#don't tag as stancest

[bubbyisatitagain]

Hi gravity balls fans

Little busts of Stan and Ford so I can point out my headcanons and their differences as twins

[tutudraws]

soft kisses&gentle hugs

[spudcat]

they are so cute i'm going to throw up

[crackedhrglass]

i got this ask on my strawpage and was gonna type it up in my notes app and post it to twitter, but i really couldn't figure out a way to say it concisely, so i'm answering it here bc it's prob gonna be long lol.

do i think stancest is actually canon? simply put, no. despite how often i'm like "STANCEST IS CANON!!" i truly don't think that AH and the writers intended stan & ford's relationship to be seen through an incestuous lens.

their relationship is def the heart of the show, second only to dipper & mabel's own bond. they are the center of each other's worlds, their story & character arcs revolve almost entirely around each other, and their happy ending is literally the two of them sailing off into the sunset to spend "the rest of their days" together (ford says this almost word-for-word in journal 3).

but i still don't think all of that was meant to be taken romantically.

in my opinion, where things start to get a little weird is, surprisingly enough, ford's relationship with bill.

the rest is under a cut bc HOLY SHIT this got longer than i expected.

there's no denying that bill was written to deliberately parallel stan in a number of ways, from his mannerisms, to his conman status, to the fact that he calls ford the same name stan did when they were kids.

he's written in a very intentional way that makes him serve as both stan's parallel and his foil, especially in their respective relationships to ford (bill feeds into ford's ego and encourages him to aspire for greatness alone, stan has always been a direct obstacle & challenge to ford's ego, accidentally ruining his chances at WCT & encouraging him to live out their childhood dream together; bill valued infinite power over his own family and destroyed his dimension as a result, stan valued his family over everything, and saved ford and his dimension as a result).

normally, this wouldn't be that big of a deal to a stancest shipper like myself. but as the book of bill & the accompanying website all but confirmed in big, flashing neon lights, ford & bill have a romantic history and are exes.

having the two people closest to ford be compared to one another is one thing. having ford be drawn to bill because of how similar he is to the brother he secretly misses is one thing.

having ford be romantically involved with said character is what makes me raise an eyebrow lol.

again, do i think ford is literally a brocon who's got repressed sexual/romantic feelings for stan?

no.

i do, however, think he has unresolved Brother Issues that led him to subconsciously find comfort in a romantic partner that reminded him of stan (right down to bill calling him stan's nickname for him) in much the same way a person with "daddy issues" may seek out affection & intimacy from someone who reminds them of their father (or is just "fatherly" in general).

that much, i believe, was actually intentional. it's just too blatant to not be lol. it'd be a completely different story if either

bill & stan were nothing alike (untrue) or

ford & bill's relationship was strictly platonic and didn't have any romantic implications (also untrue)

i've said this before, but this isn't just a case of "oh, ford fell in love with someone who just coincidentally reminds him of his brother." bill's use of the nickname "sixer" during their first encounter was a deliberate attempt at appealing to a part of ford that was repressed, vulnerable, and aching, in order to get ford's guard down and make it easier for ford to trust him, and it worked.

billford is a ship that, to put it bluntly, would not exist without ford's buried feelings for stan, even disregarding shipping/incest/etc. ford's desire to be close to stan even platonically is what allowed bill to needle his way into ford's heart in the first place.

and all of this wouldn't be that weird if, again, bill hadn't continued to feed into ford's longing for stan even after they'd established a romantic relationship, by still calling him "sixer" and trying to permanently sever the relationship he had with stan specifically, once he and ford broke up (the phone call he tried to make while in ford's body that was described in tbob).

to put it another way, imagine if wendy was basically an older, taller mabel, or if any of mabel's crushes were eerily similar to dipper. people in the fandom would def take notice and view it as a little strange. so i don't get how people can look at ford dating someone so blatantly and intentionally similar to stan and think to themselves "ah yes, this is normal. ford is completely Normal and definitely doesn't have any underlying issues whatsoever" lmao

to conclude: no, i don't think ford & stan's relationship is actually canonically romantic, nor do i think ford falling in love with bill was incestuous, necessarily.

but i do think that he had a desperate longing to reconcile with stan buried DEEEEEEP down, and it manifested itself in the form of being attracted to bill, which is probably why he never bothered correcting bill's use of the nickname "sixer" since their very first meeting, or ever expressed that it made him uncomfortable.

