! Expect! Thirty years!” He sank down on the floor with his back to the TV, panting.

The angry frustration drained from Stanley’s face. “I—” he tried, then stopped. “Of course you didn’t,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. He crouched in front of Ford. “If it helps, neither did I.”

They sat in silence for a several heartbeats, neither quite looking at the other.

“It’s ridiculous,” Ford said eventually, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “We’re wasting time and the rift is still sitting in the basement.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a certain non-reproduceable substance hidden near the center of Gravity Falls Valley that I believe could be used to neutralize the rift by sealing it away. I need to go there and retrieve it as soon as possible.”

Stanley frowned. “Not today, you’re not,” he said, as if there could be no argument. “We’re gonna wait for Mabel and the girls. And assuming they get that unicorn hair, we’re gonna set up the barrier, and then we’re gonna consider ourselves safe for a few more days while you recover from sleep-deprivation and malnutrition and whatever else it is you’re suffering from. If it needs to be done sooner, you’ll have to send one of us out.”

Ford opened his mouth to protest, but Stanley raised a hand to stop him. “I have eyes. You’re still weak as a kitten and I don’t trust you to either drive or hike, and I don’t want to have to carry you.”

“Yes, dad,” Ford said sarcastically.

Stanley huffed. “Our dad would have told you to man up and walk it off, and you know it.”

“I know.” Ford still wasn’t going to ask about their family. “He might have been right, too.”

“Not gonna risk it.” He reached out and patted Ford’s arm.

Ford sighed. His body would surely hold up as long as he wasn’t attacked by anything. And Bill wasn’t going to allow him to rest for long. But if the barrier worked and it was safe – maybe a night and a day to collect himself. He’d allow himself that. “But Mabel could still fail,” he reminded both of them.

“In that case we’ll have to make some better sleeping arrangements for you. We’ll figure it out.”

“Mr Pines!” Soos appeared through the doorway from the gift shop. “I’ve found something that’s like, a problem. Since we have a secret basement and we don’t want the shack to fall down there or anything. I’m thinking you should probably come and look at it as soon as possible before we get the concrete doods to fix the foundation.” He glanced at Stanford. “If it’s not a really bad time.”

“It’s fine, Soos.” Stan rose to his feet and stretched his back. Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he was happy to have an excuse to get away, except he didn’t go immediately. “Dipper!” he called instead towards the direction of the stairs. “Come down here!”

“Coming!” Dipper called from upstairs, and a moment later he appeared in the hallway, surprisingly with a small pig trailing him. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, we’re great,” Stanley told him. “I’m gonna have to go take care of some business with the repairs, though. And I figured, you’re a nerd, my brother’s a nerd, you probably wanna get to know each other a bit, right? Well, he’s all yours.”

Dipper perked up. “Is that okay?” he asked Ford. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

Ford stood up, deliberately dusting himself off. “I might, but I don’t think my brother is going to let me.” Considering he’d just called a 12-year-old to babysit him. He sighed, putting his hands away behind his back. “It’s fine, though. Dipper.” He had indeed wanted to talk to the nephew. “I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions.”

“Really? I’ve got so many questions for you too!”

“Excellent,” Stanley said. “I’ll leave you to it.” He disappeared through the gift shop with Soos.

 Dipper almost pulled Ford back into Stanley’s seat in the TV chair. It was too soft – remaining on the floor would have been better, but it was too late to change his mind when Dipper squeezed down next to him, making him gasp involuntarily as the boy scrambled painfully against his injuries. It hurt too much to leave him in any danger of sleeping, at least.

Dipper didn’t seem to notice, being busy taking out a small notebook and a ballpoint pen from his vest pocket. “For example,” he said, clicking his pen, “How did you find out about Gravity Falls in the first place? Is it the only place in the world that has these anomalies or is it just that there’s so many of them in one place here? And is there some kind of reason for that? Do you have a map over the whole valley somewhere? Or a list of all the creatures? Oh, and I’ve seen some weird stuff that I don’t think even existed in the 80s, like video games coming to life, so do you think there’s some anomalies that just stop existing too, or will could it be that the number of creatures can only increase?”

Ford blinked. He had not expected a deluge of what seemed like innocent enthusiasm. It was different from Mabel’s weird charm, but the intensity was... familiar. Stanley was right, he probably did have something in common with this child. That wasn’t necessarily positive. “Why do you want to know these things?”

“Because it’s there!” Dipper exclaimed. “There’s so much out there that people don’t know about! Isn’t that why you started researching weird stuff, too?”

“Yes.” Ford glanced at his hands in his lap. “That didn’t end well. You’ve met Bill – you have an indication of this.”

“I guess.” Dipper ran his fingers over a row of puncture marks on his arm. “But we don’t have to talk about Bill. It’s not all like that! It’s fascinating and exciting and sometimes even when it’s scary you’ll figure something out and it just works and you get a kick out of it!” He grinned and punctuated the words with a raised fist, and even though his elbow scratched Ford’s chest it was a very contagious enthusiasm. “Did you know that you can blow gnomes away with a leaf blower? You’d think they’d be too heavy, but they’re not!”

