#both in the portal betrayal and the conclusion of Weirdmageddon

[lou-is-just-a-dream]

Idk if you guys even care but it's actually so important to ME that Ford decides to leaves his toxic triangle ex bf on read, that he chooses to leave him where He's at instead of hunting him down bc now he's got better, He's got people who love him and he doesn't need to be chosen by a god to worship or to destroy him.

But it's also important to me that he still read! The! Book! He is not 100% detached from him and it makes sense! Bill used to be everything to Ford, he gave this relationship turned divorce 30 years of his life! Of course it leaves a mark! It can't be fully erased, he calls the looking back during the funeral bittersweet (a funeral is hosted at all!)

But he knows it wasn't good for him he knows better, he has better and he is healing. So he feels the itch to take a peek sometimes but he isn't going back.

[stansthemans]

Would you ever write old Ford and old Constance having sweet and sappy old people sex 🥺🥺🥺🥺?

ok I really went hog with the feelings on this one.

It takes a long time to get to this point. 

The renewed love confessions and kisses happen quickly. More quickly than Ford would have guessed considering all that they went through. Although, maybe that’s just the thing. Maybe there simply isn’t any time to waste anymore, not after forty years. He certainly doesn’t want any distance, and even in his most angry and bitter, he had missed his sister every single day. 

And Ford is certainly not complaining at all about the kissing. It’s an electric thrill down his spine every time his lips touch Stan’s. It’s bliss to hold her cheeks in his hands and run his fingers through her silver, silken hair made wild by the ocean winds. It’s utter perfection to lick into her warm mouth and taste whatever it was that was last on her tongue, anything from toothpaste to coffee to that night’s dinner or even their terrible morning breath. 

Ford has missed kissing Stanley. He’s missed the softness of her lips, the way they so quickly turn pink and swollen. He’s missed the feeling of her body against his, the way she always melts into him so perfectly. He’s missed how she would always start off so sweet, even when he would come in with perhaps too much unskilled enthusiasm, a sweetness that would turn into her own burning passion. He’s missed how it always came full circle, how after they were both sweating and spent, the sweetness was back, her lips a gentle caress again. 

Ford has spent forty years missing and longing for what they once had, even as he knew it could never truly be like that again. In college and throughout his twenties, he had worked hard daily to convince himself that he never wanted to lay eyes on his sister again after the hurt of her betrayal. As Bill dug his claws in deeper and deeper, Ford had oscillated between a conviction that she truly was worthless to him in that dire situation and a desperation to never sink to the level of needing her because needing her would put her in danger, and he refused to let Bill get to her too. Out in the multiverse, his anger and loneliness renewed, he had come to the conclusion that it didn’t matter whether or not he wanted to see Stan again. He would never have the chance, and it was—when he let himself admit it—heartbreaking. 

But then she did the impossible and unthinkable. Stan fixed the portal, opened it, and dragged him back home. 

And Ford had spent the entire month of August in a whirlwind. The threat of Bill loomed over him in a dark shadow. But Stanley was right there. He was angry and out of place in what should have been his own home that she herself had all but desecrated. But Stanley was right there. He had two delightful little niblings to meet, thirty years of culture and scientific advancements to catch up on. And Stanley was right there.

He was furious with her, even as he wanted to be near her. She only ever seemed angry, and he knows she had every right to feel that way. Too wrapped up in himself, he couldn’t see what all she had sacrificed to bring him back. Too busy clinging to old hurts and not actually knowing how to move on from them after so many years, he had been ready to throw her out. It was simply the easier option. He wouldn’t have to deal with it if it was out of sight—a truly foolish notion considering how she had plagued his thoughts all forty years they were separated. He wonders if he would have been stupid enough to follow through on that if it weren’t for everything Stanley did during Weirdmageddon. 

Luckily, his sister’s ingenuity, her bravery, her sacrifice, her all encompassing love for her family—along with Mabel and Dipper’s excessive, stubborn, perfect determination to force the memories back into place against all odds—have all kept him from ever having to find out. Luckily, Ford has this perfect ending instead. It took them so much longer than it should have, but they’re together again, on their boat, living out all their old dreams. They are not the same people they were at seventeen, but it doesn’t matter. They still have found their way. 

And Ford is happy with it. Yes, if pressed he can’t deny that he misses and yearns for that older intimacy, the touches, the pleasure, the absolute ecstasy of entering the perfect heat of her body, but for so many decades, Ford thought he would never even get to see Stanley again. He can be more than content to just hold her, tell her that he loves her, kiss her. 

But there is the pang in his chest when things start to become too heavy, when they come too close to the edge, about to tip over into something more, and Stanley pulls herself back and then stares up at him with wide eyes full of some emotion too close to hurt and heartbreak. Ford can’t stand that look because he knows he is the cause. There are no actions he knows that he can preform to make up for it all, so all he can do is to hold his sister to his chest, to murmur apologies and words of love into her hair, and feel utterly undeserving and inadequate when she holds him back and tells him that he hasn’t done anything wrong, that it’s all her. 

And then comes the day that he can’t stand it anymore. He can’t have her try to put anything back onto herself. He is the one who fucked all of this up in the first place. “No,” he says firmly. 