[momentomori24]

This may just be me, but I think if you ship a canonically very abusive, manipulative and toxic relationship, you don't get to judge or call anyone degenerates for their own fucked up ships, actually.

[twentyfoursevenelevatormusic]

Found a cool perspective position reference on Pinterest and since I've had mullet Stan on the brain this is what It turned into

I didn't nail the perspective and some parts look a bit weird but otherwise im pretty happy with it

[matrixbearer2024]

Fire and Flames

Related to this post here of the twins being unhinged in my time lord AU because frankly we need more content of these two being menaces to society- so yeah, have a moment of how brutal the twins could be and exactly why the multiverse should be wary of them.

That and well- traversing the multiverse and seeing all sorts of things could genuinely change somebody's perception of normal. This included.

Context: The Stan twins go after some hooligans that think setting people on fire is entertaining. A horrible painting of death and flames ensue.

The room reeked of gasoline, its pungent sting filling the air like a forewarning of the chaos to come. The stench clung to everything— the walls, the floor, my skin— as if the very molecules of the room knew what was about to transpire. I stood over them, these pathetic creatures, crumpled in their misery at my feet. They whimpered and squirmed, drenched and beaten, their arrogance drained alongside the cheap plastic water pistols I’d so carelessly discarded moments ago. Their misery didn’t inspire pity; no, it awakened something far darker. Something barely restrained, coiled like a viper ready to strike.

The thought made me laugh. Two frail old men, was it? Easy targets, just another set of wandering fools to torment for entertainment. That’s what they thought. That’s what they all thought. And yet here they were— broken, bleeding, drenched in their own fear, and begging for mercy they would never receive.

I shifted, sneakers scuffing against the grime-ridden floor as I tilted my head to the side, watching their trembling forms with clinical curiosity. The gasoline glistened on their skin, catching the dim light as if mocking them with its inevitability. They had doused themselves in sin, and I was merely the one to light the match.

“I trust you still have your lighter?”

I asked, voice smooth but brimming with anticipation. The words rolled off my tongue like silk, but the smirk tugging at my lips betrayed the storm brewing beneath my calm facade.

Stanley didn’t even need to reply; the wicked gleam in his eye said everything. That familiar little tin box danced between his fingers, its edges worn from years of habit, its crude engraving catching the faint glint of light. I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of his eagerness— barely restrained, barely hidden, just as it always was when we found ourselves in these situations. My twin, my partner, my balance. He wanted this as much as I did, and gods help me, that knowledge was as intoxicating as it was empowering.

“Oh, c’mon,”

He said, his voice thick with amusement,

“did ya really have to ask?”

The lighter stopped its twirling, coming to rest in his open palm like an offering. A ritual, sacred in its own twisted way. This was our unspoken agreement— our unholy dance. Lee might bring the tools, he might observe, but he’d never soil his hands with the final act. He left that to me, and I was all too eager to bear the weight of it. The one untainted thing I could preserve in this bloody, merciless life was him. Even if the flames reflected in his eyes betrayed just how deeply he wanted to watch the deepest darkest pits of the world burn.

I took the lighter with a reverence that felt almost ceremonial. My fingers brushed his for the briefest moment, and I felt the unspoken understanding pass between us. He didn’t need to say a word, but I knew he approved. He always did. My chuckle rumbled low in my chest, a sound that felt like the prelude to an orchestra. Below me, the delinquents writhed, their pathetic pleas rising into a crescendo that only fueled the fire building inside me.

Burning helpless people for fun, was it? Well, let’s see how it feels when the tables turn.

The flick of the lighter was sharp, decisive, a beacon of warmth and destruction. The flame sprang to life, small yet mighty, and I couldn’t help but stare for a moment, mesmerized by its simplicity. Such a small thing, and yet it held the power to consume. To purify. To destroy. My smile widened, slow and deliberate, as I turned my gaze back to the quivering bodies at my feet.

“Burn, baby, burn~”

I murmured, my voice laced with a sing-song cruelty as I tossed that little tin box without hesitation.

