#either way knowing that ford owns a bright purple pineapple shirt and a pair of matching cheesy sunglasses

[femboyhorror]

it just occurred to me that this is an Outfit that Belongs to Ford (presumably) and so i needed to draw him in this funky pineapple shirt and sunglasses.

bonus edit: au where ford forgets to do his laundry before sending the post card out and so he greets stanley wearing this.

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again - Chapter 15

Whole Again on AO3

Mason opened his eyes and found himself on a giant puffy, amanita mushroom. At least, he thought it was; he didn’t think normal amanita’s quacked when you poked them. The blue grass stalks towering above him and covered with purple and red dew drops seemed to shield him from the sun. He saw the shadow of a bird pass over him; it was a feathery monstrosity. He was dreaming, that was obvious, but the context of his dream was unusual. He couldn’t see much else beyond his little clearing and the sky, which was a seafoam green with pink wisps of clouds like the artist had started to run out of pint. Where was he? He didn’t remember ever imagining anything like this before; nor had he seen anything like it recently.  

Aloud screech of excitement – from the only person such a screech could come from – echoed in the empty air.

“Mabel?” Mason squinted his eyes and tried to shield his face as he scanned the tree, er grassline.  

“Dipper!” His head snapped up a moment before he braced himself for the impact of his sister launching herself from wherever she had been overhead onto his perch. She landed heavily and caused the mushroom to let out a chorus of distressed quacks.  

“oof. Ow, Mabel, you’re heavy.” He winced, voice strained with the lack of adequate air. He tried to push her off, but the more he struggled, the more the mushroom top quacked and jiggled and he couldn’t gain any leverage.  

“Oopse, ok.” Mabel wasn't getting any leverage either, but it didn’t matter much when a set of butterfly wings began to unfurl from her back. They unraveled slowly, the thin webbing damp and dripping with a milky substance. A few drops landed on his face and rolled down his cheeks. It was weirdly sweet, like coffee creamer, and kind of tasted nutty. When her wings were outspread, she flapped them a few times, spraying the mushroom and Mason with more sticky nectar before she lifted off into the air.  

“Is this better?” She called, hovering about four feet (was it feet, or were they really small) above him. They were very fancy wings, having multiple sharp points and curves and embellishment tails that hindered rather than aided flight. In fact, she shouldn’t be able to fly at all. And not just because the wings wouldn’t support her weight.  

“How…how did you…oh, right, I’m dreaming.” Mason scratched at his head and tried again to stand on the mushroom. It let out a heave and a long-suffering quack as he got his footing. It was like that bouncy castle Mike in the third grade had at his birthday party. Mason an Mabel had gotten into a jumping contest…they were asked to leave when the thing sprung a leak. It was a lot less fun than he remembered.    

“Yup, but oh so wrong” Mabel sang from above him, and spread open her arms and rained glitter and small plush strawberries down on him. A particular large berry bounced off his nose; it smelled like baby wipes. Where were they, a weird form of Mabel Land? “I found him!”  

“Wait, what?” Mason had taken off Wendy’s hat to shake the glitter from it – and try to wipe away some of that nectar before it dried – when he hear rustling in the grass forest beyond.  

“FOUR!” The mystery voice was rough, gravel in a tin can rough, and he would know it anywhere. The yellow object flying directly at his head was certainly unfamiliar.  

“What!” Whatever it had been – Mason assumed it used to be a tangy and creamy fruit – was now splattered across his face and shirt, staining the material a bright yellow as the pulp dripped off. He had only a passing moment to be upset when another fruit came out of the grassline and hit Mable. She seemed far less agitated at the mess it caused, instead laughing and crying out in exuberance at the two figures materializing at the edge of the clearing.

Stanley and Stanford Pines stood in all their seafaring glory. Stan wore a white t-shirt and faded jeans that looked as salt encrusted as his boots. He had on a tan trench coat, a read beanie and a pair of palm tree novelty sunglasses. Stan was smiling wide enough, Mason was sure his face was starting to hurt. Ford, however, was not smiling. In fact, if Mason was not mistaken, Ford looked down right livid, face pinched as though he was barely holding back the urge to scream at someone. Ford wore a blue sweater embossed with gold letters that spelled out ‘Nerdy’, brown trousers and stained boots, and a replica of the fishing hats Stan had sewn for Mason and Mabel; it read ‘Sixy’.

“Gr-grunkel Stan? Great Uncle Ford?” What in the heck was he dreaming. His dreams were never this lucid, even when he wanted them to be. He had spent a large part of the summer angry at his own brain that every time he dreamed of kissing Wendy, her face was foggy and blurry and it felt like he was moving through water. He knew when he was dreaming – usually – and this was way too real. It was almost like going into someone’s mi-

“Hey, he finally caught on. It only took Mable a few seconds. Ah well, guess some of us have to overthink things, huh Poindexter.” Stan flipped off the fishing hat so it hung around Ford’s neck and tousled Ford’s hair. Ford angrily pushing Stan’s arm away and flattening out his now pillow quality poof. Mason really should ask him how he keeps his hair that, well, voluminous. He suspected his uncle used a lot of hair gel, or hair spray. He did always have a distinctly chemical smell about him, but Mason always assumed it was due to Ford’s various experiments. Maybe he was a closet fashion aficionado?        