“Huh, what d’you mean, no,” Stan asks confused, her cheeks a bit squished from the way he is admittedly holding her face a little too tight. But he needs her to meet his eyes. He needs her to listen to him. 

“You keep saying that it’s you,” Ford says. “But it isn’t. I’m the one—I started all of this, good and bad. I should have known back then that I could just talk to you, but I didn’t, and it cost us forty years. You spent forty years alone and hurting because of me.” 

For a moment, Stan just blinks at him, and then she says, “That’s what you keep apologizing for?”

“I—well, yes,” Ford says, confusion creeping into his own voice. “Are you not—?”

“Oh, Sixer,” Stan says, and her fingers circle his wrists. “Sixer, you absolute sweetheart, I forgave you for that a long time ago.” 

They have not been on this boat long enough for the forgiveness to have been that deeply settled, but Ford will take it if she’s willing. But that doesn’t resolve the matter at hand. “I don’t understand,” he says. “We haven’t been intimate again.” Stanley starts to frown, that uncomfortable look darkening her eyes, and Ford scrambles. “We don’t have to. Stanley—“ He kisses her forehead. “This is—this is so much more than enough. I thought for so long that I would never even see you again. I couldn’t even imagine that you'd still love me. I don’t need anything else, but I just want to understand. If you aren’t mad at me for everything, what is going on?” 

Stan steps back from him, and Ford doesn’t want to let her go, but he knows from the downward twist of her lips that he needs to give her a little bit of space. They still are not great with communication, and if communication is going to happen, she can’t feel caged in. “I don’t really wanna get into this,” she grumbles. 

“If you are upset, I think we should,” Ford insists. He reaches out a hand and is relieved when she doesn’t hesitate to take it and intertwine their fingers. “Nothing has to change, Stanley. I just want to understand.”

Stan twirls a lock of hair around her finger and then begins to tug at it. It’s an old nervous habit from when they were teenagers, when her hair was longer. She’s been growing it out again since they set sail. Ford likes it long. He likes the look of it spilling out over their pillows when he’s above her. He doesn’t like when she does this, but he knows better than to try and stop her. She bit him once. 

For a moment, Stan fumbles, her expression twisting distastefully as she tries to gather her words. Ford waits as patiently as he’s capable. “Ok, so we aren’t seventeen anymore,” Stan finally says. 

“No,” Ford agrees, and honestly, thank God for it. Sure, he could do without the low level of aching in his joints as the weather changes, but overall, this is better. 

Stan frowns. “And you’re aware of what you look like.”

“Yes.” Ford does know what he looks like. Another one of the benefits to being older than seventeen, Ford needed to hit adulthood to leave behind all of the awkwardness. He knows that he’s handsome. Yes, his ears and nose are a little big, but overall, he is someone that would be considered very attractive to most people objectively. He has strong, solid, and symmetrical features, and he’s tall and broad and in great shape, especially for his age. He gets lingering looks and blatant propositions, both in this dimension and across others. “Is—is that bad?” 

Stan does not look at all impressed with that question. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please,” she snorts. “You aged like a fine wine.” 

And that’s a good thing, which only makes Ford more confused. “I still don’t understand.”

Stan gives him a look that Ford recognizes. It’s a look that says the person she is talking to is being obtuse on purpose, and she’s very annoyed by it. He knows that look because he gives it to her a lot. “Well, your eyes clearly work and your glasses prescription still stands. So—“ She stares at him, and he stares back. “Moses,” Stan cries. “Look at me and look at you! One of these things ain’t like the other.”

“Wait,” Ford says slowly, comprehension finally dawning on him. “Are you trying to say you aren’t attractive?”

“Circle gets the fucking square,” Stan grumbles. 

“Where in the world did you get that idea,” Ford asks, flabbergasted. They own a mirror. Does she not look into it? Stan continues to give him that look. “No, that doesn’t even make logical sense. Your face is a feminine version of my face. It stands to reason that if you consider me to be attractive, then you must be as well.” 

Stan stares at him for a moment, and then says with great feeling, “Good God, you are such a fucking nerd.”

Ford adjusts his glasses with no small amount of indignation. “Well, it simply doesn’t make sense. And that doesn’t even take into consideration my more subjective opinion on the matter.” Stan starts to open her mouth, but he cuts her off. “You are beautiful. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and you know how many dimensions I’ve been through.” 

Stan’s lips twist into another scowl. “The flattery is nice and all—“

“Not flattery,” Ford says. “Simple facts according to my perception.” 

“I’m—I’m old now and—“

“So am I,” Ford says. “Older than you.” 

“Fifteen minutes doesn’t count,” Stan says, pointing a stern finger at him.

“Yes, it does,” Ford shoots back. An old argument. He will stand by those fifteen minutes of superiority until he is cold and buried in the ground. Or wherever else. 

Stan glares. “I’ve got all these wrinkles and grey hair and—“

“I have all of those too,” Ford says. 

“Gravity’s changed a lot of things, if you get my drift,” she says, nearly snapping.

“Yes, men experience that as well,” Ford says, struggling to keep his tone even. He isn't sure if he's more exasperated or wants to laugh.

“I know I was never a twig or nothing back then, but the term beached whale comes to mind,” Stan says. 