The gasoline caught instantly, the fire roaring to life with a hunger that matched my own. The screams that followed were exquisite— raw, primal, and symphonic in their agony. They clawed at the air, desperate and futile, as the flames consumed everything they thought they were. It was justice in its purest, most visceral form, and I reveled in it. This was not mercy; this was a reckoning.

Beside me, Stanley watched, his expression alight with a satisfaction that mirrored my own. His grin was sharp, feral, and the faint reflection of the flames in his eyes made him look almost otherworldly. He didn’t say anything, but the way he stood— shoulders square, head tilted just slightly— told me everything. He didn’t regret this. Neither of us did.

The fire roared, the heat licking at my skin as I stepped back, giving the flames their space to work. My pulse thrummed in my ears, adrenaline coursing through me like a live wire. This wasn’t just vengeance; this was art. And as the last of the screams faded into crackling embers and ash, I couldn’t help but feel... satisfied.

“Looks like we’re done here.”

I said, my voice calm despite the chaos surrounding us. I turned to my brother, whose grin hadn’t faltered for a second. He simply nodded, the lighter now back in his pocket, a fitting end to our symphony of flames.

And with that, we walked away, leaving the fire to burn away the filth, to turn their sins to smoke. Two frail old men, was it?

Oh, how wrong they were.

I hope you enjoy this little thing, comment or like if you want to see more of this or of the AU in general!

[sixerstanley]

hey. you got any good stancest fic recs? 👀 i trust your opinion over any other stancest blog rn

!!!!!!

Omg, that is so so sweet????? I'm not sure what I did to earn that trust, but thank you!!!

Okay, here are some of my favs, but I'm still making my way through the tag!!

What We Used To Be - By fractured_hourglass (M)

Here's one of the fics I first read when I got into stancest, it broke into my home and tore my heart apart with its angst but it was so GOOD???? SO fucking good, great angst, spectacular writing and characterization. It takes place between stanchurian candidate and last mabelcorn, so don't expect a happy ending in the first part, BUT it's insanely good. The summary is that Stan and Ford are trying to learn to live together again, but they keep fighting, and implications that they were something more...makes everything worse. And when Jimmy Snakes, an old fling of Stan's is back in town, Ford gets more and more irritable until shit hits the fan. There is also a part 2 now that wraps everything up nicely!

Any Way You Want It - By Pandame (E)

An untraditional A/B/O fic that is deliciously hot. Ford comes out of the portal...different.

Miss Missing You - By theywerefireworks (E)

A fic post weirdmageddon where Ford tries to make Stan remember their shared memories together--even if they aren't all that pretty.

Oral Communication - by fishingboatblues (E)

Stan starts leaving notes in code, leaving Ford to decipher them.

Sweet Dreams and Glacier's Rock - by Frondere (E)

The twins take a trip, and there's only one bed 👀

everything you feel is good - by businessboyjared (E)

A delightful pwp where Ford walks in on Stan watching porn. What happens next will shock you.

TV Remotes and Ice-Cream - by wubdub_redux (G)

A really sweet fluffy fic about Stan being awkward about his feelings, but luckily Ford is really dense.

And last, but CERTAINLY not least, a fic I'm still reading right now and it's in progress but is SO good:

many dreams come true, and some have silver linings - by GoodbyeBabylon (E)

This fic is just. Chefs kiss. It's so well done. It's the pining Stancest fic I have yearned for, where they are OLD and PINING and STILL have trouble communicating. It's so so good guys. Highly recommend.

And there you have it!! There are probably some I'm forgetting, and like I said I'm still going through the tag, but please enjoy! :D

[cartoonsinthemorning]

i wasn't sure if constance was a tomboy or not! i still love that she's very feminine i think it does fit stan as a general character to be loud and proud about however hes presenting himself (makes it easier to ignore/run from their actual insecurities/issues)

i loooove the idea of her forging documents to become ford's wife though god stan WOULD and im grinning just imagining the aneurysm ford would have when he eventually finds out (and i saw your tag on the answered ask and im on my hands and knees begging for 60s constance)

im kind of glad to know that deep down ford does have faith in his sister's capability. i think its very fitting he would be burying that quite a bit. all of his need of being the smart one, the successful one, and now the eldest son who takes care of his little sister - i can see how it would grate at him to see constance excelling without him. its easier for him to pretend its all just the usual misogynistic reasonings (especially because its a reason everyone else will gladly back him up on) than have to acknowledge that stan never really needed him. he always just needed her

