#ford would never consider just chatting up the creatures

[hyrules-warrior]

Stanley is well aware of the true creatures of Gravity Falls and that is why all his Mystery Shack exhibits are fake

What better way to re-direct people from noticing or searching for the real things when he has evidence of those "real" things".

After the portal incident it didn't take long for Stan to come across the real anomalies living in the woods of Gravity Falls. And where Ford treated them as things to observe and study, Stan decided to actually get to know them. He needed to work on the portal and keep the house in good shape so it was best to get to know the creatures around the house and make sure they would not cause trouble. He also needed to search the woods for the other journals and it was easier to do that when everything living in the forest wasn't trying to ruin his day.

So he did what he did best and he talked. He went into the woods to look for the journals and chatted up everything he met. He now has regular meetings with several of the creatures that live nearby. The manotaurs are great fun to arm wrestle with and compare scars, the multi-bear has great taste in music, and the gnomes were easily pacified to stay out of his garbage with the occasional box of pizza and a new pin-up model calendar each year. The unicorns love to share gossip and scamming strategies. He also reached a truce with the giant, no way was that thing taking his precious stanleymobile!

The fake creatures of the Mystery Shack keep people from looking to hard at the creatures in the woods and that works out well for everyone.

A part of him thinks he could write an entire journal for each creature with the things he knows about them compared to his brother's single page entries. He often wonders how Ford would handle that realization.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.4

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Special shout-out to Mystery Trio Animated’s old video for inspiring me on how to get the ball rolling. (I’m trying a healthy combination of Mystery Trio shit and canon shit.) Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!!

Ao3 link here.

ch.3 - ch.5

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Yes, son,” Fiddleford sighed with a smile. “As I’ve told you for the last fifteen minutes, we’re finally here.”

“Yay!” Tate cheered and grinned as the beautiful woods fell out of sight and the four-year-old’s hidden eyes widened at all the open space to play in. He grinned at the sheep and horse and cow and he saw that sign shaped like a pinetree that read “Pines’ Farm” and thought that was funny. The road was made of dirt and rocks and made weird noises under Daddy’s blue truck.

The road led up to a big house with a triangle roof and a porch. On the porch, two men Tate had never seen before sat in chairs and stood, waiting. Suddenly Tate was nervous and shrunk back into his car seat.

Fiddleford noticed this and smiled at his son. Tate was a kind and intelligent boy, but was often quiet, except when he was alone with Fiddleford. It was like he saved all of his words for him. Fiddleford parked and got out, deciding to let Tate move at his own space.

“Fiddleford, glad to see you’ve made it safely!”

“Howdy there, Stanford, good t’see ya!” What started as a handshake turned into a manly hug with smiles and pats on the back. When it was over, Stanford patted his old roommate’s shoulder and said, “Fiddleford, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, well, you already know who this is.”

It didn’t take a genius to know who Stanley was either, not just considering the fact he did in fact look like Ford’s twin without being identical, but Fiddleford had heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to recognize this guy from a mile away. “Pleased t’finally meet ya, Stanley.” And he held out a hand to shake.

Stan laughed, took it, and shook him possibly slightly too rough. “Ha! Just Stan’ll do, Fiddleford… Jeez, that’s a mouth full. Mind McGucket or Fiddler or Fidds.”

Fiddleford winced. “Anythang but Fiddler since I ain’t one.”

Stan snapped his fingers and said sarcastically. “Darn. N’ here I was thinkin’ we could put a band together, with Ford’s piano skills n’ my beautiful voice.”

Ford snorted while Fiddleford smiled unsurely. “Well, I do play the banjo…”

“Great! We’ll call ourselves the Three Cowboys! I’ll get to writin’ our first song later.” Stan peered over Fiddleford’s shoulder and at the truck. “But first, did you even brin’ the squirt with you?”

Fiddleford looked back at the trunk and could barely see the top of his son’s head in the front passenger’s seat. “Nah, he’s there. He’s just shy.”

“Ah, well he’ll join us when he’s ready.” Ford said and moved to the trunk. “Here, let me help you with your things and show you to your room, buddy.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Stanford, I reckon you can get this one. Oh, here, I’ll take that one, it mighty heavy.”

Ford and Fiddleford were chatting away like a pair of school girls as they went into the house, arms full of luggage. The McGuckets sure did bring a lot of crap. Stan shook his head with a smile and moved to the trunk, but on the way he swore he saw a little boy with bangs over his eyes looking at him, but then ducking under the car’s window again. Stan smiled and softly knocked on the glass. “Y’ello?”

The boy didn’t appear, but he did crank the window down. “Hi.”

“I’m Stan.”

“Tate.”

“Nice to meet you.” Stan said. “You know, your daddy n’ my brother are close friends.”

“I know.” The boy said quietly. “Daddy says we’re gonna live here a bit.”

“Yup.” Stan said happily, and then asked, “You reckon you’re okay with that?”

“Uh, huh.”

Stan had no idea what it was like to be shy as a kid. Ford might have, which is why he was inclined to let the boy get out of the truck whenever he pleased, but Stan wondered if maybe all it took was someone to show that they were happy he was here and would be even happier to see him happy. He went to the trunk, grabbed a big suitcase with Tate’s name on the tag, and then went back to the window. “C’mon, kid. I got a surprise for you in your new room.”

That got the boy to perk up. He poked his little head up, just enough to look at Stan’s soft smile and outstretched hand, and Tate grinned. “Okay.” He hopped out and closed the door behind him and took Stan’s hand.

Stan squeezed his little hand reassuringly and led the boy into the house. They crossed the living room together to get to the back hallway and Stan led him to the other bedroom, the one connected to Jackie’s Jack and Jill bathroom. Tate gasped with joy to find a bunk bed by the door with a new knitted blanket at the foot. He climbed up the ladder and jumped into the fluffy feather-stuffed mattress and laughed. “Wowie, Zowie! I get a bunk bed?!”

Stan barked a laugh and sat his suitcase on the bottom bunk. As a kid he had no idea that a lot of other kids in the world thought this was the coolest thing to have in a bedroom, it was just convenient for the Pines twins, but now they were grown and perfectly happy with two full beds in their attic bedroom so Tate could have a twin-sized bed in his new room. “You sure do. Don’t tell Ford I told you this, but he knitted you that blanket and if you’ll look in that chest there’s some more surprises for you.”

Tate scurried down to the floor and t the toy chest under the window. He gasped as he found it half-full with brand new toys. There was a jump-rope, some chalk, a wooden train, complete with engine, cars, and a caboose, and a football and a baseball with a bat. Tate’s voice was caught in his throat, leaving his mouth to open and close like a fish. He knew he should say thank you, but he was left speechless due to all of the nice new things.

“So, whatcha think, squirt?” Stan asked, and when Tate looked at him the farmer knew what the boy was trying to say.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Ford’s favorite workspace, the thinking parlor, there was a desk that used to be filled to the brim with Pa’s work-papers, but with the deed tightly secure in the family’s safe and after a furlough cleansing, there was now only one drawer dedicated to important old documents and the rest of the ancient desk was free to use for Ford’s investigations and ideas. Ford and Fiddleford stood there now, the Southern engineer watching his best friend pull things out from here and there, as if preparing for a school presentation. Fiddleford smiled as he saw how little his friend had changed.

Ford had suggested to leave Fiddleford to unpack once he showed him his room, assuming he wanted to rest after the trip, but Fiddleford had insisted that Ford show him the plans and Ford understood on a personal level; he was sure Fiddleford wanted to forget his problems for a moment and be distracted with an issue he can actually solve. So Ford laid out a map of Gravity Falls with little red xs sprinkled here and there and he pulled out a red marker and uncapped it.

“Right,” Ford started as he smiled at his old roommate. “As I said over the phone, Gravity Falls is a friendly enough town, but it has got to be one of the strangest towns there are. I hadn’t realized how strange it was until leaving for Backupsmore and I realized that some things weren’t normal. Not to mention, if you look at the map, a lot of anomalies I’ve noticed occur away from our farm, so as children it’s not like we were fully exposed to them.”

Fiddleford did in fact notice that there were no red xs on the Pines’ farm, or close to the barrier. There were one or two in the actual town itself, but most of the xs were in the woods and in the mountains. Probably whatever creatures were out there purposely stayed in the woods, like any other wildlife, to avoid mankind. Fiddleford nodded and said, “Alright, but what sort of anomalies have ya noticed?”

Ford pulled out a journal with a golden six-fingered hand on it and opened it to showcase some very well drawn sketches. Fiddleford stared to find unicorns, eye bats, two-headed snakes, dark vague shadows, and possibly a werewolf? Fiddleford blinked and muttered, “Uh… ya… ya sure it’s…”

“I swear on my life,” Ford said seriously. “I’ve seen some strange things out there, Fiddleford. I haven’t had a chance to get a proper look at any of it, but I’m hoping with your help I may finally be able to catch something, or at least some solid evidence, that proves I’m not crazy.”

Fiddleford detected a hint of bitterness by the end of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if anyone else Ford had explained this to had written him off as a whack-job. Fiddleford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Hey, I believe ya. Reckon somebody’s gotta catalog these critters. Why not it be us, right? So, suppose tomorrow mornin’ we just get on out there n’ explore the woods for some weird critters?”

Ford smiled back with determination and excitement gleaming in his eyes. “That’s the idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tate was watching TV in the living room while Jackie was in the kitchen with Stan by her side. Yes, Jackie did all the cooking and was good at it, but Stan knew how to make some stuff edible and it seemed like a fair trade; if Stan was going to teach Jackie how to run a farm, she might as well teach him a thing or two about cooking.

“So, what can you cook, Stanley?” Jackie asked while she seasoned some flour that was already in a big paper bag.

“Besides Stancakes?” He clarified. “Uh, I can do grits. That’s about it, missy.”

Jackie giggled good-naturedly and said, “Well, first thang you gotta know ‘bout cooking is this fellow right here.” And she held up a big container of Crisco. “The best thang they did since put mayonnaise in a jar.” Jackie spooned some of the thick white stuff out and put it on the hot skillet to melt like butter. “Gum in your hair? Squeaky door hinge? Crisco.”

When Jackie’s back was turned to work on the chicken, Stan stuck his finger in some of the Crisco; it looked pretty, almost like frosting for a cake. To hide what he did, Stan stuck his finger in his mouth; the taste wasn’t great.

“Bags under your eyes? Wanna soften some scaly feet? Crisco.” Jackie added as she dipped a breast in the egg wash then put it in the bag, then did the process again with another piece of chicken. “But it’s best for frying chicken. Mm! I love fried chicken! Gotta be my favorite! It takes a lot of work to make, but it tastes so good and it’s always worth it! Well, worth it to me, anyways.” Jackie rolled up the bag tight and held it out to Stan. “Shake that.”

“Oh, sure.” Stan took the bag filled with chicken and flour. He shook it and found that once he got a rhythm for it it was actually kind of fun. With a stupid grin on his face he rattled the bag really heavy, making Jackie laugh.

“Alright alright, Stan, the chicken’s already dead.” Jackie took the bag and opened it to see how well seasoned it was. “Yup, she dead. And well dressed for the funeral, too.”

Stan laughed and the timer dinged. “Oh, will you take out the cornbread, please?” Jackie asked as she stirred the green beans, the Crisco not quite fully melted yet, but almost.

“You got it.” Stan slipped on some oven mitts and opened the oven. There sat a beautiful skillet full of Mexican cornbread. This wasn’t just cornbread, this was cornbread with spices and bits of corn. The smell made Stan’s mouth water like a dog and he happily put it on a folded up towel on the table. “Sweet Lord!”

“Give it a minute to cool, Lee, geez!” Jackie said, able to read his mind and know he wanted to pick at it.

Stan stuck his tongue at the back of her head and watched her fry the chicken. The grease bubbled around the chicken and flew everywhere, like firecrackers. Stan took a step back as he got sprayed a little bit, meanwhile all Jackie did was flinch and asked, “Will you call the boys for dinner? It'll be ready by the time they get in here.”

“Sure.” Everyone was inside the house, so there was no sense in ringing the triangle; Stan poked his head in the living room to tell Tate dinner was ready and then knocked on the parlor door to tell the nerds that food was ready.

By the time Stan came back with Tate by his side, the table was set with pitchers of sweet tea and water on the table, big bowl of green beans, the skillet full of Mexican cornbread, and Jackie had just flipped the chicken. Stan licked his lips and playfully fought with Tate for space in the kitchen sink as they washed up.