“Oh please,” Ford snorts. “You are not fat, Stanley, and even if you were, I would not care. This is ridiculous. You are beautiful. I think you are beautiful, and I remain extremely, ridiculously, and unfairly attracted to you. You. Right now. Not the memory of you when we were sixteen. If you truly don’t want anything to change between us, that’s fine. I don’t require anything else. This is more than I hoped for. But if it were up to me, we would definitely be having sex again. We would be having sex right this second.” 

By the end of his little speech, Ford’s sharp tone has tapered off into something achingly sincere, and he’s holding Stanley’s hands tight in his. The look on her face has changed as well. The stubborn contrariness has vanished, replaced now with that guarded look she gets when confronted with being truly vulnerable. 

Neither of them are very good with that, but Ford is trying. Being closed off has only ever bitten them both cleanly on the ass, and Ford is not fumbling his sister ever again. 

“Stanley,” he says gently. He steps closer, and she is shaking a little bit, but she doesn’t pull away. Ford draws in a slow, steadying breath. “I love you for too many reasons to name, and I find you attractive for all those same reasons. Your wit. Your stupid fucking jokes. Your stubbornness. Your big heart. Every grey hair. Every wrinkle. I love it all. I’m attracted to it all.”

Stan’s eyes are wet with building tears, and she closes her eyes against them. Her lips pressed tightly together, she shakes her head. “Yes,” Ford insists, blinking against his own tears. He has always hated it when his sister cries. It breaks his heart, and he knows that so many of the tears she has shed in her life have been for and over him. “Yes, love, I am. I should be telling you more often. That’s on me. I’ll tell you more, every day, every chance, until you believe me.” 

“I believe that you love me,” Stan says. “It’s not that.” 

Ford intertwines their fingers. “And the other,” he asks. “How do I make you believe that you’re beautiful?” 

“Ship might’ve sailed on that one,” Stan says, and she sniffles. 

“I could make an intricate list,” Ford offers. “You know how much I enjoy that. And if it’s a list of the things I adore about you, well, I see no downside.” 

That makes her laugh. “I would both love and hate to see that list,” she says. “A list. Absolutely bonkers. I swear, you must’ve gotten more traumatic head injuries out in space than you admitted to.” 

“No. I’ve loved lists and you well before the multiverse. How do you rationalize that,” he asks. 

“Perkier boobs back then,” Stan says with a shrug. “The bra wasn’t fighting for its life. Also, Ma never admitted to dropping you, did she?” 

“She did not,” Ford says.

“Damn,” Stan murmurs. Her smile fades again. “Listen, Sixer, I just—I believe you, ok. But this—it’s not easy for me. I am very firmly against getting into it right now, but shit’s been hard for a long time, and I’m not used to anything else. I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because it always does. And I know—“ She blinks rapidly, her eyes wet again. “I know this is supposed to be our happy ending. And it is. God, Sixer, it is. And it’s so not that I don’t want to, because yeah, you are—I just—I need some time for it to sink in.” 

Ford wraps Stan up in a tight embrace. “I meant what I said,” he promises. “It doesn’t need to be anything more.” He kisses her, long and deep. “This is perfect,” he says against her lips. “You are perfect, just like this. Nothing has to change, but if you want it, take all the time you need.” 

Of course, nothing changes that day. Nor does it the following. It’s the same all that week and the next. Ford makes sure he is more vocal in his appreciation of his sister’s physical appearance. It's not that he hasn't already been thinking these thoughts; he just makes sure to vocalize them now. He tells Stanley that she’s beautiful at every opportunity. When she’s standing in front of the little stove scrambling eggs, her hair still unbrushed and her feet stuffed into slippers. When they make port in Cádiz and dress up to go out on a dinner date. When she comes in from the deck spitting mad after getting caught by a rouge wave and looking every bit like a wet cat. She looks ridiculous, and all Ford wants to do is laugh and kiss her. He does, just as soon as he fetches her a towel. He tells her when she’s grumbling about some old joint pain or grinning fondly at a message from the kids. Through it all, she’s beautiful, and Ford makes she that she knows it. 

Sometimes Stanley will smile at him, soft, eyes crinkled at the corners. Sometimes she rolls her eyes, tells him to knock it off, that she knows she looks like the exact animal that he is currently comparing her to in his head. Sometimes she just stares at him, serious and guarded. 

It’s those times that he moves quickly and takes her into his arms, holds her close, and kisses her as if both of their lives depend on it. He kisses her, his hands wandering, until she pulls away breathless, her own hands clinging to him as if a grip any lighter and he would fly away. He did fly away from her once. It’s not an unfounded fear. 

It finally happens one night well over a month after Ford brought the entire thing up. Stanley is in the little bathroom, her hair still damp from her shower and hanging down her back and around her shoulders in loose waves. She clearly intends to only put it up in a braid tomorrow. It’s something as close to her usual style as she has out at sea. Ford very rarely sees the curlers brought out anymore unless they’re planning a dinner at a nice restaurant. 

An extremely rare occurrence as Ford prefers Stanley’s home cooking, and Stanley considers restaurants scams. 

She’s rubbing a cream onto her face when Ford crowds in next to her. The corners of her mouth hitch up as she smirks at his reflection in the mirror. “You get zapped by one of your nerd scanners again?”

