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unculturedmamoswine · 2 years ago

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Forduary Week 3: Insomnia

Post-series Fiddauthor fluff! Sometimes sleeping is hard. (CW for mention of serious bodily injury, and also for a lil bit of Ford’s ptsd)

There’s nothing like falling asleep on a boat, Ford thinks longingly. He never once had trouble sleeping on the Stan o’ War, unless it was because of some temporary problem, like Stan stomping around their room or pain from a cracked rib.

Now that he and Stanley have returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Ford seems only to be able to sleep in fitful catnaps throughout the day, sometimes waking by jolting himself upright, filled with the urge to either punch something or run until he realizes where he is. At night, after trying and often failing to fall asleep, he paces around the Hootenanny Hut like a none-too-stealthy ghost, exploring the cavernous, tacky rooms and their contents.

Ford stands at the end of a spacious hallway. In the darkness, it seems painted in grays and blacks. The window at the end of the hall is so ostentatiously large and multi-paned that he wonders if it was placed there by accident. It was probably intended to be the central feature of a house that cost a mere six figures. The window overlooks a healthy portion of deep, black woods, bathed at the moment in bright moonlight that spills into the hallway and pools on Ford’s bare feet. He winces, suddenly realizing how cold his toes are. He curls them into the thick, artfully patterned carpet. He should have worn socks.

Ford’s eyes are gritty and sore. His head aches. His jaw, too. He’s been clenching it without noticing, an old habit of his that’s resurfaced. His tension ratchets up when he hears footsteps behind him. He whirls around quickly, despite the fact that he knows perfectly well who it will be.

Fiddleford is dressed for sleep in sweats and a t-shirt. He moseys down the hallway, smiling when he catches Ford’s eye, in spite of Ford’s overreaction to his presence. Ford smiles, slightly embarrassed to be caught panicking at nothing.

“Good evening,” he says, feeling immediately re-embarrassed. A lot of formality for a man wearing plaid jammies, he thinks in an annoyingly Stan-like voice. Fiddleford only smiles and steps nearer.

“Evenin’. Come here often?” They both look out Fiddleford’s window, shoulder to shoulder.

After a comfortable pause, Ford answers, “It’s my first time at this particular window.”

Fidds snorts. “Can’t sleep or don’t want to?” he asks.

Ford glances at him, smiling slightly. “I’d love to if I could. I think I’m just having trouble adjusting to sleeping on dry land.”

Fiddleford nods. “Did all you could to avoid it when we were young and now you can’t sleep when you want to. That’s irony for ya.”

Ford nearly jumps out of his skin when Fiddleford brushes his hand against Ford’s. Before Fiddleford can do more than twitch in surprise and open his mouth to apologize, Ford slips his hand quickly into Fiddleford’s.

“Sorry,” he says before Fiddleford can. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, honey.” Fiddleford’s frowning up at him, worried. His eyes are full of concern. Ford likes Fiddleford’s eyes. Although Ford can’t see their color in the darkness he imagines he can, his brain filling in the details it knows to be there. He can see/not see the dark blue of Fiddleford’s eyes and the way they scan Ford’s face. Surely, in the poor lighting, Fiddleford must also be relying on memory to fill in Ford’s finer details. He wonders if the Ford Fidds is imagining has rid himself of facial hair in the last day. Or if he lacks the tired circles under his eyes that the real Ford has. Then again, Fidds was with him today– he knows Stanford isn’t looking his best.

It occurs to Ford that he should perhaps say something. He can’t remember what the last thing said was. Is it his turn to talk? He doesn’t know. Could his tiredness be catching up with him? Shameful. He used to be able to go for three to six days without sleeping.

“I’m getting old,” he tells Fiddleford, who laughs.

“Sure are, sugar, but least you ain’t the only one. You plan on looming here at my window for much longer?”

“I can probably loom anywhere,” Ford jokes. Fiddleford squeezes his hand.

“Come on, then. If you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep, and I wanted to show you my stories. Now’s as good a time as any.” He pulls Ford gently back down the hall.

Ford winces. Soos’s Japanese cartoons have cast some kind of spell over Fiddleford, who can’t get enough of them. He can’t say he has any particular interest in them, but Ford has to keep an open mind. Soos is a man of surprisingly good taste; he introduced Ford to FCLORP, a delightful hobby that Ford wishes existed when he and Fiddleford were young. It’s possible that anime has hidden depths.

Anyway, as crappy as he feels, he has a ready-made excuse if he fails to pay adequate attention.

They settle in the TV room, which is not to be confused with the theater. The theater seats sixteen and is lined in red velvet curtains. The day after he and Stan arrived back in town, they watched an old movie in there with an assortment of Fiddleford’s friends from town. The TV room is next to Fiddleford’s bedroom. It was once an identical bedroom, but now boasts a TV at the foot of the bed. Ford has never seen anyone in the TV room outside of himself and Fiddleford.

The bed is one that came with the house, formerly belonging to the Northwests– big and soft, all dark wood and fabrics in shades of blue. Ford flops onto it and crawls to the left side, wishing there was a couch in the room. Being in bed and unable to sleep feels like a slap in the face. Ford feels that the bed is mocking him, like the beds all do in the No Sleep Dimension.

“Alrighty, you all comfy?” Fiddleford asks cheerily.

“Let’s go for it, Fidds.” Ford tries to inject some energy into his voice, but it’s been over a week since he got any more than two unbroken hours of sleep a night. His ability to be energetic is severely reduced.

The opening sequence of Fiddleford’s show is action-filled and blindingly bright. Ford, watching carefully, gathers that it’s about a group of teenagers who possess the power to transform into large, conveniently color-coded robotic bears. Once the show proper begins, Ford quickly loses the thread.

“So he can’t become a bear yet,” Ford confirms with Fiddleford.

“Naw, just watch! This is only the first episode.” Fidds shifts closer and takes Ford’s hand again. “He ain’t found the razor yet that’ll change him into an Ursa Fighter.”

“Oh.”

Ford watches, stupefied, as the teenaged boy, sans colorful friends, discovers a large claw which he confusingly calls a razor and allows him to change his shape, mass, and chemical makeup. (But only specifically into the aforementioned robot bear shape.) He engages in combat with laser-toting androids and ultimately swears to protect the city from the sinister WitchCorp. When the closing credits begin, Ford wonders what he was supposed to have gleaned from this experience.

The next ten episodes clue Ford in slightly to the fact that context and meaning are somewhat nebulous in this fictional world. Occasionally he asks a clarifying question.

“Is he still inside the bear suit?”

“Nope, it’s converted his body into a bear.”

“Don’t his parents notice that he’s gone for hours at a time?” “It’ll come up later, just wait.” “These girls are happy to become child soldiers on the advice of a complete stranger?” “Well, they were destined to be Ursa Fighters just like Daisuke was, y’see.”

By the time the sun lances its horrible rays into the room, signaling another failed night for Stanford, he is now, if not proficient in the ways of the Ursa Fighter, at least an initiate. Ford’s no less exhausted after half a night spent watching cartoons, but is at least content. Sometime after Towa joined Daisuke in his quest (adding the White Bear to the team), he ended up pressed against Fiddleford’s side, head lolling on Fidds’s shoulder.

Fiddleford stops the stream. He wraps his arms around Ford, squeezing, and presses his face into Ford’s hair.

“Didn’t expect you to watch all that with me, if I’m telling the truth,” he says, voice muffled. “I was hopin’ it’d put you to sleep.”

Ford smiles, unsurprised. “But if I did stay awake, I might be inspired to help you try to work out the finer details of human-to-robot transformation by means of an enchanted claw?”

“That’s what we call a win-win!” Fiddleford laughs. “Though as far as transformin’ folks into robots goes, I reckon I don’t need any help– don’t forget you’re the looks and I’m the brains, peach pie.” They snicker together as Fiddleford squirms down to Ford’s level until they’re face to face.

Ford looks at him. He can see Fiddleford perfectly now, so the daylight is good for something, at least. He can see each wrinkle on Fiddleford’s face, the permanent tan that’s the legacy of decades spent homeless, the crooked way he’s smiling close-mouthed. Ford hopes it isn’t out of self-consciousness for his lost teeth and the shape the ones he has left are in. The longer Ford has loved Fiddleford, the more handsome Fidds has become, subjectively. He assumes it’s that way for everyone in love, but he’s never asked.

“We might as well get up.” Ford’s voice sounds like it’s being dragged across gravel. In all honesty, he has another idea regarding what they could do in a bed that they aren’t going to sleep in, but there’s no reason they can’t have coffee before sex.

“Sooner we get coffee into ya, the sooner it’ll metabolize and you can take a nap,” Fidds agrees. “Come on, then. We got frozen pizza for breakfast!” He’s much too full of energy for a man with his severity of caffeine dependency. Before he can rush off, Ford inches his face forward to kiss Fidds gently. Fiddleford puts a hand to Ford’s jaw, presumably to keep him in place, not that Ford was planning an escape.

Since the age of twenty, Ford has been of the opinion that Fiddleford is a very good kisser, though whether that’s due to the act of kissing just being generally pleasant or to Fidds’s natural talent, Ford doesn’t know. He used to entertain himself in college by imagining finding everyone Fiddleford had ever kissed and having them fill out a questionnaire, with the goal of determining the objectivity of his conclusion. “On a scale of one to five,” he would imagine writing, “how would you rate subject’s use of tongue during a kiss?” In spite of himself, Ford laughs, breaking away from Fiddleford’s mouth. He hasn’t thought about that in years and years.The lack of sleep must be making him giddy.

“Ain’t sure if that’s a compliment or not,” says Fidds, laughing too. “Be honest, now, does the beard tickle?”

Ford explains his secret, hypothetical study of Fiddleford’s past romantic interests, only a fraction as embarrassed as he would have been to talk about it thirty or forty years ago. He’s rewarded for his honesty by the thing Fiddleford’s face does as Ford explains his proposed methodology. His eyes shimmer with emotion, his mouth trembles, and his cheeks flush deep red.

“Ford!” He grabs Ford’s face with both hands. “That’s the most romantical thing I ever heard in my life! I can’t believe you never said anything about this before!” He kisses Ford again, then pulls back, looking almost irritated. “Dangit, if you weren’t so pathetic all sleep-deprived I’d say phooey to the whole notion of gettin’ outta bed and keep you here all day.”

Ford snorts. “Keep me here doing what, Fiddleford? Watching you sleep? Even when we were young you were always out like a light about twenty seconds after–” Ford interrupts himself by huffing when Fidds shoves him unceremoniously back onto his own side of the bed. He always was startlingly strong for his build.

“You can go ahead and talk yourself out of havin’ any fun with your old pal Fiddleford if’n that’s what’ll make you happy, Stanford. I’m gonna get me some coffee.” But he smiles when he says it, not really angry of course.

Ford reaches out a hand to him, only half as a joke. “I hope it goes without saying that I think of you as more than an old pal,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. Fiddleford pulls him out of bed and onto his feet. “You’re an old pal with an unparalleled technical mind and a very pleasant accent,” Ford goes on, putting his arm around Fidds.

“Oh yeah, the country charm always worked wonders on you, don’t think I don’t know it,” Fiddleford says, mouth curling at the corner. He removes the arm from around his waist and takes Ford’s hand again. Ford isn’t sure what’s gotten into them lately. Thank god Stanley isn’t here to witness Ford and Fiddleford acting like idiot honeymooners. “C’mon, hon, you look dead on your feet. Coffee.”

Ford grinds his teeth. He wishes he could hang on to his good mood, but it plunges at the reminder about coffee. Coffee means committing to another few hours awake. Or less. Maybe less. Worst case scenario, he will wander off to one of Fiddleford’s labs or workshops and climb into a cupboard to sleep, as if he’s on the run from Bill’s forces and can’t sleep openly in an undefended room.

Best case scenario, he’ll end up in Fiddleford’s bed, dead to the world. And, as long as he’s wishing for things, he might ideally sleep for a good four hours. (The middle case scenario for sleep, incidentally, is falling asleep in one of the mansion’s several sitting rooms. Fine, but not great for his back. A cupboard floor is more supportive.)

Now that he’s standing, Ford’s joints feel like water. Loud, popping, grinding water. His left thumb aches fiercely from his arthritis. His right fares better, the right arm having been cut off at the shoulder and regrown when he was fifty. Each time Ford blinks, his eyes click loudly. He can’t believe that a mere few minutes ago he was considering doing something as energetic as having sex.

In Fiddleford’s vast kitchen Ford sits at the scuffed table and mismatched chairs Fidds has crammed inelegantly against the breakfast counter as Fidds makes coffee and preheats the oven. He realizes he’s closed his eyes when he hears Fidds sigh but doesn’t see it.

“I was thinkin’ about pickin’ your brain over a robot I been fiddlin’ with, but somehow I think your brain may be slim pickings this mornin’.”

“Luckily I’m just the looks,” Ford mumbles. Fidds chuckles.

“Well, you ain’t holdin’ that side up, neither. No offense, darlin’, but you look like ten pounds of shit in a two-pound bag. If you don’t get some sleep soon, Stan’ll think I’m mistreatin’ ya. ”

Ford grimaces at the thought of being passed back and forth between his brother and his lover to be looked after, as if he can’t do a thing for himself. He opens his mouth, thinking naively that it will express the thought in his brain, but instead it says “Is it a bear?”

“What’sat?” Fidds calls.

“The robot you want to build,” Ford calls, propping his forehead on his hand. God, what he wouldn’t give to be in his bunk right now. Why can’t he sleep in Gravity Falls? It was his home for years. He’s slept peacefully in a miniscule bed with Fiddleford more times than he can count, so the gigantic piece of real estate Fiddleford calls a mattress should pose no problem. There’s just nothing that accounts for Ford’s failure in this department.

Ford feels a hand in his hair, hears the thud of a large mug of coffee being set on the table before him.

“Not every robot and elixir I rustle up is inspired by cartoons. I was actually thinkin’ bout something that’d take care of the Mystery Shack’s roofin’ problems. Poor Soos’s got his hands full, and Mabel told me she and Dipper did the retiling last summer.” Fidds takes a slurping sip of coffee, reminding Ford to do the same, savoring the burning feeling as it pours down his throat and into his belly. “And no offense to those two, but they’re no kinda roofers. Somethin’s gotta be done.”

“That’s kind of you,” Ford says, leaning into Fiddleford’s hand.

“I try,” Fidds says fondly.

#forduary #forduary2023 #gravity falls #fiddauthor #my post #my fic

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cloudkev · 3 years ago

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*At the Pines dining table during breakfast*

Stan: Good morning, family! Everyone excited for my boxing match tonight? I know I am.

Filbrick: Stop it!

Stan: Did I do something wrong?

Caryn: We want to talk about this boyfriend of yours.

Filbrick: Because it’s ridiculous!

Stan: Kissing someone is ridiculous? Well I guess we’re all ridiculous - except Ford.

Ford: Suck it.

Caryn: You’re not gay, Stanley.

Stan: Who said I was?

Ford: And yet you’re kissing Fiddleford on a regular basis?

Stan: I like him, why not?

Ford: Are you guys a couple?

Stan: Maybe.

Ford: So you’re gay?

Stan: Nope.

Ford: Bi?

Stan: *shrugs*

Ford: Experimenting with fluid sexuality?

Stan: *chuckles*

Filbrick: Enough! You were dating girls a few weeks ago, you’re kissing boys now? It’s not right.

Caryn: Honey-

Filbrick: No, no, no seriously it isn’t. ‘Cause our son is not gay. He’s just a spoiled brat brought here, riding on his brother’s coattails and doing absolutely nothing for his life, for his future and thinking he can get away with life with no hard work. Well I’m not having it!

Stan: Well it’s not always about you.

Filbrick: Except you told your boyfriend?

Stan: *gets up from the table and heads to his room* Screw you!

#stan pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #grunkle stan #stanford pines #filbrick pines #caryn pines #fiddlestan #quotes from degrassi season 14 #Filbrick as Mr. Hollingsworth #Caryn as Mrs. Hollingsworth #Stanley as Miles Hollingsworth #Ford as Frankie/Hunter Hollingsworth

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years ago

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Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #grunkle stan x reader #[mr. mystery]#pspspsps come get y'all juice #but also tell me if you like my fic please i like interaction

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years ago

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GF - We’re Coming Back Home

A Drifting Stars AU one-shot, the last one I plan to do, in collaboration with @clownwry.

1st, 2nd, 3rd.

~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow, miraculously, through all of Ford’s traveling, through countless dimensions, his Quantum Destabilizer remained on his back and fully intact.

Okay, well, mostly intact. Partially intact.

When he was finally ready to attack Bill and put an end to his reign of terror, his plans had been put on hold when a crack in space-time opened. He didn’t dare hope that it was a way home, but maybe if he aimed correctly, the shot would not only kill Bill, but fly him home. But no, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a young girl fly out of the hole, and with reflexes he developed over thirty years of staying alive in the worst circumstances, he hooked his Quantum Destabilizer onto his back, caught the girl, and swam through the gravity-less air for safety, hiding behind an asteroid, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth and hissing for her silence, swearing she would be okay, and they barely made it out as Bill’s words echoed through the Nightmare Realm.

“Sixer’s caught a Shooting Star, boys!”

Ford had no idea what that was supposed to mean at the time, but now a month later, he thinks he finally understood. His niece, Shermie’s granddaughter, Mabel, loved stars, and was very much like one herself. Always shining. Always so bright and full of hope. Many times in history, and even today in other dimensions, runaway slaves used the stars as maps to guide them to a better place. Ford often wondered if Mabel was his star, maybe not guiding him physically to a safe haven, but guiding him to a happier mindset. Guiding him to a life that isn’t completely isolated. Guiding him to a life that included love.

The last few weeks have been challenging, sure, but not that much more challenging than traveling alone; Mabel was a fast learner, and while she refused to use a knife or gun (“Cuz those hurt, Grunkle Ford!”), she was perfectly comfortable with pop-rocks and making foes lose their footing and fall down so they couldn’t attack. And she was very good at hunting for food and water and other reliable resources.

In fact, Ford would easily say the last few weeks have been the happiest of his life. Maybe only tying with when Fiddleford joined him in Gravity Falls, before work on the portal became dangerous, but after he realized that maybe the woods had been too quiet the last six years.

After just a day and a half, Ford was fully-aware of his attachment to his niece and how much it would ruin him if he lost her. Mabel was everything a good person strives to be: kind, sweet, a pleasure to be around, but not a pushover, either; Mabel Pines knew how to stand her ground.

And so the last month was littered with so many happy memories. Ford was a little hurt when she “borrowed” two broken fishing poles and fixed them up so they could fish, but he very quickly enjoyed sitting on a log by a river and fishing with Mabel. Ford found it brought her much comfort to brush her hair, and he also discovered he enjoyed a calm brush himself. Ford found he didn’t mind the extra weight of his niece on his shoulders; quite the contrary, he found it comforting, and he was always swallowed with peace when she was so relaxed with him that she fell asleep, using his fluffy gray hair as a pillow.

No longer was Ford met with suspicious looks when he walked down the street of a market alone, face hidden. Quite the opposite. He was always met with smiles and warm greetings, and sometimes a little extra food was thrown into a purchase for free. Be it because people saw him as a parent with an adorable child, or because of Mabel’s charm. Or both.

The dimensions they came across were random and different, just like it was when Ford traveled alone. Some dimensions were like an alien sci-fi movie, completely different with no humans. Some dimensions were scaringly like home, with a small difference here and there. Ironically, the alien-like dimensions were typically safer, because they were used to travelers and weird-looking creatures.

But Ford guessed it would be okay if he and Mabel stepped into a normal grocery store to buy some food.

They had come across a “normal” dimension, and while Ford’s first thought was to retreat for the woods, he heard Mabel’s stomach growl, and he decided her health was more important. So they stepped in and kept to themselves.

Ford and Mabel were picking up crackers when the little girl grinned at rows of cereals behind them. “Grunkle Ford, can I please pick a cereal?” She asked politely.

The old scientist thought about it for a moment. Cereal would definitely cover a few meals and be light and easy to carry, and it wouldn’t get hold too quickly, and he had wanted to get her at least one nice thing while in the store, so he nodded and said, “Yes, dear, you may pick one box. Any flavor you want.”

“Thank you!” And Mabel took the time to hug him before skipping over to the cereals to look.

Ford chuckled and picked some crackers, then decided to browse the fruit snacks, debating if it would be wise. Probably not, because if they get stuck in another desert climate the gummies could melt and make a mess, but they could make a good snack for Mabel. He held his chin, debating the idea, while a couple was also looking over the cereals.

“Which do you think Dad would want?” The yellow-haired woman asked.

“Honey, who cares what Rick wants? Just get a cereal you’ll like.” The husband said with an eye roll.