-🐶 (and yes thats my little sign off lol. im too shy to make a blog for stancest stuff but i poke around on the tumblr community enough i felt like i should start connecting the asks i send to people)

Hello 🐶! Thank you so much for enjoying my previous answer, for chatting, and egging me on lol, it's a lot of fun! ❤ Sorry for taking so long to reply, but I could never find the time to finish the 60s Constance- up until now at least! I hope you like her.

(I may rework some details, later, but for now I don't mind how she turned out).

[obsessingoveroldmen3]

Hey guess what

Tags:

post weirdmageddon for post weirdmageddon stancest

pre weirdmageddon for pre weirdmageddon stancest

30s stans for pre portal stancest

teen stans for teenager stancest

little babies stans for shota stancest

Hi I'm Sam and my blog literally just got deleted again

I gen don't know if someone's reporting me or if I'm gen doing something wrong but. Hhh

Some of my art. Ig

[cartoonsinthemorning]

OH MY GOOOODD I'm afraid I can't wait to comment on AO3, I have to gush right away. And it's hard as hell to write a coherent commentary, because this fic is so good it makes my head spin, but fuckit, we ball, I'm gonna do my best. I am AMAZED at the controlled chaos of this work. Stan and Ford as messy as fuck- their violent fights during sex make every sequence very unpredictable, super exciting and immersive. You feel their tension, their confusion, their blinding rage, wondering what will happen next, as lost as they are. BUT at the same time, you created a BEAUTIFUL and brilliantly coherent sequence: the story begins with Stanford fading in and out of consciousness- still lost in his world of anger, illusions, mistrust. But things gradually change. It's unnoticeable, almost, because Ford's desire seems fueled by his resentment only. But the more he clings to Stan's body, hears his voice, feels him around him, the more his minds open up. When Ford kisses Stan, I'd say it's the moment the spell of unreality and paranoia Ford is under, is breaking, thanks to Stan. And the final scene, when it's clear Stan's presence, all around Ford, is grounding him back to reality, it's when Ford is aware of it himself, fully. Jesus Christ, that ending where he's hopeful again. He's not alone anymore, Stan is there and together, they can do the unthinkable. WHAT I'm trying to say is: The hate-sex was explosive, searing hot, and the anger felt absolutely genuine, and yet, somehow, in a relatively short work, you managed to seamless frame it all in the most romantic, narratively satisfying structure imaginable. And. And. Knowing this GORGEOUS piece was, in part, inspired by my drawing, makes me so insanely happy, it's hard to wrap my mind around it. The fact you left the drawing intact, in your story, describing as it is- Stan falling asleep, with his socks still on, while Ford, wide awake, wide-eyed, contemplates what happened- is magical to me, and unbearably flattering. Thank you so much Trucky. Aaaahhhh fuck, I'm so emotional, I want to punch a wall OTL Btw, Anon, idk if you'll ever read this, but thank you so much too! I'm so happy my work inspired you, to the point you wrote your own expansion about it, and shared it with an author you love. That's very heartwarming to me. There's a myriad of specific lines and moments in this fic that deserve their own compliments and mentions, but for now I'll stop being insane, and save them for the comment section on AO3. Thank you again!! MWAH MWAH

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[smiley-mcdoggington]

obseeeeessed with all of your omegaverse stuff lately!! it's so good and i love your approach to it all! and i saw your tags for your recent post about how it made you think of alpha/alpha stancest, and i'm just sayin that if you wanted to share those thoughts....👀???

OMFG HIIII I'VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH YOUR BLOG FOR MONTHS--

ALPHA/ALPHA THOUGHTS ABSOLUTELY I HAVE SO MANY ASJFNSIDBEKJDNEKSNX

- Ford is kind of pompous like 'Oh I'm not gonna be like those Other Teenagers that acts like an animal because of their secondary gender I'm above that'. First day he presents he attacks his father for saying he stinks. He's not above anything.