“Merry Christmas!...eve.” Stan spouted, faltering a bit at his correction but still keeping his signature Mr. Mystery grin. He knelt and spread his arms wide, expecting the twins to charge forwards and hug him. Mason carefully slid off the amanita to the ground, Mabel flapped her wings a few times and landed beside him. The twins looked at each other with concern; Mabel was no longer grinning and Mason was chewing the inside of his cheek. Stan’s arms drooped, a melancholy sigh escaping his lips to wrap around his form.

“Alright, alright. I can understand that. They are a bit tacky anyway.” Stan ran a few fingers up his cheek and hook into the hinge of his novelty glasses. With a flourish, he whips them off, revealing his normal glasses overtop deep brown eyes wit round pupils. Only then do the twins rush forwards.

“Grunkle Stan!” They shout in unison, each hanging off one of Stan’s arms. He smelled like salt water and a bit like fish, but neither one cared enough to be bothered. Stan wrapped one arm around each of them, one hand coming up to tangle in Mabel’s hair and the other nearly knocking off Wendy’s hat. Mason felt his cheek press into the fur and cold metal peeking out from Stan’s low shirt collar. It tickled his nose and the chain links were going to leave an impression in his face, but for the moment, everything was right.      

“This is hardy appropriate.” Que Mr. Grumpy Pants, Great Uncle Ford to spoil the moment. Stan let go of the twins and stood slowly, using Mason’s shoulder for leverage and nearly knocking him over. So, Stan got a lot stronger.

“Aw, common Poindexter, we’re in the middle o’the Bermuda Triangle. How else am I gonna get them their presents?” Mason recovered from his stumble and turned to look at Ford, who looked just as irritated as he had before, perhaps with a hint of deep seeded weariness. He rubbed heatedly at his eyes, six fingers pushing his glasses up to his brow. Even though he could probably change his appearance in the mindscape – Mable had been slowly changing her seater color during their exchange, it now sported a pineapple pattern – Ford looked tired. And not the ‘I need sleep because I stayed up too long working’ kind of tired, either.

“Bill, stop it.” Ford’s snap made both kids jump. Mable’s eyes darted back to Stan’s. They were still brown, but now they swam with unshed grief and shame.  

“Aw jeeze. Look, can ya, just this once, call me ‘Stan’? For them?” Stan gestured to the two twins with his open palms. It was Stan, though. His eyes were normal. So even if Mabel and Mason were wrong and it was Bill, he wasn't the one in control now…right? This was Stan. Out of all the things they had learned about Bill, the only consistency was his inability to change his eyes. Mason trusted him. Mostly. Maybe not completely, at least, not if his sister could get hurt. Mason’s eyes snapped to double check that Stan’s eyes were indeed still brown. They were.

Ford looked back and forth between the two teens in front of him and sighed. He couldn’t deny them anything, not when they were this close – even if it was just a mental projection. Ford, too, knelt and embraced the two kinds that had launched themselves at him. Ford’s sweater was soft, and his hug tighter. Mason felt his back pop and hear Mable let out a muffled squeak of protest, but Ford just squeezed them tighter. Ford held them for an awkwardly long time, long enough for Mabel – who LOVES long hugs – to get bored and start tracing the letters on Ford’s sweater. Their uncle needed this. Mason didn’t know why or what was going on in Ford’s head, but it was obvious he needed to make sure they were okay. So, they obliged him.  

“This was kinda a present for you too, ya know.” Stan mumbled, hand rubbing at the back of his neck where the hair had grown to cover it. It wasn't quite long enough to be considered a mullet, but it covered his neck and stopped maybe an inch before his shoulders. He avoided making eye contact directly, but he never turned away so that they couldn’t see his face. It made it easy to notice the slight blush creeping up his face.

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” Ford muttered into Mabel’s hair before letting them go, finally. His hands lingered on their backs, though, each set of six fingers toying with the cotton fabric. It was really weird how tactile it was in the mindscape. Everything here was just a mental projection of what was – and often what wasn’t – in the real world, but it all felt real.  

“I know, I’m gonna sleep for a day after this, but it’s worth it.” Stan just deflected with a grin and a laugh. Mason didn’t care if any of their hypotheses were right, there was no way that Stan Pines was not standing in front of him. He placed his hand on his shoulder, over Ford’s, and leaned into Ford’s arm. Mabel let go of Ford and bounded over to Stan, climbing up his torso to hang from his bicep like an overgrown monkey. She even swung back and forth, losing her wings in favor of a prehensile tail. Mason felt Ford’s grip tighten painfully, his nails leaving six grooves in Mason’s shoulder. Mason winced, but Ford let go when Stan hurriedly gathered Mable and set her back down on the ground. Stan took an obvious step back to distance himself, eyes fearfully darting to Ford.

“Common you two. Wh-where do you want to go?” Stan had recovered, but only just; his voice wavered and now carried a tinge of anxiety.

“What do you mean?” Mason interjected in an attempt to break the tension that has enveloped the clearing.

“Your Christmas present. Anywhere you want to go. Anywhere! All ya gotta do it tell me. I can’t read yer minds right now, too much energy goin’ inta keepin’ all our minds connected.” Stan explained with a dismissive wave of his hand, glossing over the specifics of how exactly he was able to do what he was doing. In fact, he didn’t bother explaining much of anything; he knew that Ford had told the kids everything – well, not everything, but everything important anyway.