Ford froze at that name. No no, that was most definitely a different Rick. It was a common enough name, and there were billions of dimensions. There was no way Ford and Mabel somehow managed to stumble into C-137. He ultimately decided against gummies and he then looked at the trail mixes and granola bars. Both were always a good option.

“I know, but I want him to feel welcome, you know?” The wife said as she picked a box. “He’s been travelling in space alone for years…”

Oh no. No, no, no. Ford quickly chose some packets of trail mix and several granola bars and hurried back to his niece. He was not going to do this today. Nope.

Mabel grinned at him, a box of cereal in hand, and she held it out to him. “Look, Grunkle Ford, do you like this flavor? I can pick a different one if you want.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear, but I like the one you picked.” Ford did a decent job masking his uneasiness and he took her hand and smiled. “Why don’t we pick up some fruit for today, and then we’ll go fishing for dinner?”

“Yay! Sounds great!”

Ford didn’t miss the yellow-haired woman smiling at them as they left the aisle. If that was who he thought it was… She really didn’t look anything like him. She might have just favored her mother. Who else would have spent years traveling space? Bastard.

Ford may have hated him for many reasons, but choosing to abandon his girls was at the top of the list.

At the checkout line, Ford nervously watched the total of their purchase go up with each beep. He recounted their cash and made a small list of items in his mind for them to go down if they couldn’t afford everything. A few granola bars can go. And, maybe they could find band-aids elsewhere and “borrow” them.

The worker rang up the last item and Ford smiled when he saw the total was 29.89. He had thirty. But then the worker pressed the total button and taxes were added. Shit, right. That made their total 35.45. Ford winced. Mabel looked up at him worriedly, but she smiled and stood on her tippy-toes to see the worker better.

“Hi, I’m Mabel! Can you please put the cereal back? We don’t really need it.”

Ford looked down at her, surprised and also a little disheartened. He had really wanted to get her at least one nice thing, but truth be told the cereal was the most expensive item, so it made sense to get rid of it first. Still, it sucked.

“Total’s now 32.14.”

Ford bit his lip. “Very well, may we please put the band-aids back, too?”

The worker nodded, seeming tired and annoyed, but they didn’t say a word. Blissfully, the total went down to 29.99.

With hands full of bags, Mabel and Ford paused at the beginning of the parking lot to move their groceries into their backpacks. While they worked, the old scientist said, “I’m sorry I could afford your cereal, Mabel.”

“Oh, it’s okay!” The girl said instantly. “I’ve got something even sweeter.” And she grinned at her grunkle and gave him a warm smile.

Ford smiled back at her tiredly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” Mabel insisted and hugged him around the neck, nuzzling her face into his shoulder and determined to sink as much comfort as she could into his skin. “I love you Grunkle Ford. Please don’t beat yourself up, m’k?”

Ford hugged her back and petted her short brown hair. It was certainly easier to feel better with a ball of sunshine in his arms.

They both heard rustling behind them as a buggy rolled from the door to the parking lot. They both looked behind Mabel and saw a bag with the cereal and the band-aids in it. They looked around and saw no one, except for the yellow-haired woman and her husband going to their car.

Mabel grinned and hollered to them, “Thank you!”

They didn’t respond, but the woman did smile and wave before putting groceries into her car. As appreciated as Ford was for her kindness, he wanted to get as far away from her as possible. No offense to her. She seemed like a very lovely lady.

But then it hit Ford like a pile of rocks. What was it he had said before he had pulled out his gun and left Ford to travel alone? “And hey, if you ever wanna travel without customs or waiting for wormholes to open, don’t come looking for me.” And then he winked and fell backwards into a pool of green, leaving Ford to curse his name.

If this was like before, when Ford was alone, he wouldn’t dare. But if he could help get Mabel home…

Ford took Mabel’s hand and muttered, “Come with me.” And she followed without question.

Beth felt good helping the old man and the little girl, and she didn’t expect anything more. Really, it was only five dollars worth of stuff. But she was happy when they started to walk towards her, so she trusted Jerry to finish loading up the car and she smiled at them.

“Excuse me, miss, I just want to thank you for what you did.” The old man said.

“Oh, you’re welcome, it was no trouble at all.”

“I… I hope I’m not being too invasive, but… but I believe you know someone I know.”

Beth smiled. Small world! “Really? That’s great! Oh, are you a relative of Dave’s? Or, you know, I do know a lot of people indirectly from the horse-track.”

“Er, no.” The old man gave her a more serious look, and then asked quietly, “Do you know Rick Sanchez?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Beth was so excited to give Stanford Pines and his niece, Mabel, a ride, and to invite them to dinner, not only because she thought seeing an old friend might make her dad smile, but maybe she’ll learn more about what he’s been up to all these years. The man was very polite and the girl was as sweet as can be, both of whom looked rough and in need of a cozy bed and maybe a soothing bath. Jerry was a little unsure, not wanting “more Ricks” into his house, but after a huf from the girl and a cheerful greeting, Jerry couldn’t help but tell the girl she was more than welcome, so now he was roped in.

Mabel noticed that her uncle looked distracted. He was looking out his window, but his eyes were elsewhere. He was thinking. So she decided to try to help him with his thoughts. “Grunkle Ford, who’s Rick Sanchez?” She asked quietly.

Ford looked at her, sighed quietly, and muttered, “He’s an intergalactic scientist. He’s ridiculously intelligent and clever, and… a bit…” Ford pursed his lips. All the words that came to mind he didn’t want Mabel hearing, so he settled on. “... mad.”

“Oh. Is he like a real mad-scientist?” Mabel asked, eyes sparkling with interest.

“Yes, but with less laughter, more slurs and sluggish demeanor, and even less consideration of other living things.”

Mabel noticed his cold tone and grew concerned. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Ford bit his lip. No, he didn’t. But there was a more important reason why he didn’t want to see Rick today.

Mabel leaned in closer and whispered, “Is he mean?”

Trust Mabel to sum it up perfectly for her uncle. “Yes.” Ford said just as quietly. “And I don’t want him meeting you.”

“Why?”

Ford hesitated. But being blunt and honest seemed to be working, and it was best for Mabel to prepare herself for the lion’s den they were walking into. “I don’t want him to hurt your feelings.” a bit elementary, but it was the best way to explain it to a child without scaring her too much.

Mabel, however, grinned. “Grunkle Ford, no one can resist the Power of Mabel.”

Ford smiled and ruffled her hair softly. “We’ll see…”

“So, if you don’t like Mr. Sanchez, then why are we going to go see him?”

“He’s an expert on interdimensional-travel.” Ford informed her. “He might know how to get us home.”