Ford raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that. That’s interesting. How did you find out?”

“Mabel did! It was right at the beginning of summer – these gnomes tried to kidnap her and make her their new queen, so she and I had to fight them, and that’s how we made them go away.”

“The gnomes are swarming this summer?” He supposed it must have been long enough. “And they still get over-excited and try to kidnap human girls for queens. That never works out for anyone, but try to tell that to a gnome. Do you know if they’ve sorted it out yet?”

“I don’t actually know... Is this a thing that happens often?” Dipper scribbled something in his notebook.

“Only when an old queen dies. They’re supposed to wait for the next one to hatch, but sometimes they get restless and bad judgements happen. I’d guess this is the first swarm since I witnessed one back in 1977.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “So gnomes are like – bees?”

“They’re somewhat like eusocial insects, yes! But there are lots of differences. For example, gnomes don’t—” Ford stopped himself abruptly and grimaced. He was surprised how easily he could still run off on a tangent when offered an interesting subject. “Never mind gnomes. I want to know what you’ve been using my journal for.”

“Um.” Dipper put his pen down. “Mostly for reference. I always checked with the journal whenever we found something weird, because a lot of the time you’d written about it already. And I mean, I only had one of them, but it was still really helpful a lot of times. And then I used the blank pages to make my own entries on some new stuff that happened. Important stuff!” He hesitated and looked up at Ford. “I hope you’re not mad at me for that.”

He certainly didn’t appreciate it. It wasn’t right that someone else would add to his journals – he hadn’t even let Fiddleford touch them – and they should never have been exposed to other people in the first place. But he hadn’t even read Dipper’s additions, and indeed, there was no doubt that a 12-year-old Stanford Pines would have done the same thing. “I haven’t decided yet,” he said instead.

“Oh.” Dipper’s eyes fell. “But there’s so much that has happened this summer! And your journal has been such a big part of it! I brought it with me everywhere – it was like this huge adventure right under my fingertips, just waiting to come out into the light.” He smiled wistfully. “I couldn’t just leave it alone, could I?”

“Probably not,” Stanford said with a small sigh. “I certainly couldn’t.”

Dipper beamed far more brightly than he should have at that. “So will you tell me more about Gravity Falls?”

Ford almost smiled back. “I suppose I could. But—” His caught Dipper’s eyes. “—I want to know some things from you, first. Most importantly, why did you have that memory gun?” That was concerning. The memory erasing gun was an extremely dangerous weapon, and there could be very few innocent reasons to possess one.

Dipper’s smile turned into an uncomfortable grimace. “That’s...” He hesitated. “You know about the Society of the Blind Eye?”

“I know of them.” He hadn’t heard the name, but there was no doubt that it referred to Fiddleford’s memory erasing cult-like activities. And it seemed it was still going on thirty years later. “Are you a member?”

Dipper flinched. “No!” He shook his head adamantly. “Absolutely not! It’s the complete opposite!” He clicked the pen a few more times like he was trying to focus. “Basically, me and a few others found out about this cult that were erasing people’s memories of the supernatural. And we didn’t like that. So in the end we managed to erase all the cult members’ memories of the cult – it’s all gone now. I guess I kept that gun as a kind of a trophy. Maybe that’s bad. But it did save us from the government agents!”

That was too easy. There were too many things he wasn’t saying. But— “You’re saying it doesn’t exist anymore?”

Dipper made a small shrug. “Not for the last week.”

“And in that time, have you used the memory gun on yourself at all? Or on anyone in your family?”

Dipper looked almost offended at the suggestion. “What? No. Definitely not.” He looked straight up at Ford. “I would never, ever do that.” It was the certainty of a child, but at least he didn’t seem to be tempted.

Stanford took a deep breath. “Tell me,” he said, forcing himself to ask, “was Fiddleford McGucket still with the cult when this happened?” The fact that the cult existed after thirty years was condemning enough, but the children had known Fiddleford’s name earlier, and that was a logical conclusion.

“No. He wasn’t.” Dipper’s reply was immediate, but he didn’t volunteer any more information.

Ford felt his shoulders relax slightly. The trauma Ford had caused his friend had left a legacy, but at the very least it hadn’t become Fiddleford’s life. He could have recovered and returned to his family.

Or he could be dead. Dipper’s strange discomfort suggested the latter. But it had been thirty years, and he didn’t want to know. Not yet. “I see,” was all he said. It had to be good enough for now.

Dipper took that as the end of the matter and quickly regained his enthusiasm. It was clear that he’d had a truly intensive last few months, and most of it was misadventures that he was more than happy to tell Ford about.