- Stan presents like half a week later same as my o/o fic because he's the younger twin, Filbrick isn't nearly as nice to let him get a swing in before he locks him in the bathroom until he stops clawing at the door like a feral cat.

- Caryn's behavior Changes around them when they present, she takes a back seat completely because shes afraid of alphas in general.

- Heats and Ruts both make the person super touch starved and lonely, it isn't long before Ford and Stan have figured out they can yell at eachother through the vents. Filbrick gets pissed at that though because you can hear them yelling from the shop so he just grabs Stan by the shirt and drags him into his room with Ford like "There! You wanna talk so bad, talk all you want!" and slams and locks the door.

- Filbrick knows what's gonna happen, Stan and Ford are sitting in eachothers' stink and suddenly everything they're doing is pissing eachother off. Ford says that aggression is a symptom and as long as Stan stays on his side of the room they'll be fine. Except both of them break this rule immediately because they wanna be closer to another body. Ford blames Stan, Stan blames Ford, they start fighting and-- Oh. OH THAT'S NOT FIGHTING--

- The way they were fighting from the start was weird through, Stanley was angry, Ford thought he would be just as feral as he was but. Stan isn't hitting him really, even though he's a good boxer. He's just kinda... Pulling Ford closer??? Not even to a point Ford can't get out of it, and Ford Knows if Stan wanted to restrain him he probably could. But Stan's just... Not. Not going further than Ford can handle, not hurting him, just touching him. Ford isn't the honorable type though so he's not all 'he's going easy on be because he thinks I'm weak' because Ford Knows He's Weak but Stanley is a stupid, rutting alpha and he's holding himself back for Ford. He wasn't holding back with Filbrick, he wasn't holding back with anyone. Just Stanford.

- Ford decides to test this out by doing what his momma taught him and lying. Stanley yanks Ford's arm and Ford winces. Stan immediately stops, starts making tiny whines and pulling at his shirt to check on his shoulder while asking what hurts. Ford pulls him closer because it gives them both the contact they've wanted and 'really, knucklehead, we could have skipped the fighting and gone straight to this' as if he wasn't half the problem

- Ford and Stan touch angry boners 😔

- Ford and Stan are both still breathing in other alpha which is making them adgitated so the cuddles don't go nearly as smoothly. Stan says Ford is too boney, Ford says Stan is too heavy, Stan lets Ford pin him and start biting the hell out of his tits while Stan pulls his hair and claws at his back

- they're so grounded when they're done rutting but for now they're tearing the shit out of their mattress and eachother

[gravityfalls-ficathon]

And know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right (Can I try again?)

@las-lus has published the 4th work in our event! With still 5 weeks to go, there is plenty of time to check the fics out and create your own! Check our pinned for more information!

And if you read this fic, please don't forget to leave a kudo and a comment!

And know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right (Can I try again?) (1872 words) by Laslus Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines Additional Tags: First Kiss, Getting Together, Sibling Incest, childhood crush, Pining, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, but boy they spend 50 years thinking it is, Smart Stan Pines, Physics Series: Part 1 of Stancest Summary: “You know quantum field theory.” “Yes? I mean, I kind of had to, your stupid machine needed it. I swear, I felt like I was going insane when I started learning that crap.” Ford blinked at him before taking a step forward. On the back of his mind, he could hear a faint noise telling him to stop moving, telling him he shouldn’t, but everywhere else on his brain was just Ford casually correcting him, shirt riding up his belly, coffee on his lips. He kissed him before he could form any other thought. Or Stan and Ford pine for 50 years. Pun intended.

[gilf-connoisseur]

That post has only one tag. Stancest. The pole was in the middle of an empty field, but they still managed to crash into it. Some antis need to learn about blocking tags they don't like.

[gabriels-lollipop]

Honestly as someone who has taboo ships I gotta wonder too. Like why only separate fanon/canon when it’s dubious tags???

I find it very interesting that antis are usually preoccupied with the shipping part of fandom. You'll see fics and artwork that details torture and gore with "proship dni" on it. I'm not saying that those works don't deserve to exist, obviously they do, but I just find it interesting that antis tend to only have a problem when it comes to taboo relationships in fandom. If you're able to separate reality from fiction when it comes to violence, why not when it comes to romantic or sexual relations?