Mabel’s eyes widened and she “oh”ed as she realized what was going on.

~~~~~~~~~~

The garage door was open to let in good lighting and fresh air. But that wasn’t an invitation to come in whenever people feel like it; Rick will have to work on a security system to keep nosy neighbors away. He was opening a box and getting organized when he heard his daughter’s car roll into the driveway. He didn’t bother to look up, instead waited for the sounds of car doors opening to say something.

“Hey sweetie, welcome back.”

“Dad,” Beth said, sounding giddy. Rick hated giddy. But he had only been here for a week and he didn’t feel like making his daughter hate him just yet, so he settled for rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing. “I have a surprise for you!”

“Wow! You have a nice house! Cool garage, too!” A young voice said.

Rick was halted. He turned in his chair and raised an eyebrow to find a young girl with short brown hair and braces holding hands with an old nerd with fluffy charcoal hair, glasses, and six fingers.

“Oh my God!” Rick laughed. “Holy-...” A dark look from the old traveler made Rick stop; he can piss him off later. First he needs to figure out why the hell he is here and what the hell he wants. “Jeez, you look terrible, Fordsie.” The mad scientist snorted as he leaned against his desk with his hands in his pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes and said, “And you still look like a soft breeze will blow you away, Sanchez.”

Mabel bit her lip and quietly, “Oooooh”ed, like she was listening to a rap battle.

“So,” Beth stretched, clearly hoping for more information or a more satisfying reunion, but she wasn’t getting it naturally, so she decided to push a little. “How do you two know each other?”

“The Multiverse is a pretty big place, sweetie.” Rick answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll have this nerd gone before you finish unloading the car. Don’t want to risk another mass genocide.” He sneered.

Ford’s face turned red and he yelled, “I didn’t know it was a planet! It looked too similar to a sandwich for it to be a planet!”

Rick laughed and looked at the little girl. She looked maybe a little younger than Morty. “Who’s that you got with you?”

Ford closed his eyes, debating if he should tell Rick it wasn’t any of his business, or get the introduction over with. But before he could make a decision, Mabel beat him to the punch.

She let go of Rick’s hand, hopped to him, and looked up at his bean-pole stature and smiled and waved. “Hi! I’m Mabel! You’re a scientist, too? Cool! I like your hair! How old are you? Have you ever met a dinosaur? What’s your favorite food?”

Rick blinked like a startled lizard at the girl, glanced up at Ford, and then looked back down at Mabel. Rick smiled and sat in his chair to be closer to her level, and held out a hand to shake, which she happily accepted and shook a little rough. “Hey there, I’m Rick. Yes, I’m a scientist. Thank you, I like your hair, too. Yes, I’ve met a dinosaur, several in different dimensions. And, pancakes.”

Mabel’s eyes sparkled. “I love pancakes, too! Maybe we can make some together!”

“Maybe, but I’ve got the feeling that’s not why you’re here.” Rick suggested kindly. And no, Ford wasn’t at all suspicious that he was being kind to Mabel.

“Oh! Yeah! Grunkle Ford thinks you can help us get home.”

“Huh. You’re great-uncle, huh? Sure, okay, let’s get started.” Rick rolled over to a cabinet and took out an odd machine. It came with a tiny needle and was attached to the machine by a small black wire, and the boxed machine had a screen of some sort on the side. “Mind if I prick your finger?”

“Sure!” Mabel held out her finger to him and Rick carefully held her wrist and pricked her finger, so small she hardly noticed it. “What for?”

“I need a blood sample to find your home dimension. Gotta send you to the right dimension.” Rick explained. “Fordsie, lemme get yours, too. How’d you two find each other, anyways?”

“I was in the Nightmare Realm when some idiot opened a portal and this little starshine fell into my arms.” Ford explained, stepping forward and giving Rick his finger.

“Okay, got it.” Rick said. “Well, there’s a possibility that you two come from different dimensions. Nothing too different about your homes, but there’s millions of dimensions. The probability that you two came from the same timeline and reality… there we go. It’s a match. That makes things easier.”

The small heart attack Ford was having went away. The idea of his starshine not being his was a nightmare. His life was complicated enough; he didn’t need his girl to not actually be his.

“Dimension 41’\. Huh, okay, gimme two seconds…” Rick pulled out his trusty portal gun and plugged it into the machine. A long list of dimensions popped up, and Ford prayed 41’\ would be on the list. “You two are lucky. I can go as far as 42’\, but the other 40s are out of range. Huh, i’ll have to work on that.”

“So,” Mabel grinned. “You can get us home?”

Rick smiled smugly and shrugged as he stood. “Yeah, sure.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel cheered and hurled herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it! I’m gonna see Dipper again! I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

Ford smiled softly. He couldn’t believe it. It was all happening so fast and effortlessly. He was going to get Mabel home. They were both going home. Suddenly the idea of seeing Stanley again, meeting his grandnephew and all of Mabel’s friends and her pet pig sounded… a lot. He didn’t realize it, but he was becoming anxious and spacing out. But Mabel noticed, and she kissed his stubbly cheek and brought him back to reality.

Rick shot at the wall with his gun and an oozing green portal appeared. “There we go, 41’\. Wait, sh-oot, gimme a location.”

“618 Gopher Road.” Ford stated as he let go of Mabel. “Gravity Falls, Oregon. USA.”

“Got it.” Rick made the last portal disappear and shot a new one. “There. Now get-... Go on home.”

Mabel stepped up to Rick and said sincerely, “Mr. Sanchez, thank you for helping us.” And she hugged him around his tall skinny legs.

Rick pursed his lips awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to such positive energy and kindness. The old scientists looked at each other, Ford giving Rick a warning look, but something hidden in his face or eyes told the drunk that the nomad was actually grateful for his illegal device.

“Uh…” Rick settled on patting Mabel’s head and said, “Y-Y-You’re welcome.”

Mabel let go of Rick and held out a hand to Ford. “Ready?”

“Nope.” Ford took her hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

And without another word, the Pines walked through the green portal.

#GF #gravity falls #rick and morty #fanfiction #crossover #drifting stars au #portal ford #there's not enough sweater-twins bonding in the world #and yes #i purposely used 41'\ instead of the canon 46'\#gift #clownwry

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thelastspeecher · 3 years ago

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Amphibious Tendencies - Chapter 5: Calotriton arnoldi

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 AO3

I’m very excited about this chapter, there’s a lot of stuff in it. Also, it’s the first chapter to not contain ficlets that I’d posted before. So, all original material. Shout-out to @vulpixen, who developed the version of Wendy’s mom that I used, and also came up with the idea of Jimmy Snakes having...well, you’ll see.

—

Summary: Three-ish years after the events of Chapter 4, Stan, Angie, and their son have settled into a happy life. But troubling things are on the horizon...

The Montseny brook newt (Calotriton arnoldi) is a strictly aquatic species, not even venturing onto land to breed.

——————————————————————————————

“Dada!” Stan grinned broadly at Junior, toddling over to him with a worm in his tiny hands.

“Whatcha got there, sport?” he gushed. Junior held the worm up.

“Snack!”

“A snack, huh?” Stan asked. Junior nodded. Stan ruffled his son’s thick, caramel-colored curls. “And where’d you get it?”

“There.” Junior pointed to the container of bait they’d brought on the fishing trip. Tate, still waiting patiently for a fish to bite, groaned loudly.

“That’s where the bait keeps disappearin’ to!” he whined. Guilt suddenly weighed on Stan’s shoulders. He lifted Junior into his lap.

“Good work finding a snack, Junior, but no more, okay? Those worms aren’t snacking worms, they’re fishing worms,” he said patiently. Junior nodded obediently, then swallowed the worm whole. He burped loudly. Stan couldn’t help but chuckle.

“There’s no fish ‘round here,” Tate muttered.

“Want me to move the boat somewhere else, fishing buddy?” Stan asked. Tate shrugged. Stan stifled a sigh. He’d been thrilled when Tate started to call Ford his dad, something that Stan couldn’t help but feel might be true in more ways than one. Recently, though, Ford and Fiddleford had been too busy with their research to spend time with Tate. So, Stan stepped up, trying to keep Tate from noticing. But today was the fifth day in a row of taking a fishing trip.

He’s a smart kid. If he hasn’t noticed yet, he will soon.

“Mama!” Junior shrieked suddenly. Stan looked over. Angie had surfaced by the side of the boat. She smiled fondly at Stan, Junior, and Tate.

“My boys all in one place,” she cooed. Junior whined loudly at her. She stroked his hair, eliciting giggles from him. “Why are you wearing a life jacket?” she asked Stan.

“Safety first.”

“Darling, you can’t drown. Neither can Junior, who is also wearing a life jacket for some reason.”

“Tate’s gotta wear a life jacket. Figured I’d make it fair,” Stan said with a shrug. Angie chuckled softly.

“Good point.” She looked at Tate. “How’s the fishing, Tater Tot?”

“I think you might be the reason there aren’t any fish ‘round here, Auntie Angie,” Tate said glumly.

“Oh, sorry! I’ll get back to what I was doing. Want me to scare some fish in your direction?” Angie asked. Tate shrugged. Angie sighed softly. She swam over to be by Tate. “Honey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sweetling…”

“I’m just kinda sad my pa and dad don’t do anything with me anymore,” Tate mumbled finally. “I know they’re busy with work and that junk, but it’s still not that great.”

“You’re right, it stinks,” Stan confirmed. Tate looked over at him in surprise. “I’m not gonna lie to you, kid. Being ignored by your parents? It stinks. But you’ve got me and Angie and Junior. We’ll pick up anything your dads drop, okay?” Tate managed a small smile.

“Okay, Uncle Stan.”

“Good. Ang, you should get back to work and let us men catch some fish,” Stan said, winking at Angie. She rolled her eyes, then dipped below the water’s surface again. “Seriously, Tate, if you ever need to talk…”

“Auntie Angie says you’re not great at talking ‘bout things.”

“I’m better than Ford,” Stan said. Tate snickered.

“Yeah, I s’ppose ya are.” The line on his fishing pole suddenly tautened. He let out a low whoop. “Finally! It’s about time I got a bite.”

-----

Stan carefully set Junior into his designated sleeping pool. Fast asleep and in nixie form, Junior sunk to the bottom.

Eh, he’ll be fine. He’s got gills.

“Stan?” Stan looked over his shoulder. Angie stood near the cave entrance. He held a finger to his mouth.

“I just got Junior down for his nap, be quiet,” he whispered. Angie gestured for him to come to her. Stan stood and walked over. “What’s going on?”

“Well…” Angie cocked her head, clearly trying to decide how to explain whatever she was up to. “Remember how I caught ya teachin’ Junior to steal the other day?”

“Yeah.”

“And ya somehow convinced me that he should know things like that?” Angie added. Stan grinned.

“Yeah.” Stan blinked. “Wait, did he steal something?”

“No. I did.”

“You what?!” Stan yelped in shock. Angie punched his shoulder.

“Don’t wake Junior up!” she hissed. Stan rubbed his shoulder ruefully.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He lowered his voice even further. “What did you steal?” Angie tilted her head one way, then the other.

“I didn’t steal a ‘what’. I stole a ‘who’.”

“You stole someone?”

“I had to.”

“Fucking-” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Take me to the person you stole.” Angie nodded. She led Stan outside, into the hidden glen that housed the second entrance to the caves. Stan frowned at the pet carrier sitting on the ground. “You stole a pet?”

“Technically, no, I didn’t.” Angie walked to the carrier and crouched down. She opened it. “Come out, Jonah, it’s okay.” She stood and turned around. Stan took a step back.

“What the fuck is that?!” he demanded, gesturing at the creature in Angie’s arms. Angie stroked the creature tenderly. “It looks like you used one of those size-changing crystals on a maggot, Ang.”

“Don’t be so rude,” Angie hissed. She scratched the top of the creature’s head. The creature closed its eyes, chirping happily. “He’s an interplanetary refugee.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Do ya know about the crashed spaceship?”

“Duh. When Ford first found it, he didn’t shut up about it for over a month.”

“Stanford found an egg at the site. It hatched into this lil feller.”

“That thing is an alien?”

“Yes.”

“And you took it from Ford?”

“Him,” Angie corrected. “But, yes, I took him from Stanford.”

“Why?”

“He’s just a baby!” Angie burst out. “He’s just a baby, and they were experimentin’ on him! Studyin’ him like- like some sort of animal!”

“But…he is an animal,” Stan said slowly. Angie closed her eyes.

“Remember how upset ya got when Stanford wanted to study Junior’s egg? Even though we both gave him permission, ya hovered ‘round like a mother hen any time yer brother so much as touched the egg.”

“…Yeah. I remember,” Stan said. Angie opened her eyes again.

“Can ya please spare some similar emotions fer this poor lil feller?” she asked. “He hatched on a different planet, all alone, only to be tested on and studied by the person what saw him hatch, the closest thing he had to a father.” An uncomfortable feeling began to grow in Stan’s stomach. “Stanley. They were keepin’ him in a cage.” Stan swallowed.

“Okay. I get it now. Goddamn.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. “How did you find out about this?”

“Stanford wanted my biologist’s opinion on him. I tried to explain to him why what he was doin’ was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. So’s I did the only thing I could think of doin’.”

“That’s gonna make Ford know you took him. By now, you should realize that you can’t get through to my brother.”

“I made it look like Jonah broke out of his cage.”

“That might give us some time, but- wait, Jonah?”

“I gave him a name.”

“You named him Jonah.”

“‘Cause he’s a fish out of water,” Angie explained. Stan fought back a smile.

“All right, I’ll admit, that’s cute. But we can’t keep him, Ang. You making it look like Jonah broke out is gonna give us some time, but Ford’s gonna eventually come here, either because he thinks you took him or because he thinks you can help track him down.”

“I know,” Angie said softly. She grimaced. “I also don’t know if Jonah would be safe to have ‘round Junior. I think his species might eat amphibians.”

“Why?”

“I first approached him in frog form and he tried to eat my fingers. In human form, though, he hasn’t done so much as a nibble.” Angie beamed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan. Someone owes me a favor.”

-----

Stan parked the Stanleymobile. He looked at the small cabin Angie had directed him to.

“Who lives here?” he asked.

“The Corduroys.”

“Dan and Beth?”

“Yep.”

“What makes you think they’ll take Jonah?”

“Beth owes me a favor,” Angie said, getting out of the car, Jonah’s pet carrier in hand. “Not to mention, Dan’s a sucker fer kids.”

“Yeah, kids. Not aliens that look like bugs.”

“I’ve got a solution fer that, too,” Angie said breezily. Stan got out of the car and followed her to the front door.

“You really planned this all out, huh?”

“When ya taught Junior how to steal, ya told him that a necessary part of a theft is knowin’ what to do with what ya take.” Angie knocked on the front door. After a few moments, the door opened, revealing Dan Corduroy’s wife, Bethany. “Howdy, Beth.”

“Angie!” Bethany threw her arms around Angie happily. “How are you?”

“All right.”

“Good, good.” Bethany smiled at Stan. “What about you, Stan?” Stan shrugged.

“A lake monster is babysitting my kid right now,” he said. At some point, Bethany and Dan had been told his family’s amphibious secret. He wasn’t sure when or how, but Angie trusted the Corduroys, and he’d always been a fan of Dan.

Of the weirdos in town, Dan and Beth are the best to know my wife, kid, and I are all frog-people.

“Huh?” Bethany asked.

“Spur-of-the-moment need,” Angie said, waving a hand airily. “Remember that favor ya owe me?”

“How could I forget?”

“I’m cashin’ it in.” Angie patted Jonah’s pet carrier. “My brother ‘n brother-in-law were doin’ some unethical things again.” Bethany leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed.

“Why am I not surprised?” she asked idly. She blew a strand of red hair out of her face. “What was it this time?”

“Experimentin’ on a sentient bein’.”

“That’s no good.”

“No, it ain’t.” Angie took a deep breath. “Would you and Dan be willin’ to take the lil feller in?”

“Maybe? I’ll get Dan.” Bethany looked over her shoulder. “Dan! It’s Angie and Stan, they’re cashing in that favor!” Thunderous footsteps sounded. There was a loud crash.

“Ouch!”

“Good thing he’s a carpenter,” Bethany muttered, rolling her eyes. After more crashes and thumps, Dan finally appeared behind his wife, the only person he didn’t tower over.

“Angie, Stan,” Dan rumbled. Stan nodded. “WHAT’S going on?”

“I rescued someone. You ‘n Beth ‘re the only people I trust to take care of him,” Angie said. Relief settled over Stan that Angie was getting straight to the point. Dan didn’t like it when people beat around the bush.

“He’s in THAT thing?” Dan asked, looking at the pet carrier. Angie nodded. “Kinda SHRIMPY, then.”

“He’s a baby,” Angie said. “Here, I’ll show ya.” She opened the carrier door. Promptly, Jonah crawled up the door, to the top of the carrier, and up Angie’s arm before settling on her shoulder.

“What IS that?!” Dan shouted. Angie and Stan winced at the volume, but Bethany didn’t bat an eye.

“Inside voice, Dan.” Bethany leaned in, peering closely at Jonah. “But seriously, what is it?”

“He’s an alien.”

“Angie, I know I owe you a big favor, but raising an alien is a bit much,” Bethany said, not unkindly. Dan nodded.

“I’m NOT a FAN of the weird things around HERE.”

“I understand. But Jonah doesn’t have to stick out,” Angie said smoothly. Stan raised an eyebrow at her. Bethany and Dan seemed similarly doubtful. “Do you have any baby pictures of Dan?”

“Yes.”

“Could ya grab one?”

“Uh, sure.” Bethany disappeared inside, leaving Dan alone with Stan, Angie, and the alien. Dan squinted at Jonah.

“Weird-looking THING.”

“Only right now,” Angie said cryptically. Dan frowned at her. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Bethany returned. She handed a photo to Angie. “Thank you. Stan, please take Jonah.” Stan took Jonah from Angie, resting the alien in his arms. Angie held the picture up to Jonah. “Jonah, can ya do this?” she asked. Stan blinked, and suddenly a large, red-haired infant was in his arms.

“What the hell?!” Stan yelped, almost dropping Jonah in shock. Dan reared back, wide-eyed. Bethany, however, leaned in, interested.

“How’d he do that?” she asked.

“Jonah’s species are shapeshifters. If ya ask him to take a specific form, he can do it. Right now, he needs a frame of reference to mimic, but I figure as he gets older, he can come up with his own forms.” Angie smiled. “As ya can see, Jonah can fit in real easy with humans. Ya won’t have any idea he ain’t a reg’lar lil tot.”

“I guess…” Bethany said slowly. She sighed. “This makes your request a bit better, but it’s still not that great.”

“If ya find ya can’t handle him, I’ll take him back and find someone else. But I know you two are good people. You’d raise him right,” Angie said. Bethany and Dan looked at each other.

“What do you think?” Bethany asked. Dan looked at Jonah in Stan’s arms.

“HAND the kid OVER,” he rumbled. Stan gladly gave Jonah to Dan. “Hmm.” Dan looked at Angie. “He won’t EAT us, WILL he?”

“No. He had a million opportunities to try to eat human flesh, but didn’t.” Angie tilted her head. “Amphibious flesh, though, he seemed to find awfully tasty.” Bethany grimaced.

“I get why you can’t take care of him, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Bethany took a deep breath. “I think I’m fine watching him, at least on a trial basis. Dan?” Dan nodded.

“We can TRY.”

“Thank you,” Angie gushed. Tension left her shoulders. “Ya have no idea how relieved that makes me. I was so worried fer his safety.”

“We’ll keep him safe,” Bethany promised. Angie embraced her. She looked at Jonah, still nestled in Dan’s enormous arms. “What was his name again?”

“Jonah.”

“Jonah.�� Bethany smiled. “I like it.”

“What about GUS?” Dan rumbled. Bethany chuckled.

“That’s what we can name the next alien Angie brings us.”

“We should get back before the babysitter tries to teach Junior how to capsize boats again,” Stan said, looking at his watch. Angie nodded.

“Thanks again, you two,” she said to Beth and Dan. She embraced Bethany. “I’ll come back tomorrow to check on ya, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Bethany said. She and Dan stepped inside, closing the door behind them. Angie and Stan went back to the car.

“That went way better than I thought it would,” Stan confessed.

“I figured they would agree to help,” Angie said with a shrug. “Dan’s a big softie.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Stan on the cheek. “Just like you.”

-----

“Dada,” Junior whined from his car seat. Stan groaned loudly. He hadn’t had any coffee yet, and as a result, already had a throbbing headache. Being whined at was only making it worse. He took a steadying breath.

You love your son more than anything else in the world, remember? Stan forced a smile and looked in the rearview mirror at Junior.

“What is it, kiddo?”

“Wanna pway.”

“Don’t worry, we will. After we pick up your cousin and drop him off with your Ma. Okay?”

“Okay,” Junior mumbled. “Why Tate with Mama?”

“Well, he’s getting a bit sick of fishing all the time, so your Ma offered to have him shadow her at work.”

“Sadow?”

“Follow her around and watch what she does.”

“…Mmkay.” Junior lapsed back into silence. Stan sighed and focused on driving again. Not long after Junior hatched, Tate had made a comment about Lake Gravity Falls needing someone to protect it. That comment had somehow spiraled into Angie creating a Lake Ranger program, something the citizens of Gravity Falls had happily embraced.

They would probably have a different opinion if they knew Angie was doing more than keeping the fish healthy. Angie kept it secret, but she was also keeping an eye on the magical and supernatural aspects of the lake, which had won a lot of points with the magical creature community. And we need all the points we can get. They’re not exactly thrilled by our connection to the resident mad scientist. They finally pulled up to the cabin.

“Bike, Dada!” Junior squealed happily. Stan followed where Junior was pointing. His blood ran cold. He’d know that custom Harley-Davidson anywhere.

Well, shit. Stan turned off the car, trying to steel himself. No use in putting it off, Stan. He’s here, you’ve gotta find out why and send him packing.

“Dada, out!” Junior whined.

“Yeah, yeah, sport, we’re gonna get out,” Stan said. He got out of the car and removed Junior from his car seat. With his son in his arms and his heart in his throat, Stan walked up to the cabin’s front door. He knocked. Promptly, the door swung open, revealing the mustached face he’d dreaded.

“Jimmy,” Stan said shortly. Jimmy Snakes grinned.

“Kitten,” he drawled, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Meow!” Junior piped up helpfully. “Meow!”

“Heh.” Jimmy smiled at Junior. “Cute kid. He yours?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Then your brother wasn’t lying to me.” Jimmy cocked his head. “I’m glad you finally got back from your walk with the kid. Your brother ain’t good conversation.” Stan mentally filed away the fact that Ford had claimed he still lived at the cabin.

“What do you want?” Stan asked. Jimmy huffed.

“Can’t a guy show up to surprise an old flame?”

“I’m married.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t-”

“Jimmy.”

“Fine.” Jimmy held his hands up. “I only stopped by ‘cause I was already in town.”

“Why are you in town?”

“I switched careers,” Jimmy said lazily. “Got sick of being at someone else’s beck and call. Now, I hunt big game.”

“What, like deer?”

“Sorta.” Jimmy grinned evilly. “But…rarer. More unique. And I heard that Gravity Falls has plenty of that.”

“Weirdest big thing I’ve seen around here is a moose.”

“Really?” Jimmy lowered his distinctive sunglasses. “Your brother seems to think that there are some things around here that are a helluva lot more interesting.”

Dammit, Ford, what did you tell him?

“If there are, I haven’t seen any of it,” Stan said with a shrug. “Now, leave.” Jimmy let out a low whistle.

“You’re gonna toss me out just like that, kitten?”

“Yes, I am.” Stan glowered. “And don’t call me kitten.”

“If you insist.” With his usual devil-may-care attitude, Jimmy walked back to his bike. “If you change your mind, I’m at the motel. Unit 16.” He started his bike. Junior patted Stan’s face.

“Meow, Dada.”

“Yeah.” Stan watched Jimmy drive away. “Meow.”

-----

Stan’s headache from that morning had returned with a vengeance. Junior squirmed in his arms, wailing at the top of his lungs.

Really shoulda put him down for his nap sooner. But Stan had been avoiding going home, worried that Jimmy might follow and realize Stan and his family were the “big game” he had been looking for. He couldn’t delay it any longer, though. Junior had reached his breaking point and needed to sleep in nixie form.

“We’re home, sport,” Stan said as he walked into the cave. Junior promptly turned into his nixie form. “Junior, you can’t do that with your clothes on.” Junior continued to writhe furiously, but now, he was slippery. “Fine!” Stan deposited Junior into his sleeping pool. “Sleep in your clothes.”

“Night, Dada,” Junior said, then ducked underwater, curling up into a ball at the bottom of the pool. Stan rubbed his temples.

“Ang, do we have any aspirin?” he called. His voice echoed in the cave. There was no response. “Angie?”

She should be home by now… Out of the corner of his eye, Stan saw movement. He turned his head. Tate emerged from behind a large boulder.

“Tate?”