Apparently he was friends with an eight-headed multi-bear – Ford wondered if it was the same as the seven-headed one he had met, in which case it kept multiplying throughout its life, or if there was a hidden colony of them somewhere – and his sister had dated a young merman for a while. He’d once captured a gremloblin – an impressive feat, though trying to showcase it to tourists had not worked out so well – and met several different types of ghosts. The description of the derelict convenience store made Ford pause, knowing that he must have had met the old couple now haunting it, but not particularly remembering their faces. Hearing about the lumberjack haunting Northwest Manor was fascinating, though – he’d heard about the 150-year curse, but it hadn’t been activated yet at the time. There had been warring Lilli-putt-ians in the local minigolf course, and apparently the some kind of computer generated persons had come to life. Dipper had even experimented with the size-changing crystals and the advanced copying machine.

And Dipper didn’t just chatter on about it, but he asked questions, wanting to know Ford’s opinion, wanting explanations for phenomena that he didn’t understand, wanting elaborations on the bigger picture. He didn’t mention Bill, but he wanted to know about the research. The things that had gone into the journals before he had reached too high and everything had fallen apart. The sheer joy of discovery, and the kind of fear that was temporary and faded with hindsight.

Stanford got caught up in it. Dipper’s stories brought him back to a time when he could still laugh, and the world had still seemed amazing in itself. At some point he brought out the third journal from his coat and they went through some of the entries together.

Tensions that he hadn’t even realized existed in his body were starting to melt away, and maybe, somehow, he was going to be alright. He knew in the back of his head that he couldn’t think that, but he was so tired of being scared. He was so tired.

Dipper was flipping through the journal and mumbling to himself, looking for some particular entry, and over by the gift shop he could hear Stanley talking loudly on the phone to someone. He felt almost warm, almost comfortable. The skin on his chest and stomach ached, but it seemed so far away. His eyes were closing. They shouldn’t do that, but he could barely remember why.

[vivikawidow]

The chill wind the night was bringing whistled. It could have been the adrenaline of the chase finally wearing off but Agent LYDIA LOWE could have sworn the heat wave that had been swarming over the city was finally breaking.

“You swore loyalty to me you rat faced bitch!” Tabitha hissed at her as she was led up the steps of the Coldford Police Department with a firm grip. The same steps I had descended with the Boss Lady just the previous day after my wife, Theresa, had been murdered. Lydia didn’t respond to the vexation the way I assume Tabitha had hoped she would.

The agent remained calm.

“I never swore anything to you,” she replied, pushing her prisoner on, still with a firm grip around her arm. Tabitha of course protested.

“Anyone who flashes their tits on my stage, loyalty is a given.”

CPD had cleared of the busyness of the day staff. There were still a few low lights and some detectives working at their desks on cases requiring long hours.

Lydia led Tabitha to the office of DETECTIVE HICKES. “You are going to regret this,” Tabitha was still saying. “I have a lot of sway in this city.” “Oh, you’re something alright,” agreed the agent distractedly, looking for Hickes. “You bet your ass I am. Before I’m done you are going to wish you had stayed in your fucking northern hole.” Lydia – still eagerly awaiting Hickes – replied, “What are you going to do? Pull my hair? Push me in the mud?” Tabitha scoffed. “God! What a fucking tramp!” she exclaimed to herself. She turned then and looked behind her. “Oh, hi Hickesy,” she said with a grin.

Detective Hickes had arrived in a fluster. He ignored Tabitha and spoke directly to the agent. “Reynolds has been taken to General. I had to sort out the others.” By the ‘others’ he meant Simon Penn, Paddy Mack of the Mack and Sons brewery as well as some of the other Macks that had given them trouble when they raided the Knock Knock club. “I have holding ready for her,” he explained while brandishing a set of keys. Further into the belly of CPD, Tabitha was shown to what would be her residence for the foreseeable future. “I want to call my lawyer,” Tabitha stated, taking a seat on the bed. “This is barbaric. I haven’t even been processed properly.” Hickes finally acknowledged her. “You are being processed right now,” he told her. To Lydia he said, “I’ll send the paperwork over to Judge Doyle within the hour.” “I need to call my lawyer,”Tabitha piped up again. Hickes became frustrated. “You are a category A prisoner. In the city of Coldford that means we can hold you for at least 48 hours without giving you jack shit. More than that, if you don’t sit on your ass and stop running your mouth. It’s over Tabitha. Stay quiet and don’t make it any more difficult on yourself than it needs to be.” Tabitha leaned back on her elbows. “A take-charge man? When did you grow such big balls?” “Will she be secure enough in here?” Lydia put to Hickes. “She will. I’ll have someone on the door twenty-four hours. Havitz can take the first shift. As soon as she’s tried she will be moved to the Monte Fort.” Tabitha sat back up again at the mention of the infamous women’s correctional facility. “You sound so sure of yourself. Those big balls of yours must be ready for bursting.” Both the detective and the agent turned to her.