“Anywhere?” Mable squealed, head already filling with all the possibilities of kittens and ice cream baby fighting.  

“Anywhere.” Stan countered. Anywhere they wanted to go. No limits. Well, heck, then where should they go first? Mason started towards Stan and Mabel met him halfway. They put their heads together, whispering and glancing over their shoulders occasionally to look at Stan or Ford. Stan pulled at his collar a bit, suddenly feeling nervous about the twins conspiring together. Ford was fairing no better, still gathering himself after the horrid recreation of his nightmare. The one that nearly broke him. The one that would have broken him if Bi-Sta…he hadn’t muted it. He wasn’t stupid, and had picked up on Ford’s anxiety immediately. Stanford prided himself on his ability to control his fear, but the kids were a whole different matter. He would always be fearful for them. Always.

It grew eerily silent, save for the breeze rubbing the grass blades together. The younger Pines twins had stopped talking and were now glancing back and forth between their Grunkles. Neither Stan, nor Ford had yet noticed, too wrapped up in their own heads. The twins glanced at each other and nodded, Mabel clearing her throat to gain attention.

“Decided yet?” Stan asked nervously. He wanted to get this thing started, he wanted to distract himself entertaining the kids, he wanted Ford to stop being so uptight; they were in the mindscape, there wasn't anything he could actually do to anyone here, even if he wanted to. It was talking nearly all of his concentration to make sure they were all on the same wavelength. He didn’t even think he could alter memories at this point, again, not that he wanted to. He wanted to show his brother that he wasn't going to hurt the kids, that he wasn’t going to hurt Ford, that he just wanted them to be happy, together.

“Animation Land Studios World!” Mabel’s shout might’ve actually shook the ground. Stan cocked his head at the unexpected request. Anywhere in time and space, anywhere in existence, even other dimensions, and the kids wanted to go to an amusement park. Albeit a very expensive and world renown one that most people sat on a waiting list of nearly five years to get a ticket, but still, an amusement park.

“Ok, you want the whole thing? ‘Cause that might take a while, that place had got more square acreage than the forest around Gravity Falls.” Not that he couldn’t do it, just, they might get to the edge and it might take some extra time to load. Real life lag. Or, ya’know, close enough.  

“Actually, we just want the Lightning Zapper Thrill Seeker. Mabel and I have always wanted to see if we could handle it. It’s supposed to go like 0 to 80 in eight seconds.” Both kids were giddy.

“A competition, eh? I suppose I could oblige ya. And ya can’t have a park without extra greasy and covered in sugar carnival food! Alright! I think I got it!” he said, cracking his knuckles.  

Stan clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together. He adjusted his posture, standing tall. His face closed, intense, and focused. In a few short moments, there was a stranger standing in front of them wearing Stan’s skin. He looked, well, like one of the guys on Mabel’s romance novels. It was freaky how just a subtle change could make such a huge difference. Stan sighed, faltered, and grimaced.

“Ah, kids, um…Ya, ya’know what happens, when I, ya’know, do stuff, right? I know Ford’s told ya, but, well, I know ya haven’t seen it fer yourselves yet. And, I didn’t wanna freak ya out, or nothin’.”  

Mable frowned. They knew, but Stan was right, seeing it in person (well, close enough) was something else entirely. Mason brushed the back of Mable’s hand with his own and she took the hint, interlacing their fingers loosely. Their heard Ford step up behind them.

“It’s ok. We know. Thanks for the warning though.” Mason nodded in agreement.

Stan sighed again, air pushed out between puckered lips as he closed his eyes and steadied himself. They waited a beat, then two. The ground began shifting, the dirt and sand grains vibrating away as asphalt rose from below. The giant grass and mushrooms faded in an out of clarity, pulsating out of existence. Stan’s eyes snapped open, they were bright yellow, elongated pupils. Mason felt Mable’s hand cling tighter to his; Ford bracing both teens with a hand to their backs.

It was different in person. So much different. Mason’s subconscious was screaming at his to ‘Run, get out, get away!’, but he held his ground. Mable and Ford helping to ground him. It was Bill. Except, it wasn't, and as the scenery changed around them, Stan’ eyes changed too. With every blink his eyes grew white, irises forming and pupils curving into perfect circles. With the last blink, the last trace of yellow, the ground stopped vibrating and they stood in the middle of Animation Land Studios World, right at the start of the line the eighth wonder of the world itself; The Lightning Zapper Thrill Seeker, the world’s fastest and tallest roller coaster.

The shock from seeing Stan perform magic wore off quick a Mason and Mabel jumped up and down and raced to the front of the line. Why, not, there was no one here, not even park attendants. Stan wobbled in place a moment before regaining his balance.

“Hey, wait up!”

The twins paused climbing into the front seat of the coaster to see a young boy, maybe their age – maybe a year or two younger – wearing a red and white striped shirt and jeans ripped at the knee. His left cheek sporting a band-aid, and a missing tooth. He jogged up to the twins and took a seat behind them, shouting, “Hey Poindexter, you gonna sit this one out?”

Ford muttered something that was lost to the distance between them and started a much slower and dignified pace to the coaster.

“Oh, come on, old timer! You can change. Or at least run!” The boy shouted at Ford, who continued his slow pace. The boy sighed, turning to the twins and mumbling, “Older brothers, right?”