Fiddleford followed Ford to the bathroom to wash and then to the kitchen. He stared happily at the set-up before him, and then his eyes widened at the stranger in the room. A dark-skinned woman used tongs to lift fried chicken out of a skillet and onto a tray lined with paper towels. She wore an apron over leans and a white t-shirt, her past-shoulder-length black hair tied in a loose, low ponytail to keep her hair away from her cooking. Fiddleford smiled; he had known the twins had hired help but he had no clue who that was; he had accidentally assumed it was another man.

The woman set the tray of steaming chicken on the table, wiped her forehead dry, and smiled at Fiddleford. “You must be Ford’s friend. I’m Jackie.” She introduced and held out her hand.

Fiddleford gently took it and shook her head with a smile. “Fiddleford H. McGucket, ma’am. It’s a pleasure t’meet ya.”

Jackie’s cheeks turned rosy at his politeness and invited him to sit. Soon they were all happily digging into the delicious dinner and enjoyed every bite.

Fiddleford was extremely impressed. The chicken crunched happily in his mouth and the chicken’s meat was soft and delicious. The green beans were flavored with bacon and onions, and the Mexican cornbread was very good. As Fiddleford munch on his bread while he listened to Stan tell a story, he couldn’t help but think how much better the cornbread would be with some butter. He checked the table for it, and perhaps he was overlooking it, but he didn’t see it.

“Jackie, may I have some butter, please.” Fiddleford asked politely when Stan was taking a break from his story to drink some water.

Jackie smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Let’s forget the fact that Ford was sitting next to Fiddleford and was the closest to the fridge. Jackie didn’t even notice, and she casually got the butter-dish out of the fridge, sat with it, and handed it to the southerner as he dipped his head and whispered “thank you” as to not interrupt Stan.

By the end of the meal, Stan was patting his gut happily and sighing heavily. “Yup. Jackie, I think you get better with every meal.”

While Jackie stood and took her dishes to the sink, her face grew warmer.

“Yes, that was delicious, Jackie, thank you.” Ford praised.

“Well,” Jackie opened the fridge and pulled something out. “I hope everyone left room for dessert.”

“Mm! Pie!” Stan gasped happily and rubbed his hands together; it didn’t matter if it killed him, he’d make room for Round 2.

“Lemon Meringue.” Jackie explained, sitting the pie down on the table as she took up the mostly-empty bowl of green beans and began to put the vegetables in a smaller container for the fridge; leftovers made for an excellent lunch.

Mouth watering and eyes as big as dinner plates, once Jackie sat down the small plates, forks, and pie knife on the table, Stan cut right into the beautiful dessert while Ford began to collect dishes.

Fiddleford, too full for pie at the moment, stood and stretched his arms over his head. “So, should we get back to work, Stanford?”

“Sorry, let me finish these dishes first.” Ford said as he began to clean. “Got to thank Jackie for the meal the best way I can.”

Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder as she brought over the skillet of cornbread and began to move it to a plastic container. “Hey, I don’t wanna eat canned meat or TV dinners any more than you do.”

“You know, Tate,” Stan mumbled with pie in his cheeks like a chipmunk. “If you’ll look in that cabinet there should be a jar with holes if you wanna catch some firefl-...”

“FIREFLIES?!” Tate excitedly interrupted, drained his cup of water, and dashed to where Stan said the jar would be. Lo and behold two jars with holes poked into the lids shined and Tate snatched one up. “Daddy, wanna catch some with me?” The boy pleaded.

“Sure, son,” Fiddleford said with a smile, playing with his boy sounding much better than returning to work that can be done another time, so they hurried out the kitchen door and were amazed to find dozens of blinking bugs out on the farm.

Tate grinned and ran with his father admiring the scene. Stan decided he could enjoy his pie just as much on the doorstep as he could at the table, and he took his dessert with him and sat with the door open to watch the McGuckets play. Jackie and Ford got a nice view of the scene from the sink and happily chatted away as they cleaned the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan yawned into his hand and he hummed a little song to himself. “Doo, doo de, doo, doo… gettin’ a midnight snack, gonna eat some…”

Stan turned on the hall-light, his eyes still sensitive to bright lights, so he could see his way into the kitchen without bumping into the table or walking into the fridge. He gasped in horror and then growled like an angry bulldog at the open fridge and spilt content. “Pie!” He finished his song bitterly with one knee before the open fridge. “Oh, c’mon! I was gonna eat that! Actually, this part here still looks good…”

With no one to judge him, Stan scooped up some lemon-filling with two fingers and hummed with satisfaction as the delicious taste grazed his mouth. On his feet again, Stan was about to grab some paper towels to start cleaning up the mess when something ran across his foot.

Stan yelled and jumped about a foot in the air before grabbing a hanging pan from the wall and holding it as he would a weapon. He first thought that the pie fell off the cramped shelf in the fridge, opening the door, but now he wondered if they had a late-night visitor. Wouldn’t be the first time a raccoon got into the house.

Stan carefully moved to where he knew a light-switch for the oven’s light was and he braced himself for whatever was coming. He flicked it on and saw something out of the corner of his eye run into the hall. Did a chicken escape the coop? “C’mere you…” Stan growled and ran down the hall.

Nothing appeared on the stairs for the attic, or further down the hall for Jackie’s room, so maybe whatever it was went into the living room. Pan still at the ready for some whacking, Stan crept into the living room and relaxed his old boxing stance to find it empty. The farmer scratched at his mullet to try to think what could have slipped away from him and gotten into the fridge. Stan was in the hallway, going to put the pan away and clean up the pie, when he noticed a small draft and he checked the front door. Sure enough, something had broken the screen in the screen door.

Stan groaned and closed and locked the main door. Tate must have forgotten to close the door when he went to the truck to get something for bed. Well, after chores Stan would just have to repair the hole.

When Stan re-entered his attic bedroom, his eyes immediately caught his twin asleep on top of a book, a flashlight on the floor by his dangling arm. That nerd had a bad habit of never stopping until his body made him. Shaking his head with a smile, Stan slammed the door loudly on purpose, making Ford jump awake with a grunt. “Huh?! Wh… Stanley?”

“You know you’ll sleep better on your pillow, not a book, right?” Stan asked as he took off his robe and let it fall on the floor by his bed, leaving on his boxers and t-shirt.

Ford snorted and readjusted his lopsided glasses. “What were you doing up?” He yawned into his palm.

“Well I was gonna have some more pie,” Stan said as he sat on his bed. “But somethang raided our fridge n’ ruined my midnight snack.”

“Was it a raccoon again?” Ford asked as he folded his glasses and put them on his nightstand by his book.

“Maybe, but I got a glimpse of it before it ran off n’ the little bit I did see didn’t look nothin’ like a black n’ white thief.”

“Well…” Ford yawned again and said dozily, “It’s too early to think. Goodnight.” And he laid on his right side, his back to his brother, and quickly fell asleep.