“It’s over Tabitha,” Lydia reminded her again. “The game is over.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Then before you go and break out the parade you may want to take a look in the KNOCK KNOCK holding and help out your little reporter pal.” “SAM?” Lydia looked to Hickes. “He left with that little girl.” “Wrrrrrong!” Tabitha sang. “He tried to leave and made a pretty shitty job of it, too.” “They were just going to open up the hold when I left,” said Hickes. Lydia shook her head. “I better get back over there.” Hickes followed Lydia out. Securely locking the door behind them. Two CPD officers stood on the door with guns ready. “No one caring about little Sarah then? Just me? Mother fuckers!” Tabitha could be heard calling as she was locked in. Tabitha took a look at her surroundings. As someone who had been running amok in the Shady City for so long there was little satisfaction in having her in custody. Perhaps it was because they knew she was dangerous until behind Monte Fort bars. Most people would be beginning to question some of the choices they had made. However, even then, even at that late stage, Tabitha assumed the fight was far from over. It was just that the battlefield was changing. The evidence against her was set.

***

I had heard the commotion spilling in from outside. I had heard gunshots but there was nothing I could do. I assumed someone would come soon but time passed and I began to think Tabitha had fought off whatever attack had come. Still there was no word. Still dressed only in my underwear, I looked again at MADELINE’S lifeless body. I shivered. It was an internal shiver that reached into the core of my body. In the past twenty-four hours I had lost so much pursuing a story on the KNOCK KNOCK club. If I had known then what was still to come, I don’t think I would have been able to go on but, as I said, the story had to be told. Finally there was an explosion at the door. Tabitha had refused to give up the keys to be difficult and her minions weren’t cooperating either. “Why the fuck should I make it easier for any of them?” she had asked. “They brutalised my staff, wrecked my club and they want me to play nice?” Things couldn’t get any worse for her. Why should she make it easier for anyone else? LYDIA was the first to enter. My mind was still a little hazy from SIMON PENN’S knock out. I was still a little punched drunk, probably concussed too. “She attacked me,” was all I could say. “Madeline was going to kill me.” Lydia took a look at Madeline and had already deduced the story. She pulled me to my feet. “You’ll be alright, Sam,” she said. Her northern BOURNTON accent was warming. Her soft, naturally cheery voice reminded me that I wasn’t alone. Perhaps it was that that gave me the fight to go on. “Tabitha is in custody,” she said and, whilst those should have been the sweetest words to my ears at that point after everything she had done to me, I couldn’t help but feel unsettled. Crossing through the club was like crossing a field in the aftermath of a battle. Chairs were overturned, blood soaked the floors, and men and women beaten into submission cowered in the corners with guns pointed at them. “They came for Tabitha?” I asked of Lydia. Lydia knew where my thinking was leading. “She has a lot of tricks up her sleeve. CPD couldn’t be too careful.” I took note of the club members who were surrendering. Were they innocent? Perhaps not but was it really for the guns of CPD to decide that? They came for Tabitha. They had her. So why were CPD still holding club members?

***

“You could make this easier on yourself,” said Hickes.  “Just confess.” Tabitha folded her arms across her chest and sat back on her bench. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m confessing to?” Hickes groaned with impatience. He stood and leaned on the table. “You know what you’re in for,” he said. Tabitha shrugged. “Driving too fast?” Hickes clenched fists. “Damnit Tabitha, make it easier on yourself!” Tabitha laughed. “Look at you all in a rage. The little vein in your head is popping out and everything.” “They’ve been after you for years. They are looking for any excuse,” Hickes reminded her. Now that they have you they will make an example of you.” Tabitha fell silent for a few moments. “I notice you said they and not we. Whose side are you on?” “I’m on the side that doesn’t want to see this city torn apart,” he replied with a sigh. “It’s a pity,” she said, lifting her hand to inspect her fingernails. “What is?” enquired the detective. “What will happen to everyone my club protects. My AUNT TEE used that club to give shelter, food and support to so many. People like your sister for instance and your adorable little nephews. “Eunice was grateful,” Hickes said.

Tabitha puckered her lips. “My HEADLINERS were only too happy to help. I even made sure Stanley paid dearly for what he did to her without you having to get your little detective hands dirty. When you think about it, I’m kinda like a super hero.” Hickes shook himself off. “Let’s not lose track here. You are no hero. Stanley beat Eunice and those kids but what you did to him? No one should… “ Tabitha gave a laugh. “Yeah, it was quite creative, wasn’t it?” “What about the innocent people that died when a floor of the Weir Hotel was blown?” Tabitha shook her head. “If they were staying at the WEIR, trust me they weren’t innocent.” Hickes growled. “You don’t get to make that judgement.” “No? Then who does? Judge fucking cyclops?” Tabitha returned with venom, her reference meaning Judge Doyle of the Law Makers. The very one who had authorised her arrest.

“Helping some people out doesn’t give you the right to murder, steal or destroy this city.” Tabitha didn’t reply at first. Hickes thought he was beginning to get through to her. “I need to speak to someone,” she said. Hickes shook his head. “I told you, no calls.” Tabitha leaned forward. Her expression softened. The bravado still lingered but it was lower than before. “For the sake of Eunice and those kids.” Hickes’ nostrils flared but he too softened. “Who do you need to speak to?” “I need to see my Aunt Agnes.” AGNES WILDE was partner to Tabitha’s Aunt Tawny. They opened the club together and treated the Boss Lady like a daughter. Agnes was still on the board of the club, better known as the Broker. “I can’t…” “Just five minutes…” she hesitated. “Please.”