Ford puffs up his cheeks indignantly for only a second before he must admit that his hair looks utterly ridiculous. His own thick waves are standing near on end from the number of times he dragged his hands through them in frustration. “I am beginning to think that the local legends are simply that,” he says. “The equipment is picking up on something out there, but nothing is matching as it should.” 

“And for once you’re deciding not to be a dog with a bone,” Stan asks, her brows shooting up. 

“I’m not admitting defeat yet,” Ford says, reaching for his toothbrush. “But I’ve hit a wall at least for tonight.”

“Sweet Moses,” Stan exclaims. “Are you telling me you’re gonna go to sleep at a decent hour without me harassing you?”

“Don’t worry,” Ford says with a grin. “I won’t make a habit of it.” Stan laughs and bumps his hip with hers. He returns the gesture.

Then they stand there, side by side, comfortably going through their nightly routine, comfortable despite that they very rarely do this at the same time in the small space. Although their reflections in the mirror certainly don’t match the memory, Ford is reminded of childhood, of their teen years. They had done this nightly then. Always side by side in the hallway bathroom, brushing their teeth in unison, brushing their hair. Eyes locked onto each other in the mirror, both anticipating the day finally ending, finally reaching the point that their door could be shut behind them and they would be away from the prying eyes of their parents. 

Out here in the middle of the ocean, they have no one to hide from. When they return to Oregon in the summer, they’ll have to be careful again, but for now, it’s just them. They’re free. 

Ford pulls off his shirt to wash his face and drag the wet cloth briefly under his arms. He prefers to shower in the mornings. It makes shaving easier, especially since Stanley put her foot down and forbade him from using fire to get the job done. Next to him, Stan has a towel at her hair again, lightly squeezing out the excess moisture, and, as is often the case, her thoughts are along the same wave as his. She reaches out and cups her hand along his jaw. “Getting a bit scruffy,” she says, voice low and soft. 

Ford folds his hand over hers. “Does it bother you,” he asks, just as low. He prefers to be clean shaven, but he is a rather hairy man. It grows back quickly enough that he always seems to have a bit of stubble. There are some days out here that he goes without shaving, but there are no days that he goes without kissing her. Stanley’s skin is so soft; he doesn’t mean to irritate it, but right now, he’s maybe two days away from what could rightfully be called a beard. 

Stan smiles at him through the mirror. “No,” she says. “It looks good. You’re certainly better at it now.” 

Ford chuckles lightly. Some teenage boys shave regularly because they want to make it seem like they need to. Some teenage boys shave regularly because they mistakenly believe that doing so will make it become a necessity. For Ford, it had been. Of course, that necessity had only been on parts of his face. His facial hair, starting at about sixteen, had come in fast, thick, and in awkwardly placed patches. He considered it a nuisance, and Stanley used to sit on the bathroom counter watching while he hacked it all off, kicking her legs in the air and telling him that at least he didn’t have to do shower gymnastics to keep legs and “coochie” smooth. 

He hadn’t had a preference either way when it came to that. Hair or no, he’d always just wanted Stan. 

Stan, who is perfectly radiant standing next to him with damp curls, not a trace of makeup, wearing a ridiculous oversized shirt decorated with gradient sunglasses and palm trees that reads “Don’t be a Salty Beach”. Ford is positive she stole it from a tourist joint before they set sail from Jersey, along with a mug she usually puts his coffee in that reads “Surfer Girl.” Stan picks up knickknacks nearly every time they find a port. When it’s something for the kids, she actually buys it. When it’s for her or him, she steals it. She used to do it when they were kids as well, usually just a candy bar from a shop that she would then share with him, maybe a magnet. Ford used to scold her, but he can’t pretend he isn’t endeared now. Everything about her is endearing, even her most annoying qualities. 

Ford holds her hand in place, turning his head just enough to kiss her palm. “I love you,” he says. “And before you say it, yes, I am a sap. How could I not be?” He kisses her palm again, and for a long moment, Stanley stares at him. 

It’s a thoughtful sort of stare, and Ford can see the gears in her head turning. He doesn’t interrupt her thought process. He just stands there, staring back at her, rubbing his thumb in slow trails across her knuckles as she in turn lightly scratches at the rough hair on his cheek. 

Ford sees when Stanley has reached her conclusion. She gives a little nod to herself and tosses her towel in the vague direction of the towel hook. It does not catch and flops to the floor. Normally, Ford might huff a bit at that, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his sister. Her other hand curls around his neck, and she pulls him down into a searing kiss that sends jolts of electricity down his spine. The kiss steals his breath, and when she pulls back, he’s left reeling. 

“Come to bed,” Stanley says, low, hardly a whisper against his lips. 

It takes Ford a solid three seconds to process the meaning behind her words, and then he’s picking her up, grinning as she laughs, and hurrying them into their bedroom. “I don’t think you were that eager the first time,” Stan says, still laughing as he lowers her to the bed. 

Ford crawls over her, slotting their bodies together and delighting when her legs slide up to bracket his hips. “At fifteen I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know what to expect and was extremely nervous. I am well educated now and very much looking forward to it.” 

Ford kisses along Stan’s jaw, and she digs her fingers into his hair. “God, we were way too young to do all the shit we did,” she says. 