Stan chuckled as he shook his head and laid down for some shut-eye.

~~~~~~~~~~

After morning chores, Jackie walked in through the kitchen-door to grab something when she thought she heard the sound of a hammer down the hall. She peeked and found Stan on one knee in front of the door, working on putting a new screen over the door. “Broken screen?” She clarified as she stood by his side, her hands behind her back.

“Yeah, something chewed through n’ got into the house.” Stan shivered as he recalled the foggy memory. “It ran across my foot. Ugh, I can still feel it’s little fingers.”

“Yikes.” Jackie said and looked into the living room to find Tate coloring at the card table. “Well, since that pie’s gone, I’m gonna pick some blackberries for a cobbler. Should I make Tate help me or you got him?”

“Nah, some of those berries aren’t ready, you better pick ‘em.” Stan said as he stood up straight and wiped his hands clean. “I’m gonna take him with me into town to get some stuff from the store. Any requests?”

“Oh! Can you get some hot chilis, please?” Jackie quickly remembered.

“Sure. OY! Squirt!” Stan called and leaned against the doorway. “Wanna go into town with me? You can ride shotgun in the Stanmobile if you want?”

Tate grinned like a Cheshire cat and yelped, “Okay!” and then scooped up his crayons and book to put them away in his room.

“Sure you don’t wanna take Truffles into town?” Jackie asked, remembering Stan’s comment that the horse needs to travel every so often.

“With Tate?” Stan snorted. “Nah, wild thing isn’t ready for a kid. Let me break him a bit more n’ then we’ll see. Maybe take him out in the woods tomorrow. Maybe take a gal with me.” He added with a wink, making Jackie smile like an idiot as she shoved him in a playful manner.

“Well then good luck finding a date in town.” And she went back into the kitchen to grab a basket to berry-pick with.

Meanwhile, while Jackie worked on blackberry cobbler and Stan took Tate into town, Ford and Fiddleford were in the woods, equipped with a compass, a map, Ford’s journal, and a backpack on Fiddleford. A few days before Fiddleford arrived, Ford had placed several cameras in a variety of areas to try to get some idea of what they’re dealing with, a lead of some kind or evidence that there was something out there.

“Okay, that’s 1A, 1B, and 1C.” Ford checked off the map, his journal under his arm. “2A, 2B, and 2C were well intact. We just need 3A, 3B, and 3C. This way.”

“Ya sure ya know where you’re goin’?” Fiddleford checked. No offense to his friend, but all these oaks and pines looked the same to him.

“Don’t worry, I know these woods like the back of my hand.” Ford eased. “I used to spend a lot of time here with Stanley as kids. The trees are a great hiding place from bullies.” He chuckled at a memory and decided to share. “One time, we climbed up a big pinetree to hide from a group of kids, when one of the branches broke off and landed right on one of the kid’s head. Stanley says Pines got to stick together.”

Fiddleford laughed at the little joke as he followed Ford along the woods. They came to a small clearing and Ford stopped. “Here we are. Okay, up there should be Camera 3B. If you’ll get 3A down there, I’ll get 3B.”

“Gotcha.” Fiddleford found Camera 3A tucked into some leaves. He looked around for a third camera, and again, maybe he was just needing new glasses, but he didn’t see one. “Uh, Stanford, where’d ya put 3C?”

Up on a branch and untying a camera, Ford called and pointed. “Down there, by the rock.”

Fiddleford shuffled his feet in case he were to step on the camera, but he looked around and even felt the brush with his hands was startled to turn up empty-handed. “Uh… I ain’t findin’ it.”

“That’s odd, hold on, buddy, I’ll help you look.” Ford said and hopped down with the camera to search for Camera 3C. It truly wasn’t where Ford had placed it and it was nowhere around the clearing.

“Maybe a deer or rabbit took it?” Fiddleford speculated.

“Or a unicorn! Or a gremlin! Or a goblin!” Ford gasped with wonder sparkling in his brown eyes. “Or both!”

“Calm down there, Dr. Crackpot.” Fiddleford chuckled and made Ford smile. “Let's just get this film developed before we get our hopes up higher than a Georgia pine.”

“Great, now you’re doing it, too.”

“No! No, I just… it was either that or higher than the Empire State buildin’, n’ we’re in the woods…”

“With a Pines.”

“... with a lot o’ pinetrees.” Fiddleford laughed at their fun babble and they followed the compass for the farm.

By the time Jackie was pulling a sweet-smelling cobbler out of the oven and about to go outside to check on the sheep, Tate and Stan came home with some groceries. Tate immediately dug around a bag once it was placed on the table, pulled out some Gummy Koalas, and ran off. Jackie gave Stan a skeptical look, to which the farmer just shrugged and pulled out a white paper bag full of hot red peppers.

“Oh, great, thanks.”

“No problem, missy.” Stan said as Jackie lunged a hand into the bag and he pulled out a box of freezy-pops to put in the freezer. “What, gonna make chili? Mexican food? Spicy fried chicken?”

“Nope.” And Jackie bit into a pepper and munched on it with a big smile.

Stan yelped in shock and quickly shut himself up, but that didn’t stop him from breaking a bead of sweat and his eye twitching at her. “What in Moses’s name are you doing?”

“Having a snack.” Jackie explained as she took a second bite, only leaving the stem. “It’ll be awhile ‘til dinner.”

“What, apples n’ bananas not good enough for you?”

“Nope.” Jackie repeated and bit into another one.

“Gah!” Stan yelled and grabbed his hair as he stared at her. “How do you do that?! Stop that!”

“Nope.” Jackie said a third time and happily finished her second chili.

With shivers on his back and an impressed smile that was impossible to miss, Stan left Jackie to shake her head and munch on her snack in peace.

Tate, at this time, was running into the living room, hoping to eat his candy in front of the TV, but his daddy and his daddy’s friend were in the living room already, stringing pictures up and they had a bunch of adult-looking equipment. “Daddy, whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“Hey there, sport.” Fiddleford said and took the time to give him a side hug as he watched a photo develop in the liquid-filled pan. “Just developin’ these photos here. They’ll help us figure out what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Oh. Can I help?” The boy asked hopefully.

“I don’t know if there anythang ya can do.” Fiddleford moved his back to his son and smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

Tate grinned and showed his daddy the gummies. “Uncle Stan gave ‘em t’me! He’s real nice.”

“He sure is. Did ya make sure t’tell him that n’ thank him.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Good.” And Fiddleford ruffled his hat to mess with his hair.

Ford smiled at the father and son duo and resumed his work, recording their findings. None of the pictures so far got a full image of anything, but glimpses here and there showed that something strange was out there. Ford stared at one picture that showed someone very short and what looked like the bottom of a beard. And in another photo, when Ford looked back on it, he realized that wasn’t a twig; it was a pointy hat. “Fiddleford, come look at this.”

Fiddleford moved away from his son and towards his friend and he stared at the image that had caught Ford’s attention. “Oh… oh my…”

“I know.”

“Whatcha reckon that there is?”

Tate looked at the picture and noticed the red circle on another one. He grinned and called out, “Gnomes!”

The three turned to look back at the doorway of the living room and they saw Stan laughing at them, shaking his head. “Gnomes?! Ma used to use ‘em for an excuse for when socks went missin’, remember Sixer? There ain’t no such thing as gnomes. Except the stone ones you get at the store.”

“Ya don’t believe in gnomes, Uncle Stan?” Tate asked.

“Stanley doesn’t believe in the supernatural.” Ford answered with a roll of his eyes and he tried to resume his work. “Even as kids you couldn’t spook him with stories about monsters or ghosts or anything like that. But show him a picture of a r-...”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you, Poindexter!” Stan scooped up Tate, making the boy giggle, and held him under his arm. “I ain’t gonna let you poison this poor kid’s brain with nerd talk. C’mon, I’ll show you how to rangle in sheep.”

“Be careful, son.” Fiddleford called after them. “N’ stay outta the stalls! Don’t mess with Truffles!”

“Okay.”

The evening that came was cool and pleasant, perfect porch-sitting weather. Stan finished his freezy-pop first and read the joke that was now revealed to him for finishing his treat. “Okay okay, what is a ghost’s favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“Oh!” Tate gasped with his hand in the air, sitting on the steps with a banana-flavored pop in his hand. “Oh! Boo-berry!”

“It’s definitely Boo-berry.” Fiddleford said, sitting next to his son.

“How about cookies and scream?” Ford guessed.

Stan chuckled as he rocked in his chair. “I’m gonna say Corpse-mellon. N’ it… huh.” Stan looked all over the stick, but there was no answer to the joke. “It’s blank.”

“Blank stick?” Ford paraphrased. “That’s a bad omen, Stanley. Be careful, something terrible might happen.”

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly and shook his head. “You’re off your rocker, Sixer.”

“I am not!”

Jackie, who had been standing as she ate, sneakily pushed her foot down on the back of Ford’s rocker. On reflex, he leaned forward and Jackie released just in time for the six-fingered nerd to lose his balance and fall forward and on his face. The whole gang laughed while Ford got up red-faced. Stan patted Jackie’s back and howled with laughter, “I love this gal!”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was checking the cornfields to make sure everything was in order when she could hear some familiar sheep sounds. She stretched her neck to look past some corn and she saw little Dot wiggling past the short fence and skip into the woods. Jackie yelled in shock and ran after the lamb, grateful that this time it wasn't storming and the sun was shining brightly. “Gosh darn it, Dot! Your ma sucks at keeping an eye on you!”

Because Jackie was so close this time and not blinded by rain, she actually managed to scoop up the lamb quickly. She smacked the lamb a little bit, Stan giving her permission to spank any naughty animals, and she hugged Dot so she would know she was forgiven. A snap of a twig made Jackie jerk her head upward and she listened and kept her eyes sharp. Now she knew Ford and Fiddleford were out in the woods again, close to a breakthrough according to the nerds, so she was sure it was one of them heading home or passing by. How funny it would be to come across each other. So you can imagine how shocked Jackie was to find a little bearded man standing on a rock and looking up at her.

Jackie bit her lip to keep from yelling; she wouldn’t like it if someone yelled at her due to the shock of her appearance, and she didn’t want to scare this weird creature away. The pointy hat and beard told Jackie that this was definitely a gnome. It’s beard was all over the place and gray and the gnome had a big-ish nose and a bit of an overbite with some misshapen teeth, but his eyes, though lopsided and slightly cross eyed, were warm and this creature gave off a kind atmosphere.

Jackie smiled and got on one knee with the lamb in her arms. “Hello.”

The gnome lifted a little arm and wiggled his fingers at her politely. Jackie freed a hand and held it out to him to either shake or hop on. Whichever he wanted. The gnome smiled at her and hopped up on her palm, sitting with his hands prompting him up from behind.

“What a nice lil’ guy.” Jackie complimented. “What’s your name?”

“Shmebulock. Senior.” The gnome croaked.

“I’m Jackie, nice to meet you.” The human smiled while the lamb sniffed the air around Shmebulock. “Wow, a real gnome. I’ve got a friend who’d love to meet you.”

“Shmebulock.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go. Maybe gnomes were limited in speech. Before she could ask another question, Shmebulock whistled loudly. Jackie barely had time to register that she was faced with dozens of other gnomes and she screamed in horror when they leaped from the trees for her and Dot.

Jackie’s scream was heard by Ford and Fiddleford, who were currently setting up the cameras again, dropped everything, no questions asked, and ran as fast as they could for Fiddleford’s truck and drove in the direction they feared Jackie was in danger. There was a thick dirt road leading deeper into the woods the men ran on and they saw a truly unusual sight at the edge of the trees.

Jackie was running for her life with a lamb in her arms, a crowd of gnomes behind her. Fiddleford stopped the car and Jackie hopped in the truck before it sped off to try to lose the gnomes. She huffed and puffed, her heart going as fast as the truck, and Ford opened the back window to check on her from the passenger’s seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Jackie breathed and Dot “bah”ed happily.

Ford smiled at them and gasped with amazement and wonder as one huge gnome, made out of dozens of small gnomes, ran after them, looking like Santa Clause on his period, red all over with sharp teeth and hat and a big beard. “Wow.” He awed and pulled out his journal to begin sketching.

“DRIVE, FIDDS!” Jackie yelled.

The giant threw gnomes like darts and some of them landed in the truck. While Jackie kicked one off the car, Shmebulock Senior was being slammed against the steering wheel by Fiddleford’s hand, but then one leaped on his face, building him and veering the truck off course. Ford punched the gnome off of his friend, only leaving behind a black eye on the driver.

“Thanks, Ford.” Fidds groaned.

“Don’t mention it. Hey, what’s that?” Ford asked and pointed ahead.

The three humans screamed as the truck ran right into an oak tree. They then held their heads and groaned as they stumbled out of the truck. Poor Fiddleford was a nervous wreck over the wreck. “My truck!”

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.” Ford tried to comfort his friend, ignoring the tire that just popped and the bumper that just fell off. “Probably.”

“At least we lost… oh, no we didn’t.” Jackie held Dot closer to her chest as the giant gnome was before them.

Ford stood in front of Jackie, Fiddleford, and Dot protectively, his arms outstretched, as the gnomes broke away to better surround them and insure there was no way out. The little men of the forest growled and snarled like animals, until a loud voice commanded silence. “ENOUGH!”

Slithering out from the shadows like a snake, but rather on a long white beard than a scaly body, came a gnome much older looking and much different from the other gnomes. This gnome carried a staff with a mushroom on top, wore purple instead of red, had a crown and a red cape, and his voice was as sour as lemons and his eyes were green with envy. Those green, empty, creepy eyes were on Jackie, and while all the gnomes bowed to their king, this guy dipped his head respectively to her.

“My Queen!” He cheered happily. “The time has come to fulfill your destiny!”

“EW, WHAT?!” Jackie yelled. “Nu, huh! No way!”

“Leave her alone!” Ford demanded.

“As it is written, in the Prophecy of Shmizzledorph…”

“Go away!” Fiddleford interrupted.

“... the Prophecy…!” But Ford threw one of his boots at the gnome and the king yelped out a sharp, “Ouch! Alright, fine! You want her back? There’s only one way…”

The gnomes around them giggled, anticipating that they would walk away with a new queen tonight. Jackie stuck out his tongue at them.

“You must answer… A RIDDLE!”