“Uncle Stan, I’m sorry!” Tate burst out. He ran over to Stan and wrapped his arms tightly around his uncle’s torso. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t do anything!”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Stan said, stroking Tate’s hair. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Some- some man came in and he took- he took Auntie Angie!” Tate sobbed. Stan’s blood ran cold. “We- we came back here for lunch, and Auntie Angie heard some noise, so she told me to hide. And I didn’t- I didn’t do anything, I just watched him take her!”

“You’re just a kid,” Stan said, forcing himself to seem calm despite the terror churning in his stomach. “You couldn’t have done anything. Hiding was the right move for you.”

“But- but-”

“What did the man look like? The one that took your aunt?” Stan asked. Tate broke off the hug. He wiped his arm across his face, sniffling loudly.

“He was- he was blond. And he had a mustache, and a leather jacket, and-”

“Sunglasses.”

“Y-yeah.” Tate looked up at Stan. “Do you know who took her?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“So you can go after him, then?”

“Yeah. Your dads and I will go find him and get your aunt back.” Stan looked at Junior, fast asleep in his pool. “…Right after I ask the Gobblewonker to babysit your cousin.” Junior nodded.

“They’ll- they’ll help?” he asked timidly. “Dad and Pa, they’ve been a bit…difficult to talk to lately.” Stan smiled.

“Of course they’ll help.”

-----

“Stanley, I don’t have time to help you.”

“Don’t have time to help?!” Stan stared at Ford. “She’s your sister-in-law!” Ford didn’t even look up from the blueprints he was poring over.

“And she’s very capable of taking care of herself. Remember how she befriended the lake monster?”

“You mean the Gobblewonker.”

“Yes, yes.” Ford squinted at something on the blueprints. “I recall that Angie also handled herself very well against a poacher.”

“That’s different. She had her gun. Also, she wasn’t already kidnapped!” There was no response from Ford. “Really?! Stanford, I thought you gave a damn about my family!” Ford sighed. He finally looked up at Stan.

“I do, Stanley. Sincerely. However, I know that you are more than able to stage the rescue mission on your own. Should you be unable to for some reason, I can assist. For now, though, I must decline.” Ford jabbed the blueprints with a finger. “I’m at a crucial phase in my research!”

“Fine!” Stan threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fine! Where’s Fiddleford? He’ll help rescue his sister.” Ford grimaced. “What?”

“I don’t know if that’s the wisest move,” Ford said in an undertone. “F has been very forgetful and disoriented as of late. He’d be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“Wait, what?”

“He keeps misplacing things and forgetting about tasks. In fact, the other day, he accidentally left Tate at the supermarket.”

“He-!” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”

“Tate didn’t tell you?”

“No!” Stan kneaded his forehead. “Son of a- I can’t deal with this right now, I have to rescue my wife!” He glared at Ford. “The second Angie’s safe, I’m gonna have to talk to you. You and Fiddleford.”

“Very well.” Ford returned his attention to the blueprints.

Stan stormed out of the cabin, nearly blinded by his rage. He could feel a prickly sensation spreading over his skin. His anger was strong enough that he was beginning to slip into nixie mode. He took a deep breath. The prickling stopped.

Can’t be a frog right now. Gotta be human. Stan wrenched the door of the Stanleymobile open and sat in the driver’s seat. Okay. Think, Stan. Think! He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. You can’t take her back on your own. You’ll need some more muscle. His eyes widened.

Muscle. That’s it!

-----

Dan tore down the door of Unit 16 at the Gravity Falls Motel. Stan stepped inside.

“Thanks, Dan,” he said, remembering the manners that Angie had drilled into him.

“No PROBLEM,” Dan rumbled. He clapped a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “I OWE Angie for bringing us JONAH.”

“I’m just glad that you and Beth liked the kid enough to keep him.” Stan looked around. “Now, where is-” The door to the bathroom slammed open. Jimmy stormed into the living room.

“What the actual hell, Stan?” he screamed. Stan crossed his arms. “I didn’t realize you were this fucking bitter about me breaking up with you!” Stan ignored the startled look from Dan.

“I’m not here because of our relationship,” he ground out. “I’m here for my wife.”

“Your…?” Jimmy seemed genuinely taken aback. “Your wife?”

“Yes, my wife! The woman I married! Ever heard of one?” Stan demanded, stepping forward.

“I- I don’t know what your wife looks like,” Jimmy said. “I don’t even know her name.”

“That didn’t stop you from taking her! My nephew saw it happen!”

“Look, Stan, I don’t even traffic pugs anymore. You really think I’d kidnap someone?”

“No. But I think you’d kidnap someone you didn’t think was a person.”

“What?” Jimmy asked. Stan marched up to him.

“Where. Is. The. Nixie.”

“The nixie?” Realization dawned over Jimmy. “Your wife is the nixie?” Stan nodded. “Why the hell would you marry a frog?”

“Because I love her, dumbass,” Stan snapped. “I’m not gonna repeat myself anymore. Where. Is. She.” Behind him, he could hear Dan cracking his knuckles. Jimmy turned pale.

“She’s in the bathroom,” he said quietly. Stan ran to the bathroom door and tore it off the hinges in his hurry to open it. Angie was in the bathtub, hogtied and gagged. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Angie!” Stan sprinted to her. He pulled out her gag and untied her. She threw her arms around him, planting her lips on his in a deep kiss.

“Thank you,” Angie whispered once she finally pulled away. Stan smiled at her.

“No need for that, babe. You’re my wife. I’m supposed to rescue you if you get kidnapped.” Angie managed a small smile. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. He even kept me in water.” Angie nodded at the bathtub, which was partially filled. “I guess the person who hired him to get me wanted me in top-notch condition.” Chills ran down Stan’s spine.

“He kidnapped you because someone wanted you?” he asked quietly. Angie nodded. “Shit.” Stan took a breath. “I’ve gotta figure out who hired him.”

“Agreed,” Angie said. Stan helped her out of the tub, then led her out of the bathroom. To his pleasure, Dan had cornered Jimmy, who looked scared out of his mind. “Oh, Dan, you’re here?”

“Of COURSE!” Dan said. Angie smiled.

“It’s so sweet of you to help.” She looked at Stan. “I assume our brothers are watching the kids?”

“Uh…” Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “Not- not- I’ll talk to you about it later, okay? Right now, we need Jimmy to tell us who hired him.” Jimmy let out a bark of laughter.

“Ha! Fat chance! I ain’t no snitch. And I don’t care how many mountain-sized lumberjacks you send after me.” Stan took a step forward, but Angie put a hand on his shoulder.

“Dear, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” she said mildly. Stan couldn’t help but admire her steadfast calm. Angie looked at Jimmy. “So, Jimmy-” She was abruptly interrupted by a baby’s cry. “Um.”

“Is there a baby here?” Stan asked, looking around. His eyes landed on a crib by the bed. “Holy shit, there is!” He whipped his head around to stare at Jimmy. “Did you steal a baby?”

“What? No!” Jimmy glared at him. “Maurice is my kid, okay? His mom dropped him on me and bounced.”

“And you kept him?”

“I grew up in the system. I don’t want my kid to have to deal with that, too.”

“Right,” Stan said quietly. “You told me that before.” The gears in his head began to turn. He met Jimmy’s eyes squarely. “Jimmy. You’re a dad.”

“Yeah.”

“So am I.”

“I know. I saw your kid.”

“You’ve also seen my wife,” Stan said, gesturing to Angie. “You can probably guess that my kid isn’t as human as he looks.” Angie eyed him doubtfully. He grabbed her hand and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “As Junior’s dad, I’m supposed to keep him safe. But with him not being human, it can be a bit tough. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy mumbled.

“C’mon, man.” Stan let go of Angie’s hand and walked up to Jimmy. “The guy who hired you to go after Angie, he’ll go after my kid, too. I can’t let that happen. I have to protect him. Dad to dad. Tell me who hired you.”

“I…” Jimmy wavered. Finally, he sighed. “All right. His name is Bill.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all the information I’ve got on him,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “I can’t tell you anything else.”

“We appreciate it all the same,” Angie said, joining Stan. Jimmy grunted wordlessly. “And if you ever need a babysitter…”

“Heh.” Jimmy managed a small smile. “I’m not a big fan of frogs. And even if I was, I’m not planning on sticking around in this town. Especially since I can’t get Bill what he wanted.”

“Jimmy, I really do appreciate it,” Stan said quietly.

“It was more for old time’s sake than anything else,” Jimmy said breezily. “Now, kitten, you, your wife, and your mountain better leave. I’ve gotta take care of my kid. I don’t like to leave him crying too long.” Stan nodded. He, Angie, and Dan left, Dan carefully putting the door back on its hinges on their way out.

Once they were in the parking lot, Angie turned to Stan. She put her hands on her hips.

“What?” Stan asked.

“Kitten?” Angie asked. Dan nodded.

“I’M a bit CURIOUS about that, TOO.” Stan sighed.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

-----

Angie sighed as she hung up Junior’s sopping clothes to dry.

“Why didn’t you take his clothes off before he went in the water?” she asked. When they had gotten back, Junior was awake and hungry for dinner. They hadn’t been able to talk about the day until after he’d fallen asleep for the night.

“You know how he gets when he’s overtired and needs to turn frog,” Stan said. He was in nixie form, sitting on the edge of the sleeping pool he and Angie shared, Junior curled up in his lap. After everything that had happened that day, he didn’t want his son to leave his sight. “I was just glad that he stayed human until we got home.”

“Mm. Fair enough.” Angie turned around to face him. She put her hands on her hips. “Now. Care to explain why our brothers didn’t join the rescue mission? I feel like Fidds at least should have been chomping at the bit.”

“Yeah…about that…” Stan grimaced. “Ford said that Fiddleford’s been pretty absent-minded lately. Apparently, he forgot Tate at the store the other day.”

“What?!” Angie walked over to Stan. She sat next to him. “He forgot his son?” Stan nodded. “Why didn’t Tate tell us?”

“Kids don’t always want to tell people about their parents fucking up. Your parents are supposed to be the experts. It stinks when you find out they aren’t.”

“I suppose so,” Angie said softly. She kneaded her forehead. “What about Stanford? What was he doing while his son was hiding in our home?”

“Working on his research.”

“Research,” Angie spat. “Like research should take priority over your family.” She shook her head. “Something’s hinky about all this, Stanley.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like to use this phrase, but…” Angie chewed on her lip. “I think we might need to stage some sort of intervention.” Stan nodded.

“I think you’re right. We’ll go over tomorrow to talk to them.”

“Good. It sounds like it’s overdue.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s supposed to be frost again tomorrow morning. Mind checking the heaters?”

“No problem.” Stan handed Junior over to Angie, then stood. He walked to each pool, checking on the heaters Fiddleford had designed to keep them from going into hibernation when it got cold enough for frost. “They’re all on.”

“Excellent.” Angie yawned. “I need some sleep.”

“Same here.” Stan rejoined Angie and both slipped into their sleeping pool. “I don’t know about you, but I sorta want Junior to sleep with us tonight.”

“Oh, I wholeheartedly agree.” Angie stroked Junior’s cheek. To Stan’s distress, he could see her hand shaking. “It’s- it’s been a rough day.”

“Yeah.” Stan put an arm around Angie’s shoulders. She leaned against him. “It has.”

-----

Long after the nixie family had fallen asleep, a figure crept into the cave. Only visible from the shadows caused by the pool heaters’ faint lights, it stepped up to the pool Stan, Angie, and Junior were sleeping in. Then, it knelt. Using a gloved hand, it opened a panel on the heater, revealing the circuit board. It cocked its head. With a casual shrug, it grabbed a fistful of wires and pulled them out.

The heater fizzled briefly before turning off. The figure silently went to each pool, giving every single heater the same treatment.

Now invisible in the complete darkness, the figure fled into the night.

#Gravity Falls #Mystery Trio AU #Nixie AU #Stanley Pines #Tate McGucket #Junior Pines #Angie McGucket #Stanford Pines #Manly Dan Corduroy #Mrs. Corduroy #The Shapeshifter #Stangie #Stangie Family #Amphibious Tendencies #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks

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orangeoctopi7 · 3 years ago

Text

All of Your So-Called Problems

[AO3 link]

Stan was trying to find room for the leftover Mac and Cheese in the fridge when he heard the doorbell. He grumbled a few obscenities under his breath as he trudged towards the door. He was NOT in the mood for visitors tonight, even if they might be paying customers. The fact that a demon was trying to break into the house to steal some world-ending piece of junk from Ford didn’t help.

"We're closed!" He shouted before he even peeked out the window. He pulled back the blinds just enough to glare at whoever thought it was a good idea to drop by this late, and his eyebrows raised nearly to his receding hairline when he saw who it was.

"Wendy!? Since when do you knock?" Stan couldn't think of a single time she hadn't just come in and made herself at home since she'd started working at the Shack.

"Since Dipper told me you answered the door with a loaded gun earlier today." The teen answered as Stan opened the door.

"Gonna have to have a talk with that runt about blabbing." Stan rolled his eyes. "What, you having a movie night with the kids?"

"Not exactly." The teen jerked a thumb over her shoulder, and Stan finally noticed the rest of the Corduroy family standing just behind her, right off the porch. They were all carrying sleeping bags and pillows.

"...Wha?" Stan could only utter a surprised grunt as his brain tried to piece together why it looked like the entire Corduroy family was here for a sleepover.

"Dipper called me and said we could stay here until your brother puts up a barrier around our house." Wendy explained, noticing her boss's confusion. "...Aaand he never even told you anything about it, did he?"

"He sure didn't." Stan deadpanned.

As if on cue, Dipper and Ford both stepped into the entryway.

"Oh, Wendy, you're here already!" Dipper said, voice dripping with faked surprise. "I forgot to ask Grunkle Stan if it was ok for you guys to stay the night. But gosh, since you're already here, I guess we can't turn you away!"

"You can drop the act, bucko, I wrote the book on It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission." Stan folded his arms disapprovingly. "The answer's still no. We're already putting up one freeloader."

"I'm the one who said they could stay." Ford said firmly.

Stan turned his glare to his brother. "This isn't a safehouse, genius!"

"It's my house, Stanley!"

"Where are they even gonna sleep!?"

"Well, perhaps we'd have some place to put up guests if you hadn't turned the two largest rooms into a tourist trap!"

"Oh, like you kept the place ready for company when you lived here!" Stan countered. "These rooms were both filled to the brim with your weird experiments when I got here!"

“Hey, we can sleep outside like men, if it’s too much trouble to put us up!” Manly Dan interrupted the brothers’ argument.

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option.” Ford shook his head. “The barrier barely extends past the front porch.”

Ford quickly took a mental survey of where there might be extra room. The basement lab was out. He’d finished dismantling the portal, but he was storing the rift down there for now. His secret study was supposed to be a secret, and he still needed to clear out all that old Bill memorabilia. The attic was already taken by Dipper and Mabel. Stanley still had the main bedroom, and Fiddleford was currently sleeping on the couch in the upstairs study. That left the den, which might be large enough for one or two people, but certainly not a family of five. If only Stan hadn’t filled his old experiment and specimen rooms with useless junk! Sure, the rooms hadn’t exactly been empty before, but Ford at least would have known what things could be moved where to make room for their guests. Even his old thinking parlor was… wait…

“What about the parlor?” The old researcher asked.

Stan shrugged. “I kinda use it as a space for rotating exhibits, or whatever else I need at the time. Pretty sure it’s still full of leftover campaigning junk.”

“So, nothing we can’t throw out then.”

“Not so fast, genius, I still haven’t agreed to letting anyone stay here.”

“This is an emergency, Stanley!” Ford fumed. “And besides, it’s not your decision to make!”

Stan regarded the Corduroy family still standing awkwardly on his porch, and tried to imagine Manly Dan with those disturbing yellow eyes he’d seen on that time traveler earlier. He tried to picture the hulking lumberjack acting like that erratic demon. It was not a pleasant thought.

“Alright, fine.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But only because I don’t want any of these ax-weidling giants possessed by a triangular serial-killer. And don’t expect me to provide any bedding or food!”

“Yeah, we can probably snare ourselves a few squirrels or something.” Wendy’s oldest brother assured Stan.

Stan grimaced. “On second thought, help yourselves to some canned meat. Only the stuff that’s expired though!”

“Thanks Stan.” Wendy said. “For giving us a place to stay until this blows over, not for the expired meat.”

“What? They pad that date out by at least a year. As long as it smells fine, it’s good to eat.” Stan defended himself.

The teen rolled her eyes but stepped into the Shack, followed by her family.

Ford observed them all carefully as they entered. No hesitation or sign of even noticing it as they crossed over the barrier. So they definitely weren’t possessed now. He would have to keep a close eye on them while they stayed. He knew that Dipper trusted Wendy, and that was good enough for him, for now, but the others? Ford vaguely remembered Dan from when he’d been a young man, building this very cabin for him. He’d been friendly, loud, and boisterous. It appeared his sons were cut from the same cloth. But it was hard to say whether or not Bill could convince any of them to try and smash the rift.

“So Wendy, did you manage to get more unicorn hair?” Dipper asked as he helped her lay out a sleeping bag in the parlor.

“Oh yeah. I just snuck into that glade again with a pair of shears and a tranq dart. Works just as well as fairy dust.” She handed a grocery bag full of rainbow hair to Ford.

Ford made a mental note to add that tidbit to the Journal 1 entry on unicorns later. “I’ll get started on it first thing tomorrow.”

Mabel came downstairs to help just a minute later. After a lot of rearranging of campaign signs and novelty phones, everyone had a sleeping space set out. Dan took Stan’s recliner in the den, and his youngest son set out a sleeping bag at his feet. The oldest three children laid out their sleeping bags between the piles of junk in the parlor.

“Ohmigosh, Dipper, we should pull our mattresses down here and have a mega-sleepover!” Mabel gasped as she pushed the last of the campaign signs into a corner.

“What was the point of clearing out all this junk if we aren’t even gonna sleep in our own beds?” Dipper asked tiredly.

“Hmm, good point. Maybe Barry and Stuart can sleep in our beds, and we can sleep down here with Wendy!”

Dipper and Wendy’s middle brother both blushed beet red.

“Uh… I mean… I, uh, I don’t think Wendy would want to sleep with me--US! With us!” Dipper stammered.

“M-me? Sleep in a g-girl’s room? Like a room that a girl sleeps in?” The middle brother gulped.

“Yyyeah, I think we’re good where we are.” Wendy said cooly, trying to diffuse the awkward tension in the room.

“Aw man!” Mabel pouted, but she didn’t put up any other protest than that. Dipper suspected she was still pretty worn out from the rescue mission this morning.

Eventually, everyone got settled down and the children all fell asleep. The elder Pines twins moved back to the living room to check on Dan one more time.

"Hey, now that the kids are asleep, I've been meaning to ask you something." The lumberjack said in a low rumble that was probably his version of a whisper. "How long have there been two of you?"

"Hooboy…" Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn't want to retread this again.

"I'm Stanford. I'm the one you first met when you built this place for me. My brother Stanley has been living here under my name for the last 30 years." Ford summarized tiredly. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to make a big deal out of it right now either.

Stan could practically see the gears turning in Manly Dan's head. Eventually the grizzled lumberjack nodded. "Yeah, that adds up."

With that, he turned over and went to sleep. Stan was a little surprised that the guy accepted their explanation just like that. But then again, Dan had lived in Gravity Falls his whole life.

Ford grabbed a folding chair from the card table and carried it out into the giftshop.

"Are you seriously gonna stay up and keep watch over that snowglobe thing all night?" Stan asked incredulously.

"My usual sleeping place is already occupied, I may as well."

"Y’know, operating on so little sleep just makes you more likely to screw up.”

“Don’t worry. I’m well accustomed to it.”

“Not reassuring.” Stan said flatly, turning and climbing the stairs up to his room. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight either. But at least he was going to try. Ford was going to run himself ragged if he kept up this pace.

- - -

Nights in prison were the worst part of the whole ordeal, in Gideon's opinion. At least during the day, he was able to sway the other inmates to do what he wanted. There was a sort of mob mentality that he could take control of. But at night, it was just Gideon and his cell-mate, and there was nothing the boy could do to stop the hulking man from taking his pillow and doing whatever he wanted with it.

Last week, the convicted felon had staged a wedding in their cell. He’d made a veil out of toilet paper and hummed “Here Comes the Bride” and everything. Tonight, he seemed to be discussing the possibility of children with his new “wife”.

“But Tessa, your mother and your aunt both died in childbirth! I’m just worried about you, honey!” He paused for whatever imagined reply the pillow gave. “Adoption, you say? I’ll admit, I had not considered it.”

Gideon groaned. He couldn’t even put a pillow over his ears to try and block out the nonsense! He’d tried to persuade the warden to let him switch cell mates so he could room with Ghost Eyes, but apparently they were “both instigators” and putting them both in the same cell would be “asking for a prison riot”.

The boy’s eyes flicked with annoyance to the cat poster still hiding his last attempt to summon Bill Cipher. The triangle had appeared and promised he was working on something, but so far Bill had failed to deliver.

“Stupid useless demon!” Gideon muttered under his breath. He rolled over, expecting another sleepless night.

Well, it did turn out to be sleepless, but not for the reason he’d anticipated.

It was a little past 10 PM when Gideon heard the familiar sound of an old van’s engine revving. He’d heard it many times on his father’s used car lot, but what on earth would one of those junkers be doing here?

That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound of a van crashing through a wall. Followed by the even more unmistakable sound of a machine gun.

“Heavens to Betsy, what was that!?” Gideon ran to his barred window just in time to see a pudgy man with a machine gun walk away from the wreckage of where a large van had burst through the prison wall. His maniacal laughter sounded familiar.

“Well whaddya know? Bill came through!” Gideon said in a hushed whisper.

He dove away from the window with a yelp a second later when the machine gun started firing in his direction. A few seconds later there was a much quieter bang as a tall ladder hit the wall just outside the window.

“HEY GIDEON, I HEARD YOU WERE GETTING TIRED OF YOUR PRISON AND WANT TO FIND SOMEPLACE NEW TO PARTY?”

“Bill!?”

“THE ONE AND ONLY!”

“Are you trying to kill me, you maniac!?”

“YEESH, YOU FLESH-SACKS ARE SO SENSITIVE! YOU’RE FINE. BESIDES, I NEEDED TO LOOSEN THESE BARS!” He ripped out the bars on the window with ease. They’d already been loosened by the machine gun fire. “YOU COMING OR NOT? I NEED YOUR HELP STAGING A LITTLE PRISON BREAK OF MY OWN.”

Gideon pouted and followed the demon down the ladder, grumbling the whole way.

“... You know what, Tessa? I don’t think I want kids after all.” Gideon’s cowering cell mate said after they left.

Bill kept the guards off them with plenty of machine gun fire, but he had little regard for who he was shooting at, guard or prisoner. He even narrowly missed Gideon on a few occasions.

“Oooh, I hope Killbone’s foot will be ok.” The boy hissed sympathetically as he saw one of his inmate friends go down.

“NAH, HE’S CRIPPLED FOR LIFE!”

They finally made it to the van, and Gideon climbed into the passenger-side door. Bill followed after him.

“A-aren’t you gonna drive?” The boy asked.

“TCH, FUNNY! I JUST RAMMED THIS THING THROUGH THREE WALLS OF CONCRETE; YOU THINK THE MEASLY COMBUSTION ENGINE STILL WORKS?” He flicked a lighter on and dropped it down between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel. Gideon could smell the gasoline. This thing was going to blow any second. He scampered over the benches and out the back door. Bill followed casually behind him.

“Then how are we supposed to get away!?” Gideon demanded as he sprinted to put distance between himself and the burning van.

“RELAX, SHORT-STACK, I’VE GOT A SECOND GET-AWAY CAR RIGHT HERE!” Bill pointed out a small black Audi parked behind a tall tree.

“Then why did you set the van on fire?” Gideon asked in confusion.

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT’D BE FUN.” Bill grinned as the van blew up behind them. Gideon screamed and ducked to avoid fiery flying debris. “AND I WAS RIGHT!”

Gideon got into Bill’s car. There was no child’s car seat. “You better drive careful.” He warned the demon.

“AHAHAHAHA, OH GIDEON, YOU’RE ALWAYS A RIOT!” Bill struggled to shift the car into drive, and Gideon had just enough time to realize with horror that the demon didn’t really know how to operate a human vehicle before it sped off through the trees.

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #Gideon Gleeful #Bill Cipher #My Writing