The twins blinked in unison. “Stan?” Mable uttered the question Mason was having trouble articulating.

“The very same. Who’d’ya think it was?” The now confirmed Stan put out his hand ready to offer a greeting. “Heya.” Mason frowned this time, eyeing the child hand that started to flicker with blue fire. Stan shook his hand and arm to put out the flames and tucked them behind his head. “Yeah, well, we know each other already, so no introductions needed. ‘Bout time!”

Ford had just stepped up beside the stationary carts, arms crossed disapprovingly at Stan’s choice of form. After a few tense moments of the older twins eyeing each other, Ford stepped onto the coater beside Stan and flipped the safety bar down.

“Woohoo! Alright, let’s get this party started!” With a wave and blink, the safety harnesses slid and clicked into place and the bars dropped down. Mason and Mable were jittery and practically vibrating in their seats. The carts jolted and began the slow assertion to the top. A click every second, the cart shuttering every three seconds, the ground slowly fading away below them. Stan was starting to have second thoughts about this. He wasn’t completely cured of his fear of heights. The higher they went, the lighter and lighter his head felt. Every moment it seemed like they would stop, but it kept going, higher and higher and higher. Stan kept moving the clouds higher to make it seem like it was shorter than it was, but Mabel was too strong and materialized an airplane flying below their point on the ramp. Stan gulped and grabbed at Ford’s hand instinctively. Ford raised and eyebrow at the contact, but had no time to react. They crested the top and paused, the carts teetering on the precipice. All four held their breath as the front carts tipped forwards.

Mason was wrong.

It hadn’t gotten to 80 miles per hour in eight seconds.

It did it in four.

They slowed down a bit in the corkscrew, but gained momentum in the curve before the tunnel.

Wendy’s hat had grown hands and clung to Mason’s head like a cat to the ceiling.

Mabel’s hair wrapped itself into a tight braid to keep from catching.

Ford squeezed Stan’s hand and kept his eyes closed save for a few scant moments when they went upsidedown.

Stan could not actually lose his lunch, for multiple reasons, but his body felt like it was trying.

When they finally pulled back into the station and the cart slowed and stopped with a jerk, Stan let go of Ford’s hand.

Stan was heaving and swallowing down the urge to vomit.

Ford was staring at the underside of the station roof, trying to quell the sudden onset of dizziness. The twins were distressingly quiet. The next words uttered almost made Stan want to cry.  

“Again!” Mason and Mable called out in unison.

“NO!” Both brothers called out, but their pleas were ignored and the cart left the station.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They rode the thing three times. Ford would refuse to ride another roller coaster ever again and Stan was feeling uneasy about the spinning coffee mugs ride. Stan didn’t want to be the ‘Old Foggie’, but he sat out of some of the more ‘high energy’ rides. They got hot dogs and corndogs and Stan and Mabel shared an elephant ear and got into an argument over whether it was called an aforementioned elephant ear or fried dough. Either way, they got cinnamon and sugar everywhere and Mason suggested the Splash Zone as the next ride.

Ford’s fluffy hair did not survive the Splash Zone.

Upon Mabel’s request, and Mason’s shy additions, Ford reluctantly changed form, sporting a white t-shirt, patched bomber jacket and corduroy pants. It was easy to keep up with the kids after that. He even had fun on the spinning swings.  

They wound up at the games corner and Mable was hitting bullseye after bullseye and winning prize after prize. The twins each hat a pair of inflatable, oversized boxing gloves and were playfully punching at one another. Ford had a balloon animal hat sitting atop his head and carried something that looked like a hamster in a business suit. Stan was collecting a bear with fairy wings and wand from the counter when Ford mentioned Dimension F-98/β.

It was a dimension where, instead of humans, all types of animals had evolved and gained sentience, built communities, cities and metropolitans, all living and working together. Mabel jumped at the chance to see it, Mason not far behind. With a few ground rumbles and eye blinks, they were standing in the main square of the major metropolitan city.  It was almost like New York Times Square if it had more curved architecture, more bright colors and more greenery. Plants of all types hung from the windows of the buildings and trees grew along the sidewalks. Animals of all different sizes walked or drove or rode variations of bicycles up and down the busy streets. Mable was frantic and followed behind each creature as it passed, imitating them to the best of her ability. A giraffe skateboarding, a water buffalo body builder, tiny gerbil business men, a gecko delivery boy, a duck couple corralling their eight ducklings, a snake zig-zagging his way through the feet of other animals and clutching a briefcase by his tail, frog men being bussed in as tourists and communicating via some language that consisted of more vowel sounds than there ought to be.

Mabel’s antics had Stan and Mason nearly rolling, even Ford found it in himself to smile. They located a city directory and Ford explained the layout of the city. Each district was divided based on climate and the sub-districts based on the major populace; savanna, arctic, rainforest, dessert, and a centralized urban area for non-specialized animals. Sub-districts in each major district were specialized for size and species differences. The rain forest district had a large area to the north reserved for insects and amphibians; the city and structures being built to accommodate tiny insect families. Suburbs lied to the outskirts for community based species like rodents and baboons, and the tops of the buldings were covered in trees and greenery and perches for the flight bird population. The ocean held another entire civilization, with fish and sea-bound mammals as the core populace. Coral reefs acted as telecommunication lines with one coral polyp sending a message to the next polyp down the line.