Ford, Fiddleford, and Jackie all blinked at the over-exaggerating king. Ford shrugged and said, “Fine, I like a good riddle.”

“What… IS A GHOST’S FAVORITE ICE-CREAM FLAVOR?!”

Now the humans were nervous. Nervous, surprised, and maybe a little bit impressed. The three huddled like they were about to play football and rambled off ideas.

“Boo-berry!” Fiddleford whispered.

“Cookies and scream!” Ford hissed.

“Stanford, go with Fidds’ answer.” Jackie voted quietly.

“But what if it’s not boo-berry?” Ford asked nervously. “Then you’ll have to be that creep’s queen.”

“But what if it’s not cookies and scream?” Jackie returned.

With a squeeze on his old roommate’s shoulder, Fiddleford gave Ford that softer facial expression and whispered, “Stanford, trust me.”

Ford thought for a moment, took in a deep breath, and nodded. The team broke away and Ford faced the king who was elevated by his own beard. “Boo-berry?”

The gnome was silent. Ford feared he was wrong, but then, “IMPOSSIBAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!”

The humans held each other as the gnomes were then all turned into stone, the little statues they were destined to become. With Fiddleford sandwiched between Ford and Jackie, they watched as the king turned to stone and a little bird landed peacefully on his outstretched hand.

“Huh,” Fiddleford quipped when their protective hug was loosening. “I didn’t actually think that would work.”

The trio worked together to push Fiddleford’s truck back home, but not without a souvenir. As Ford placed a gnome on the porch step, Jackie sat Dot down and let the lamb skip off to join the other sheep. “Thanks for saving my butt back there, guys.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t let you get dragged off into the woods to marry that creep.” Fiddleford reassured her teasingly with a light shove on the shoulder.

“And really, we should be thanking you.” Ford gently corrected. “Thanks to you we finally got what was on our cameras! And I have plenty to write about in the journal! Thank you, Jackie.”

The only lady on the farm couldn’t keep the smile off her face until Stan slammed the door open with Tate by his side. “Whoa, what happened to you three?” He asked, noting the scrapes, Fiddleford’s black eye, and the leaves in Jackie’s hair. “You get hit by a bus or something?”

“If we told you, you wouldn’t believe us, Stanley.” Ford said daringly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a prideful smirk on his smug face.

Stan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest while Tate ran into Fiddleford’s arms for a hug. “Try me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford yawned into his six-fingered hand as he ruffled his brown hair and wandered towards the kitchen. “Mm, thank Moses Stan didn’t eat all the strawberry cobbler.”

He turned on the light and gasped to find a gnome standing by the open fridge, helping himself to the cobbler, which was lying on the floor. The gnome screeched and scampered past his feet and Ford ran after it to see it run through a hole in the screendoor. The young scientist hurried out the door and watched the gnome run off into the woods. The stone-gnome on the step was gone.

“This is bad.”

[paradoxcase]

The plot between Theoden being healed by Gandalf and the battle of Helm’s Deep is a bit different in the movie.  I can’t find any videos of this part of the movie at all, there are a lot of videos of Theoden being healed and a lot of videos of the battle at Helm’s Deep, but apparently no one thought the intervening period between those two events was interesting at all.  From my memory of the movie, what happened was that someone (probably Aragorn, given the way he’s typically used in the movie) advises Theoden to take absolutely everyone, including all the fighting men and also all the women and children, and hole up in Helm’s Deep.  But on the way there, they are attacked by some orcs riding wargs*, so the military contingent peeled off to fight and Eowyn was instructed to lead the rest to Helm’s Deep.  But they all wind up at Helm’s Deep eventually.  Eomer has been banned from Edoras in the movie, and thus is not with the company when they depart for Helm’s Deep; Gandalf leaves at the same time Theoden does, and brings back Eomer and his men to save the day at the end of the battle.

In the book it’s a little more complicated - first of all, Gandalf is doing the advising, not Aragorn (Aragorn’s biggest scene in Rohan, not counting Helm’s Deep, is when he is being really reluctant to leave his sword outside the hall as Theoden’s guards request.  This is because the sword that Aragorn is carrying is Anduril, which is like, the most important sword in the entirety of Middle Earth.  In the movie this scene doesn’t happen, because Anduril does not actually get reforged until just before Aragorn goes to the paths of the dead, at which point Elrond makes a special journey to the middle of fucking nowhere just to deliver this sword to Aragorn.  I think this is a result of the causal ripples of removing the part of the Council of Elrond where Aragorn agrees to come to Gondor with Boromir; in the books, Anduril was reforged before they set out from Rivendell because Aragorn was going to go reclaim his crown in Gondor and help them with the war, specifically with the help of Anduril.  But if Aragorn is just going on, basically, an espionage mission to destroy the ring, there’s no reason to reforge Anduril.  So they had to shoehorn that into a much later part of the story.).  The advice is to take all the fighting men and ride out to help out with a battle against Saruman which is almost imminent at a place called the Fords of Isen, and to send all the women and children to a place similar to Helm’s Deep called Dunharrow, which I think is never actually important again.  Theoden decides he wants to ride to battle instead of taking Gandalf’s suggestion that he lead his people to Dunharrow.  That means someone else has to rule his people in his stead, especially since Theoden fully expects to die in this battle.  He asks his men who would like to remain behind to do this, when no one volunteers, he asks who the people would follow and obey.  The answer he gets is that they would follow a member of his house, and Theoden is like, but Eomer and I are both riding to war and there is no one of my house that is left behind.  And then someone points out that yes there is someone: Eowyn.  So Eowyn’s job in the book is not just to lead the people to the refuge, but additionally to rule them in Theoden’s stead while he is away at battle.

Anyway, they set out.  Gandalf is riding at the head of the warriors with the king, and as Eomer was not banned from Edoras he is also there with all of this men.  As they near the site of the battle, they meet a soldier who tells them that they are too late, the battle is over, and the commander, whose name is Erkenbrand, is retreating to a stronghold called Helm’s Deep.  Erkenbrand is basically the same rank as Eomer, but his jurisdiction is over a part of Rohan called Westfold, where Helm’s Deep is, which is a good ways from Edoras.  So Theoden decides to also head for Helm’s Deep, to help them defend it from the army which is surely coming their way.  At this point, Gandalf notices some Ent-related happenings going on at Isengard and says “brb” and goes off to Isengard on Shadowfax, after urging the king to head for Helm’s Deep.  (Gandalf then arrives at Isengard, has a 20-minute chat with Treebeard, and probably is responsible for the forest that magically appeared outside of Helm’s Deep later on.)  They get to Helm’s Deep and find that while Erkenbrand has left a lot of men there, Erkenbrand himself and the core of his best men has not managed to beat the massive army of Saruman there.  There are common people hiding in Helm’s Deep, but they are people from Westfold that Erkenbrand presumably gathered there, rather than the people of Edoras that were sent to Dunharrow with Eowyn.  At this point the battle of Helm’s Deep plays out almost exactly the way it’s depicted in the movie, this part of the movie was actually surprisingly accurate, considering how different most of the battle scenes are between the books and the movies.  But when Gandalf returns at sunrise, he doesn’t bring Eomer (who is obviously already at Helm’s Deep) but the lost Erkenbrand, with the majority of his army.

I can see why they changed this for the movie; in the movie, a) we don’t have two different refuges which might confuse people, b) we have Eowyn and Aragorn at the same place for Maximum Love Triangle, and c) Erkenbrand’s role is given to Eomer so that, as with Glorfindel, we don’t have to introduce an entirely new character who is only relevant for a short while and in this case has practically no actual screentime even while he is relevant.

Also, did you know?  It wasn’t just Uruk-hai who were attacking Helm’s Deep.  There was also a contingent of “wild men” who are apparently the native inhabitants of Rohan who were displaced by Theoden’s people way back in the day.  The history of Theoden’s people (the house of Eorl and their followers) is that they originally came from the northern part of Middle Earth, from the population of humans who weren’t from Numenor, and they came south with their leader, Eorl the Young, to help Gondor out with a war and really bailed them out of a tough spot.  In thanks for that, the king of Gondor gave like half of his land to Eorl the Young for him and his followers to live on.  But there were of course already people living there, the Dunlandings, and they remember this is and still hate the house of Eorl for essentially stealing their land.  So Rohan actually has this colonial past to it, and Saruman has taken advantage of that to recruit more followers to defeat Theoden.  I believe there is a single scene with the “wild men” in the movie, but there is no information given about who they are and why they hate Theoden.

* The wargs in the Two Towers are odd.  In the books, wargs are basically just evil wolves, but the wargs in the movie seem to be some sort of fantasy creature based off of hyenas.  Oddly enough, the wargs in the Hobbit movies actually do fit the description of “evil wolves” but for some reason the wargs in LOTR proper look completely different.  Wargs did not actually play a huge role in the LOTR books (I’m struggling to remember if they appear even once) and mainly featured in the Hobbit, I believe they were mostly or entirely native to Mirkwood.  Perhaps some designer on the LOTR movies simply heard someone talking about wargs and made up a look for them without doing the research, whereas when they made the Hobbit movies they actually researched what the wargs should look like because they were an actual part of the book?

[scralettlfox-blog]

Terror Nova

Read on Wattpad

Synopsis: The crew of the spaceship Altaris will accept just about any mission, for the right price. So when a shady corporation wants them to deliver a dangerous package to a planet known to dislike smugglers they treat it as another day at work. That may prove  to be a mistake as loyalty and trust are tested, with only a few days until they reach their destination. The question on all their minds: who will be left when the ship lands?

Chapter One: The Package

Axon 9 - Dream Galaxy Corporation Hangar

Captain Valia Manchen, formerly of Terra and currently of the starship Altaris, sat atop a crate. Her ship, an old vessel held together by blood, sweat, and prayers, was parked a few hundred feet behind her. It’s dents glinted in the harsh industrial lighting of the hangar bay. With an annoyed sigh she tapped her face mask to bring up the HUD. It was officially 30:30 local time, meaning her clients were 30 minutes late.

“Clients late, we leave?” Skullcrusher growled from her left. He most likely wasn’t really angry, but the giant, four-armed, cat like Novarians said everything with a growl.

Valia twisted in her seat to get a look at her red-furred companion. He was busy tinkering with his laseraxe, barely noticing when it singed his fur, and humming what she recognized to be a Novarian battle hymn. While great to have in a battle, Novarians were walking cliches.

“We haven’t had a job in months, Skull.” Her first-mate T’shan piped up from under the ship. Clochian’s had ridiculously good hearing, proven by the fact that he could hear Skull from his position under the ship with tools running in his ears. His pale, bald head popped up from under the ship as he rolled out. “I think I fixed that loose bolt. Hopefully that stops the rattling.”

“Rattling annoying. Interrupts battle hymn.” Skull mused, giving his axe a swing that cleaves a crate in two.

“While I will agree that is a travesty, I was personally more worried about getting dropped in the middle of deep space or the ship blowing up.” Valia made an explosion noise and coinciding hand gesture to emphasize her point, lest the big cat not get it.

“Blowing up also annoying.” Skull nods his affirmation before returning to his battle hymn.

Valia resists rolling her eyes, deciding instead to begin mapping out their course using her electronic gauntlet. It was that or play old arcade games, and she couldn’t have her crew accusing her of slacking off.

“Run this job by me again.” T’Shan spoke from right next to her, his voice scratchy in the way that reminds her of how old colony miners sound when their work finally takes it’s toll. “It’ll give us something to do while the suits are on their power trip.”

Valia smiled at her first mate’s annoyance. A few taps on her gauntlets screen brings up the mission details. She flicks her pointer finger and the information projects in the air between her and T’Shan.

“Dream Galaxy runs a challenge arena on Alpha Nova, big money since Novarians love violence. They’ve found an extremely dangerous creature here on Axon 9 and since this planet does not follow intergalactic law, they have no trouble getting the creature off planet. However, Alpha Nova has a problem with off-planet creatures being brought to their planet ever since the plague caused by an unknown non-terrestrial creature in 3528. Our job is to transport the extremely dangerous creature from here to a designated zone on Alpha Nova so a company strike team can claim to find it on planet, making it free game for the challenge arena.”

“So, pick up dangerous, carnivorous creature. Transport said creature. Don’t get killed by angry Novarians. Sound right?” T’Shan asked. Valia nods her assent, shutting down the gauntlet display.

“Novarian love killing.” Skull adds, now sharpening his claws with a dagger Valia didn’t even know he had on him.

“How did they get an atmosphere mask on a creature that likes to kill anything that moves?” T’Shan scratched his bald head, blue veins pulsing beneath the white skin.

“Probably the same way we get the mask on Skull.”

“Fighting!” Skull exclaimed, all four of his arms pumping into the air as he bares his fangs in what must be the Novarian equivalent of a smile.

Valia tried not to shutter at the vivid memories of Skull going for her throat as she wrestled a mask on to his face. The Novarian kept his claws far too sharp for her tastes. Although, Valia was the only one allowed to put the mask on Skull without fighting. Probably had something to do with her threatening to neuter him should he try again.

The doors leading out of the hangar bay opened with a mechanical sound, a short alarm announcing the entrance of whoever stood beyond. It took Valia a moment to be able to see who was walking through, the corridor beyond was practically in shadow compared to the bright lights above her.