They probably were. The first time, they had only just turned fifteen a few months previous, but their hormones had been raging, and living in the same bedroom, there was no escape from each other. The contact was constant, the tension ever building. All it had taken was one kiss for the entire dam to crumble. 

“I don’t regret a moment of it,” Ford says. There are things in their relationship to regret, guilt that still eats at the lining of his stomach and squeezes at his heart. But now isn’t the time to wallow in that. Those thoughts have no place in this moment. “I don’t regret you.” 

Stanley’s hands find his face again, and she guides him back into a kiss. It’s much sweeter this time, a gentle press of their lips together. Simple, sweet, and it says everything. 

“Hey,” Stan says, her voice soft as they press their foreheads together. “This isn’t me second guessing anything, so don’t go there, but slow, ok? I need this to go slow tonight.” 

Ford had no intentions of turning this into a hard, unrestrained fucking, but still, he offers a joke. “Shall I turn on some Barry White to keep us conscious of the mood? Or has someone more fitting turned up in the past thirty years?”

Stan laughs, a ridiculous snort. Ford loves the sound. “Naw, he’s still the sex music king,” she says. Her wide grin softens, her brows furrowing just a bit. “But no, no music. I think we can manage our own pace, but it’s—uh—it’s been a while, you know?” 

He doesn’t exactly. They haven’t talked much about their sexual history apart from each other. Ford knows enough to know that most of what Stanley experienced was not good. He knows vaguely what she had to do when she was on the streets, and he knows that the very few relationships she had were insubstantial and likely unhealthy. But he doesn’t like to think about it. It makes him angry and jealous, even as hypocritical as it is. She certainly is not the only person—or thing, quite frankly—that he’s had sex with, and he’s sure his escapades have been far more recent and frequent. 

It is what it is, and he’s as at peace with both sides of that as he can be, but often he wishes it wasn’t the case. He remembers being sixteen, completely in love with his sister, kissing her, touching her, fucking her every chance he could get, and both of them so completely sure that they would never be with anyone else, that they were truly the lucky ones, lucky enough to have been born right alongside the person they were meant to be with. They would never have to search and wonder what the future would bring them. They already knew. 

Obviously, they were wrong. But it doesn’t matter now. Now they’ve been reunited. Now they know the cost of their mistakes. Now they’re more careful with each other and don’t take any of it for granted. 

Ford tucks a lock of hair back from Stanley’s face. He kisses her, pushes his tongue into her mouth in a slow caress. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll take care of you,” he promises. 

For a long while, they simply kiss, the slow slide of Stan’s lips against his sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. Ford presses his weight against her, and every point of contact is like smoldering embers. He moves his hands slowly down Stan’s sides, fingers dipping under the hem of her stupid t-shirt. Briefly, Stanley tenses, but Ford shushes her gently and resumes kissing along her jaw and neck. He slides his hand up again, from her hip, over her stomach, and then he cups her breast.

For a moment, Ford keeps it only to that, taking note of how Stanley is breathing just a little bit harder, her heart beating just a bit faster under his palm. She’s bigger than she used to be, filling up more of his hand. Stanley had always leaned towards top heavy, but it had been more broad shoulders and arms thick with muscles than full breasts. Ford would not consider Stan to be fat exactly, but she wasn’t wrong to say that she’s gained weight as she’s aged, and it’s certainly not in the form of lean muscle. Ford stretches his fingers wide over her breast, comparing how much more there is to hold than there used to be. 

He squeezes her, slow, gentle, and then finally he drags his thumb over her nipple. Stanley gasps, a beautiful sound. “Let’s get this off,” Ford suggests. He waits while Stan draws in a deep breath, waits until she nods.

Quite frankly, Ford would like to rip the clothes from her body, get rid of them completely so that he can see her spread out under him once again—finally, finally, after so long—but his love asked for slow, so slow is how he moves. His other hand finds the hem of the ridiculous t-shirt, and he pushes it up in what feels like a glacial pace until it finds its partner at her other breast. “Arms up,” Ford instructs, and Stanley complies. As soon as it is over her head, Ford tosses the shirt away, and as Stanley settles back against the pillows, her hair a silver halo around her, Ford sits back up and observes her. 

No, Stan does not look like she did the last time he saw her without clothes. She certainly is not seventeen anymore. Ford’s eyes trail across her body, seeking out every difference. His memory is near eidetic, and so it isn’t difficult to take notice of them all. All the wrinkles, the stretch marks, the scars, little patches of freckles, the plumper figure, the looser skin. She’s paler, no longer clinging to a lingering summer tan, lines of the bikini so clearly marking the parts of her body that were meant only for Ford’s eyes. The dusky pink of her nipples stands out against that pale skin, and the extra softness of her stomach folds just slightly over the band of the ladies style boxer briefs she typically wears. 

Stanley’s fingers curl into tight fists before loosening slightly. Ford can tell, she’s trying very hard not to bring her arms down and cover herself. “I know it’s—“

“Beautiful.” Ford does not allow her even a moment to voice anything else. 

“Which—uh—which brain you thinking with, Poindexter,” she asks, and Ford glances down to see that he is indeed swelling noticeably in his pants. Honestly, he’s been so caught up in her that he hadn’t really noticed. 