They used the tube system to travel to each of the major districts. They swung on vines in the rainforest, getting soaked in the process and dried off in the hot desert district. Mason and Mabel got into a sand fight and ran with a group of camel joggers that were eager to talk to the twins. Stan shoved a handful of sand down Ford’s shirt while he was distracted watching the kids. Stan paid for it when all three built him into a snowman in the polar district as a group of teenage penguins watched and laughed. They left his eyes and nose clear of snow, but shoved a carrot in his mouth to act as the snowman’s nose. Some passing snow leopard snapped a picture and they made it into the paper. The transit to the savanna district was closed for gazelle migration.    

They stopped in to talk to the mayor, a capybara by the name of Richard Waterhog, whom Ford had the pleasure of befriending when he had traveled through. Dream or not, it was proper to visit old friends, especially ones that pardoned you for stealing bananas. He’d been so hungry, and hunting was out of the question in a world where animals were sentient.

It was so strangely real that Ford wondered if Bill had tapped into Richard’s mindscape too, but once the mayor agreed to let Mable ride him like a horse, he knew it was a dream. Richard detested walking upon his front appendages, he was dignified after all. Well, he was until he had a few drinks anyway. Ford remembered the founder’s festival less than fondly. After three rounds, Richard turned into a raging flirt and had suggestively asked Ford to ride him. Ford had sputtered and politely refused, desperately citing the difference in their species would make copulation difficult if not impossible. Richard had laughed it off and bought Ford another drink that smelled of timothy hay.  

Ford could feel Stan giving him a hairy eyeball look after remembering his interactions with Richard, and he refused to answer Mason’s questions as to why he was blushing. Richard had insisted on a rather overly friendly hug from Ford as they left, and there was no doubt that it was Bill’s doing. Can’t read our minds, my ass!

Stan was barely keeping it together, face contorting every which way to not laugh, and Mable gave him a thumbs-up and a look she was way, way too young to be throwing him. He was never going to live this down. When Mabel tried to engage him in conversation “Hey Grunkle Ford, that Guinea Pig guy seemed to really like you”, Ford immediately changed the subject and started discussing the complexities of building a civilization underwater with Mason. Mable and Stan shared a quiet chuckle at Ford’s red face; Mason noticed, but decided his uncle’s business was private.

It wasn't long after that both younger twins expressed a desire to explore an underwater city, so another few blinks and they were on Elcoris 4, a planet in dimension A412 that was 90% water and the denizens had adapted to building underwater. They were humanoid with pale blue, speckled skin, webbing between their fingers, toes and attached to their arms and legs. They communicated via sonar, but could speak above water. A few flicks of Stan’s wrist and the four of them each had a bubble of air around their heads and flippers attached to their feet.

They swam in and out of buildings, kelp forests and into the drop-off of the continental shelf. Their guide, a man whose name Stan didn’t like and had instead called Drew, warned them of the drop-off and the potential for sea serpents. He warned that the deeper they went in the planet, the larger and more aggressive the monsters became, warning that if they went too deep, they would find a lava lake with a fire breathing dragon.

So, naturally, Stan gave them all depth suits and they went off searching for sea monsters. And sea monsters they found. In the darkness they came across a serpent like thing with bioluminescent jelly like tentacles protruding from its head, the mouth just a hole with concentric rows of teeth. They found a squid-like creature with pincers instead of tentacles. Mason spotted what looked like a cow in the distance then turned out to be a jelly blob that could turn into anything, save for a few differences like a badly made knock-off.

They made it to the lave lake, and saw the fire – rather superheated plasma as the water was not conducive to fire (but Ford wasn't going to hold that against a population that lived most of their lives underwater) – breathing sea dragon that was easily ten times their size. It was only slightly unexpected when Stan accidently teleported them back to the main city when the beast turned towards them. Nothing could hurt them here, it was a dream, but Stan’s protective nature was instinctual.

They spent the next hour discussing how something like that could survive down there with little to no food source and both twins again expressed desire to know about Ford’s multi-verse travels. He regained them with some of his tamer escapades such as the M-dimension and the time he got into a fight with a sofa and he, with great reluctance, showed the younger twins the ‘All-Star’ tattoo still on his neck even in a child form. He was careful to not mention his other markings.                      

At the end of the day – or night – the four found themselves on Glass Shard Beach. The iconic swing set from Stan’s mindscape was fixed, and had extended to accommodate four people. The dock in the distance bordered by both incarnations of the Stan O’War, and the StanleyMobile parked somewhere in the sand lot behind them.

The memories at the swings were so ingrained into each brother that they hadn’t realized they had changed until Mabel squealed in delight. Ford, startled and reaching for his side arm (that wasn't there) turned to Mable only to realize he now had to look down at her. Which, under usual circumstances was normal, but he had gotten used to being her height all day. Her eyes were wide and shining and her hands pressed into her cheeks. “Grunkle Ford! How come you never told us you were such a hottie!”

Ford sputtered, blushing for what seemed like the millionth time that day, and scratched at the back of his neck while avoiding eye contact. He was wearing the yellow v-neck from that night on the beach. Stan stood behind the younger twins wearing that damn white t-shirt, hair slicked back and acne scars. Stan just shrugged and mouthed ‘Sorry’ as he sat down on the swings. Mason turned in the sand and joined him, pausing only a moment to take in his uncle’s teenage form. Ford distracted Mable by promising to push her and they spent a good twenty minutes just laughing at how high she could get.