Three men in formal clothing strode in like they owned the place. Which, Valia realized as she spotted the Dream Galaxy Corporation logo on their lapels, they did. The man in the lead was beginning to gray, black hair still prominent, and his face wrinkled just enough that Valia knew he had been in the business awhile. He regarded her ragtag crew with cold, blue eyes. Perhaps attempting to determine their worth, or maybe he simply wanted them to know how much better he was than them. They’d never know. The men behind him, perhaps apprentices, were at least twenty years younger. The shorter of the two, placed at the elder man’s right, had long, blonde hair tied into a braid. His brown eyes were darting between them all, a mixture of curiosity and nervousness clear in them. He seemed older than the other apprentice. The taller had a shaved head, black eyes staring straight at her in challenge.

“Dorian de Leis, I assume?” Valia called out to him from her perch above the crate.

“Yes.” Dorian stopped a few yards away from her perch. She watched as he gave her a once over, clearly displeased. “Captain Menchen?”

“The one and only.” She answered with a wink, pleased when rewarded with a scowl in return. “This is my first mate, T’Shan, and our muscle, Skullcrusher.”

“His name is Skullcrusher?” The elder of Dorian’s two companions asked, voice barely hiding his nervousness.

“It’s a loose translation.”

“Much more violent in Novarian.” Skull agrees, still playing with his dagger.

“Call him Skull, we all do.” T’Shan piped in from his spot next to Valia.

“Fantastic.” Dorian gestured at his companions with all the reluctance he could muster. “My apprentices, Allen Ford and Justin King.” Dorian gestured to the blonde and shaved head men, respectively, then placed his hand on Allen’s shoulder. “Allen will be accompanying you on the mission to ensure everything goes smoothly.”

“And to make sure we don’t make off with the cargo?” Valia crossed her arms, projecting annoyance as best she could while maintaining a professional air. “This was not part of our deal, de Leis.”

“Deals change.” Dorian smirked. “Do you expect me to trust you? You’re a criminal, and perhaps not a very good one if that brand on your hand is any indication. Clochian, right? Makes sense, considering your first mate shares it.”

Valia clenched her fist, willing herself to stay calm. T’Shan pressed himself against her side, offering a calming presence. She turned to him, eyes darting immediately to the red scar branded onto his cheek. The same brand that stood stark against the skin on her left hand. The mark of a thief or smuggler caught by the Clochian Federation. Her mark.

“You wouldn’t have hired us if we weren’t criminals.” Valia turned her attention back to the suits. “You call us untrustworthy? Smugglers follow a code even if we break the law. I’m more concerned about people like you, whose moral code changes based on the highest bidder.”

“There is no trust between us, clearly.” Dorian folded his hands behind his back. “Exactly why I will have an apprentice go with you. You will receive half now, and half when Allen confirms delivery. Otherwise we will find another smuggler.”

Valia considered the offer. It could be much worse, she knew. Though having an untested, uneducated liability on her starship could prove to cause more problems than they could deal with.

“Does he have any starship training?” T’Shan asked, practically reading her mind. Dorian gestured for Allen to answer.

“I’ve read some books on the subject.” Allen adjusted his tie as he spoke. Either he was hired via nepotism or this nervousness act was a way to lower his conversation partners guard, because Valia could not think of another reason he would be useful in a business.

“Fantastic, practically the same as flying one.” Valia clapped her hands. “Alright, enough of the chit chat. Skullcrusher will help your men load up the cargo, T’Shan can escort Allen to the bridge, and you can pay me. Square?”

“Agreed.” Dorian pushed back his suit sleeve and activated the HUD on his gauntlet. T’Shan stood and gestured for Allen to follow him. After a nearby worker handed him a travel bag, he obeyed, though he kept his eyes downcast.

Once they were out of earshot, and Skull was giving directions to terrified dock workers, Valia finally felt free to ask her questions.

“So, what’s up with the nervous kid?” Valia gestured at the closing door behind her. Justin snorted. Dorian rubbed his eyes with his fingers, letting out a sigh.

“I don’t see any harm in telling you, since this will likely be our last venture together.”

“Likely.” Valia agreed. She had no wishes to work with someone like de Leis again anytime soon.

“He’s my sister’s youngest. I’m supposed to be taking him under my wing, though his disposition makes him a horrible business partner.”

“He is too much of a pushover, horrible for negotiations.” Justin agrees, crossing his arms. Since he likely earned his position on merit, Valia was sure he harbored quite a bit of hatred for the elder man.

“I’m actually hoping the time aboard your ship will toughen him up. He needs the experience anyway, dealing with unsavory sorts such as yourself.” Dorian finished. Shortly after, his HUD beeped with the confirmed payment. Valia checked her own, ensuring she received the notification, and swung herself off the crate.

“I’ll be sure to put a few miles on his soul. Room him with Skull, stop by a seedy bar on Omega Prime, the whole experience.” Valia waved to the executive, finding joy in the sour look on his face, and started the trek up the stairs and back into her ship.

Altaris - Class 5 Crew Starship

Valia sighed in relief as the doors closed behind her. She ran her hands through her hair, cursing as a few strands caught in her fingers. It was probably time to cut it, since she couldn’t be assed to actually take care of it.

As if walking on auto pilot, Valia found herself climbing the ladder from the airlock to the body of the starship. The dull lights of the airlock gave way to the industrial lighting that illuminated the Altaris. She rolled her shoulders. Just another job, not worth stressing over. Even if she was agreeing to transport an unknown, extremely dangerous creature across the galaxy. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice she had made it to the bridge. Luna, the ship’s AI pilot, turned as she heard Valia approaching.

“Good morning, Captain.” Valia faced the android, focusing on the red crescent and circle that made up her eye in the middle of her faceplate. “From the presence of Mr. de Leis’s apprentice I can assume we are continuing on with the proposed mission?”

“You would assume correctly, Luna.” The sound of heavy footsteps behind her grabbed Valia’s attention. She turned in time to see Skull make his way onto the bridge. “All stowed away?”

“Box secure, not happy about it.” Skull crossed all four arms, his chin tilting up proudly. “I fight it?”

“Not yet big guy, wait for the arena.” Skull grumbled at her answer, but Valia ignored him in favor of addressing Luna. “All crew accounted for?”

“Aye, Captain.” The AI blinked her lights twice and the ship came to life, the vibrations of the engine a comfort to Valia. It meant they would be leaving the snake’s nest.

“Give me comms.” Valia held out her gauntleted arm as she spoke. The logo of the Dream Galaxy Corporation stared at her from it’s prominent position on the gauntlet. She frowned at it, not that it did anything except be an easy target for her displeasure. Luna touched her own arm, which had built in gauntlet technology, to hers. Her gauntlet lit up with a red soundwave notification, indicating that she could now speak to the crew but was not currently projecting. Valia closed her fist and the light turned green.

“Good evening Altaris crew, this is your illustrious captain speaking.” Skull snorted, though quickly shut up as Valia glared at him. “We’ve received a job to transport something extremely dangerous to Nova Prime so that they can then try to murder it. Our first stop will be to refuel and decompress at Omega Prime. So don’t spend your advances just yet. It will take us an estimated 10 hours at FTL-2 to reach Prime. Take off will be in 10 minutes. So I suggest you get yourselves strapped in if you don’t feel like flying. Get to it. Signing out.”

Valia opened her fist to end transmission. She gave the comms back to Luna, who would manage crew information and announcements until arrival, and took her seat in the captain’s chair. She didn’t need to look to know Skull was taking his seat to her left, always her protector. Valia engrossed herself in creating plans once they reached Omega Prime. With a minute left until take off the door leading to the crew’s quarters opened and T’Shan made his way to his spot on her right. Ten seconds to go and Luna magnetized herself to the floor in front of the navigational panel. She began the countdown, projecting her robotic voice over the ship’s comms so the crew could hear her.

“Five.”

The ship rose off the ground, the vibrations of the engine becoming more noticeable as they began to work. The shutters at the front of the ship began to rise, revealing the translucent starshield. Through it Valia could see Dorian watching the ascent.

“Four.”

The ship rotated, facing the outer doors of the hangar bay.

“Three.”

An alarm blared, indicating the oxygen barrier had been put into place.

“Two.”

The outer door of the hangar bay opened. Valia relaxed into her seat at the sight of the great expanse before her. The endlessness of space gave her comfort where it made others feel insignificant. She felt at home.

“One.”

The ship entered FTL-2. Valia was pushed into her chair by the sudden acceleration. She laughed as adrenaline coursed through her, better than any thrill ride. Too soon, the ship stabilized in FTL. Luna began speaking through the comms.

“Attention crew, the ship has stabilized in FTL-2. You may now be free to continue performing your duties. I will inform you of any changes.”

“Finally, I could use a nap.” Valia unbuckled herself. Once she stood up she stretched out, sighing as the joints in her spine cracked. “Unless anything needs my attention?”

“Amara has requested your presence in engineering.” Luna responded. Her monotonous, robotic tone gave no indication of Amara’s intent. Though if Valia knew Amara, and she did, the feline like engineer was upset with her.

“Of course she has.”

“I believe my creator has found issue with the ‘newbies’ assignment to engineering.” Luna further explained.

“Of course she does.”

“He has a background in engineering, that is the best spot for him.” T’Shan defended his decision.

“I’ll talk to her.” Valia sighed. “Anything else?”

“Doctor McBride would like to see you in the medbay for a check-up.”

“Did she happen to say why?” Valia raised a brow. As far as the doctor knew, she had an annual three months ago.

“She pulled your medical records and found that you haven’t had an annual in six years.”

“Damn it, Cure’s being nosy.” Couldn’t a girl be left alone to be irresponsible?

“She also threatened to inject you with the Minora virus vaccine if you didn’t come to see her.” Luna added. She continued to type on the console, apparently running diagnostics.

“What does that do?” Valia asked, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

“The side effects of the Minora virus vaccine include dizziness, swelling, sores, headaches, fatigue, and delirium.” Luna answered. She projected an informational page about the vaccine in front of Valia.

“Fantastic.” Valia felt sick.

“Generally, it is described as being worse than the virus itself and, therefore, redundant.”

“I got the picture, Luna, thank you.” Valia rubbed her eyes.

“I can handle Amara if you want to take a nap in the med bay.” T’Shan squeezed her shoulder. “You’re overworked.”

“Someone's gotta keep us afloat.” Valia relaxed into her first mate’s touch. “Are you sure?”

“I can handle her.” T’Shan smiled, the white of his teeth blending with his skin. “That cat is all talk. I hope.”

“You sound like you’re from an old movie.” Valia snorted. “‘That cat’”

“I don’t understand.” T’Shan’s brow furrowed. Had he been human, his eyebrows would have drawn together.

“Don’t worry about it.” Valia patted him on the shoulder. “Just try not to join me in the infirmary. Amara may be an engineer, but the Armaxians and Novarrians share an ancestor. She is dangerous.”

T’Shan nodded, his lips tight.

“Luna, keep an eye on everything from here. If you notice any crew morale issues talk to Squid.”

“Aye, Captain.” Luna saluted, her lights blinking in a pattern indicating understanding and agreement.

“Skull, head back down to the storage bay and keep watch. Anything suspicious and you report to T’Shan, okay?”

“Yes, rarka.” Skull referred to her using the Novarrian word for a respected leader. He had been doing it since he joined the crew, after she saved his life from a rampaging Alurian Axicotl. It still pulled on her heart strings a bit. Valia smiled, saluting in the Novarrian fashion of a fist over the heart. Well, a Novarrian heart, located about where the stomach is on a human. Skull returned it, then turned on his heel and walked towards the cargo bay.

“T’Shan, after surviving your encounter with Amara put together a watch schedule. Skull should be alright for awhile, but have him relieved after three hours at the latest.”

“Ofcourse, Captain.” T’Shan saluted her in the fashion of the Clochians, crossed arms held straight in front of him. Valia returned it and T’Shan made his way to engineering.

With a nod in Luna’s direction, Valia left the bridge. The doors opened on proximity, albeit a bit glitchy. T’Shan had once gotten his foot stuck in a door that closed too soon. They didn’t hear the end of it for weeks. And he still rushed through the doors.

Valia smiled to herself as the door closed behind her. The medbay was a quick walk, on the same floor as the deck and right next to the mess hall. Cure always said that if she can corner a crew member while they eat, they won’t miss an appointment. It worked for most. Not her, but most. Valia shuddered as she approached the door to the med bay. She was in for an ear full.

“It’s about bloody time.” Kylie grumbled from her desk. She opened a drawer and began digging through it. For a moment, all Valia could see above the desk was her red, kinky hair. Then a medical gown was thrown at her face.

“Put that on.” Kylie jabbed a manicured, short nail at the screen blocking off a changing area from the rest of the med bay. As she walked towards it Valia could see the UV booth was on. That meant Squid was getting his meal today. “I didn’t realize I would be tracking you lot when I signed on. Like I’m your mum.”

Valia saw the outline of Kylie move towards the UV booth. She continued stripping her layers of clothes, nearly tripping on her pants.

“Kylie McBride, doctor and mother of the crew of the Altaris. Just grand.”

“Anybody else but Squid here to hear my information?”

“No, just me and Squid.” A timer went off as Valia started to tie the gown onto herself. “Just a wee longer Squid, I want to make sure you’re well-fed.”

I’ve already reached the appropriate time in UV.

Squid’s telepathy rang through her mind. Despite their years together, it still sent a chill down her spine.

“I know, love, but you’ve seemed less bright lately.” Kylie turned to Valia. “What was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“I’m not pregnant.” Valia raised a brow. “And may I just add, this is a rather elaborate plot to get my clothes off. You could have just asked.”

“Very funny, darling.” Kylie’s deadpan face indicated it was not, in fact, very funny. “There are other reasons to ask. Malnutrition, for instance.”

A secondary timer went off, and Squid emerged from the UV booth. Though they looked like a squid on top of a wizard’s robe, but with more tentacles, bio luminescent spots and no eyes, Valia knew there was more to them than that. Not that anyone who wasn’t Varmaxi knew what an Varmaxi body looked like.

Thank you, Doctor, I feel nourished. There was a pause, and Squid’s face turned to Valia. Their spots glowed a dull yellow. The Captain has yet to answer your question.