Enjoy this?

Next week we’re off to the PENN AUCTION HOUSE to catch up with our old pal and former club manager Dennis.

In the meantime: Here’s the story so far:

Free to read HERE on Vivika Widow Online or you can download for kindle by clicking HERE.

KNOCK, KNOCK: Episode 1: Welcome to the Club

Knock, Knock: Episode 2: Don’t Come Knockin’

Knock, Knock: Episode 3: Sleep Tight Sam

Knock, Knock: Episode 4: Take A Bow

Knock, Knock: Episode 5: A Room With A View

Knock, Knock: Episode 6: Picking Up Strange Women

Knock, Knock: Episode 7: No Kids Allowed

Knock, Knock: Episode 8: Kids These Days

Knock, Knock: Episode 9: Shootin’ The Breeze

Knock, Knock: Episode 10: Calling Last Orders

Knock Knock: Episode 11: Shady City Blues

  With the Boss Lady of the Knock Knock Club in custody, what are the next steps for Shady City's finest? The chill wind the night was bringing whistled. It could have been the adrenaline of the chase finally wearing off but Agent…

[crossroadsdimension]

Lucky!Ford ch 4

Let it be known that this chapter really, really did not want to cooperate at first. It was as nervous as Ford seems to be at the idea of talking to Stanley, let’s put it that way.

And yet, it has come into existence and is now on my blog! Huzzah!

Talk Things Out

Knowing that he and Stanley had to talk was one thing. Actually getting around to talking to Stanley was something else entirely.

Mostly because Ford didn’t really know how to approach the subject of the rift that had formed between himself and his twin. Not to mention the fact that he had to get used to being back on Earth and there were a lot of things that he didn’t know about that was common knowledge for everyone else.

Ford’s brow furrowed at the computer screen and the newspaper that Dipper had found for him on the Internet, which was apparently this dimension’s version of a wireless information grid.

“Of course they turn out to be not everything that I had hoped they’d be.” He scowled at the news about WCT and how high their tuition was -- not to mention how they were apparently making their own students’ test scores appear higher than they actually were in order to keep themselves high up on the list for recommended engineering colleges -- before clicking back to a news article on Backupsmore.

It apparently now called itself “Underdog University,” which Ford found to be horribly ironic.

“Catchin’ up?”

Ford whirled at the sound of the gruff voice and blinked a couple times when he saw his brother standing behind him. He frowned. “What are you doing in the library? Don’t you have that...that attraction of yours to run?”

“Yeah, but I got a call about a double of me running around town an’ I figured I’d make sure people knew you weren’t me.” Stan shuffled his feet against the carpet.

Ford adjusted how he was sitting on the chair. “And how are you introducing me to them?”

“I-I’m just sayin’ that yer my brother from out of town. Do ya really think that I’m gonna say anythin’ else at this point?” Stan’s brow furrowed.

Ford frowned at the look on Stan’s face. Stan didn’t seem angered at his comment; he seemed...almost nervous.

It took a moment for Ford to consider even why Stan would even be nervous.

Ford sighed and turned to look back at the computer. “Is there anything else that you came here for?”

“Yeah. Mabel said ya...ya wanted ta talk.”

Ford’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to enter his next query into the electronic subconscious of this dimension. He didn’t move, didn’t turn his head.

“I...I know it’s prob’ly not the best time, since yer still gettin’ settled back in, but…” Stan trailed off. “Ya know what, forget it. Ya probably wouldn’t want ta talk ta me until ya kick me out of the house, anyway.”

He turned and stomped off, leaving Ford sitting alone in the library corner, hands still hovering over the keyboard.

He let them drop after a moment. “A sdkl” appeared in the search bar as he bowed his head a little and sighed.

“Great-Uncle Ford?”

Ford lifted his head and looked to his right, blinking a couple times when he saw Dipper standing next to him with a rather large package under his arm.

“I...I just saw Grunkle Stan. Have you--”

“Not yet,” Ford admitted, quietly. “It….” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Do you need a plan?” Dipper offered. “I-I could come up with something. Mabel says that I plan too much for everything, but maybe this time--”

“I appreciate the thought, Dipper, but I doubt that you would be able to help me as much as you would like.” Ford sighed again and shook his head.

“O-oh.” Dipper pulled back a little, putting a hand on the package. “Um…” He bit his lower lip. “I-I don’t know if you’d be up to it or not, but...I-I just got this today and I’ve been looking for people who would be willing to play with me.” He held the package out so that Ford could have a look at it. “Mabel doesn’t want to play because she doesn’t want to think about math, and Soos is more into--”

“Is that Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons?”

Dipper looked up at Ford’s question and saw that his great-uncle was staring at him with an agape expression. “Y-yeah! Do...do you play?”