Mason and Stan got into a sand kicking contest and wound up losing their shoes in the process. They fell into play wrestling when Stan tried to give his nephew a noogie, over shot the lunge and landed in the sand with Mason sitting on his back.

This is what Stan wanted, all he ever wanted. He wondered if maybe he and Ford could find the fountain of youth somewhere and get some more time. More time to play with the kids, more time for days like this – when if they ever made it back to port – more time for games and stores, more time for them to be a family again. Stan lost all desire to put the boy in a head lock and instead gathered Mason up and hugged him tightly; sat in the sand and resting his back against the strut of the swing set. Ford had stopped pushing Mable to watch them, but now both he and Mable turned their attention to the sunset.

It was so achingly familiar, sitting in the evening air, feeling the bay breeze wash over them. Listening to the waves roll in, bringing in sand and cobbled to tumble the broken bottles into beautiful pieces of beach glass. They used to collect it for Ma, spending hours combing the fresh shards for that one smooth and polished piece. She made them into jewelry sometimes; Ford remembered Stan had been given one as a child that he wore proudly until some asshole kid called him a girl for wearing jewelry. Stan had always been…well, fighting himself in his pursuit to be manly.

Ford remembered Stan going through his wardrobe one day before the school year started and pulling out all of his favorite shirts – the ones he had to beg his parents for and who only relented because they were cheaper than anything else – and throwing them in a donation box. Pink, yellow, baby blue with little flowers embroidered on the collar, a purple one that said ‘free hugs’ (that was Stan’s favorite). They all went. It left him with not much else besides white t-shirts and a mustard yellow jacket. Stan had also tossed in the jewelry he had accumulated. The only thing he kept was a gold chain and pendant that Ford had bought for him; it was thick and heavy and was masculine enough for him to keep.

Pops had made some comments that week about the ‘Gays’ parading around in broad daylight. “They go around dressed like women, wearing make-up and hanging off each other like they ain’t committing sin. Like they ain’t sick.” Ford had seen Stan’s posture tense. The next day, he donated a bunch of old stuff to the shelter down the street, saying it was much too old to even try and re-sell in the shop. Ford, thankfully – though unfairly – never felt the need to do the same.             

He was jostled out of his depressed ruminating by Mabel standing from the swing he was holding onto and striding over the sand to reach Stan.

“I’m sorry.” She said, head hung low and voice full of remorse.

“What in the world for?” Stan nearly snapped, bewildered at the unprompted apology that seemed to come from nowhere. Mason, still sat in Stan’s lap frowned a moment before understanding dripped over his face like water. The boy took hold of Stan’s hand that was wrapped around his middle.

“I…I didn’t know if I could love you anymore. Knowing what you’ve done. But you did all this for us, even though you can’t be with us on Christmas. You didn’t have to, there was nothing in it for you, but you did it anyway because you love us.” Her eyes were wet now, and she was nearly pleading.

Ford felt Stan take hold of his mind while he poked and prodded at the memories of the younger twins. They saw the discussion between them, the theories, the fear, the guilt and the unknown. Could the kids still love Stan even if he was Bill?

“I wouldn’t say that. I got somthin’ out of it. I got to see you kids.” Stan shifted and knelt in front of Mabel, placing his hands on her shoulders to look her in the eye. He was Bill?

“I know things are…different now. I don’t blame you for feeling or thinking the way you did, or still do. I know I…scared you…before. I’m sorry.” Mason took one of Stan’s hands and squeezed. Stan was Bill?

“But hey, we can do this again, just give me a few weeks to rest, ok? This takes a lotta brain power.” Stan was BILL! How could Stanford have forgotten? This whole time? And Bill was taking control of his mind, their minds. This had to stop. NOW!  

“Bill, that’s enough!” Stanford’s words were like a blade slicing through the air.

Stan just looked at a spot above Mabel’s shoulder and sighed, the pain and sorrow dripping from his form. His hand fell limp and lifeless from Mabel’s shoulder, fingers catching on the sleeve of her sweater.  

“Yeah. Ok.” His eyes were downcast as he stood and took a step away from them. She could see he wanted to cry. Heck, she wanted to cry.

It was gradual, the change. His eyes glowed yellow again as he aged, like a movie and fast-forwards. It was hardly a ten count when the teen was left behind and the old and grizzled man that was their uncle stood before them. Grunkle Ford had changed as well, face pulled back into a look filled with anger and hate.

“Hey, it should be morning now. Should probably let you kids back, huh?” The beach was fading faster than they could process. They were falling, or being pulled away from the beach and their grunkles. Mabel looked back and saw a nightmare. Stan’s body contorted, growing in size, and taking on a triangular shape. Her vision blurred and he was jolting awake before she was able to register the voice that still haunted her dreams.

Was he Bill, or Stan? She thought she knew.  

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Chapter 1

[almasy-fics]

Retail Hell

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh Chapter: 1/? Rating: M (Subject to change) Warnings: Swearing, perving and aged up characters Pairing: Seto Kaiba/OFC Summary: Seto Kaiba has no choice but to shop for himself when his personal stylist ends up sick and ends up in a store named Dapper Gentleman Boutique. He's got the hots for the sales assistant.

Notes: A purely self indulgent piece of crap with added storyline!