“Traitor.” Valia grumbled. She glared at Squid as they made their exit, waving a tentacle in a version of a farewell.

“Well, Captain?” Kylie tapped her foot. Valia turned to Kylie. The sight of the doctor always took her breath away. Her hair was held back with a kelly green headband that matched her turtleneck. Both managed to accentuate her clear, blue eyes and freckles and stand out against her medium brown skin.

“Do you honestly think I’m malnourished?” Valia asked, half joking. “You’ve seen me eat.”

“Fine!” Kylie threw up her hands. “What do I know? I’m just a doctor.”

Valia could tell she had frustrated Kylie. With a sigh she took the few steps needed to reach the doctor. She rested her forehead against hers, looking into those beautiful, blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, meine liebling. I just get nervous in medical situations.” Valia spoke quietly, keeping the words from spreading in the small room.

“I know, darling.” Kylie kissed her quickly, chastely. Then pulled back. “But I am worried you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“Then what can I do to make you feel better?” Valia asked with a small smile.

“Get on the table.” Kylie pointed at the padded metal table used for examinations.

“As you wish.”

The rest of the medical exam flew by. Squid contacted Kylie halfway through as they forgot to make an appointment for the next day. The conversation distracted the doctor enough that she tested Valia’s reflexes a little too hard. Kylie kissed it to make it better, so Valia did not mind much. Within the hour, Valia was changing back into her normal clothes.

“So, tell me straight, Doc.” Valia paused to put on a worried facade. “Will I survive?”

“Smart ass.” Kylie grumbled, though a small smile betrayed her. “You’re healthy. Surprisingly.”

“I feel as though I should be offended.”

“I was just worried about you, Agra.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do.” Valia moved to kiss the top of Kylie’s head. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon.”

“You better not.” Kylie mumbled before pulling away. She surveyed Valia. “Now go get some sleep, you sap. Take my bed. If anyone comes looking for you, I’ll point them to T’Shan.”

“How did you know I wanted a nap?” Valia asked, though she was already walking towards the doctors bedroom.

“You’re exhausted, love.” Kylie explained. “Anyone who really knows you could tell.”

Valia reached the door to the bedroom. She punched in the passcode and it opened smoothly. Of course the technology in the med bay was the most updated, that was in everyone’s best interests. Valia was not playing favorites. She paused before entering the room.

“I’d sleep better with someone to cuddle with.” Valia kept a hand on the door frame incase it decided to close.

“Shall I call Skull up?” Kylie asked. She wasn’t facing Valia, but she could hear the smirk on the doctors face.

“I was being serious.” Valia pouted.

“I know, love, but I have work to do.” Kylie gestured at her screen. Valia couldn’t read it from where she was, but she figured it was crew medical records. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

That gave her at least three hours. Valia gave her partner one last look before allowing the door to close behind her. Kylie’s room was organized chaos. Far different from Valia’s own, where her military training still urged her to keep everything ship shape. Boxes of paper medical journals sat in the corner, likely annotated and marked up. Clothes were in baskets, not folded or put away. Her bed was a mess.

Despite looking like a disaster zone, the fact that the room fit Kylie so well relaxed her. Valia crawled into the bed and sank into the mattress. She wrapped herself in the comforter and rested her head on the pillow. She could still smell hints of Kylie’s perfume on the pillow. With the scent of her love surrounding her, Valia soon fell into a deep sleep.

To be continued...

[eternalgravityfaller]

Misunderstanding

Summary: Mabel accidentally bursts in on Ford when he’s handling a dangerous creature. His outburst results in Mabel thinking she’s banished from the lab forever and runs off, upset. A heart-to-heart chat is required in order to set things straight.

With precise movement Mabel cut the ham sandwich in front of her into the shape of a heart. Humming cheerfully, she grabbed some potato chips from the open bag and arranged them around the sandwich and finished up the meal with a few carrot sticks. Setting her hands on her hips, she surveyed the three plates lined up on the counter, all holding identical meals.

“Lunch is complete!”

She set the plates on the kitchen table and quickly cleaned up her mess, sticking the mustard, cheese, butter and remaining sliced ham back into the fridge and fastening the chip bag shut with an elastic band. She then went up the attic stairs and poked her head into her bedroom, where she found Dipper in the same spot he’d been in a half-hour earlier.

He was sitting on the hardwood floor, surrounded by dozens of papers. His brow was scrunched up, a pencil pressed against his cheek as he studied his Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons notes. “I made you lunch, Dipper,” spoke Mabel.

“Thanks,” said Dipper distractedly. “But I’ll eat it later. I’m in the middle of the crucial part of my campaign and I can’t stop now.”

“Want me to bring it to you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Mabel went to grab her brother’s food, returning a minute later with the plate and a glass of water. Dipper mumbled out another thank you as she set his lunch on his nightstand table, eyes still glued to his game preparation.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered to herself as she once more headed downstairs. “How can a game involving so much work be fun?”

She paused in the entryway to the kitchen, eyeing the two sandwiches still remaining on the table. Stan was out for the afternoon and Ford was down in his lab. Considering he hadn’t emerged yet, Mabel figured he had once again forgotten it was mealtime. She went to the vending machine that acted as the entrance to the underground space and typed in the code.

“Grunkle Ford!” she called, her voice echoing down the steps. She waited a beat but didn’t receive an answer, though she could hear some odd grunts and hissing noises. Eyebrow raising in curiosity, Mabel ventured into the depths, wondering what her great-uncle was doing this time.

She stepped into the lab, spotting Ford moving slowly around his metal table, long rubber gloves covering his forearms. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but froze when her gaze next landed on the orange frog slithering along the floor to her right.

Three purple eyes moved to stare unblinkingly at her, a long, green forked tongue snapping out of its mouth. Ford realized his niece was there the same moment the frog swelled like a balloon. “Mabel! Move!”

Ford catapulted over the table and shoved Mabel aside just as a giant glob of green slime flew from the frog’s mouth. Mabel slammed to the floor, her cheek ricocheting off of the hard surface. Dazed for a moment, she blinked up at Ford, who just managed to avoid the attack. The slime hit the wall and Mabel gaped as the material started to melt away, the slime bubbling and emitting a high-pitched hissing sound.

The frog hopped onto the table and shifted from side to side, seeming to prepare for another attack. Ford hauled Mabel to her feet and hustled her towards the door. Mabel was about to speak, but Ford cut her off with a harsh, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I just came to see you!”

“I gave you clear instructions not to enter my lab today!” snapped Ford, his eyes not leaving the agitated creature. “Are you aware you nearly got yourself killed?”

“I didn’t mean to,” insisted Mabel, her hand pressed over the throbbing spot on her cheek. “I just wanted—”

“You don’t listen,” said Ford, speaking over her and his tone raising with growing fury. “You can’t just barge in here whenever you feel like it!” The frog began to swell again and Ford shouted at Mabel, “Get out and stay out!”

The cold, angry dismissal piercing her heart like a knife, the twelve-year-old fled back upstairs, the tears gathering in her eyes making it difficult to see the steps. She stumbled out of the lab and hastily shut the vending machine behind her.

A sob escaped her and the tears started to stream down her cheeks. Ford’s words replaying in her mind on a loop, Mabel hurried through the house and out the front door. Her small body wracked with shakes as she cried harder, and through her blurred vision she managed to catch sight of the sky, which was a dark grey.

Her initial plan of escaping into the forest to be alone botched by poor weather conditions, Mabel resorted to crawling into the space between the porch’s couch and the exterior wall. She feebly batted away cobwebs as she wedged herself into the narrow spot, jerking her sweater over her head. Curling her arms tightly around her legs, she tried to calm herself down, but it was hard when Ford’s livid face was permanently engrained in her mind.

She had forgotten Ford’s order, given to her and Dipper early that afternoon. He did indeed instruct them to stay out of his lab while he worked. Mabel cringed at her own stupidity, at her carelessness. She always got carried away by her impulses, hardly stopping to think about what she doing.

She wished she could be more like Dipper. Ford hardly ever got mad at Dipper, and he certainly never would ban him from his lab. Mabel supposed she couldn’t blame him. He and Dipper were much more alike, she knew that, but she liked to think she and Ford were close, in their own unique way.

But now she wasn’t so sure.

…

After the Three-Eyed Poison Tongued Frog was safely contained, Ford peeled off his gloves, letting out an exhausted sigh. His initial anger at seeing Mabel intrude upon a dangerous situation had cooled, and he grimaced as the words he shouted at her swirled in his mind.

“Great job, Stanford,” he muttered.

He climbed the stairs and exited the lab, intent on finding Mabel and having a talk with her. He took a brief glance into the Mystery Shack’s gift shop before heading into the main house. He paused at the sight of two sandwiches arranged neatly on the table and he felt deep regret wrench at his gut.

“Mabel?” he called.

He furrowed his brow when there was no answer and continued searching. His concern grew when every room he checked was empty and blossomed into panic when he found Dipper the sole occupant of the attic.

“Where’s your sister?”

Dipper jumped in surprise, so engrossed in his planning that he hadn’t heard his great-uncle come in. “I don’t know,” he replied. “She brought me lunch a bit ago and I haven’t seen her since.” Not missing the worry on Ford’s face, Dipper asked anxiously, “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it,” said Ford curtly, mind already whirling with possible ideas on where she could have gone. Maybe she went to find Stanley in town? “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Ford hurried down the attic stairs, his heart jumping into his throat when a sudden, torrential downpour slammed against the Mystery Shack in mere seconds. He raced through the living room and burst through the front door, staring frantically at the sheets of rain that pummelled the earth, creating an eerie, misty scenery.

She was out of sight for under ten minutes, she couldn’t have gotten far!

Terrified by the mental image of his tiny niece stumbling through the rain, soaked and upset, he cried, “Mabel! Where are you?”

Tucked behind the couch, Mabel tugged down the collar of her sweater at Ford’s shout. The intense concern layering his voice caused her to pipe up, “I’m here!”

She wiggled her way out of the space, managing to poke her head over the edge of the couch. Ford felt relief crash down over him and he quickly swept Mabel into his arms. “Thank heavens!”

Hope ignited in her chest at Ford’s embrace and Mabel hugged him tightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought perhaps I had caused you to run off in this terrible mess,” said Ford, shifting his eyes guiltily. He set Mabel down and for the first time noticed the bruise on her cheek. Realizing she must have received the injury when he pushed her, he felt sick to his stomach. “I hurt you.”

At the devastation on his features Mabel quickly said, “No, it’s okay! It only hurts a tiny bit.”

Managing a bitter smile, Ford lightly ran his fingers over the bruise. “Perhaps not as much as my words.”

Mabel shrunk slightly at that, eyes moving to stare at the floorboards of the porch. “I guess. I’m sorry I went into your lab when you told me not to.”

“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.” Ford let out a deep sigh, sinking into the couch cushions and taking Mabel’s small hands within his calloused grip. “I didn’t intend to come across so harsh. It’s just that you really do need to be more careful. If that creature had hit you with its poison, you would have been severely hurt.”

“I forgot,” said Mabel quietly. “But that’s not really an excuse. I won’t go into your lab ever again. Promise.”

Using three fingers to tilt her chin slightly so they were making eye contact, Ford said seriously, “On the contrary, I want you in my lab, Mabel. But when you have my express permission to do so.”

“So…I’m not banned?” asked Mabel hopefully.

Brow furrowing, it took Ford a minute to understand why she would think such a thing. “No, of course not. When I said ‘get out and stay out’, I merely meant it for the current situation. Not on an indefinite basis.” Flinching slightly at repeating those earlier, cold words, Ford squeezed Mabel’s hands. “I shouldn’t have said that to begin with.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I upset you.” Ford reached up to brush at the wet tear tracks on Mabel’s cheeks, shame and regret boiling within him. “I seem to be very good at upsetting those I love.”

“I upset Dipper all the time, so don’t worry about it, really.” Hesitating for a brief moment, Mabel dredged up the courage to ask the question that had been lingering on her mind. “Um…Grunkle Ford, do you like me?”

“Of course I like you,” answered Ford immediately, lips sharpening into a worried frown. “Did my outburst make you think otherwise?”

“You don’t really get mad at Dipper,” said Mabel, self-consciously shifting her feet.

“Dipper doesn’t really have a tendency to march into my lab whenever he feels like it,” said Ford gently. He paused for a moment before adding, slightly shame-faced, “Though I suppose I tend to be stricter with you. You’re so lively and energetic. I worry that you’ll let your impulses carry you until you hurt yourself. Stan was—and still is—the same way. But Dipper can be reckless, as I know I can be. I love you and your brother equally, Mabel. I didn’t do a good job making that clear before Weirdmageddeon, but I’ll do all I can to make up for it.”

“You don’t have to,” said Mabel, a wide smile stretching across her lips. “I forgive you, and I love you too.”

She removed her hands from Ford’s grasp to hug him, burrowing her head against his shoulder as happiness burst in her chest. Ford returned the embrace, stroking her hair as affection bubbled warmly through his body. Though Mabel seemed to think he didn’t need to make up for his rather neglectful treatment pre-Weirdmageddeon, Ford disagreed. And he would do all he could to make it right before summer ended.

“I see you made some lunch,” he spoke.

“Uh-huh! Do you want to eat with me?”

“I’d love to. Though I noticed you didn’t have nearly enough carrot sticks on your plate. We’ll have to fix that.”

“Aw, Grunkle Ford!”

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Unorthodox Auto Repair - A Reylo Fic