“Do I play?” Ford gave a short laugh. “‘With pen and paper, shield and sword, our journey is our sweet reward!’ It’s been years since I’ve been able to sit down and play a proper game!” He frowned and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Although, it would be rather difficult to play if we only have the two of us…”

“D-do you think Grunkle Stan could play with us, too?”

Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stanley never saw much of a point in attempting to play, much less make sense of the game. When we were younger, he thought it ridiculous that charisma was something you had to roll for.”

“Oh.” Dipper’s hopeful expression fell, and he let out a sigh. “Sounds a lot like Mabel. She doesn’t want to think about math very much.”

Something shifted in the bookshelves near them, causing Ford’s and Dipper’s heads to turn sharply.

Ford’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the leg of a blue suit and part of a ridiculous hairstyle.

“Maybe we should be having this conversation elsewhere,” Dipper said carefully.

“Good idea.” Ford vacated his chair and gathered his notes before starting for the library’s entrance. Dipper followed on his heels, game under his arm.

If either one of them heard a child’s voice behind them, they didn’t say anything.

Dipper didn’t speak up again until they were out on the street.

“I-I know you don’t want a plan from me, but...have you figured out how you’re going to talk to Grunkle Stan yet?” Dipper pulled the bill of his cap down when Ford looked over at him. The pine tree symbol on his hat still sent chills down Ford’s spine, but at least he knew they wouldn’t have to make use of the Zodiac with the portal demolished and Bill still on the other side.

Ford sighed and moved his gaze away from his nephew. “I have seen countless dimensions and I’ve defeated many creatures. I will talk to Stanley; the time simply isn’t right for it yet.”

Dipper nodded a little. “Yeah, I know the feeling. But, uh...sometimes it’s just good to go for it, you know? I, uh, I tried to plan how to talk to a girl and how our conversation would go...but I found out that’s not how I should do things. Maybe you should just…” Dipper trailed off and played with his hat. “Just go for it?”

Ford watched Dipper turn his head away quickly again. His brow furrowed as he looked down the street as his thoughts started to turn.

Dipper was essentially suggesting that Ford “wing it.” Ford did not do very well with “winging it.”

At least, most Fords didn’t.

Ford still had his luck -- luck which had done more to help than harm him since he had returned to his dimension. As far as his journal and the way he had returned, at least. He still wasn’t sure about the Fiddleford or the information he was learning about the truth of things, but it sometimes appeared as though he was going to the right direction.

Ford knew it wasn’t a good idea to put complete trust in his unusual luck. People who tried ended up either dying or managing by the skin of their teeth.

He wasn’t going to trust his luck.

Not completely.

Time Break

It turned out that fate did not plan to simply let Ford go about his own way of talking to his brother.

Mabel came into the kitchen with Stan in tow as Ford and Dipper were starting to set up. “Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan’s got something he wants to say to you!”

Ford looked up from his dice and character sheet, blinking in surprise. He looked over at Stan, who rubbed the back of his head and averted his gaze from his brother.

“Well?” Ford raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Stan fidgeted, glanced at Ford, then looked away again quickly. “I, uh…” He sighed. “Mabel, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can!” Mabel insisted. “Grunkle Stan, I could stab the tension in this house with my knitting needles. You gotta hug it out!”

“Kid, it ain’t that easy.” Stan shook his head.

Ford went back to his dice and looked at the numbers he’d rolled. He spun his pencil in between his fingers, then sighed and put the pencil down.

“Sure it is! Dipper and I do it all the time, right, Dipper?”

“Uh…” Dipper looked between Ford and Stan as Ford looked up from his dice again. “Mabel, I don’t think what works for us is going to work for them. There’s...there’s a lot of stuff that we don’t know about that they did, you know….” He trailed off and ducked his head as the looks he was getting from the rest of his family.

Ford glanced over at Stan and noticed that his brother was looking at him; the two of them quickly turned their gazes away from each other and focused elsewhere.

Ford found himself staring at his dice again, and at the lousy 1 he’d thrown among them for a possible character’s stats.

Critical miss on social interaction.

Ford sighed irritably. If this kept up, he and Stan were going to be dancing around the subject -- and each other -- for the rest of the summer. If they were going to get things settled now, one of them was going to have to open his mouth and say something.

But what?

Ford wracked his brain for something that he could say to get the conversation started, brow furrowing as he glared at the dice as though he could vaporize them just by looking at them.

“Y’know, Poindexter, I’m surprised ya haven’t started throwin’ blows like ya did when I got here thirty years ago.”

The comment threw Ford out of his thoughts abruptly that he looked up sharply from the dice and looked over at Stan with a befuddled expression.

“I mean, I stole yer name, I stole yer house, an’ I tried ta activate that thing in the basement. Ya...didn’t seem to happy about the fact I still had yer journal, either.”

Ford sighed. “No, I’m not. That information is dangerous -- I’d told you that it needed to be hidden.”