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ramblesanddragons · 4 years ago

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On Your Shoulders

A very late birthday (might as well be a holiday gift) for @lemonfodrizzleart

I saw something and immediately went “That would be amazing with Jackie and Stan.” 10 internet points to anyone who guesses what it was.

Read it on AO3 or under the the read more.

Summary: Stan gains the eye of a visitor and Jackie has to save him.

Jackie slid to a stop at the edge of the forest and gathered all of her nerves. Ford and Fiddleford were still at the house trying to think of the best plan to save Stan but by the time any rescue robot could be built Stan would be gone.

Whisked away to where ever the hell faeries come from.

Hoping that that they hadn't made it too far Jackie ran full sprint into the forest. She dared any gnome or shadow creature to mess with her today. Her hunch could be wrong but she had a feeling the band of faeries that had kidnapped Stan were headed to that large ring of mushrooms Ford had found earlier in the week. That had been around with the new folks had shown up. For a guy that studies the supernatural he apparently couldn't tell someone was some sort of fae by looking at them.

Jackie had know something was up though. The head guy's movements were so graceful, Unnaturally so. He had a sharp wit and sliver tongue. At first there was a thought that it was just jealousy because of how obvious it was this guy was into Stan but she ignored the feeling. Now she wish she had gone after the guy with an iron horse shoe.She grew closer to the clearing and thanked whoever was listening that her hunch was right. There was the guy with his friends. He was leading a dazed looking Stan by the hand into the ring.

Now this was the part where the farm hand probably should have paused to think of a plan but the absolute fear at the idea of losing the love of her life drover her forward. With all of her might she crashed into the strange man with a scream.

The past few days felt like a blur to Stan. It started when this group of five guys showed up one evening. Weary travelers asking to stay in the barn for a night or two and willing working around the farm in exchange . Normally Stan wouldn't have felt comfortable with the idea. There was something about these folk that seemed a little off but whatever hesitations melted away as he listened to the leader of the group talk. He was tall with the greenest eyes Stan had ever seen. His dark hair reached midway down his back when it was not braided. Without really knowing why Stan found himself wanting to spend every free moment with this stranger. Something in the back of mind kept yelling at him that something was wrong. That he wanted to be with Jackie and his family but he couldn't fight it. He couldn't fight it as this man and his minions took what they wanted from the house. the group walked unopposed into the woods with several large bags of items that ranged from home spun yarn Jackie had made from the wool, several jars of homemade jam, some of Ford’s books, the good silverware, and the nice dress Jackie had sown for herself. As the visitor took Stan's hand and guided him through the words he whispered into Stan's ears. There were promises of riches and a life where he would be waited on hand and foot. All Stan needed to do was give his name. Give over his name and an eternity of comfort was waiting for him.

He wanted eternity with Jackie.

Even in the middle of the woods it was like he could hear her.

She was yelling. Why was she yelling?

Wait was that a yelp of pain?

The haze lifted. Fear and anger gripped him and he spun to see this random weirdo tossing a frantic Jackie off of him and tumbling into some roots. He began to walk toward her. Instantly Stan lunged but was held back by two of the others who suddenly looked a lot less human than they did a minute ago. Ever the fighter Stan took the heel of his boot and kicked back hard getting one in the shin. With the other he swung his head back as hard as he could and got them in the nose. Now free Stan charged towards the guy over Jackie but he just tutted and snapped his fingers. Vines erupted from the earth and ensnared Stan. With a roar he tore himself free of the earth but the vines clung tight around his arms in legs. A few frantic hops forward and Stan toppled to the ground.

The fae creature smiled at Jackie as she got to her feet.

“I’ve never met a human dumb enough to try something like that,” he said in a silky smooth voice.

“Yeah well you pissed me off!” She yelled back trying to hide the fear she felt shaking her to her core.

“How so?”

“The fae are tricky," Ford had said earlier this week. "Never be specific with them. The vaguer you are the better.”

“Oh you know why. You took my shit! I worked hard on a lot of that and God knows I’m not paid enough for it.” She tried to ignore the crestfallen look on Stan’s face. She refused to look at him. There was no way she was going to tip this guy off.

“Paid?”

“Yeah this yahoo is my boss.” If Stan was trying to pull this off Jackie bet that he wouldn’t feel so sick to his stomach like she did. He was a smooth talker. Charming. A lot like this guy but way less creepy.

“Tell you what human. Your antics amuse me and I wish to return home with my new consort as soon as possible. For your bravery...and to get you out of my hair how about this? You can have back whatever you can carry on your shoulders out of here. The items are just amusing trinkets after all.”

Jackie though for a moment then smiled.

“Whatever I can carry? Do I have your word?”

“You have my word.” She felt the fae’s words in her very bones and knew that some sort of deal was struck.

“Well alrighty then.”

Without another word she walked over to Stan who had struggled to a standing position. She looped and arm under his legs and balanced him as best she could on her back. With a deep breath she lifted with all of her might.

“Jackie stop! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Babe just trust me here,” she said through grit teeth.

Slowly but surely she began to walk. Stan was heavy but that didn’t matter. If this had happened when she had first been hired on she might have been screwed but working on the farm had made her stronger. She didn’t spare the group of fae another look as she walked back to the edge of the forest. (Later Stan would tell her that the smug bastard who tried to take him seemed to be struggling between angry and impressed. Each of the guy's friends held their mouths open in shock. For once in what was probably a very long life the guy had been conned. Apparently as they walked out of sight Stan even flipped them off.)

Once the mushroom ring was out of sight Stan moved to get down but Jackie just clung tighter.

“No. I’m not dropping ya until we’re out of the forest.”

"But..."

"Stan I love you but shhhhh."

A moment passed in silence and Jackie sighed. Even on her back she could tell Stan was about to burst."What do you want to say?"

"Honey I'm so sorry. You know I would never want to leave you right? That guy out some sort of spell on me and I should've fought it harder. God you could have been hurt of killed and this is gonna break your back. I'm not wor..."

"Stanley Pines if you’re about to say you’re not worth it I will drop you on your head when we’re out of here!”

“Okay then I wont. But I will say the was reckless. I'll also say damn proud of you.”

“Reckless but makes me proud is a good descriptor for you too you know.”

Stan chuckled a bit at that. Jackie could see the edge of the forest. Her back ached and her legs burned by this point but she could do it.

“Besides. You’ve rescued me from enough weird shit ‘bout time I...rescued...YOU!”

They two of them crossed the treeline and the moment Jackie felt free she tumbled. They both ended up flat on their backs. Stan scrambled to get himself free if the vines and next to his love’s side. He smiled as he wiped the sweat off of her forehead.

“You’re amazing you know that? Even when I was under that creep’s spell I was still thinking about you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Gently Stan scooped the aching woman off the ground and into his arms. He was saying something about a chiropractor but Jackie was so exhausted she started to drift missing most of what he was saying. What she didn’t miss with the frustrated but amused fae watching them go from the edge of the woods.

Just like Stan she flipped him off until they were out of sight.

( Ford later puts wards around the farm which come and handy later when a pretty woman comes across Jackie and Stan working in the field and both of them go gaga for a minute. Ford ends up dragging them away from the bemused fae women muttering under his breath.)

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Mystery Farm AU #attempted faenapping #My writing #stanxjackie #apparently all #my brain can do #is short stories right now

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instantlyexhaustedowl · 4 years ago

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"He was my first love... And only one."

Summary:

Old photos, one old love and two not that old twins. A bit of talking after Weirmaggedon. Stan listening to his bro-bro memories about college lover.

Notes:

Please be kind to me, it's my first fanfic in English and also my first fanfic i have ever posted.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580418

Ford was nostalgically sorting old photoes. Wrinkled paper gently rustled in his weary hands. All those memories, forgotten things with distand feeling of lost love, whole past in his worn out hands. "Ya look sad, bro," Stan's voice broke the silence of Ford's room. His twin was looking at him with curious brown eyes covered with thick glasses. He leaned on the doorframe.

Older twin smiled sligtly, running his polydactyl hands thru grey hairs. Fingers touched silver stripe that cut thru dark grey hairs. He felt suddenly old and exhausted. "Just... Overthinking past, i guess." He patted spot on the sofa next to himself, showing that companion is welcome.

"Pics?" asked carefully Stanley. His mind was still a bit wobbly, but he remembered nearly everything. Definitely good sign. Stan sheepishly sat next to Ford on the sofa. Old matress swayed under his weight and caused, that Ford leaned a bit agaist Stan's shoulder. "What? Oh, yeah... Pictures. Old ones." said author of the journals with sigh while his hands gently folded photos on the lap. "Hehe, 'm probably not in your colection,... Hey that one... that guy looks cute," chuckled his brother. He pointed at picture of tall smiling boy, maybe a bit older than twenty-one. Long sand blond hair, big blue eyes brightly shining with happines were hinding partly behind small round glasses. That noodle nerd had two daysies tucked behind his ear, big smile on his face. He looked like hippie college student. "Yeah... Fantastic old friend of mine. Wait! It...He is a man. Why do you think he is cute?" suddenly asked Ford. Stan was ladies man. Why he would think something like that?! Stanley blushed. His eyes wondered over room. Now seemed every piece of furniture like super interesting. "Ehh...No comment?" "No Stanley. We should be more honest with each other. We spend enought of our time pushing each other away. I just want to know why do you think that. No judgement, only curiosity." Old man mumbled something. Then he scooted away from Ford. Scietinst seemed a bit concerned. His brother was always the one who wanted to feel the others presence, but this was different. He was suddenly so shy. Ford like physical contact too but only from persons he loved and liked. Stanley was different- he loved patting peoples shoulder, hugging them even thou they were strangers. His attention was like contact sport. And sometimes it could change into one when that person made him angry. Ford's attention thou. It was more about reading between lines. "Pardon, Lee? I didn't understand." "I said... That i dated men too," sighed Stanley. His fingers were twiching. Eyes were trying to burned thru the floor into the heart of the Earth. He made himself look tiny. Whole body curled into himself. Ford's mouth formed into small silent "oh". "'m sorry... Gonna vanish, don't worry." "Are you crazy, Lee?! No vanishing, no going away." "But..." it was strange. Stanley could brake a montain with bare hands and now... He looked so vulnurable. Like scared teen he once was- standing outside in the middle of warm spring night hoping that Ford could forgive him. "But 'm nothing just familly disapointment. Stupid big idiot and even gay..." "If you say it one more time, i will punch you. Without warning! You are not disapointment! You are my best friend i have ever had and best twin brother i could wish for!" "Poindexer, i am weird old fag!" "Probably not. And that is absolutely horrible word, do not use it, please! You did loved Carla, hm." "And some other girls..." admited Stanley with blush of embarassment. "So you are bisexual. You like both." "'m not picky type," shrugged younger brother with hint of smile. He seemed more comfortable now. Hands put on his knees, eyes still sticked to the ground but he didn't look like persone who wanted to crawl under the rock and stay there for next few milleniums. "I am fag... At least that would Pa called me... If he had knew about it..." "That explains lots of things... And highschool," mumbled Stan scooting back so they shoulders touched again. "Pardon me?!" shrieked Ford. "You were curious only about science. And why girls didn't talk to you! Nothing was about girls, only why they kept ignoring you," explained Stan. Ford blinked few times, his face making pretty good impression of confuesed owl. Stanley was smugly smiling: "I've knew the whole time that you are not straight. 'm glad that Pa never knew about it thou. He would kick ya out too, maybe beat ya...Ya would never make it out unharm, on the streets..." "You were the one that ended up there... I can not forgive myself," two big tears started to roll down. Ford tried to dry them with his sleeve. "Poindexter, let it be. We are here, we are good..." "And gay," added Ford with tiny smile. Roaring of Stan's laught filled the room: "YEAH, we are gay! SO ... Who was that cutie? First crush?" His eyebrows wiggled in devilish way. "First crush, first love and only one. He took my heart without asking and never gave it back..." His brother wrapped arm around his shoulders. "You are old sappy man, Ford." "I know. I... Everything could be so different." "What happened?" asked younger twin. He hated seeing Ford depressed. "First time he went back to his family, after a while he had one too. And later when we found each other... Portal happened." "Sixer! I ... I caused...! Did I....?" Stanford grabbed old photos. He hold them on his chest, close to his fast-beating heart. "It was my fault, we had huge arguement and split up. I should have listened to him, but i was the biggest idiot on this Earth!" Stanley suddenly gasped. "You were dating McGucket?! Old man MCGUCKET?! Oh holy hot Belgian waffles!" "Kids aren't home," snarkyly pointed out Ford still carressing his pictures. "In that case- FUCK!" Small smile crept on scientist's face. "May i tell you a story, Lee?" asked Ford. He looked way younger now. Shy blush on his cheeks, still a bit teary eyes behind glasses. But they were light up with memories. "Yep, ya nerd. I haven't heard romantic novel for a long time! Ok i saw one last night. But i want to hear yar romance," beamed happily Stan and made himsleft comfortable. He was now sprawled on sofa, legs streched infront of him, hands folded on his soft belly. "So...Tell me yar fairytale, bro-bro." "Lee you are so silly," nudged Stan's elbow Ford playfully. "Fine. Long time ago... Ok, i am really getting old and silly. We were college roomates. I liked him first time i saw him. He was true opposite of me. Emotinal, empathic, wonderfully talented. His genius was amazing. After a while we got closer and closer. Fidds was so carring, nearly motherly. You should saw him when i was ill. I phoned dad, that i needed some money... to see a doctor, cause i felt really awful. He... shouted at me- to be a man and sleep it off. So i tried it. And fainthed during one of our classes we had together. Fidds did knew what to do, he took care about me. Got me to our room, helped in bed where i stayed for next week barely knowing about world. I don't remember much, my fever was too high. All seemed like a dream. After i got better i found him sitting on the window frame. His eyes were looking into starry night, silently crying. He was aftraid about me whole week and...He finally snapped... We started dating few days later." Ford had tears on his cheeks while he hold old pictures like precious treasure. His hands were clutching them, only gems he had from his past. Someone knock on the door frame. Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket stood there. He was dressed in jeans, silly shirt with watermelons and drinks on it. He had crazy bowler hat with daisy that kept danggling. Still with beard that could belong to the oldest wizzard in the Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons, but under it was hidden smile. "I swear Stanferd, ma biggest mistake was leaving ya. And i fool made it twice!" Stanley looked at them with squint eyes trying to seem like he fall asleep. "Stop foolin' us, ya'r great conman, but that's horrible try," laugh Fidds hopping on the sofa from Ford's free side. He covered one six-fingered hand with his small one. They fitted perfectly, like two pieces of puzzles. Maybe their hands were a bit cold, but hearts were still aflame with passion and love. "I guess now i've to keep an eye on two nerds," sighed Stanley. "Have fun ya two, i am gonna go to... Don't know. Want a coffee?" "Yeah we will join you," smiled Ford when Fiddleford hugged his waist. "Yej, coffee is great idea pals!" "Gentlemen, we will have gayffee party!" clasped his big hands Stanley and went to the kitchen, chuckling because he liked that new horrible pun. Ford froze a bit and then shouted: "Do not tell this term in front of Mable! Or we all end up covered in rainbow glitters! I don't mind them but i certainly don't like to drink them with my coffee!" "WHO SAID SOMETHING ABOUT RAINBOW GLITTEEEEEERS???????!" "Mabel, calm down! Honey, put that bottle of rainbow disaster down!"

#grunkle stan #grunkle ford #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #not a stancest #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddle/author #Fidlleauthor #fiddleford+ford #my fanfinction #fiddauthor

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under-atomic-skies · 6 years ago

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The Crooked Kind. Ch. 1

Welcome Home

Summary: Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

Warnings: none for this chapter

Word count: 2,594

AO3

Ch. 1 (HERE) || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 || Ch. 4

All my nightmares escaped my head Bar the door, please don't let them in You were never supposed to leave Now my head's splitting at the seams

Snow was beginning to drive from the gray skies suffocating the sky. The weather had been turning gradually colder and colder as winter pressed on. It was nearly Christmas, which also meant the semester was winding down. Finals week was quickly approaching and the impending stress loomed over the young college student. It didn’t help that it was one of his last few years of college and the course work, mechanical engineering, had gotten progressively harder and more complex.

Not that any of that bothered him. He’d been building all sort of robots and improving farm machines for at least a decade. He was doing very well in his classes, but it didn’t change the fact that it was time consuming, and carving out time to study and complete projects in time for the end of the semester was easier said than done.

He technically should be studying now, but he’d been studying all day and he could at least recognize (unlike his roommate) the benefits of taking a break every now and then. What better way to do so then to get fresh air and call his family.

At least that had been his plan. Being a southern boy, he forgot how “fresh air” implied that the air outside was so cold that it hurt to breathe. Remind him why he decided to go to a school where the air hurt to breathe? Wrapping his jacket tighter around his thin shoulders, he continued along his way to where the phone booth stood, quietly stuck in between a nearby building and a mostly empty parking lot.

Opening the door, he let himself in and closed it, realizing sadly that it wasn’t any warmer inside the phone booth. Fishing through his pockets, he retrieved several coins and inserted them before dialing his home phone number. Lifting the phone to his ear (and trying not to think about all of the germs and bacteria living on the damn thing), he waited patiently as the phone beeped in his ear.

Finally, the beeping broke off as a warm voice greeted him through the phone with a thick southern accent, “Hello, McGucket residence?”

A smile tugged at the boys features as he recognized his mother’s voice. “Hi Ma!” he replied back with excitement.

“Fiddleford!” she all but shouted into his ear, earning a laugh from the man at the other end. “Honey, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you? Are you eating?”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Fiddleford laughed again, “Yes, Ma. I’m eatin’, I swear.”

“Good! You’re always so skinny; I don’t want ya wastin’ away!” His mother’s voice was warm, though Fiddleford knew his Ma well enough to tell she was worrying about him. She was always a fretful person, and that only magnified now that her son was hundreds of miles away on his own.

“I promise, Ma, I’m doin’ well. If anything, my roommate is the one who ain’t eatin’.” He laughed fondly before adding, “I guess I also got a protective mother streak in me; I’m always harping on him to eat more, or get some sleep.”

His mother laughed, “Oh, Fiddleford. You’ve always been such a sweet boy. I know I shouldn’t worry about you so, but it’s hard to not worry about your baby!”

Seeing a movement out of the corner of his eyes, Fiddleford turned to watch as a red El Diablo turned into the parking lot and parked a few spots down from the payphone.

“So, how’s your classes going, baby? Finals are comin’ up!” His mother’s voice interrupted him, turning his attention away from the car.

“They’re going well! My roommates been helping me with multivariate calculus. He’s not the best teacher since everything is so easy for him and he can’t seem to understand why I don’t get everything as quickly as he does, but he’s still been helpful.”

A noise not that far interrupted his thoughts as a car door opened. Seeing as this was a busy street, it didn’t seem odd to him so Fiddleford didn’t pay him any mind.

“That’s great, honey! You’re always such a smart cookie!”

She laughed at Fiddleford’s squak of protest.

“You know I’m so proud of my smart boy! Listen sweetie, when are you thinkin’ you can come home for Christmas?”

Fiddleford hummed in thought, briefly glancing at the car as a man emerged from the car. It was fairly dark out so he couldn’t see the man very well. He turned towards the payphone, and seeing that it was in use, strode to the front of his car and sat on the hood, lighting a cigarette that he pulled from a pack.

“Finals week is a week and a half away so probably that Friday after finals.” Fiddleford responded.

“Fantastic! And you’re still plannin’ to bring your roommate home as well, right?” his Ma asked pleasantly. Not for the first time, Fiddleford felt a swell of affection for his kind hearted mother. After explaining how vague his roommate had been about not looking forward to going home for the holidays, and talking about staying in their apartment for the holidays, his mother had offered to open their home to his roommate so he wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone.

At first, his roommate had been hesitant. Fiddleford suspected it was because he was because he, bless his heart, wasn’t the best at social cues, or socialization for that matter. But at Fiddleford’s insistence (it also helped that he pointed out that the McGucket’s could talk to a dead person), he agreed to go.

“Yep! He’s still plannin’ on comin’! You’re gonna make your homemade apple pie still, right? I’m afraid I talked up a storm about it and he’s lookin’ forward to tryin’ it!” Fiddleford said with a laugh.

“Oh yes, sweetie,” his mom replied, chuckling, “You know I always do.”

Fiddleford grinned, “He’ll be excited to hear that.” After a brief moment, he signed and scratched the back of his neck, “Listen ma, I still got a lot of studying to do. It was great to hear your voice again, and I’ll see ya soon, ok?”

His mum’s voice sounded through the receiver, understanding but still a bit disappointed to have to get of the phone, “Of course, sweetie. You’ll do great! I’ll look forward to seeing ya soon. I love ya!”

Smiling fondly, Fiddleford replied, “I love ya too, Ma. Bye.” he said.

He heard his mother say bye as well before he hung up the phone on the hook. He opened the door to the payphone and as he raised his eyes, his gaze met the strangers, now rising from the hood of his car, flicking the cigarette butt into the growing pile of snow.

“Sorry for takin’ so long.” Fiddleford responded to him kindly. As the man approached, now under the light of the street lamp better, he noticed that the man’s coat couldn’t possibly couldn’t be warm enough to stave off the winter cold.

“No problem.” the man replied, voice gruff. A thin, trail of air coming from his mouth as he breathed. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a quarter, would ya? I wanted t’ call my ma, but I’m one quarter short.”

Fiddleford could obviously tell the man was not happy to have to ask for money from a stranger, and felt sympathy. The man just wanted to call his own mother, and how could Fiddleford deny the man that request. Nodding, he stuck his hands in his pocket and pulled out the rest of the change that he had before offering it to the man.

The man was closer now and as Fiddleford met his gaze, he gasped. The man looked just like his roommate. Or rather, he would if it weren’t for the long hair, scruffy five o’clock shadow, tired bags under his eyes (though Ford was probably sporting a pretty good pair right about now), or strange stains on his threadbare jacket. The man seemed to notice his scrutinizing gaze and appeared to shrink, as if wanting to make himself smaller. Feeling another wave of sympathy, Fiddleford offered a kind smile to the man as he added his coins to the man’s own pair.

“Say, you must be from down south, huh?” He asked. The stranger opened his mouth to reply with a look of confusion before Fiddleford cut him off, “I know how it is. I’m not used to this cold weather either. I happen to have a spare winter coat; how’d ya like to take that off my hands for me?”