AO3 Link Ko-Fi Link

Seto Kaiba had a personal stylist for a reason.

And this was it.

He had no idea what the hell he was looking at in this so called ‘Dapper Gentleman Boutique’, all the designer apparel was absolutely foreign to him. He knew the brand names of course, he wasn’t some sort of loser who just walked in off the streets, damn it, he was the richest CEO in all of Japan. Money was a mere object when it came to his clothing choices, he just would much prefer someone else to do the hard work for him.

How dare his stylist come down with pneumonia, stupid human immune systems.

It most certainly didn’t help that Mokuba was hot on his heels commenting on each and every item of clothing he saw…

“Look Seto, this Armani is bright green!”

“Look Seto, this Tom Ford has a hidden pocket for hip flasks!”

“Look Seto, I found a suit with pineapple print!”

“Look Seto, this one from a brand called Antons has people fucking on it.”

Wait what?

Huh, so it does.

He couldn’t find himself to scold Mokuba for swearing, when such a profanity was right in front of them clamoring all over the shirt in various positions. And oh would you look at that, they had both variations of same sex coitus on other shirts in this section, how inclusive.

“I think we’re in the wrong section Seto…”

To be honest, he was too concerned with attempting to shield Mokuba’s poor virgin eyes from the obscenely vulgar images before them to notice that a sales assistant had approached them, the aforementioned woman having to ask twice if they needed any assistance.

Seto appraised her before responding, eyeing her petite form before them. She was an obvious foreigner with her pale white skin, the waist high black pencil skirt accentuated her curves perfectly, noticing the way she stood tall in the black high heels she wore. Her ample breast size was accentuated by the deep purple long sleeved shirt she wore that was tucked into her skirt and she had the first three buttons undone to show a tasteful amount of cleavage. Several piercings were in her visible right ear and on her right nostril, glimmering in the natural light of the store. She adjusted her equally deep purple locks that were pinned to her left side whilst eyeing the brothers with apprehensive curiosity with her emerald green eyes behind wired spectacles. There was no doubt she knew who they were, he could just see it in the way she looked at them.

If he wasn’t so epically pissed off with his stylist right now, maybe he would have responded to this bombshell more politely.

“I’m fine.” He grunted, glowering down to her. Even with her high heels, she only came up to his chest, those extra five inches to her height not adding much. If she took those off and went down on her knees, maybe she could- No. Stop Seto! Down boy, bad! Do NOT sexualise the woman. Those shirts in front of them be damned, set them all alight. Burn the witch!

She raised an eyebrow.

“We need suits, please. Big brother’s stylist is sick so we don’t know what we need to get.” Responded Mokuba. Oh sweet little brother, always knowing when to take charge.

“Oh?” If she raised her eyebrow any higher he could have sworn she would have acquired a microphone out of nowhere and quote a certain superstar word for word.

But no one needs to know that he knows what the WWE is, and people definitely don’t need to know that he knows The Rock’s most popular catchphrase is ‘Do you smell what The Rock is cookin’?’

“Is there an occasion or is this business?” She asked. He had to give the woman credit, she was acting quite professional considering who exactly she was dealing with. Maybe he should throw her a bone to see how she reacts.

“My twenty-first.” He deadpanned. There, that was a good enough answer.

“And I am supposing we are wanting to steer clear from our exotic collection?” Their collective gazes made their way to the shirts they eyeballing before. Yes, definitely yes. The great Seto Kaiba would never been seen dead in one of those ludicrous things, even if the longer he looked at it, the absurd hilarity of the pattern did make the corners of his mouth shift slightly in amusement.

He just wouldn’t admit it.

“Yes please.” Answered Mokuba for him as he was inner monologuing yet again. He seemed to do that a lot in this store. Just another thing to blame his stupid sick stylist for.

Her plump red lips curved upwards, motioning behind her, “If you would just follow me, I will show you some more appropriate attire. Though to be honest, I do quite love our Antons collection. The store is based in Melbourne and we have an exclusive deal with them. We are the only place in Japan that stocks their products. It’s all so exciting!” She seemed to be happy with the product selection of this so called Antons. It made him wonder what other ridiculous designs the company owned.

Wait. An Australian boutique being a stockist to a Japanese boutique? How completely… odd.

As if she picked up on Seto’s confusion, she began speaking again.

“What? Did you think we were all about Drop Bears, riding Kangaroos to school and Tim Tams?” She stopped in another section of the store and turned back to the men. They were most definitely in a much more suitable part of the stores. No bizarre colours or overly sexual prints anywhere to be seen. “I’m kidding by the way, not about the Tim Tams though. They are amazing.”

“You’re Australian?” Asked Mokuba. Stop getting personal with the staff member, kid. We just need the damn suits!

“Born and raised.” She responded proudly, “Well, except for the past two years where I have been here, of course. Anyway… Do you have a brand preference? Colour preference?”

“Uh…”

“My stylist is the one who makes those decisions.” He deadpanned, earning a mirrored look from the salesperson. Yes, he was one of those customers, deal with it.

“The ones on TV?” Oh so now she was going to acknowledge that she knows who they are.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, but we don’t do shoulder pads for days here. It’s either look like an Aussie hipster, or look like you’re about to walk down the red carpet to a billion dollar budget movie premiere.” She looked the brothers up and down appraisingly before seemingly making up her mind. “You know what, have a look around here, pick what you think your stylist would pick out for you and try them on.”