“And if it was so dangerous, why didn’t you just destroy it in the first place?”

“Because not all of it was dangerous.”

“Then you could have just gotten rid of the bits that were.” Stan folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow as Ford’s frown deepened. “Or did you not want to do that, either?”

Ford could see the truth in what Stan was saying, but that didn’t mean he was going to simply let Stan roll over him. “You weren’t in the position I was in, and I couldn’t destroy something that I’d worked so hard on! I spent six years gathering that data! If I had just destroyed it, then I would have had to go through my studies all over again!”

“Uh huh. Then why is it that you were muttering about going to see unicorns last night?”

“Unicorns?” Mabel’s eyes lit up instantly. “There are unicorns here?”

How had Stan heard that? “I require some of their hair to make a barrier around the house in order to keep the supernatural out. There are some things out in the woods that you don’t want to be allowed to rampage in here freely.”

Of course, Ford was mostly thinking of Bill, but he wasn’t about to tell them that.

“Unfortunately, they are incredibly annoying and will only let someone with a pure heart take anything from them.” Ford leaned back in his chair and sighed irritably.

“I’ll go! I’ll do it!” Mabel rushed up to Ford and gave him a wide-eyed, pleading stare. “I’m probably the most pure-hearted out of all of us!”

“She’s got a point there,” Dipper said, nodding in agreement.

“I could make it a girl’s day out and bring Candy, Grenda, and Wendy with me!” Mabel squealed. “CanIgocanIgo? Please please please?”

Ford hesitated, but Mabel’s eyes only seemed to get bigger and bigger and more and more pleading by the second. He sighed. “All right, all right.” He reached into his coat and pulled out his second journal. “You’re going to need this if you’re going to want to find them -- I’ve marked the pages that you’re going to need; only look at those, understand?”

“Okay, Grunkle Ford!” Mabel rushed out of the room before Ford could grab something else from inside his coat to help her defend herself. “Candy, Grenda, Wendy! Clear out your afternoons -- I’ve got something awesome planned!”

“After talking about how dangerous your research is, you just let her take off with one of your journals?” Stan demanded. “Ford, you--”

“I’ve given her something to do,” Ford replied shortly. “The second journal contains spells more than anything else, and they are all encoded to ensure that they won’t be read easily.”

“Gideon probably figured out how to read them,” Dipper muttered. He ducked his head when Ford looked over at him.

“...I highly doubt that Mabel will be making use of such things.” Ford looked back at Stan. He didn’t want to let it slip that he was partially trusting that some of his luck would rub off on Mabel and let her get the unicorn hair he needed.

“Not unless she runs into Gideon, which probably isn’t going to happen if they’re in the middle of the woods,” Dipper agreed. “I trust Mabel. She’ll be okay.”

A part of that statement made Ford want to flinch a little, but he managed to hold back from doing so.

“Besides, Mabel and I have faced all sorts of things so far this summer -- she’ll be fine,” Dipper added quickly.

“Kid, what are you--”

“Yes, I read the notes you added to my journal.” Ford didn’t look over at Stan as he felt his brother’s sharp gaze turn to him. “Although I admit that I am impressed with the fact that you managed to subdue a Gremgoblin, that was incredibly dangerous, especially at your age.”

Dipper ducked his head at that, hiding his face under his baseball cap.

“Grem -- ya know what, I don’t wanna know.” Stan shook his head. “Dipper, ya mind gettin’ out of here for a while? Keep an eye on Mabel or something.”

“Uh…” Dipper looked between Stan and Ford, then nodded and ran out of the kitchen without a word.

Stan stood for a moment, then walked over to where Dipper had been sitting across the table from Ford and sat down. He eyed the sheets and dice in front of him before carefully pushing it towards the center of the table, making sure the dice didn’t turn over.

“So.” Stan folded his hands and rest them on the table. “Ya still plannin’ on kickin’ me out at the end of the summer or not?”

Ford sighed and ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “I want my house and my life back Stanley. But that doesn’t mean I want you out of either one, either.”

Stan blinked blankly. “Wait. Yer not kickin’ me out?”

“...I’ve seen what the people here think of you. You’ve made such a large mark here that my coming here has caused an uproar. And--” Ford stopped himself, then sighed and turned his gaze away from Stanley.

“...and I’m not sure if I should stay.”

The room was silent.

“Bullshit.”

Ford blinked when he heard Stan swear.

“I drifted for over ten years and I was still able to settle into this place. You really need to learn to take better care of houses, Ford; this place was starting to fall apart even before I started turning it into the Mystery Shack. I know yer keepin’ things to yourself, so I won’t push ya, but really, did you really think a portal was going to be able to help?”

Ford didn’t say anything, but he looked back at Stan. As soon as their eyes locked, something in Stan’s face shifted.

“All right, you don’t want to talk about that either; fine, then.” Stan folded his arms across his chest. “If you don’t want to talk about that, what do you?”