The man’s face looked puzzled before he nodded, as if he was hesitating. It was if he didn’t want to take him up on his offer, but his body was too cold and forced him to agree. Fiddleford grinned.

“Thank you! You’re really doin’ me a huge favor!”

The man was starting to ease, much to Fiddleford’s joy.

“I- uh- I really appreciate that, but I really gotta call my Ma before it gets too late. I’m late enough as it is, and if I don’t call her tonight, she’s gonna talk my ear off.” The man said, shuffling his feet.

Fiddleford nodded, “Of course, of course! I gotta get back to studying but I tell ya what, why don’t ya come back here tomorrow afternoon. I can get that coat for ya, and there’s a nice coffee shop a block or two down that has a new drink I’ve been wantin’ to try out.”

The man’s eyes darted away, hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could respond, Fiddleford cut in, “And before ya object, ya know how that southern hospitality is. My own ma will have my head if she ever finds out I don’t welcome a newcomer to the town, near Christmas nonetheless.”

The guy appeared a bit overwhelmed and for a brief moment, Fiddleford wondered if he was over doing it. But how could he not? The man obviously looked like he could use a kind gesture of two, and seeing as he looked so much like his roommate, Fiddleford felt the need to be a bit extra generous to this man.

Slowly, he nodded, “Ok… yeah. Coffee sounds nice.” Ever so slightly, his mouth curved into a hopeful smile. Fiddleford grinned.

“Great. I’ll see ya tomorrow at noon then! Enjoy your phone call with your Ma!” Fiddleford said, turning to head back to his apartment and raising a hand to wave bye to the man. The man waved back, almost hesitantly.

“See ya then!” he called back.

Fiddleford turned fully now, hurrying back to his apartment to get out of the cold, a small smile on his mouth. He could hear the door to the payphone opening as the man let himself inside, and again a few moments later as the door closed. Following the path back to the apartment, Fiddleford noticed that in the short time he had used the payphone, snow had covered the path in a thin layer. His footsteps crunched ever so softly as he climbed the steps leading to his apartments front door before letting himself in. Following down the hallway that led to his tiny apartment, he took his keys out to let himself in.

Unsurprisingly, he found his roommate still at the desk, hunched over as his eyes darted across the textbook he was reading.

“Howdy, Stanford!” he greeted his roommate, who was so wrapped up in his readings that he didn’t hear his roommate. Rolling his eyes with a playful smile, Fiddleford approached his roommate, and leaned his head down to be about level with Ford’s head. He let out a yell which was soon joined by his roommates own shocked yell.

Spinning around to look at Fiddleford with wide, frightened eyes, Fiddleford burst into laughter. His roommate didn’t seem nearly as pleased, not that Fiddleford was all that surprised.

“Ya know, Stanford, I could have been a burglar or a murderer or somethin’ and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

Ford rolled his eyes, leaning his arm across the back of his chair. “I would have noticed! They would have had to break the door down.”

Fiddleford laughed, “Yeah, somehow I’m not confident that you’d notice that.” This earned a stubborn glare from his roommate.

Playfully grinning back, Fiddleford returned to his desk where his book had been left open for him.

“Anyway, how was your ma?” His roommate asked, turning back to his own book.

Grinning, Fiddleford responded, “She’s good. She’s really excited t’ meet ya! Oh! And I met a guy that looks a bit like ya if ya had long hair.”

“Hmmmm…. I’m inspired. Maybe I’ll grow out my hair. Think that’ll look good on me.” Ford teased, carding his six fingered hand through his wild, mouse-brown hair.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Fiddleford chuckled curtly, “Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’d suit you.” He paused for a few minutes, deciding to mention his plans for the next day. It wasn’t like he thought the man would do something, but just in case, at least Ford would know where he was, “I’m gettin’ coffee with the guy tomorrow. I dunno what his deal is, but he looks like he doesn’t have much, so I figure a cup of coffee and my old winter coat will help ‘im out a bit.”

By this point, Ford seemed to be wrapped up in his textbook. For a moment, Fiddleford thought he hadn’t heard him and was about to repeat himself when Ford replied, “Just be careful, alright? He’s probably not well off for a reason.”

Pressing his lips together to keep himself from retorting something back, Fiddleford merely hummed. He didn’t agree with Ford’s sentiment, but he knew they were both too tired with too much studying to do to engage in an argument. He was finding it hard to concentrate on his classwork with that man in his thoughts. He was probably done or wrapping up the phone call with his mother. He hoped it went well; if his ma was anything like Fiddlefords, it’s always good to have one person like that in your corner. It soothed Fiddleford to think that the stranger wasn’t entirely alone. He might not have any clue about this man’s life, but it wasn’t hard to deduce that if he was on his own, or, god forbid, living out of his car, he most likely didn’t have many friends or acquaintances.

Fiddleford could only hope that the man wasn’t just passing through. If he was planning on staying for a while, Fiddleford wouldn’t mind getting to know the man. He wanted to know more about this mysterious drifter who he could see had a kind, if not worn heart. The following afternoon could not come fast enough.

With this thought in mind, he marked his place on the book and told Ford that he was taking a shower and heading to bed, and that he should think about doing the same. Ford didn’t respond, too wrapped up in his studying, not that Fiddleford actually expected an answer. He’d come out again after his shower to remind him.

As he climbed into bed several minutes later, it didn’t take long for the exhaustion to catch up to him, and within moments, he was deep in sleep.

#the crooked kind #ch. 1 #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #stanley pines #stan pines #grunkle stan #fiddleford mcgucket #ford pines #stanford pines #stangst

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banjopolishh · 2 months ago

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Better in the dark.

(a t4t ftm fiddauthor fic with nsfw mentions! love ya)

Fiddleford and Ford have been trying for a while now to..be physically intimate with one another. There’s often heated make out sessions, pulling at hair, marking, all the good stuff, yet.. they still haven’t had sex.

You see; Fiddleford and Ford are both transmen, and are both afraid of the other seeing them naked. Yet, they both crave intimacy with each other.

Fidds hadn’t been as consistent on his testosterone as Ford has, he felt terrified of his lover seeing his “under developed” body.

he cursed himself every time the mention of sex came up. He felt small and feminine compared to the hunkier man, he didn’t want to disappoint him with a body that he didn’t even like.

Ford, on the other hand, was just plainly afraid of being seen as less than a man. The thought of Fidd’s being unhappy with his dick was nauseating. He wanted to be able to fulfill ever desired Fiddleford had, but he felt like he couldn’t. Not with this deformed body.

It was about time to head for bed, the two did their normal nightly routine; lots of kisses, brushing teeth, and soft i love you’s, then lights out. It was so quiet in their shared room that you could hear a pin drop, the silence felt absolutely horrible to Ford.. he desperately wanted to tell his lover how much he needed him.

So he did.

“Hey, Fidds? You awake?..”

“huh..? mhm, yeah.. what’s goin’ on, sugar?”

“Can we talk..?”

Fidds felt himself tense up, “Can we talk?” What!? What was going to happen? What was Ford going to say!!?

“Yeah….?” Fidds replied, voice soft.

“I want to have sex with you.” Ford huffed out swiftly, he needed to rip the bandage off and just go for it, or he’d NEVER say it again.

Fiddleford jumped a little, did Ford really want to have sex with him? Ford felt the movement and reached over to the smaller man, rubbing circles on his back. “Is that okay? Are you upset with me? I’m sorry if that was too much-“

“NO! No, i, i want that too. ‘M just.. I don’t want you to see me.. im afraid.”

“I am too, but, I want to try with you.. if you’ll let me! I want to see you, feel you, I want to know everything about your body..” Fiddleford couldn’t see it; but Ford’s face was beet red. What was he saying!? What if he was making Fiddleford uncomfortable?

“‘M scared you’ll think I’m gross, Stanford.. I don’t want you to be disgusted by me.” Is all Fidds replied with, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“Honey, there isn’t a single thing that could ever, and i mean EVER, make me feel that way about you. You’re so perfect and handsome, I bet you’re even better below.” Ford stroked the brunettes hair gently, reassuring him with gentle touches and words of affirmation.

“Should we keep the lights off? You might like me more if the lights are off-“

“I can assure you, I’d like you any single way. Lights on or off, that’s all up to you, my love. I just want you to be comfortable, okay..? I’m.. also really scared, I don’t want you to expect something amazing and then ruin it with my non existent penis.” Ford chucked slightly, almost playing it off like it was a joke, it was not.

Fiddleford laughed sincerely, he didn’t care if Stanford had a dick or not, what mattered to him was simply being intertwined. “Hon.. ‘m so behind on my t that im definitely smaller than you.. if anything, im scared you’ll be disappointed with mine.” He slightly positioned himself in front of Ford, grinding playfully on him.

“Lets do lights on, okay?” Fidd’s said; I want to be able to be seen by you.. even if ‘m scared shitless.” The two laughed, “Sure, baby.” Ford replied, kissing the other man softly.

(sorry I fucked this up so bad im so tired and had a long day im going to edit this later .. love you gays)

#fiddauthor #Will fix iM SORRY #gravity falls #banjoportal #fiddleford x stanford #Stanford pines #t4t #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #gay people….#Get a load of these guys 😒#They’re going to have sex aren’t they…

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sirkkasnow · 5 years ago

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11 When Opportunity Knocks, Answer

Ao3 link

07/20/13 Saturday

Activity around the Shack kicked into overdrive through the next few days. Mabel scheduled her slumber party for Saturday evening, cackling in delight all the while as she took over the shared attic room for a thorough redecoration.

Dipper accepted his exile to the upstairs study with at least a little grace - he set up his laptop and and settled in for hours of journal work and game planning. The abortive DD&MD session was definitely back on for sometime early the following week.

Stan found himself pulled in too many directions at once. He squeezed in one more full day with Ford up at McGucket’s place working on the Fairlane, trying half in vain to dampen their more harebrained schemes. Apparently letting those two share the same space for any length of time resulted in exponential nerdery, or whatever the hell it meant when you got nerdery squared - he wasn’t sure but they made each other worse.

Soos sidled up to him early the following morning. “Hey, Mr. Pines, business is awesome! We’re in great shape to host the dance next week! Here’s the thing, though, I’m really close to having the new Dreaming Denizens darklight exhibit done.” He clasped hands together in anticipatory delight. “We could do a grand opening that night but I can’t find time between tours to work on the critters. Can you maybe help out for a day or so?”

So he’d had to leave the two lunatics unsupervised while he assembled a batch of fierce, hissing, taxidermied flying minks. There was no way to turn down Soos or an opportunity to upsell the dance tickets.

He cornered Ford for a lecture before Tate swung by to pick him up, something like that thing had better still be street legal when I get up there or so help me. Ford made a bunch of almost-certainly-hollow promises that they’d respect the sanctity of Clary’s mom’s precious vintage touring vehicle and that was that.

Stan put the whole thing out of his head for most of the day, focused on patching together the little monsters they’d need for the exhibit, and was washing up in the kitchen when he heard Clary’s level voice spike in surprise.

He stuck his head out into the hallway and found her by the side door, staring in disbelief at her phone. Ford’s voice was just audible on the speaker. " - sure you still want to keep the old paint color? This is a fine opportunity to change it if you'd like!"

She had a hand pressed to one side of her face, fingertips pushing in hard at the temple. "Ford, that was mint-condition factory-original paint when I got here. Arcadian Blue. What happened to the rest of it? You were just supposed to fix the hood!"

"Well, Fiddleford and I thought we'd rechrome everything while we had the opportunity, since we had the windshield out. Then we saw a chance to improve the safety features while we were at it - did you know cars of this vintage are practically death traps? I'll have to take it up with Stanley - " A distant, hollow boom sounded on the phone. Clary's visible eye squeezed tightly closed. "Whoops! I'll get back to you shortly!"

The line went dead.

Clary slumped against the wall for several seconds. “I have made a terrible mistake.”

He bit his lip and patted her shoulder warily. “I’ll, uh. I’ll give him a call an’ make sure they behave themselves. It won’t end up any more of a death trap than it was when y’got here.”

She laughed at that, the same ragged laugh he’d heard when the piston blew up in the first place, then looked up to him with a pinched smile. “You sure you mean that? I get the impression that those two can get a bit out of hand.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. About that. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve taken a day off, but we’re so close to havin’ the new display done...I’ll get up there an’ have it all under control before things get too weird.”

“Promise?”

“Trust me, sweetheart.”

She laughed at that, too, just a little cynical pfft, but her eyes softened in a way he very much liked and she hooked her index finger into his for a fleeting clasp. “I trust you,” Clary murmured. He damned near bent to kiss her right there before the racket of Dipper coming down the stairs set him rocking back two steps and clearing his throat.

Dipper paused before he made the left turn to the outside door, looking them over in scandalized confusion. Clary just smiled. “Good luck with the winged weasels, Stan. See you for dinner.”

By Saturday morning there was a menu tacked to the fridge. Clary’s tidy angular script promised things like ‘baking powder biscuits with honey butter’, ‘brown sugar bourbon baked beans’ and ‘deviled egg red potato salad’. She’d been running all over town with her little borrowed pickup to line up supplies.

At this point Stan was pretty sure anticipation might kill him if the stress of getting everything done on time and keeping the Fairlane project on track didn’t get him first.

He managed to swing by the manor to check on the station wagon - still blue, thank mercy, the hood now snapped back into its original shape and the cracked windshield replaced. Ford showed off the GPS they’d installed and McGucket chattered endlessly about the new frictionless coating they’d applied to the engine cylinders. Half of it went right over Stan’s head and at length he waved hands in frustration. “Just tell me it’s gonna run as well as it did before she got here!”

“Oh, much better!” they replied in tandem.

Stan stopped dead, squinted at their innocent faces in profound suspicion and groaned. “Y’know what. I don’t have time t’ double-check all this right now, you both know that, and so I’m leavin’ it to your tender care. I swear if anythin’ you two do harms a hair on her head, there’ll be hell t’pay. Got it?”

McGucket blinked in rheumy surprise. Ford had that faint thoughtful look Stan was getting really tired of, but he nodded in agreement. “You have my solemn word, nothing but some very minor improvements to safety features and performance. It’ll be more than safe enough to trust the kids in.”

“Fine. Fine. You’re both gonna sit down an’ explain everythin’ before she leaves, though.”

“Of course!” Ford’s most reassuring smile was in full force. Stan didn’t trust it for a second, but it would have to do for now.

There were a few more errands to run as the long afternoon wound down. Stan tacked up posters for ‘Mr. Mystery’s July Jamboree!’ around town as he went. By the time he finally pulled into Greasy’s he’d relaxed, humming an absent tune as he headed in to hang one last poster and pick up a coffee.

“Hey, Susan,” he called as he parked at the counter, swinging a look around the joint and its collection of regulars in for an early dinner. He was the center of attention, because of course he was and no one in this burg was any good at being subtle about it.

“Oh, Stan! It’s so nice to see you, sweetie,” she said in her usual tone of cheerful obliviousness. “How’s it been going this week? I hear the party’s going to be quite the thing!” Susan poured him a cup of familiar potent black sludge. “That tourist lady of yours has been through a couple of times. She’s really nice for an out-of-towner, good tipper and all. Was in the other day for breakfast, you know, wearing your jacket. Went pink as a petunia when I asked her about ya!” Her laugh was surprisingly sweet and she tugged her slack eyelid up, then down. “Wink!”

Stan busied himself with dumping too much sugar into his coffee. “Yeah, I mean, she’s all right I guess. Pretty good company for a hoity-toity type.”

“She came in yesterday asking about supplies.” Susan set her elbow on the counter and leaned in, conspiratorial. “Said she was gonna do a picnic at the Shack next Friday right before your big event.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Why, she asked if I could bake a couple cherry pies for her! What’re you up to, Stan?”

“Well. Y’know. An exclusive little gatherin’.” Stan settled himself, sat back and sipped slowly for effect. “Just friends an’ family.”

“I’m surprised she’s stuck around this long, nice city girl like that.” Blubs anchored the end of the counter, Durland seated one stool over and working his way through a ham-on-rye. “She has to have seen everything Gravity Falls has to offer by now. The Shack, the mall, the museum, the bottom of the lake….” Both of them chuckled over that one. “Maybe she should just hang up a shingle out there. We could use a lawyer.”

“Well, Stan could use a lawyer,” said Durland to a general rumble of laughter.

“You guys trashed her car, right?” came from one of the far corners. “That weird brother of yours made the brakes cut out or something so now she’s stuck here getting it fixed? We all know you’re too cheap to actually send it up to Portland.”

A prickle of annoyance nudged at the back of his eyeballs. “We offered and she decided she liked my face enough t’let us do the work. Should be done in a couple days. She’s just hangin’ around for the dance party.”

“Oh, I’m sure she likes ya, sugar.” Susan hid a giggle behind one hand.

Blubs tugged down his shades for a direct glance. “You did fish her out of the drink.”

Manly Dan scoffed from the far side of his mountain of meatloaf. “Stan Pines hasn’t managed to keep a lady around for more’n a couple days in all the years he’s been here. I’ll believe it when I see it!”

Stan slugged back a swallow of bitter, bitter coffee in an effort to not spout off, then did it anyway. “What, y’think we kidnapped her or somethin’? She’s here because she wants t’be!”

“Now calm down, all of ya.” Susan looked around the murmuring diner in reproach. “She’s been nothing but sweet to everyone in town. I’m sure it’s gonna be a real nice picnic.”

“Excuse me!” Mayor Cutebiker’s skinny arm went up from a few booths down. “Is that going to be included in the party ticket price? I need to know when I should show up!”

“What?” Stan’s shoulders twitched in surprise. “No, no, the party thing’s only for the dance, people.”

Dan bared teeth in one of his terrifying smiles. “I’d pay just to meet the woman willing to put up with Pines for three weeks.”

“What’s she serving, Stan?”

“Are you two going to dance?”

The whole place got the wrong idea in about three seconds. Stan could barely get a word in edgewise as conversation erupted, people pestering him about prices, about the new exhibit, about who’d be hosting the party that night.

Something snapped in the back of his brain.

“ALL RIGHT,” Stan roared, and the chattering crowd quieted in anticipation. “Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once: Miz Merrick’s willin’ to make a very limited number of tickets for dinner available. Eighty-five a head. That’ll get you into the dance party and the Dreamin’ Denizens exhibit, too. This is a one-time engagement, folks, the lady’s a class act an’ I’ve seen the menu. It’s gonna be an event for the ages.”

He zeroed in on the nearest pretty face, hit her dead on with the full-headlights smile and the finger-guns, and was gratified to see her half-swoon against her companion. “Whaddaya say? First come, first serve!”

Fistfuls of money appeared as if by magic. Stan leaned over to whisper to Susan. “Sweetheart, lend me that ticket book, would’ja?” Starry-eyed, she handed over both the book and her pencil stub, and he started scribbling out tickets for Clary Merrick’s Chicken Picnic! on two-part carbonless guest checks as fast as he could.

Half an hour later he was driving back up towards the Shack. Almost eighteen hundred bucks was jammed into his back pocket along with a stack of IOUs. He was already puzzling out where to beg, borrow or steal enough chairs and tables to accommodate a crowd this large, and wondering just how much fried chicken Greasy’s could crank out on like four days’ notice.

He was also figuring out how the hell to survive through the end of the day, because Clary was going to kill him.

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The whole diner erupts in excited conversation, and everyone in here has got the wrong idea. They want to come to Clary’s picnic! And they’re willing to pay for the privilege!

Absolutely not!

Talk up the dance instead.

Sell tickets!

#Gravity Falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

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patronusofthepugs · 7 years ago

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Your name is Stanford Pines, a man of science and steel, dedicated to the study of Aberrant Species. You are in dire need of an assistant after the rather unfortunate encounter Fiddleford had with a Mongolian Death Worm. There are two fidgeting children in front you, kin of yours and recently orphaned. How peculiarly lucky.

The girl child is brawny with a crooked smile and bright eyes. The boy child, on the other hand, is pale with darting solemn eyes and twitching hands. The logical choice would be the girl child of course. She is a Pines and so despite her femininity, she would be of great use with a strong constitution. Perhaps even the first female Monstrumologist, now isn’t that just a thought.

But your eyes are drawn to the boy, with the constellation seared into his forehead. He stares back with hungry eyes and smiles. The attempt is is clumsy and unnatural but you feel the corners of your mouth turn up in return. You are not a sentimental man by no means, but something about this boy calls to you. He is perhaps the kindling to light your legacy.

You make your decision. Tugging the boy away, you ignore the piercing wails of the sister left behind. You would see her off to a good school, where she would be trained in a craft and be suited to a long- lived mundane life. The boy shall be called Dipper, and will be of indispensable service to you and your research. Your thoughts flit towards Stanley, the wayward brother, before dismissing the notion. Your lout of a brother would have no use or means for a child. Dipper will be by your side and his sister will grow up, ignorant of the knowledge that monsters exist.

Your name is Dipper Pines and your hands are buried in the chest of Mr. Wilson. Mr. Wilson was a fat, happy banker who liked to hunt for sport. He had gone to Africa and, well now, he was much more valuable in death than he was alive. Grunckle Ford hovers by your shoulder, his eyes alight with fierce pleasure and a wild grin. You are not sure exactly what had laid its eggs into the unfortunate Mr. Wilson but you are getting close to the egg sack. You feel something spongy and scooping it out as gently as you can, you present your offering to Gruncle Ford. Your hands begin to sting, it must be a venomous creature, but even as the pain grows you hold still, raising your hand even higher so the light shines through, illuminating the minuscule toothy creatures swimming in amniotic fluid. Gruncle Ford is frantically taking notes, and muttering to himself. You and Mr. Wilson are mere furniture in the room as far as it concerns your Great Uncle. You sigh and prepare for a long night. Your name is Dipper Pines, assistant to the greatest monstrumologist off all time.

Your name is Stanley Pines and you have never hated your brother more than you have in your entire life until this moment. You received a letter from him, requesting your help, now ain’t that just a change of scenery, Mr. High and Mighty, Lord of the Dammed, coming to his nitwit twin brother for help. You yearn to spit in his smug face, but the prospect of the riches that your brother has promised you, manages to calm your temper.

You finish his letter before tossing it aside, your thoughts of riches and greed clashing with the stubbornness of a long held grudge. Being your twin brother’s body guard on some wild expedition was the last thing you wanted to but the payout was going to be enormous. You are the greatest scammer in Gravity Falls but the coppers are starting to catch on. It might be best to let the dust settle in town and return in a couple of months with sacks of gold. Groaning loudly, you rake your hands through your hair, coming to a decision was the easy part, now all you have to do is break the news to Mabel that not only did she have a twin brother, but that twin brother was chained to a world of unholy entities.

Your name is Mabel Pines and the first lesson that you learned in life is that morality is relative. Your heart is thundering as you walk down the plush carpet, on your way to meet your brother. Your mouth is as dry as cotton and you stuff your hands in your pockets. The great uncle who had abandoned you was filthy rich. You wanted to steal all of his stuff, the silver spoons were singing to you to take them.