“Currently both, but I imagine one will gain the upper hand shortly,” he says, splaying his hands wide over her hips. The second her shorts are gone, the second she is finally fully exposed to him again, he imagines all higher thought processes will shut down, and he will be consumed with the singular goal of melding himself physically to her again. 

Ford slides his hands up again over the smooth expanse of Stan’s skin. Soft. She’s still so soft. That hasn’t changed. “I can’t believe how gorgeous you are,” Ford says, awed. Stan’s lips and brows twitch into a little frown, one that she is quick to smooth out. Ford leans down and presses gentle kisses between her brows and onto those pink lips. “You are,” he says. “You—yes, of course you were beautiful when we were teenagers. Of course. And yes, you have changed, but your beauty hasn’t. The way it enthralls me hasn’t. Yes, you were young then and everything that comes with youth, but given the choice, you, right now, you are what I want. You are what I pick. Because us together, the us right here, right now, the happiness we have, Stanley, we fought for this. We bled for this. We earned this.” 

And Stanley very nearly shoots up off the bed to throw her arms around his neck and pull him into a searing kiss. Ford’s arms wrap tight around her, and the press of skin to skin after so long without makes him lightheaded with the sheer ache of his want, his need. “I love you,” Stan says. “God, I love you so much. It makes me so stupid.” 

“Stanley,” Ford begins to chide. 

“I didn’t say I was stupid,” Stan says, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “I said it makes me stupid. It makes me do the stupidest things. Stupid, earth-shatteringly risky things.” She doesn’t need to give a verbal list. They’re thinking the same things. Turning on the portal. Tricking Bill. Just to name a couple. She kisses him again, gentler this time, achingly sweet. “And I don’t regret it. None of it. I’d do them all again because—because I’ve got you back. I can’t believe I’ve got you back.” 

She blinks rapidly, her eyes wet with the weight of forty years separated. Ford kisses her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her lips. “I love you too, Stanley,” he says. “Please, let me show you.” 

She nods, her fingers trailing down his body. She makes quick work of unbuttoning his pants and pulling down the zipper. They move together, and for the briefest moment, Ford feels like no time has passed, that he hasn’t been separated from her. They pull off the remainder of each other’s clothes with ease. Ford pushes her back into the bed and slots himself between her legs. Their lips find each other again, and hands move in burning trails. 

Ford kisses along her jaw, down her neck, nipping teasing little bites along her clavicle. His thumbs move in slow circles over Stan’s nipples, and she gasps and arches into him. “Ok, oxymoron, I know,” she says, fingers tangling into his hair. “I know I said slow, but—oh, shit—you don’t have to make a whole production out of it.” 

“I’d like to,” Ford says, dragging one hand down between her breasts, down her stomach, and settling over the wet folds between her legs. He can’t help but moan at the feeling. He hasn’t forgotten—no, he could never—but it’s been so long since he’s touched her. 

He doesn’t do anything more than that, but Stan is nearly panting, her grip on his hair tightening in a pleasant tingle. “I know you would, Sixer,” Stan says. She laughs a little. “I remember, you muncher.”

Ford laughs too. While he certainly does prefer to be buried in her up to the hilt, Ford can’t pretend he hadn’t very much enjoyed getting his mouth on her. Teenage stamina and enthusiasm certainly had been on their side back then, and he could—did—spend hours between her legs, his mouth and fingers offering her orgasm after orgasm until she was too sensitive for more. “I assure you, Stanley, it would still be my absolute pleasure.”

“I know,” Stan says, softer. “I know, but I—I just want you right now. Inside me again. I’m—I’ve missed you so much.” 

Ford knows his sister’s body well, even at this age and with years apart. She’s wet, almost surprisingly so for how little they’ve truly done, but that’s not so unusual. Gentle intimacy always did so much for her. Ford could easily spend more time prepping her, sliding his fingers against her to stimulate more arousal, but she doesn’t need it. Ford is willing and eager to give her everything in the world, but all she wants is him. 

Ford kisses Stan deeply as he slowly pushes into her. She’s so tight and hot around him that it knocks the air from his lungs. Was she like this even on their first time? He can’t recall. It doesn’t matter. She feels like complete heaven. 

It takes a blissful eternity before he’s buried completely in her, and they’re both breathing hard as if they’ve just run a marathon. “Ford,” Stan gasps, pulling even more air from him. It’s fine. He doesn’t need to breathe, not so long as she’s wrapped completely around him, her hands on his face and her body tethering him to the earth. “Ford.” 

“Are you all right,” he asks. 

The kiss she gives him is so sweet that he feels altered from it, perhaps more so than from reuniting with her like this. He could live off it, never needing food or water or anything else so long as he could have that kiss. “Perfect, Sixer,” Stan says. “I’ve never been more prefect.” 

“You are,” he says, lips on hers again. He never wants to separate them. “You are.” 

“You can move,” she urges, rocking up against him. The pleasure is white hot and burning, same as it used to be. So much has changed, but not this, not how she makes him feel. Ford rolls his hips, and they find a slow, steady rhythm. There is no hurry, no frantic movement, just rocking together, arms around each other, exactly matching eyes locked. 

Together like this, they are the only people in the world. “I love you,” Ford says, desperate with the intensity of it. “Stanley, you’re—love, you feel so good. I—this is— this is everything.” Stan makes a noise that propels Ford to the edge of his orgasm. “Stanley, Stanley, God, I’m—“ Ford’s throat closes, and his entire body trembles. 