Ford let out an alien curse, causing Stan’s eyebrows to shoot up. “Stanley, do you really expect me to know? I’ve been in other dimensions for thirty years, I don’t know Earth etiquette as much as I used to, and in case you haven’t noticed--”

“Yer havin’ a hard time adjustin’ an’ that’s why yer thinkin’ of leavin’,” Stan finished. When Ford stared at him with a wide-eyed expression, Stan snorted. “Ya really think I haven’t noticed, Poindexter? You’ve jumped at the coffee machine turnin’ on every mornin’ like a shot’s gone off, ya’ve been stayin’ in the basement rather than sleepin’ anywhere else in the house, an’ ya definitely didn’t know not ta give kids weapons.”

“Mabel has a grappling hook, I simply made a logical progression from that to a crossbow!”

“Which was the same one you pointed at my face when I got here thirty years ago, if I remember correctly,” Stan replied shortly.

“Stanley--”

“Not right in the head, yeah, yeah, yeah. You don’t think I know? Ya kinda gave it away when you demanded if I’d come to steal yer eyes.” Stan pointed at his own. “Now, like I said, I won’t bug ya about whatever it is that got ya thinkin’ about makin’ a portal or what ya did on the other side, but--”

“There are other things to talk about,” Ford responded dully.

“Yeah. Starting with what the heck you were thinking when you decided to call me in only to send me off.” Stan slammed his hands down on the table, causing Dipper’s dice to bounce a little. “You wanna know what I thought? I thought we were gonna get back together and do what we always talked about when we were kids! And then you went about kicking me out again!”

“You did not know what I was going through at the time!” Ford snapped back. “I-I thought that the world was going to end if I didn’t do something.”

Stan jerked back a little. “Then why didn’t you tear it apart?”

“It was research.”

“Research schmesearch -- if I were you I would have torn the thing down because my life was more important! You nerds like your books more than your own lives!”

“It’s the one thing we can contribute to society; of course we consider it more important than our lives!”

Stan’s wide-eyed stare took a moment to sink in, as did the words Ford had just yelled across the table. His own eyes widened as he sat back in his chair and groaned, running a hand down his face and refusing to look at Stan.

Stan sighed. “We’re both screwed, aren’t we?”

Ford made a noise that sounded like a mix between a hum and a grumble. This was not how he had been expecting this conversation to --

Wait. Both?

Ford raised his head and looked at Stan oddly. Stan saw the look and raised his hands.

“Oh, no. We’re not goin’ inta that. I’m not buggin’ you, yer not buggin’ me.”

Ford eyed him for a moment longer, then dropped his head again and shook it slowly. He reached into his coat and pulled out a canteen, which he took a swig of.

“I mean, I wasn’ out there for thirty years, but...ya get the idea.” Stan paused. “What’s in that?”

“Something from another dimension.” Ford had honestly forgotten which one it was by now. “It’s strong; I don’t know if you’d be able to handle it.”

Stan rose from his chair and came over, motioning with one hand. “Try me.”

Ford hesitated, but when Stan persisted he reluctantly handed the canteen over.

Stan took a swig of the canteen’s contents and blinked rapidly. “Whoa. That’s strong stuff. How is it ya don’t look even buzzed?”

“When you travel through multiple worlds, you tend to learn quickly that you need an iron stomach.” Ford took the canteen back and hid it in his coat again.

“Geez. And I thought that eating out of garbage bins gave me an iron stomach.”

Ford snorted. “We’re both messed up, aren’t we?” This conversation was going better than he had been expecting it to; he’d thought that they would have gotten into a fist fight by now over one thing or another. The worst thing they’d done was raise their voices at each other.

Was this his luck coming into play? Or was it something else?

Stan didn’t say anything, simply standing near where Ford sat with a confused expression. “So, uh...are the kids gonna come back and see us blubbering like old men?”

Ford snorted at the mental image and shook his head. “I doubt it.”

Stan mimicked the snort. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, uh...I’m gonna go work on some exhibits. If, uh...if ya wanna talk, I’ll be around.” He started to move out of the kitchen.

“Stanley, wait.”

Stan paused in the doorway and looked back at Ford.

Ford hesitated, then shook his head. “There’s a safe trail through the woods that I used to walk in the mornings. I’m planning on starting to do that again early tomorrow. I’d…” He paused, bit his lower lip. “I’d appreciate some company.”

“I don’t do early,” Stan said, after a moment.

“Afternoon, then -- it only takes fifteen minutes, I swear.”

“I’ll, uh…” Stan drummed his fingers against the wall. “I’ll think about it.” And then he was out of the kitchen without another word.

When Dipper and Mabel came back in the early evening, one carrying a chest full of gold and gems and the other soaked in rainbow blood and with rainbow hair in her hands, they found the tension in the house less oppressive than it had been, but still present. That night, after the barrier was put up, Ford didn’t retreat into the basement to sleep, and instead disappeared into the room that had once had the electron carpet -- he noticed absently that the carpet had been removed, but he wasn’t about to go looking for it right at that moment.

He was honestly looking forward to getting some proper rest for once.