“I’m not being paid to do your job.” Seto quipped with an impatient venom, yet she still held her professionalism, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose with a single finger. Her eyes held his for a moment before she spoke.

“I am just trying to gauge what I am dealing with, sirs. It’s not very often we get someone of your calibre in here. I’d hate to do wrong by your stylist and choose garments that don’t scream Seto and Mokuba Kaiba.” She had a point. She was attractive and not a complete dunce- shut up Seto, shut up.

“Fine. Let’s do this Mokuba. We don’t have the time to waste.”

“Yes Seto!”

And to the designer suits they went.

“This is what your stylist would choose?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain this is what they would choose?”

“Of course.”

“In a suit? For your twenty-first?”

“Did I stutter?”

Her arms were crossed against her chest, glaring at the sight before her in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with his choice? He even found a matching one for Mokuba. What the hell was wrong with a grey plaid suit?

Mokuba clearly wasn’t liking his choice either.

“Seto…” He pouted standing beside him in the mirror. Okay, was the world against him today or something? Mokuba always agreed with his choices! This was definitely something his stylist would pick out as a normal suit. Just what was wrong with it?

He swore he heard the salesperson whisper ‘I’m going to kill myself’ in English before attempting to straighten her face. It wasn’t working and she let out a tired sigh. Looks like she was finally showing her true colours.

“You know what, no. Get those abominations off and I will be back momentarily with something that isn’t from the nineteen-eighties.” She briskly walked away and Seto couldn’t help but watch her retreating form in the mirror, marvelling the way her hips swayed in every step, aided by her heels.

“She has a nice ass.”

“Shut up Mokuba.”

She definitely wasn’t making this shopping experience any easier.

The woman came back sooner than expected, several items in her arms. How she did it without tripping in her heels will forever be a mystery to Seto, but nonetheless he had to admit he was impressed with how quickly she came back.

“You want grey? Let’s one up this with a deep silver.” She handed him a silver, fitted Ermenegildo Zegna suit, “Then we match it with a simple white shirt and a cobalt blue tie to match your eyes.” She handed over the shirt and tie, “And for the kiddo we are going to go with a navy blue Tom Ford suit with a white shirt and black tie. Very Daniel Craig James Bond like!”

He saw Mokuba’s eyes light up at the very mention of him looking like Bond. Looks like she won him over. He immediately retreated back into the change room to put it on.

Seto had just a little more convincing to do.

“What? Are you wanting to look like you’re turning twenty-one or look like John Cena’s character in Southpaw Regional Wrestling?”

He heard her laugh quietly to herself when he made his way back into the change room with haste. Did he accidentally voice his guilty pleasure of watching a few tidbits of WWE?

Pfft, of course not. Seto Kaiba doesn’t make mistakes!

Okay, so she may have good taste.

“Damn.” Mokuba approved.

“Damn…” She approved with a smirk.

He could grow to like that smirk, have those juicy red lips all over his- NO! SETO! COMPOSURE! What the hell was wrong with him today?

Damn stupid, idiotic, sick stylist. It’s all your fault!

He looked at himself again in the mirror. He actually looked pretty damn good, and Mokuba most certainly looked like a fuzzy haired James Bond ala Daniel Craig.

“Permission to be painfully honest and Australian.”

Australian? “Fine.”

“Your stylist is a fucking no talent wanker and deserves to be fired.” Ah, so that’s what she meant.

It just made him like her even more.

“Uh Seto, what’s a wanker?” Before he could answer, the salesperson answered for him.

“Australian slang for loser, moron, idiot, douchebag. You get the gist.”

The way she was blatantly insulting the very employee he was upset with made his insides shudder with absolute delight.

Such a sadist.

“Right… So are we getting these ones Seto?” He was already getting out his wallet.

“My only despair is that we don’t sell shoes, I’m afraid. But I implore you not to approach your so called ‘stylist’ to find you the correct footwear. I would be remiss if they ruined my choices with subpar shoes.” A dark laugh escaped her lips as if she were imagining the very scene. Seto almost pictured that she was imagining that they would pair her ever so slightly perfect outfit choices with clown shoes.

How droll.

And did he just compliment her taste in fashion?

“Please get changed, bring these to the counter and I will get them steamed and ring you up!” She retreated to the registers without another word, and gave him the opportunity to watch the way her hips swayed once again.

“Seto, you’re staring.”

“Shut up Mokuba.”

Behind the counter she held that air of professionalism once more. Speaking of which, it looked like she was the only staff member in the store.

Oh, there are the others. Watching from a crack in the door to what he could only presume was the back room.

Cowards.

She wordlessly rung up the items on the register, opting not to voice the total price of the outfits. Not that it mattered, Seto Kaiba was Japanese for filthy rich and it took a swipe of his card and a signature and it was all done.

“I must admit.” She piped up whilst neatly hanging the suits and their accessories in their own bags, “I quite enjoyed this little encounter today.” With a zip everything was good to go and was handed to an eagerly waiting Mokuba. “Perhaps we could do this again sometime.”

That was it.

He pulled out a business card, hastily wrote down some numbers and shoved it into her hand, escaping the store before anyone could register what was going on.

Yes. Seto Kaiba just gave a woman he just met his number.

And he forgot to get her name.

Shit.