“Yeah,” Stanley breathes. “Yeah, I’m so close too, Sixer. Fuck, I—this feels impossible, that I’m this lucky, that I get to know you, that you love me like this. God, I love you. I never knew before, how much I could. Stanford, I love you so much.” 

It’s not just Ford’s body shaking. It’s his voice, wobbling heavily with emotion as he says her name like a prayer. He thrusts deep into her, and they come, lips pressed together in not so much a kiss as breathing heavy into each other’s mouths. Stan shakes under him, and Ford can feel warm tears leaking from his eyes. “Stanley,” he nearly sobs, and she slides her arms from around his neck, trembling hands wiping at his wet cheeks. 

“Shh,” she soothes, and she’s crying too. “It’s ok.” It isn’t, but it is. Ford feels irrevocably changed, back to what they were when they were young but better. If there was any piece of him that had not yet been Stan’s, it now is. She owns the entirety of him. Her hands move gently over his face, his neck, his shoulders, down his arms, hands that had taken him apart so adeptly now putting him back together again. “I’ve got you, Sixer. I’ve got you.” Stanley, sharp and biting, so many rough edges, but her voice right now is the gentlest thing Ford has ever heard. He wants to rip his chest open and press his still beating heart into her hands. 

“How are you even possible,” Ford marvels. How can she be so much, so all encompassing, but still fit underneath him so perfectly? How is it possible to hold all that she is within his arms? The weight of everything slams into him as he stares down at her, and suddenly he is crying in earnest. 

“Sixer,” Stan asks, brows furrowing. Her fingers, calloused but still so soft, continue to wipe the tears from his face. “Sixer, what—?

“I love you,” Ford says again, and he sounds like he’s begging. Begging her to believe him. She does. He knows that she does, but doesn’t she know how much?

“Oh, Stanford,” Stan says, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I love you too.”

He burrows further into her, and Stan clings back. Ford holds onto her like she might disappear from under him. “I didn’t—I—I don’t know how I’ve been doing it,” he admits. “Living without you all this time. I lost you, for forty years, I lost you, and then I almost—“ It’s been months and months since they started sailing. Months and months since Weirdmageddon and Stanley pulling Ford back into this dimension. Years since their separation, but right now it all feels so fresh.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Stan says. “Shh, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Ever, ok?” She pets him, kissing what she can reach without moving away or shifting their embrace. 

Ford cries for a long time, and some tiny, still rational part of his brain thinks maybe this is a little ridiculous. After all, they’re together. They are happy. Ford truly can’t believe how overwhelmingly happy he is. He just loves Stan so, so much. Eventually the cries subdue, replaced by little hiccups that even the larger, currently more emotional part of his brain thinks are ridiculous, and Ford starts to push away, but Stanley tightens her grip. “Stay,” she says. 

“I am not under any delusions as to my size,” Ford says. “I’m very heavy. I’ll crush you. Certainly it won’t be easy to breathe.” 

“Free weighted blanket,” Stan says. “Get comfortable.” 

Ford smiles, charmed. “Can I at least pull out?” 

Stan sighs, as if hugely put upon. “If you must.”

Ford braces himself on his forearms and removes himself from her. It immediately feels like a loss, the entire room a bit colder. But Stan’s arms are still around him, and she groans just a bit. “Stanley?” 

“Fine,” she says, wet tracks along her cheeks as well. “Fine, I just—miss you already.” 

Ford presses his lips to hers. “I’m here.” 

They settle back into the pillows, Ford only half lying on Stan, because honestly, his full unsupported weight would be too much for any extended period of time. She redirects him to lie his head on her chest, arms around each other and legs tangled together. Stan gets her fingers back into his hair, slowly dragging knuckles over his scalp. 

Ford stares up at her, mesmerized by the little droplets of tears that still cling to her lashes. He leans up and kisses them away. Stan laughs wetly, rubbing her nose against his. “When did we get this sappy,” she asks, and Ford could give her an exact date. He has always loved his sister, loved her wholly and with an intensity that could sometimes border on frightening. He has loved her purely, selfishly, has been consumed by it even when trying to bury it away. But sugar sweet sappiness, he could give a date to that, and it’s unfortunately far too recent. 

But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what they are now. Now they orbit each other again. Now they know how far they could drag each other down but choose instead to hold each other up. Now, and until they draw their final breaths, it’s just love. 

[chromatic-demon-blog]

Mental Disorder Headcannons for the Pines family.

Dipper Pines- PDD and minor to moderate anxiety.

 Dipper strikes me as someone with a disorder called Pervasive Developmental Disorder or PDD which is a form of autism that cannot be pinned down to an exact location on the spectrum and as someone who has PDD myself I notice many similarities between Dipper’s behavior and my own at his age like the abnormal intelligence but somewhat slower processing speed especially when Mabel was able to come to a conclusion on something faster than Dipper with Dipper technically being the brainy one. His social skills are also a little lack luster which is also something PDD effects which is often depicted in the show when he tries to talk to the opposite gender which most will say is merely an age thing but I disagree seeing as Mabel can confidently talk to boys being the same age as Dipper. He also seems uncomfortable in some social situations like with Wendy and her friends where Mabel was able to easily mingle with them. He also strikes me as someone with minor to moderate anxiety seeing he often questions things a lot and often looks nervous in certain situations often concerning things with Ford’s journals while Mabel often seems at ease or reasonably concerned. One major scene where I see his possible anxiety get the best of him is the portal scene where he is more adamant about shutting the portal down than trusting Stan and by extension his own sister.