That time this video came up in chat and @mnemehoshiko made me have cracky Reylo thoughts about fixing car dents with dildos.Thanks to @spacedarcy for reading this over and helping me fix that pesky problem!

Links: FF | AO3 (ETA: Link added!)

Rey has a split second to make her choice: take the fall or chance an impact. If she swerves now, she'll have to lay down the 200 kilogram bike—not the best option under any circumstance, but a full-blown Bad Idea when sporting a mini dress and heels instead of proper leathers and boots. Damn Rose and her insistence that her bachelorette party should feel like Vegas despite taking place at the Tico family farm.

Option two doesn't give her much better odds: if she brakes now, she may not have the distance to spare before hitting the jackass sitting at the crossroads without so much as parking lights. Her only saving grace is that her heels paired with the unfamiliar country roads have tempered her lead foot. She's kept the engine between her thighs at an even purr instead of coaxing it to the delicious growl she loves to hear, because she does want to show up to Finn's wedding alive come morning.

Gritting her teeth, Rey makes her choice.

In the Porsche's insulated cabin, he almost doesn't hear the screeching tires. By the time he does, it's too late. The car lurches forward from the hit, though it only moves a few inches while parked. Ben scrambles up from his reclined seat, the stars he was observing through the windshield utterly forgotten, and throws open the door.

This night just keeps getting better and better, he thinks sourly. First, the disastrous corporate banquet; now, this.

The air smells like burnt rubber as he circles round to the back of the car. An accented voice scares away the songs of nearby nocturnal creatures concealed in the cornfields surrounding the intersection.

"Shit," the voice exclaims as the girl flips up her visor and starts to remove her helmet with shaky hands. "Fuck."

He casts a cursory glance over the two vehicles. The headlight of the motorcycle shines on his back end, the only light for miles and miles just inches from his bumper. There's a dent, but nothing looks cracked or scratched on his end; her bike's front wheel didn't fare as well. The popped tire sags, making it look like the aging Triumph is bowing to his car.

Insurance details can be hashed out after manners have been met. "Are you okay?"

She swings her right leg backward, dismounting the bike. The black fabric bunched at her hips falls down to her upper thighs, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take in how much skin stretches between the hem and her black pumps. Legs. Legs for days. Toned and smooth and. . .the absolute last thing he should be focusing on right now.

"I didn't ask to see my life flash before my eyes," the girl answers after running her hands over the front of her leather jacket and up again to grip the back of her neck, "but yeah, I'm fine."

Now that manners are dispensed with, his voice takes on a harder edge, "Are you drunk?"

"I've had drinks," she throws back, "but that's not the problem."

He holds the shock of anger in his fists, squeezing it up his arms and through his neck, before finally gritting it out around his teeth. "You rear-ended my car."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, kicking up dust from the road as she steps toward him, an accusatory finger pointed at the loosened knot of his tie. "I bumped into your black car that didn't have any fucking lights on in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at night," she counters. "If anyone was a hazard on the road, it was you."

He's both impressed and horrified by her words. The sharks he swims with usually conceal their teeth around him; seeing them bared and ready to bite is oddly refreshing. "Are you always this eloquent at three in the morning?"

"Only when my best friend is getting married tomorrow, and his fiance will kill me if I end up in jail," the girl goes on.

"I didn't say I was going to call the cops," Ben remarks. He has every right to. Taking his car in to be looked at by the dealer for underlying damage will cost him more than what her bike is worth. Still. . .the truth she hit upon nags at him: he is at least partially responsible for the accident. Parking at an intersection without hazards—even on a back road no one should be cruising through on a still-dark Saturday morning—wasn't the best choice on his end.

Her eyes snap up to his, hopeful. "You mean that?"

Ben groans inwardly. Considering the age of her bike and the sudden calmness in her tone, he assumes it means she has no insurance. He doesn't care much; money has never been a concern on his radar. But her bike is inoperable, if not totaled. How is she going to get it fixed without coverage? What would have happened had she been thrown from the bike and injured?

He puts aside the what-ifs to focus on the present. His jaw eats around the lie as his hand waves off the entire accident, willing to sweep it under the proverbial rug seeing as neither of them are hurt. "There's no damage."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you blind? Or do you really not see that dent?"

"It's nothing major," he corrects.

She's already shaking her head at him, not accepting his words even though she's the one that benefits from him not making a fuss. This girl seems determined to hold on to something he's ready to move past, to forget.

She crouches next to his bumper, hands smoothing over the impact site, whispering her apologies. "I'm so sorry, gorgeous. I'm gonna fix you up in no time."

"Are you talking to my—?"

"Shh," she hisses. "Let me think. I can get this dent out. I know I can."

She'd give anything to have her tools. Normally, she keeps the essentials in her saddlebag at all times, but she'd needed the space to transport party supplies tonight. For a moment she considers offering to fix the dent at her shop on Monday—even goes so far as to visualize the sleek, black 911 model nestled into the single station she calls a garage—but brushes off the thought.

The G-Man, whom she's upgraded from jackass due to his offer to forego a paper trail, would probably laugh at such an offer. He's dressed in navy Tom Ford pants and a tailored white shirt that knows every curve of muscle in his upper arms and chest intimately. This is the kind of man who doesn't work for the government so much as is the government. He doesn't come to businesses that break half a dozen OSHA laws unless he's there to give a citation.

Better not to invite trouble, Rey agrees with herself. Even so, she can't leave his beautiful Porsche looking like this. If only I had something with suction. . .

"Ah!" she cries, startling his spine straight in her eureka moment. Spinning dangerously on her heels, she bends over to dig through her saddlebag. It's a crazy idea, but the physics of it should be the same no matter if the pull is coming from a traditional suction cup or from the more unorthodox tool she has on hand thanks to Rose and her ridiculous party favors.

Her hand finally closes around the soft shaft of silicone and she whips it out into the country air.

At first, Ben isn't sure he's seeing what he's seeing. It can't possibly be that.

She straightens and holds the electric blue dildo aloft like it's some award. A delighted laugh at her ingenuity turns into a fit of giggles as she considers the obscenely large phallus, pressing the base to her hand several times as if testing it out. Whatever simulation she's running, it passes. "This should do the trick."

He intercedes before she can reach his vehicle. "Wait," he tells her, "You're going to fix my car with a. . .with that?"

Her smile falters slightly as she looks from him to the intimate toy—how anything so imposing can be called a toy, he can't begin to fathom. Flipping the dildo so she's holding the tip, she shows him the end with the concave cup. "It's just like a plunger," she explains. "It'll work just fine. These things have some incredible suction."

He's at a loss for words, but his eyebrows must speak for him because her eyes cringe shut and she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "Not that I would know," she mutters, clearing her throat.

"This really isn't necessary," he protests. "I can have a mechanic work it out tomorrow."

"I am a mechanic," she returns with a proud smile. "And one that won't charge you a fucking pound of flesh for an easy fix."

Without another word, she brushes past him and kneels down on the road, clenching her jaw against the bite of the asphalt on her bare knees.

"It's just. . ." he begins again, gesturing at the thing he can't seem to name without his cheeks threatening to catch fire. "Why do you even have it?"

She shrugs as she lines up the base of the dildo with the center of the dent. The thing is so large that even her two hands don't cover all of it. "It's from the party. No need to worry," she adds, "I haven't used it yet."

Rey remembers learning about spontaneous human combustion in school and thinks it might be happening to her right now, starting at her ears. Haven't used it yet? she repeats to herself with an internal groan she wonders if he can hear. You don't plan on using it at all, Rey. It was a gag gift.

She goes silent with embarrassment and hopes he thinks she's concentrating on her task. There's not a chance in hell that she can meet his eyes right now to check. Instead, she secures her hold around the dildo and presses it firmly against the dent. She feels the air compress beneath it, gives the dildo a slight twist to lock it in place, and then yanks back with a determined pull.

The dent pops out with a hollow thunk, and it's over. Easy, peasy. She's probably just saved him a grand with a five second job.

His remark is a dumbfounded whisper: "I can't believe that worked."

She's still flushed from her previous comment, but she can't help grinning at the skeptic. "I said I could fix it. I'm good at fixing things. Always have been."

"Even with your skills," he starts, "I don't think there's a way you can fix that tonight."

She follows his gaze to her busted front tire, and Rey scrunches her nose at the sight. It really is a miracle that she wasn't bucked from her seat when the rear of the bike popped up. Having opted for two wheels all her life, Rey's had her fair share of scary situations and taken one or two trips to the ER; tonight marks the first time she's ever been truly afraid of not walking away.

"I'll have to call for an Uber," she remarks, tucking the dildo under her arm to retrieve her phone. "Finn will give me a tow to my shop in the morning."

As she unzips a pocket on her leather jacket and removes her phone, Ben scuffs the asphalt with his cap-toe Oxfords. Getting an Uber to come all the way out here at this hour is going to take forever and cost her an arm and leg. He would extend an offer to drive her home, but he can't think of a way to express it without coming off sounding like a creep. They are relative strangers, after all. He doesn't even know her name.

"I'll wait with you," he says instead, leaning against the side of his car and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's the least I can do."

"You might be out here until dawn," she comments as she scrolls through the app to contact a driver.

"I insist."

Her thumbs stop moving across the screen. The girl peers up at him, cocking her head to the side. "If you're willing to wait that long, why not just give me a lift?"

Ben thanks the stars that she is the one who asks, and he pushes away from the vehicle. "I'd be happy to, if you're comfortable with that."

She looks from him to the car, an odd sense of longing in her glance. In the eyes of a mechanic, the sleek Porsche must be an awfully big temptation. The hunger in her gaze isn't focused on him, that's for sure. He fleetingly wonders if it's possible to be jealous of his own car.

"On one condition," she states, then changes her mind, "No, two."

Tentatively, he nods in agreement. He did say he wants her to be comfortable with him driving her home. "Make your demands."

"Show me your ID."

Of all the things she could have said, that isn't what he anticipated. "My what?"

"Your license," she repeats. "I don't make a habit of getting into cars with men at three AM. You could be a serial killer."

His eyes go wide and his jaw slack in mild horror—these are the conclusions women leap to?—but he's already digging into his back pocket for his wallet. In a moment, he produces it and slips his driver's license out of the clear window, holding it out to her between two fingers while questioning her logic, "Even if I was out to kidnap beautiful women, how would having my license keep you safe?"

She shrugs, snapping a picture of it and tapping out a message he presumes she's sending to a friend. "It wouldn't," she answers, "but at least if I go missing, the police will know where to look first."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"I like to think of it as pragmatic," she responds, finally reading his name from the card, "Ben Solo."

He watches the way her mouth forms his name, how her pink lips kiss together before curving around the vowels. "What's your other condition?" he inquires as he plucks his ID from her hand.

She moves past him and ghosts her free hand an inch over the car's shell, headed for the passenger side door, as she makes her second request: "I want to hear her roar. I may never get the chance to ride in one of these again, and. . .it'll kill me if I don't find out what she can do."

He mirrors her movements as she speaks, meeting her on the opposite side of the car. He was right about the hungry look in her eyes as they feasted upon his car. "I think I can make that happen," he agrees with a wide grin, adding, "But he prefers to be called 'Kylo.'"

"Ben and Kylo," she repeats with a smile. "We had a rough start, but I'm glad to have met you both. I'm Rey."

[cecilspeaks]

121 - A Story of Love and Horror, Part 1: “Barks”

The password is “mudwomb”. The username is “mudwomb”. The website is “mudwomb”. Where did the rest of the Internet go? Welcome to Night Vale.

I would like to tell you a story. It is a difficult story and I don’t know what it means, but it seems important to me to tell you. It is about two people and a terrible, impossible decision that they found themselves having to make. It concerns Frances Donaldson and Nazr al-Mujaheed.

But first, the community calendar. 

This Tuesday evening the Night Vale Football Boosters Club will hold their meeting at the Applebee’s that we’re all pretty sure was a Chili’s just yesterday, but now is an Applebee’s, and all records show it has always been an Applebee’s even though we remember it as a Chili’s. The subject of this week’s meeting will be the timing of football games, which all members agree are too long. “Hey, I like football as much as the next guy,” said Hannah Gutierrez, “but a whole sixty minutes of play? Plus all the breaks and starting and stopping? We're busy people. Football should take less time.” The Booster Club will be working on their new proposal to get games done in a tight 15, so everyone can get home to watch the newest episode of Stop Chef, in which a group of contestants compete to prevent a chef from cooking.

Wednesday is Love Day at Dark Owl Records. Owner Michelle Nguyen explained that after recent love-focused events, she wanted everyone to understand that love is a laughable concept. And she wanted to highlight its absurdity by selling albums with songs that ruthlessly mock love using subtle irony, like “I Will Always Love You” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”. My former radio intern Maureen, who was in the store too and was holding hands with Michelle, agreed that love is stupid, and funny. And fun and ridiculous, and all-encompassing and revitalizing. Then Michelle said, “What?” And Maureen said, “What?” And then they both got embarrassed and asked me to leave.