The door with the lion’s head knob swings open and oh wow, there he is, standing in the sunlight. Your brother is the same size, with the same unruly dark curls, the same splatter of freckles resembling mud stains that never washed out, and the same honey brown eyes that glows with eerie indifference. You look at your twin brother, and you feel nothing. That same nothingness is reflected in his eyes and you feel yourself shatter a little bit more inside. You shove down that clawing darkness that has risen up and step forward with a sunny grin, arms outstretch for a feeble hug with a stranger who has the same face.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #the monstrumologist #universe with gravity falls characters #angst and more angst #mabel pines #dipper pines #gruncle stan #gruncle ford #monstrumologist falls

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inktheblot · 7 years ago

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trust and thaumaturgy

dug out a short fic about Ford coming into himself as a witch and the effect of his practice on his reemerging romance with Fiddleford -- hope y’all are into it because I sure as hell am

When Stanford first spoke of his new focus of study, he received something of a mixed reaction. Excitement and intrigue were definitely present, but his loved ones showed him a fair share of bewilderment, concern, and even mockery as well.

He found he couldn’t blame them for any of it. Anyone would think that he would be yearning for safe normality at this point in his life. But he couldn’t shake his fascination with—and attachment to—all things wonderfully weird.

On some level, magic had always been a part of Ford’s life. From the fantastic adventure novels he pored over as a child, to the defensive spells he carried with him in the darker parts of the Gravity Falls woods, or even the spectacular wonders he and his brother had encountered on the Stan o’ War II, he had been seeing it everywhere for a very long time.

Now, all he wanted was to understand the mysterious and powerful forces that surrounded him—to connect with them, to become a part of those invisible cycles and chains. He knew it well that everyone he loved had had confusing or shocking or simply unpleasant experiences with the unknown. With that in mind, he was hoping to forge his own brand of magic to protect and create, rather than to cause harm or destruction.

Soon enough, his family began to understand his reasoning and accept—even embrace!—his newfound passion. Their support lifted his spirits and made him even more motivated to learn all he could. He grew confidence in his skills and his purpose. He felt a thrill and fulfillment he never would have expected when he felt he could accurately call himself a witch.

It took Fiddleford—with whom Ford had recently reestablished a romantic connection—the longest to adjust to this shift in Ford’s habits. That, too, was understandable; he had always been a superstitious, anxious man, hard-set in the tangible and wary of what might lay beyond. To hear that his long-term partner was intending to place heavy faith and importance in casting spells and channeling mysterious powers must have been somewhat unnerving.

After all, the last time he had seen Ford decide to follow a strange and paranormal path seemingly out of the blue, it hadn’t ended well for either of them. Ford assured him repeatedly that his practice had nothing to do with any sort of evil force, nor was he planning on summoning any angry spirits or chaos demons to invade their well-deserved peace. He knew better than that now.

Fiddleford seemed to accept his word, but still, Ford recognized an air of apprehension about him. So he kept discussion of the topic to a minimum and his studies silent and solitary.

One night some months later, Ford was just sliding into bed when he heard Fiddleford mumbling frustratedly from the other side. The mattress was shaking slightly with the restless bounce of his knee.

It was unusual for Fiddleford to still be wide awake by the time Ford completed his nighttime meditation. Concerned, Ford inquired if he was feeling all right. Fiddleford sighed before turning to face him, looking at him tiredly through his striking blue eyes that Ford could make out even without the aid of the light or his glasses.

“‘M plumb tuckered out,” Fiddleford grumbled at last. “Haven’t been sleepin’ too well for a while now. There’s always somethin’ nasty-like squeezin’ its way into the ol’ noodle.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis.

“I know forgetting isn’t the answer,” he added after a moment, as if he had anticipated what Ford was thinking. “Really, I do. But I still want t’ relax now and again, y’know? I don’t…I don’t need to forget, but…but can’t I just get somma this junk outta my head for half a darn minute? I’m not askin’ for much. Just a wee bitta reprieve so I can get some godforsaken shuteye!”

Ford moved a hand from his side to rest on Fiddleford’s cheek, feeling the fine white hairs of his beard between his fingers. “Hey,” he murmured, almost without thinking, “I…I may have happened upon a spell recently that might be of help to you. N-not that we have to go that route, of course,” he added hastily once his mind reminded him that his partner wasn’t exactly accustomed to the idea of his use of practical magic.

But to his surprise, Fiddleford began to nod. “Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Worth a shot, ain’t it? At this point, I’d try most anything…”

Quickly Ford attempted to recompose himself. He rose into a cross-legged seated position, then requested that Fiddleford sit up as well. He heard him mutter something along the lines of “how in hell am I s’posed to getta sleep if I’m sittin’ up like a startled hare”, but nonetheless he complied.

Ford staggered himself down the length of the bed until he was facing Fiddleford’s back. He plucked his glasses from the nightstand and readjusted them on his face as he did so; he wanted all his senses about him for this.

“Do you trust me?” he asked carefully. He had his hands held out in front of him, ready to work, but he dared not begin until he knew Fiddleford felt safe and comfortable.

“Yes, darlin’,” came Fiddleford’s reply, as smooth, sweet, and sincere as raw wild honey. Ford’s heart swelled at the affirmation, and so he was ready to perform his magic…or, almost.

He was realizing that while he had learned to enchant inanimate objects, and he had practiced any number of solitary rituals, this was the first time that he, as a witch, would be casting a spell on another person directly. He tensed at the thought, but he brought himself back to calm with a deep breath and the fact that Fiddleford loved and trusted him.

If he believes that I can do this right, then surely I will succeed, Ford thought. What right do I have to doubt him?

So at last, he began. He placed his hands on Fiddleford’s thin shoulders and slowly rolled his fingertips across his skin. In a deliberate, rhythmic pattern, he worked his hands downward to massage Fiddleford’s back, all the while reciting an incantation he had memorized a week or two prior. His voice dropped to a low, soothing murmur, as his hands glowed with the sparking golden aura that had developed alongside his personal magic energy.

Before long, Fiddleford was visibly relaxing. His muscles were growing limp and his anxious heart rate had slowed. So Ford continued, guiding Fiddleford deeper until they were both lying flat again.

Now completely still, Fiddleford gazed at his partner lovingly from behind his drooping eyelids. Ford smiled back, then waved his hand in a swift, circular motion to seal the spell.

All at once, Fiddleford’s eyes fell shut. A deep, peaceful exhale, followed by a nasally snore, indicated that he had indeed sunk into slumber. Ford felt a dash of pride ignite within him: he had done it!

According one of the old grimoires Ford had collected, this spell induced in its subject a healing, restorative sleep, combating insomnia, fatigue, and nightmares. Now his beloved would rest for as long as he needed, undisturbed by any sort of interruptions or mental unpleasantness.

“Good night, love,” Ford hummed, as the last hint of shining gold faded from his fingertips. He slipped off his glasses again and settled down beside him for some rest of his own.

When they met for breakfast the next morning, Fiddleford’s eyes were bright, brimming with eager life. He enthusiastically informed Ford that his magical solution had worked wonderfully, that he had given him the best sleep he could remember.

He handed off a mug of coffee to his partner, then stood up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. When his lips brushed past Ford’s ear, he whispered, “Superstitions be damned. In a bedeviled place like this, I reckon we’re awful lucky to have ourselves a good witch.”

#my fic #gravity falls #fiddauthor #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #i wanna explore more complicated rituals and potions and shit like that but uh here's something #witchy pines au

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piningfor-pinestwins · 4 years ago

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Natural Attraction - Bruised Egos (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Your group makes it partway through the dense forest before you lose daylight, grateful for the four flashlights that Fiddleford had stowed away for this. You’re stepping unsteadily in the midst of thorny brushes and thick vines, grateful for your sturdy boots as you step on less-than-solid ground and sink into some mud. Grunting with effort as you make your way up the slippery hill, you hear Ford swear from behind you as he does the same.

“Where do you think the thing would even be at night? What kinda birds are active in the dark?” Stan’s voice comes from behind you a little loudly, leaning heavily on a stick he’d found somewhere during the trek, using it to support his weight as he goes. Ford’s head whips around to find his brother’s form in the dark, giving a harsh “Shh!” as he continues onward. Stan murmurs a quick, “Sheesh, just askin’,” as he continues onward. You follow Fiddleford’s steady light from ahead of you, trusting the man as he continues his walk, and turn to quietly answer the man anyway.

Owls, mostly. I think you have nighthawks in this part of the country, too, You inform him, shivering. You nearly run your nose into Fidd’s back, finding the lanky man had come to a stop ahead of you to hold up a branch for you, after apparently being hit in the face with it. Taking it in hand, you murmur a thank you, pointing your flashlight to the ground for the twins behind you to duck under the thing when they get closer.

Ford ducks easily beneath the thing, murmuring a thanks to you as he does. Stan isn’t far behind, though the man nearly stabs into your foot with his makeshift walking stick. “Sorry, hon,” he quickly apologizes, lifting the thing out of the soft dirt by the toe of your boot. You smile fondly despite yourself, motioning him ahead with the beam coming from your flashlight.

Get moving, slowpoke. I don’t want you to get lost behind the pack, you tease in a whisper. He catches your smile despite the dim light of the moon and chuckles himself, shifting his walking stick beneath his arm, and flashlight into the other hand. His fingers land at your elbow as he tugs you along, the warmth of the digits seeping through the teeny-tiny holes of your sweater.

“Yeah, you neither. With your luck, our superbird’ll think you’re some sorta prey.” Stan’s voice is playful, and this close you’re able to make out the features of his smile despite the darkness surrounding you. You chuckle, walking beside him with your twin flashlights and his hold leading the way. Me? What about you? You argue back, You’re the one with more meat on your bones.

He snorts at that (only to be shushed by his brother once more), careful to watch his step and not be too loud again as he moves alongside you. “What, me? Honey, I’m all muscle--the thing wouldn’t want something as chewy as me.” You laugh louder then, shaking your head, only to have the light of Ford’s flashlight pointed at you. You can make out his frown and--jeez, what is he, your older brother? Sheepishly, you give him a little wave, biting into your bottom lip.

When his light goes away from your face, Stan snickers, having found getting you in trouble amusing. You move to elbow him despite his hold on your arm, and he chuckles as he jostles you in response.

Still giggling, you take one step in the wrong direction, yelling out in fear as your heel slides the wrong way against the soft ground. The joint twists as your weight starts to fall backward, and you drop your flashlight, the sharp pain in your ankle now an afterthought to the fear of a fall down to an unseen point below.

Ford and Fiddleford turn at your cry, but Stan’s already there, the hand at your elbow quickly landing at your forearm instead. In one swift movement, he tugs you to his chest, grunting quietly at the impact of your face against his sternum, budging half a step backward with his own force.

“Fuck--are you alright?!” Stan asks breathlessly, looking down at you with worry as he pushes hair from your face. You pant as you wince, your weight coming back to your twisted ankle. Heart beating in your ears, you don’t hear him very well. Looking up at him wide-eyed, his worry only deepens. “Hon, you okay?” He repeats, and enough of your brain is back to you that you’re able to nod in response, shifting your weight against him to ease off your hurt ankle.

Stan says something to the duo coming closer, but you miss the bulk of it as you try to slow your breathing, glancing back to where you would have landed--and, as it turns out, where your flashlight has landed. The plastic thing lies muddied and flickering, left useless on some rocks nearly ten feet below. Shivering from the cool wind that blows through, and from the realization of just how lucky you’d been with Stan’s touch, you clutch a little tighter to the leather arm of the man’s jacket.

“Alright, that’s it. With me gettin’ my face smacked with a branch, and her nearly dyin’, we’re wrappin’ this walk up for the night. Soon as we get past this line o’trees, we’re hunkering down for the night.” Fiddleford insists, looking to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should’a said something about the drop. I saw it, but only just ‘cause my light was pointed just right.”

I-It’s fine, you stammer, ignoring your white-knuckle hold to Stan’s sleeve and shaky knees. Ford huffs a sigh, scrubbing lightly at his face, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll...need to make up the majority of our movement during the day, then. It’s safer that way, anyway. God forbid one of us had found that fall while chasing our creature.” Your colleague turns, murmuring something to Fidds as he points toward a clearing past the trees, the both of them pointing their flashlights to make their way.

Stan’s hand lands carefully at your lower back, guiding you as he points his flashlight to the ground. “C’mon, I’ve got you. Take a deep breath, okay?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you feel the warmth of his hand sliding up and down the fabric of your sweater. You do as he says, exhaling a shaky breath. S-Sorry, about all of this, you whisper, taking another breath as you carefully step away from him, wincing at the feeling in your twisted ankle.

To your surprise, however, the hand on your back slides down your arm, catching your wrist with a light, but firm touch. Stanley looks at you uncertainly, and your slowing heart rate decides to uptick once more at the way his cheeks darken in the moonlight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like...W-Well, I wouldn’t mind holding onto you until we’re out of these trees. If something happens again, I can...be here. Plus, y-you’re hurt. Can’t risk a fall on a bum ankle.”

You chew into your bottom lip, grateful for the warmth of his hand enveloping your own cold digits. He’s looking to you as if asking permission, a softness in his gaze that you’ve now seen multiple times from the stubborn man, yet you can never quite get enough of. Nodding, you give him what you think he’d been waiting for, and he shifts your hand in his, his thumb and forefinger becoming snug bookends to the knuckles on your own hand.

Clearing his throat, Stan glances over his shoulder to spot the steadily moving lights of his brother and F. Shifting his weight to move toward them, he squeezes your hand to get your attention too (as though your attention wasn’t already on your joined hands).

“C’mon, we shouldn’t get too far from those two. Is your foot good enough to walk on?” Stan’s gaze searches your face for pain, the beam of his flashlight pointed to your boots before you wave his concern away with your free hand. I can walk, just...maybe a little slower than I was, you look at him apologetically and he nods, moving to reflect the change.

Now on your hurt side, Stan switches the flashlight into his other hand, quickly wiping his palm against the thigh of his jeans before he takes your hand once more. He sticks his elbow out just slightly, allowing a makeshift armrest for your forearm as he leads you to take one step, then another.

Being sure to point his flashlight to the ground, he avoids your eye, casting you a quick glance as he pulls you alongside him. You follow along easily, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of the near-miss and the...current connection. You almost want to thank him, but from the way his eyes stay turned down from yours, he’s definitely both focusing on the ground and not looking at you.

“Easy here, honey. Lean on me while we step over this root,” Stan murmurs, and when you do as you’re told, he easily takes on your weight as you both continue walking. Legs still shaky from adrenaline, you limp at his side as he guides you toward your research partners, further into the trees.

As you step over a log, leaning into his broad shoulders to do so, you take an extra moment to adjust your hand in his by entwining your fingers. He stills the moment you do it, looking at you with an unreadable tint in his moonlit gaze, but he says nothing as you continue walking. Nerves flutter in your belly, wondering if you’ve pushed this too far--maybe this handholding really was only supposed to be out of convenience, or to make sure you aren’t any more of a klutzy nuisance during this trip…

You’re certain that you imagine it when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand. You flush when you feel him do it a second time, more pronounced than the first.

When you look at him from the corner of your eye, his profile is illuminated by the moon. His jaw is set tight, and you can make out the dark flush of his cheeks as he pulls you close once more. He notices you’re distracted, the smallest lift of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but Stan clears his throat to will it away as he murmurs something about watching your step. You hobble your way over another pair of tangled-up roots before you find yourself stepping out from the dense woods, finally finding the small clearing that Fiddleford and Ford are already preparing.

Fidds is working on a makeshift ‘campfire’ for light (made of one of the flashlights pointed at one of the large jugs of water), making the light shift like the bottom of a pool on a sunny summer day. Ford is sitting on his knees, grumbling in frustration as he wrestles with the plastic rods of the portable tent.

Despite the light (which you’re grateful for, don’t get you wrong), you wish it was closer to a real campfire. You’re cold, and the dew on the long grass around your ankles is soaking into your skin, making the chilled breezes even cooler.

“Gimme your tent and I’ll get’cha set up.” Stan mumbles, releasing your hand from his and holding it out to you expectantly. You aren’t focused on his words, looking down at his hand, meeting his eye, and then coming to the realization with a quick, Oh! as you reach to unclip the tent bag from the duffel bag on your shoulder.

He smiles a little as he takes it from you, looking at you with something like amusement in his gaze as he looms over you, just a little. “Are you going to hold up alright while I do this, honey?”

You aren’t sure if it’s the tone of his voice, or his close proximity, or the way his brow quirks as he smiles at you, but heat floods your cheeks as you nod, trying to keep your cool despite your fluster. I-I’ll be just fine, thank you.

The brunet wiggles his brows at you as he turns away, stomping down some taller grass in order to flatten the area he’s planning to prep your tent. You push your hair behind your ear, shaking your head as he drops to his knees to unzip the bag holding the tent.

Damn him. Sincerely, honestly, damn him. You’d come here to work, to focus on the astounding artifacts and creatures waiting for you in Gravity Falls. But no, instead you’re enamored by him. You rub at your face, feeling the way your mouth screws up as you try not to think too hard about it...especially when the target of your misplaced focus is just feet away, effortlessly putting together your tent for the night.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him for a moment, one thumb brushing over the palm. If you concentrate hard enough, you think as you look down at your hand, you can forget the lingering warmth of his palm against yours, or the way your fingers entwined into his, or how you’d imagine his touch would feel somewhere other than your hand...

“How’s your foot?” Ford’s voice startles you from where you’d stared off at your palm, and you nearly jolt from the tree you’d been leaning back against. A pair of polydactyl hands catch your elbows before you can lose your balance too much more, pulling you gently to rest more soundly against the bark at your back. The brunet ahead of you quirks a brow with a short chuckle, “Now, was that because of your foot, or because I scared you?

You can’t just sneak up on me! You half-laugh in response, feeling heat in your face. You hadn’t meant to be so distracted, really. Ford smiles a little wider at your words, and you can see that all-too-quiet analyzing gaze pointed your way. Despite the low light, you think he can see your flushed cheeks, and you bring your hands up to cover the warm patches on your face. He nods as if confirming something, cheeky grin only widening, “What has you so distracted, hm?” Ford asks, and you suspect he’s teasing you. The ass.

L-Looking for our mystery monster, obviously. Since the rest of you are so busy, I thought I’d keep lookout, you give one solid nod, feeling the heat only spread beneath your fingers as you lie. Nothing to report yet.

“Well, glad someone worries,” Fiddleford’s voice comes from the direction of where Ford had been not long ago, and you look over the brunet’s shoulder to see the lanky man and Stanley both hard at work to put together the unfinished tent Ford had left in poor shape.

Your tent, however, is perfectly set up and ready for what additions you have to bring into it. Ford sees the two working and gives you a secret sort of smile, offering you an arm to help you toward your shelter. “I do worry,” He argues back, careful to support your weight as you lean against your friend, “But I trust her to be our lookout. Are you saying you don’t?” He winks at you as you make your way across the clearing toward your shelter for the night, and you smile as you turn the teasing toward someone else, for once.

You really should be more upfront with your feelings, Fiddleford. Just be honest, do you trust me? You grin as you ask the playful question, turning to look as the honey-blond man sputters and flusters, “O-O’course I do! I’m not one’a those backwards thinkin’ hillbillies who--who..!”

“Easy, easy!” Stan laughs, reaching to pat the man’s shoulder, “She’s just givin’ you hell, buddy. You’re right though--it’s good to know someone cares, seeing as Ford’s too busy getting handsy with his new assistant.” Stan grins cockily toward both you and his brother, which only makes both of you fluster.

“M-Me?!” Ford sputters a little loudly, and you’d almost laugh if you didn’t know where he was going with this, “I’m not the one who’s asking about how she was in college, or--oof!” He quiets himself with a grunt, and you move to pat his back as though you hadn’t just elbowed him in the ribs.

W-Well, uh, good to know you all respect me, and...enjoy my company, you laugh a little, acting innocent even as Stan catches your eye. He’s very much fighting a laugh, having watched you silence his brother. Ford quirks a brow at you, grumbling as he rubs at a rib with his free hand, “And to think, I came over here to help you to your tent.”

And I thank you, you grin, giving the arm you’re holding onto a little pat as the man rolls his eyes. He’s smiling a little when you make it to your tent, and you take a moment to shift and hand him your duffle bag, thanking him quietly as he ducks alongside you to help you into the tent. You thank him again as he lowers you to the floor of the shelter, finally smiling your way even as he rubs at his side while dropping the duffle bag to you. “Get settled, I’ll see if Fidds’ first aid kit has one of those ammonium chloride ice pack things.”

Thank you, you repeat, fiddling with the zipper of your carryon to open the thing. As the man steps from the unzipped flap of your tent, you call a soft, Sorry for the elbow, which only makes him snort a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject, jeez.” He teases over his shoulder.

It’s more of, uh...not a subject at all, you correct with a wave of your hand and a little laugh, quickly turning your attention to getting your folded quilt from the duffle bag. The brunet quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips and makes his way from your tent.

You hear the three chatting amongst themselves as you set up your space. It’s definitely darker in the tent than outside of it, but you manage well enough to situate your quilt and pillow in a corner of the tent, patting the blanket down to be sure it lays flat. You pat around in the duffle bag next, searching for your pj pants. When you’ve found them, you make quick work of your boots and pants, wincing as you try to keep standing with your aching ankle.

You hear a quiet swear and the sound of fumbling feet as a flashlight beam shines against the flap of your tent. “Y’decent?” Stan’s voice asks, and you yank more frantically onto your pajama pants to get them up. Y-Yeah, one sec--! You call out, tripping over your own pant leg and falling over with an ungraceful grunt.