 Mabel Pines- ADHD

 Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder seems to be the only problem I can see in Mabel mentally because dear god the energy this child produces is unreal and again speaking from the viewpoint of someone diagnosed with ADHD I was damn near the same as her at twelve only difference is she acts like me without any medication which is to say hyper and practically bouncing off the walls which makes me think Mabel may not have any detrimental problems that associate with her ADHD to warrant medication such as a stimulant which also leads me to believe her ADHD makes her oblivious to how her Mabel Juice reacts with others seeing as Stan describes it as “if nightmares and coffee had a baby” and we all know coffee is stimulant and if any of you know anything about ADHD stimulants have little effect on people plagued by this disorder so where Mabel Juice may wire someone up it may be used by Mabel herself to calm her down or keep her at an even energy level.

 Stanley Pines- Bipolar Disorder, slight Kleptomania and Depression

 Okay so Stan was a little harder to come to a conclusion to what was wrong with him but I have deduced he is quite possibly bipolar to some extent. Reason being his moods in the show often changed rapidly sometimes without reason and can often appear happy or sour for no specific reason or rather odd reasons seeing as with my bipolar I often get confused why I feel a certain way at a certain time. Since bipolar disorder was not made an actual diagnosis until 1980 chances are Stan would have never gotten tested or even cared to be in any case seeing as he would probably add it to his list of flaws making his low self-esteem worse. His next mental problem stems mainly from a survival habit which in my opinion is a slight Kleptomania or uncontrollable need to steal because let’s be honest Stan probably stole a lot of shit to survive in the beginning since he was out on his ass at seventeen or eighteen years old and I bet if you look at his criminal record you’re gonna find theft or theft related crimes on there. I mean hell he even stole from a witch in the show and lost his hands over some damn chintzy watch this right there shows minor kleptomania seeing as he didn’t need it he just wanted it. Also Ford even says in Journal 3 that the golf cart we constantly see in the show is stolen too! Finally a huge thing with Stan is depression caused by multiple factors like his low self-esteem, his feeling of inferiority compared to his brother, the science experiment accident and everything leading up to and after the portal incident. However I think after the show Ford would have helped him with his kleptomania or helped him control it or utilize it to benefit them seeing as Ford is far from an honest saint the fandom seems to paint him to be and Stan would have all but managed his depression now that he had his brother back and helping him build his confidence and self-esteem as well as making an effort to make up for the past.

 Stanford Pines- PDD, slight Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Insomnia and PTSD.

 Okay finally onto Ford who I can honestly say is the worst of the Pines family when it comes to being screwed in the head. Now like Dipper I believe he also has Pervasive Developmental Disorder and could very well be the one Dipper inherited from seeing as Dipper and him share a lot of behavioral characteristics and I can honestly say Ford and I both being adults share minor behavioral characteristics such as savant like intelligence in certain areas and lack luster social skills like when talking to or romanticizing with the opposite gender which can contribute to why some people with my disorder feel better being around, talking with or romanticizing the same gender (I mean there are literally no straight ships for this poor owl [i.e. Stancest, Billford, Fiddauthor, RICKFORD…need I go on.]) Ford would not have been diagnosed much like Stan’s bipolar due to the fact it was not a diagnosis until 1980 also and like Stan I doubt he would have cared seeing as he was a freaking genius and by then cared more about his work than his social skills past present his findings to important people in the future. His slight Body Dysmorphic Disorder I can see stemming from his negative focus on his sixth finger which in my opinion is pretty cool and I would say that right to his face but with this disorder he cannot accept this is just part of his features and often has nothing positive to think about the extra digit leading it to be a psychological detriment due to the excessive bullying it brought upon him. Now the insomnia is a newer disorder that is brought upon him post Bill’s betrayal when he was desperately trying to stay awake in order to dodge Bill’s possession and could have quite possibly trained his body to not need as much sleep as a normal human thus developing insomnia where sometimes he won’t sleep at all. Another play on his insomnia could be his mind associating sleep with danger even though Bill can’t actually possess Ford after he returns home to his dimension. Finally his PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder could have happened after coming back from his thirty yearlong portal excursion where he could have seen things that mentally scarred him or post Weirdmageddon after Bill tortured him and turned Gravity Falls into a reasonable depiction of Hell.

 All in all this is my headcannons for mental disorders for the Pines family which I think adds more character and depth to each Pines and what may honestly make them tick and act the way they do. And yes some of this is written from personal knowledge since I have PDD, ADHD, Bipolar Disorder, and Depression and have had a klepto habit when I was younger on top of knowing people personally who are insomniacs to an extent and people with anxiety. I also know a lot of military people with PTSD. I am not an expert with Body Dysmorphic Disorder but in my days in the psych ward I have developed enough of an understanding to understand that Ford is definitely a poster child for this disorder. These are mere headcannons but I just can’t ignore some of the signs in each of the Pines family that resonate with me and some of my personal experiences.