“Shit, did you fall again, toots..?” Stan murmurs, taking the liberty to open the flap and make his way in despite the fact that there’s still fabric resting low on your thighs. By some miracle, the flashlight beam points at the back of the tent first, allowing you just enough time to yank the pants up to your hips just as the light points down to where you are on the floor. The light makes you squint up at Stan, your nose wrinkled a little as you give him a little smile. He’s smiling down at you, clearing his throat as he kneels down to meet you.

“Honey, you can’t go tripping in front of me every chance you get.” He teases lightly, putting down the flashlight near you while his gentle hands help you sit back up. You shake your head as you sit up, stretching your legs out in front of you with a bashful smile, I promise, it’s not on purpose.

“So you aren’t fallin’ for me?” Stan asks, his voice low as he searches your face, gaze meeting your own. Despite the playful smile on his face and the quirk of his brow, there’s something that makes your stomach flip. You frown despite your fluster, feeling almost like the butt of a joke. Be nice to me, I almost died, you grumble, pushing lightly against his shoulder. He leans with the push, chuckling as he moves to sit beside you. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought of the joke all the way back there, and...well, I couldn’t let it go.” Stan’s smile goes a little more tender, reaching over to pat your knee gently.

Stan perks up a little as he seems to remember something, patting behind him to find the plastic packet he’d brought in. “I brought you an ice pack for your ankle, if you think it’ll help. I think Fidds has some pain killers too, but you’ve gotta get some food in ya first.” You nod at his words, taking the thing from him and shaking it to activate the chemical reaction inside. I packed some snacks, actually, you look at him then, and his brows quirk as he reaches for the flashlight again to find the goodies.

In my bag, in a little tupperware with a green lid. It’s just peanut butter sandwiches, but food is food, you smile, stretching to put the finally-getting-cooler pack on your foot with a wince.

“Hopefully you packed enough,” he chuckles, tucking the flashlight beneath his chin to hold it as he digs into your duffle bag with both hands, “ ‘specially since I was your savior and all, back there, it’d be an honor for you t’share your dinner with me. So I don’t have to eat whatever F and Ford are inventing out there.” Stan teases with a glance to you and a grin. His hands stop their motion in the duffle bag, and you can see his cheeks darken in the low light of the tent.

You worry even without the confirmation of what he’s seen, sure that...well, something in that bag must have caught his attention. Y-You find the sandwiches? You question, moving slightly to check what’s in his hands before he quickly shuffles them into the duffle bag once more, “Shit--ah...Yeah!” Stan pulls the little plastic container from your bag, eyes widening at the neatly-folded pair of lacy underthings atop the box.

Your face heats as you quickly reach out to snatch the fabric away, crumpling it in hand and shoving it beneath your thigh, effectively sitting on it as you look at him wide-eyed. He fights a smile and loses, the grin on his face accompanied by its endearing dimple, both visible and tugging at your heartstrings even in the low light. “See, that’s what I was tryin’ not to do--sorry, honey,” Stan laughs, now passing the offending tupperware over for you to fidget with as he moves the flashlight to stand upright, pointing the light above the both of you to better light the tent.

Snooper, you scold him for the second time today, but this time it comes out in a mumble as you turn your attention to open the thing, a little smile on your face. You can’t be upset, you know it was an accident, but...well, despite the little embarrassment within you, there’s something else you can’t quite place.

He snorts a laugh, moving his hand up to cover his eyes, crooked smile still wide across his cheeks, “Here. Can’t snoop if I can’t see, happy now?” You glance up at him and smirk, picking up a cut half of the peanut butter sandwich and putting your hand out in his direction, waiting for him to uncover his eyes and take the makeshift meal.

“Y’know I can’t hear your head nodding, right? I need words, babe!” Teasing, Stan peeks at you from between his fingers, amber gaze falling to the sandwich half held out to him. “Oh, thanks--” He uncovers his eyes then, smiling still as he reaches for it and bites in greedily. You almost laugh, If you were so hungry, why didn’t you say anything before?

“‘Cause then one of those two would’ve told me to go hunt or somethin’,” He scoffs between bites, looking at you with humor, “Ford would’a picked me some sort of weird-looking thing to eat and said it’s ‘high in protein, just right for you Stanley’, an’ Fidds probably would’ve invented something for me to kill the thing with, like….I dunno, magic slingshot or somethin’,” Stan murmurs into his sandwich. You snort a laugh as you munch on your own half, kicking him lightly against one of his knees, They help in the best ways they can.

“Oh, sure--every way except actually hunting dinner themselves,” he laughs, moving his foot to nudge your leg back. You laugh too, shaking your head as the both of you eat. You eye him subtly, watching how he leans back against his palm, idly crossing his ankles as he looks around your (his) tent. “Y’know, ‘m glad this thing holds up good. I’d hate to think of you getting stuck with a bum tent, or just a little quilt on the ground, like you wanted,” Stan teases lightly, looking over to you with amusement as you both eat.

You shrug as you finish up, smiling as you wipe lightly at the corners of your mouth, I would have ended up fine, probably, you catch the way his gaze moves with your fingers at your lips, and you quickly glance away to warrant him the blessing of thinking he hadn’t been caught, Else fails, we’d all have just ended up cheek-to-cheek in one tent.

Stan scoffs a laugh, licking a stripe of leftover peanut butter from his thumb and sucking the remainder from the digit casually, releasing it with a quiet pop, “Like we were in the truck? I don’t think our cheeks could handle anymore squishin’ like that.” He glances over to you, catching your gaze as it drifts from his lips. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners when smirks, returning his thumb to his lips once more (you’re sure there’s no more peanut butter, and that he’s just torturing you). “Thanks for the snack, sugar, but I think I’m gonna turn in for th’night. Knowing those two, we’ll be awake way too early, and one of them will bitch all day because no one brought coffee--”

Already a step ahead of you, you grin, pointing toward your duffle bag. He casts a glance over and shakes his head, pointing that crooked smile your way, “Geez, you think of everything, don’tcha?” Stan winks at you as he moves to get up, standing hunched in the not-quite-tall-enough frame of the tent. He looks down at you, and you catch him look over your pajamas, smile giving himself away as he points down to your ankle, “Do you need any more help tonight, or are you alright?”

You shake your head, I think I’ll keep myself in for the rest of the night, thanks. As long as I don’t have to pee at some ungodly time, I’ll be fine. Stan snorts at that, taking the few steps toward the flap of the tent, “Just don’t cry to me if you end up dreaming of waterfalls,” He teases. You wrinkle your nose at the implication, but can’t hold back the laugh as you scold him for being gross, Stanley.

“Sorry, babe! You’re stuck with this gross man this whole trip.” Stan winks over his shoulder at you, grinning wider as he turns to leave, “Actually, reminds me--I should make a pitstop before I hit the boys’ tent for the night.”

Gross! You insist with a laugh, hearing him join in with a chuckle of his own. If you had a shoe nearby, you’d throw it at him. Goodnight, Stan. I’ll see you in the morning.

“See you then, babe. G’night.” He smiles in your direction, a genuine tenderness in his gaze as he ducks out from your tent. You shuffle your way to the flap to zip it closed, hearing the trio of boys giving each other hell as Stan returns to their shared sleeping space, but not being able to pick out individual words to hear what hell is being given.

Not that you mind, really; you are sleepy. A near-death experience and some….moderately embarrassing flirting will do that to a person. Using the flashlight Stan had left, you make your way to settling into your makeshift bed, remembering something from the general health class you had to take in college and using your duffle bag at the foot of your comforter as a way to raise your ankle. You fold yourself into the quilt easily, settling in for the night with a soft sigh that turns into a yawn on its way out.

Reaching behind your pillow, you pull out your journal, cracking the cover open and holding the flashlight beneath your chin as you write out some accounts of the day (and, when you remember it exists, adding the polaroid of the creature’s tracks over the terribly-drawn version you’d made). When you finish up with your entry for the day, you start to close the journal, instead seeing the pages open up to the one previous-- Stanley’s pages.

You glance to the flap in your tent, almost as if afraid he’d be standing there to catch you. You don’t know why it worries you--especially since you’ve added both a Fiddleford and Stanford page, to keep track of those two as well, but… There’s something akin to indulgence, you think, that stirs in your chest when you make an addition to this page. Today, it’s an addition to the ‘Likes’ list, (peanut butter, which truthfully doesn’t surprise you because the only food listed in the ‘Dislikes’ list is canned Spam), and today’s date with the simple, albeit shaky addition of Stanley caught me from falling into a ravine on our hike today.

Not wanting to go too into detail this late at night for fear of nightmares, you shut up the journal and return it to its place beneath the pillow, setting the flashlight beside the cushion as you turn the thing off. You settle in for real this time, tugging the blanket to your chin and exhaling a soft, slow breath to try and relax yourself into sleep. As your eyes start to drift closed, you have the inkling that you’ve forgotten something--though what it is, you’re unsure. It must not matter much anyway, as you’re pulled easily into the warm darkness of sleep.

It mattered.

A lot, actually.

You swear, Stan was either a medium without knowing it, or some sort of magical asshole who bestowed curses on you without you noticing. You’re swearing at him under your breath the whole way as you hobble into the woods to find a suitable spot to pee.

Much more relieved, you’re now making your way back to your tent, flashlight held tightly in one hand, a roll of toilet paper tucked beneath your arm, and your other hand outstretched to help you make your way through the trees and back toward the campgrounds. You shudder at the cool breeze that’s blown in, indicative of the upcoming cold front you’d overheard about on the television a night or two back. Finally seeing the campsite coming into view, you sigh, knowing you probably went further out into the greenery than you needed to, but….

Well, god forbid any of your research partners find you with your pants down.

Making your way closer to the campsite, you sigh, rubbing at your face sleepily. To say it had been a long day was a gross understatement; you were exhausted.

Which is why you worried that you were still in your tent dreaming, as you hear the fluttery sound of air moving somewhere near you. You look up just as quickly as you heard the noise, pointing the flashlight up to see better in the dim night light.

There’s nothing..?

Despite your rising nerves, you keep moving ahead, maybe a little quicker now as you point the flashlight to the campsite. You’re more aware of the life in Gravity Falls now; you know of the gnomes, the eyebats, the creatures who move in the dead of night who are, you think, moving with you even now. The familiar prickling feeling of being watched begins to scratch at the back of your neck, but when you glance behind your shoulder, only the darkness of the woods greets you.

A fluttering again, this time directly above you. You’re almost more hopeful than certain that you’re just hearing things, and instead of pointing the light to the sound, you motion toward your goal as best as you’re able to. You limp quickly, hearing the sound once more--closer, maybe just past your ear? You yelp in fear as your battered ankle gives way, falling into the plush grass mere feet from where you’re supposed to be sleeping. Pointing the flashlight up, you try to catch a glimpse of the thing that’s been chasing you, hoping to at least see the thing before it gets you.

Stan’s voice saying your name makes you jump from where you’re lying on the ground, whipping around to point the flashlight beam at him. He winces, blocking the light from his eyes as he moves closer to you. He must have been at least somewhat asleep, only in loose sweatpants, his hair mussed as it falls into his face. “Honey, what happened?” He asks, hurrying with his arms outstretched down to you. You’re trembling, but you hadn’t noticed, clutching close to the flashlight as you shake your head, Something was after me--i-it flies. I don’t know, you stammer, unable to get out one set sentence as his arms wrap around you. Stan lifts you easily, holding you to his chest as he looks up, trying to find the flying thing despite the dark.

“What’s going on--oh shit!” Ford’s voice calls, eyes following Stan’s gaze up just as your flashlight beam lands at the topmost branch of a tree. You feel the chest against you puff up, feeling Stan’s arms bracing around you as you hold your breath, too, looking up to try and find the source of the fluttering against your ears.

You spy the yellow eyes first, following them down to the large, feathery body of probably the biggest owl you’ve ever seen. Fuck, you whisper, all at once feeling foolish at the realization that it’s just… a common creature. Tears prick in your eyes, embarrassment and exhaustion melding into the response before you can stop yourself.

“Jesus, that damn thing--I thought I heard hootin’ somewhere in the woods, but...I dunno, I thought it’d be smaller,” Stan says, still holding you as he makes his way up the rest of the little hill that the campsite is situated on. “Even as big as this specimen may be, I don’t think it’s our offending creature at the Shack. Do you?” Ford’s voice asks you, and you shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

N-No, not at all. The tracks may be similar, but the ones back home are much bigger, you confirm, pointing the flashlight back down to watch the grass ahead. You realize that you haven’t put any weight back down onto your bad ankle, feeling the gentle brush of Stanley’s chest hair against your arm as he continues to hold you. You fight the urge to push out of his arms, especially when you feel your bottom lip wobble in protest to you trying not to cry.

You feel Stan shift his arms, the clearing of his throat echoing in his chest as he turns to face Ford. They seem to have some unspoken conversation about you while you’re pretending to ignore it altogether, and instead of listening, you hear the tree leaves rustle heavily overhead. The owl must have taken off.

“You poor dear,” Ford says, coming closer to where Stan stands with you in his arms. You’re not looking at either of them, waving Ford off with a little huff, I’m okay, it just scared me. I just need to crawl back into bed, today has b-been awful.

You bite into your trembling bottom lip, willing it still between your teeth as you give Stan a pat on his arm, signaling that you’d like to be put down. The brunet seems to understand, but hesitates, instead only slightly relaxing his grip of you. “Let’s get you back to your tent, then. You need the rest.” He soothes, taking a few steps in that direction. You give in, letting yourself be carried as you glance to see Ford (and now Fidds, who’d woken up sometime in the commotion) ducking into his own tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes and yawning all the same.

You don’t have to carry me, but thank you, you mumble quietly, stifling a sniffle as you rub your nose with the back of your hand. He shrugs, the motion shifting you as he pushes open the flaps of your tent, “No skin off my back, babe. Jus’ can’t risk you falling again. If you bust your head open, then I’ll only have these two assholes to deal with again, and I can’t let that happen.” Stan jokes, and despite your exhaustion it makes you smile, even if only a little bit. Still, the hot sting of tears wins out, and you’re only just able to wipe at your eye when the first one falls, just as Stan steps into the little tent with you. You feel him shift again to set you down, but he stops at the sound of a sniffle. “Hon, you alright?” He asks, and you can now hear the gravel that comes with sleep in his voice. You swear, you’ve never heard him be this tender, but it still sounds so familiar all the same.

Y-Yeah, you say, voice shakier than you want it to be, I just feel, uh...dumb, you laugh a little, and he frowns down at you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You turn your head down slightly, still trying to hide under his attention, Thanks again for helping me. Again. The full situation washes over you in a wave, and you flush with your tears at the realization that he’s holding you to his chest--which would be embarrassing on its own, maybe, but he’s shirtless and you’re crying and, really, this isn’t a good look for you--

“Honey, y’gotta get outta that head sometimes,” He scolds gently, and you look up at him in confused surprise at his words. That almost makes him laugh, a little smile quirking at his lips as he guides you to your feet. “Careful,” He whispers, hands on your waist to keep you from putting too much weight on your bum ankle as you lower yourself to sit on your knees atop the blanket. You glance down, remembering the roll of toilet paper firmly tucked beneath your arm, and you toss the thing to the duffle bag, watching as it bounces off, and then lands haphazardly next to the thing.

“You had an iron grip on that thing, didn’t ya?” Stan asks, and you sniffle as you smile, After losing the flashlight the first time, I had to be sure to hold on tight.

It’s his turn to look at you with surprise, his little smile growing more genuine as he sits in the middle of the tent. He’s closer than he was when you ate together, but he isn’t imposing. He’s just...here. And that’s nice, you think.

“I’m not really the killjoy of this group, but you really should’ve said something before you left, toots. What if I wasn’t up, and you had to fight that thing all your own?” He asks, sleepy voice surprisingly a little stern. You glance over to him as you reach for your pillow, fluffing it idly before wiping a stray tear at your cheek. It’s your fault I had to go out, anyway, you argue lightly, sure his brow is quirked as soon as you say it, You’re the one who mentioned waterfalls.

“Aw, sorry, but you should know by now that I’m right about a lott’a things. It’s annoying as hell, I hear.” It is, you laugh with him, finally glancing up to meet his eye. You feel a little pitiful; foot and ego injured as you watch the kind man who both helped and hurt that cause.

Stan has this unreadable look in his eye, one you’re sure you’ve seen before, but it worries you all the same each time it happens. You glance down at your hands to avoid the shift in his gaze, but find yourself looking up again when he says your name like a quiet question, his brow furrowed at you with a tilt of his head.

“Are you doin’ okay? Today’s been...hell and a half for you, and I know you had t’be scared to death.” He reaches out, palm lying flat on the edge of the quilt beneath you, and though he leans to go with it, he doesn’t make any further move to touch you. You rub at your face with a sigh, pushing hair from your face as you start to nod.

I mean, the day wasn’t all bad, but...nearly falling however-many-feet down, and then being stalked by an owl weren’t the most fun parts, either, you admit, feeling the way your voice wavers when you do so. You shrug, smiling a little when you look at him now, and you try to ignore the way your heart pulls at his worried face, you do, but...with those amber eyes looking at you with such tender concern, you have to admit that it absolutely pulls, tugs, and twists at your heart. Damn him.

“I’d offer to take you back home, but I don’t think you’d like that. Plus, those two would get lost without you.” The brunet is careful in his word choice, something you appreciate. You reach to comfort him in the same way, reaching your hand out to lay atop his with a little rub of your thumb across the back of his hand, and his face softens a little when you reply, Absolutely they would, they don’t even know what kind of critter they’re going to face. Truthfully, neither did you, but you had theories. Though...somehow, you think, this isn’t the time to bring them up.

You can feel the energy between you shift before you see it, his palm turning upward to meet your own. The warmth of his fingers glides against your hand, fingertips curling just under yours to cup your hand with his own. He’s watching down at your joined hands, thumb brushing lightly against your four knuckles when he speaks again. “Are you, uhm...unhappy, that I keep trying to help you?” Stanley’s voice is soft as he asks the question, and you almost need him to repeat himself with the way your heart is hammering in your ears. When you don’t answer immediately, he continues, “I-I know that you’re strong. You’re very smart--well, no shit you’re smart, you’ve done all this for gods’ sakes--anyway,” He breathes, and you swear there’s a deeper color to his cheeks even in the dark here.

“I like helpin’ you. I’m not nearly as smart as you ‘n Fidds and Sixer, but I gotta be useful somehow. And you’re just, uh...easier to help, than the other two. You’re marginally less annoying, and...prettier, too.” Stan glances up then, his gaze searching through yours with an air of desperation. You can tell, there’s maybe more to be said, but his adam’s apple gives a decisive bob when he closes his mouth into a thin line. Whatever else there is to be said, it isn’t for tonight.

I don’t mind, you finally say, looking down at the way your fingers have folded nicely over his own. Your heart thuds against your chest, so loud in your own ears that you’re afraid you might shout these next words. You take extra care, then, to whisper them. I...may not like being helped, or I may get embarrassed or frustrated and run off sometimes, but...I do like you. And I don’t mind when you’re the one helping me.

You turn your wrist at an almost-uncomfortable angle to put the back of his hand upright without breaking his hold of your fingers, leaning forward just so to press a little peck to the back of his hand. Turning your hands back the right way, you look up to him, almost afraid of what his reaction may be. What if he laughs at you? Or finds you stupid, to think you could resist his charm? What if he stands now and leaves into the darkness of the wood to leave you alone and embarrassed and in need to explain the situation to your colleagues?

“Hey,” he whispers, and you realize that you’re so afraid of the what-ifs that you’ve almost missed his reaction entirely, though that’s the whole reason you looked. Stan’s face is certainly flushed, vibrant eyes forgoing their sleepiness as he looks at you with such entranced sincerity. For a moment, you think he’s forgotten what he wanted to say, but he interrupts that thought with a firm tug at your arm. Before you know it, you’re pulled off-kilter, leaning toward him, then closer, before you reach to catch yourself with your other palm against his chest.

His lips land on yours then, the gentle scratch of stubble against your face as you lean into him. This close, with your hand on his chest, you can feel the way his pulse mimics yours. You have half the mind to tease him, but the idea stutters out when the palm of his free hand slides up to cup your jaw. Stan holds you there as you kiss him, tasting just slightly of peanut butter and feeling so warm, your noses bumping together gently before he pulls back for a breath. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his gaze still sliding up from where he’d been looking at your mouth.

“Y-You’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart,” He whispers, the newest petname settling itself very terrifically into the space carved into your heart by the last one, “We both should, uh...sleep.” You feel yourself nod, though you still lean into his touch against your face until he pulls it away. Stan bites into his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he pats your hand on his chest, and for once, you realize, the jokester is near speechless.

Moving your hand away from his body, he pulls your joined hands close to his face, pressing one last kiss there before his fingers release your own. Watching as he stands, Stanley pushes his hair from his face, rubbing gingerly at the back of his neck as he turns away from you and toward the exit. He stands there a moment, almost like he’s forgotten what he’d gotten up for in the first place. Though you aren’t exactly itching to kick him out, you smile as you give him the reminder.

Goodnight, Stanley, you whisper, and your heart does turns when he looks at you from over his shoulder. He’s brushing his fingertips against his lip subconsciously, the movement stalling when he meets your gaze. His dimple reappears for an instant, his smile at you wide and inviting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see ya, first thing in the morning.”

I’ll see you then, loverboy, you tease, giving him your first pet name. It doesn’t go unnoticed (for as not-smart as he claims he is, nothing goes unnoticed with this man), and he looks absolutely giddy when he leaves out the front flap of your tent. You think that you hear him trip and swear to himself, but he doesn’t return. The boys in the tent next door begin to murmur, and you suppose he’s found his way back in there when you hear his tell-tale laugh amongst the other voices.

You touch your own lips, reminding yourself of the feeling of his own there, and your heart goes racing again. You huff a little laugh of your own, shaking your head, and realizing you haven’t stopped smiling since that man left your tent. You settle into your quilt again, still exhausted, but much less tired than the last time you’d been here. Reaching under your pillow, you find your hardback journal once again, turning easily to the pages about Stanley once more. In one swift curl of cursive, you make an addition, just under your large declaration of Stan’s name at the top of the page.

AKA: Loverboy.

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #[mr. mystery]#last update of the day! expect one more post announcing some stuff!

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