Thursday is the Safety Parade, which the Sheriff’s Secret Police hold each year in order to highlight safety. Of course, no one is allowed to march in or attend the parade for their own safety. As Secret Police Mascot, Barks Ennui, always says: “Woof woof! The biggest danger to you – is you! Woof woof.”

Friday is a meeting at town hall to discuss the problem of entrances to other universes, and the question of whether all of us even ended up in the right universe after that whole recent mixup. There will be light snacks as well as blood tests and surprise interrogations about our version of history, in order to trip up intruders from parallel universes. Attendance is mandatory.

This Saturday and Sunday, the Brown Stone Spire will be offering powerful gifts in exchange for great sacrifices. The larger the sacrifice, the more powerful the gift. For instance, if you give it a DVD you got for Christmas five years ago and have never even taken out of its shrink wrap, it’ll give you a well-worn copy of “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets” that is missing its cover. But if you give it an offering of your own blood and fervent chanting, the copy of “Chamber of Secrets” it gives you will have an intact cover.

And finally, this Monday, Night Vale cinemas will be hosting a showing of that classic comedy caper, “The Grift of the Magi”, in which two con artists run scams in order to get one another Christmas gifts, only to find that they have accidentally each stolen the money from the other.

And now, a story of love – and horror.

Frances Donaldson runs the Antiques Mall in Old Time Night Vale. Long before she took on that job though, she developed an interest in time. As a child, she would stand still and consider that while she had not moved at all in space, something had changed. That she had grown just slightly older, her hair just slightly longer, and this without being able to see the movement at all. She liked to lie in bed and, through her window, watch planes pass very high in the sky. She liked to think about where they had taken off and where they might land. Objects fascinated her, because they too moved through time, on a different trajectory than her. Her bedroom lamp had existed, looking more or less like it was now, since before she was born, and could well exist after she had died. It wasn’t even aware, was too unable to move, and yet it joined her in this mad hurdle through time.

She found this terrifying, and she found this fascinating. And she found this delightful and she wanted it to stop. And she hoped it never stopped, and she felt all of these feelings equally and at once, and without contradiction. What use was there in worrying if all of what she felt about time did not exactly add up? She was too busy feeling it to consider what it meant. And so, of course, she became fascinated with antiques. These objects washed up from the crooked tides of time.

Nazr al-Mujaheed coaches the Night Vale High School football team. Go Scorpions. And this was almost the entirety of his world. He thought about football when he woke up, he thought about it on the drive to work. Of course he thought about it when he ran practices and had meetings with the assistant coaches, and he thought about it at night when he ate take-out dinners on his couch while watching football. This made him happy. And what makes a person happy, if it doesn’t harm another person and doesn’t harm themselves, is OK. Even if it’s not how anyone else would want to live.

But while it made him happy, Nazr was also aware that is more than one kind of happiness. And that perhaps this happiness he found in a life endlessly thinking about football, was less than the happiness he could find in a life with more things in it. This wasn’t about fixing a problem, this was an attempt to improve on a good situation. This was his play for some sort of grace. Other people he knew could provide an outside perspective, and perhaps allow him to be less focused on his work and on the game he coached. And so he decided he would try dating. Without expectations, without a plan, just as a way to see what the world might have for him.

And now, a word from our sponsors.

[masculine ad reader voice] Ford! Our cars are built strong, strong like a rock or a mountain or a bone. In fact, our cars are built out of bones, weird metal bones that were buried in a meteor. What creature did they belong to? How did it live with a skeleton of steel? Are its relatives even now streaking down from the sky, intent on revenging themselves upon the pitiful culture that desecrated their dead and turned them into affordable and reliable pickup trucks? Who knows. We certainly don’t. We barely understand how an engine works. We have one guy who knows, and he builds them all. But in order to protect his job, he won’t show anyone else how to do it. Now that’s smart thinking. Ford: drive weird bones.

There was no great epiphany for Frances that led to her dating life. She had been on the dating app, Void, since it had become available in Night Vale, and had gone on a few casual Void dates. It was not an important part of her life, because it didn’t seem likely to ever lead to anything more. But the occasional company was nice. A night with someone, and then back to her life as it was, which was a life she liked. In this way, her dating was related to her obsession with time. Her bed was always the same bed, and sometimes there was another person in it. And mostly only her. She floated upon that bed as it moved through time. Passengers on and off, and she alone voyaging onward.

And then, Nazr messaged her on Void and they started chatting. For his part, he was unsure of how to date, it having been some time since he had done and certainly before dating happened as a series of written communications, rather than awkward hand gestures. So he had messaged a number of women in town, who had seemed to him like someone he might want to spend more time with. He did this without expectation. He had few expectations that did not involve football. He just performed the actions that might lead to new outcomes for him, and three of the women had messaged back. He was, after all, not a bad looking man, handsome even, although it had been a long time since anyone had told him that. And so it would not have occurred to him that he was handsome, and this in many ways made him even more handsome.

Frances and he agreed to meet for lunch near the high school. This was close enough to her antique store that she could walk, and so the whole thing didn’t feel to either of them like much of a commitment of time. “So,” he said, once they had sat down with their food. “So,” she agreed, and for an awful moment it seemed like it would hang there in uncomfortable silence, and a bad date best forgotten. But then he asked about antiques, because he himself had an interest in old football trophies. And he agreed that might seem a bit weird, but the thing was that their designs were often fascinating. Never having been meant to stand up under scrutiny, crudely carved players, hands like dinner rolls, feet disappearing into the base of the trophy. And this turned into a discussion of all the many old items that would never be valuable from the viewpoint of capitalism, but were more interesting than the ones that were valuable. From this, the conversation spread out into her fascination with time. And then time itself, and their childhoods, and how it was hard sometimes to remember that they themselves were adults. And in Nazr’s case, older than his parents ever lived to be.

On returning to work, Nazr started the afternoon football practice as usual. And as usual, threw himself into the rhythm of drills, spells and counter-spells that make up any football skirmish. But he found, for the first time in his life, that he couldn’t make himself fully focus. There was a part of him still thinking about the lunch, about the way her hands had looked tapping on the table. About the way she talked about time as it were not an implacable force, but an old and fallible friend. He had to continually draw himself back intro practice, and the players wondered if he perhaps was sick.

Frances stood at the window of her antique shop watching the planes fly overhead. When a person entered the shop, she would acknowledge them vaguely with a nod, and then acknowledge them vaguely with a nod again when they left. But otherwise, she kept her eyes on the window. Something in her chest felt tight, but also less heavy. She was both scared and happy, and she wasn’t sure why she was either of those. When later they both messaged and decided to go on a second date, an evening date at a nice restaurant, something with a bit more commitment behind it, neither of them connected it directly to the way they felt after their lunch together. But both of them could not contain their impatience, and had messaged that very evening. Both at exactly 10:55 PM.

Let’s have a look at that weather.

["Riches and Wonders" by Eliza Rickman & Jherek Bischoff]

There was a second date. And that night, she went with him back to his house. Then a third date, when they went to her house. Then a few more dates where they sometimes went to one of their houses and sometimes just kissed, wild with the feeling of it. Out in the park lot of whatever restaurant or bar they had met at, before saying good night because they had to work in the morning, and they were adults who sometimes had control of themselves.

This was not one of those nights, though. This was a night that she was in his bed and he was asleep. This was a little over a month after their first date. As she lay sleepy and happy, she watched the TV, which was tinting the darkness a soft fickering blue. It was an old episode of “Friends”, in which Joey rolls limply and slowly, over the course of 21 minutes, across the apartment while out of focus in the background, Phoebe searches desperately through every cabinet and screams. Frances had seen the episode too many times to laugh out loud at, but still it felt comforting to watch, like sitting in a room that she liked. The episode had become a place she could go, rather than a story to follow.

There was a commercial break and a PSA from the Secret Police came on, featuring the adorable cartoon spokesdog, Barks Ennui. He capered about, pointing out all the different ways one could break the law in Night Vale and get sentenced to a forever term in the abandoned mine shaft outside of town. She found herself grinning at his bad puns in the section about reporting on your neighbors: “Traitorous activities can be ruff! Go fetch us their deepest secrets!” And then Barks said her name. His cartoon canine face turned directly to the screen and he said, “Frances.” She didn’t know how to respond. A commercial had never spoken to her, and certainly it had never done what Barks did next, which was to step out of the TV screen in a clumsy flopping movement and then sit up, a two-dimensional flickering cartoon dog standing in the bedroom.

“Frances,” Barks said. “You aren’t supposed to be here. This doesn’t belong to you.” He cocked his animated head, the wall of Nazr’s apartment vaguely visible through him, as though through heavy fog. As his head turned, it sagged in the direction of the ground, stretching and distorting his cartoon puppy face until it was a series of drooping ovals. When he spoke again, his voice sounded stretched too. “You will have to make this right, Frances!” he garbled. [muddled] “You will have to make this right!”

She screamed. Nothing happened. She screamed.

Stay tuned next, just – stay tuned. Next.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Welcome to 2018. The year we finally do it. The year we eat the sun.

[novantinuum]

First Summerween (one-shot)

Adding a needlessly fancy flourish to his final pen stroke, the young researcher finished the latest entry in his journal. A giddy excitement lightened his features as he proofread his work, an entry on a species of bioluminescent wildflowers that he caught migrating from clearing to clearing in the dead of night.

He spent last night following their bluish-green glow and observing the way in which the organisms interacted with each other. Fascinatingly, he found that the flowers’ roots behaved much like appendages when they upended themselves from the soil. A part of him still suspected a capacity for intelligent conversation within the precise way the flowers waltzed around each other, but he needed more time to observe before he could pull any assumptions. (Of course, the silly comparison that tickled his mind was of the dancing broomsticks in that old children’s cartoon about the mouse and the magician.) Overall it was an illuminating and magical experience, pun entirely intended. The discovery of this species was also exactly what he needed to keep his morale up and his curiosity burning.

Since arriving here in Gravity Falls two months ago, he hadn't encountered enough mystery. Sure, there was that massive tree ent that utterly demolished his car on his first day in town- “Steve,” as he affectionately called him- but past that incident, the woods remained suspiciously silent. Day after day he trekked under the evergreens’ thick boughs and returned with not even a page of notes. He swore the forest was messing with him… flashing shadows on underbrush when his back was turned, all its creatures falling silent when he settled in a clearing to wait and observe. He almost wondered if- if whatever weird creatures that lived in the woods were studying him. Perhaps they were probing for weaknesses, or determining whether they found him to be a threat. Conducting their own research on humanity in parallel to his…

If there was one thing he knew for certain the forest was teeming with life, its heartbeat pulsing with a avid tempo. However, precisely when its denizens would accept his presence in their habitat and reveal themselves was knowledge he’d yet to glean.

Ford leaned close to his journal and blew over the pages, wanting the ink dry before he moved on to other business. Satisfied that it wouldn’t smudge, he gently closed the thick hardbound book and crossed into the kitchen. An orange  tinted glow filtered through the window blinds, bathing the room in the sunset’s calming ambiance.

He swung open the cupboard, a sudden craving for a hearty soup gnawing at his stomach. Hunger clawed at his innards with a ferocity he hadn’t experienced since that one week in college he lived off nothing but stale tortillas and canned beans. Had he really not eaten since last night’s dinner again? Stanford sighed, running a hand through the thick curls of hair behind his ear. Damn. That was a devilishly bad habit to start, one he’d better nip in the bud. He grabbed the first canned soup he saw and a small pot to cook it in. The young man had just turned on the stove when something knock against the exterior of his house.

Ford stiffened, and shut everything off. Did… did he really hear what he thought he heard?

He waited, slowing his breathing enough for it to remain silent. His limbs twitched with unspent energy. Could this be it? Could this finally be his big break? Another creature to study and catalogue? The knocking noise beat against the wall again, this time in urgent staccato. Slowly, so as to not create a deluge of unnecessary noise, he crept across the edges of the wood floors- not yet settled- and nabbed his old polaroid camera from the table. Ford draped the camera’s strap securely around his neck and reached towards the door knob, nerves alight with anticipation.

“Slowly,” he reminded himself. “Don’t want to scare it away…”

He gripped the knob and turned, pulling the door slightly ajar to peer out.

Ch-children?

The researcher swung the door open wide, staring at the two young kids with his mouth rounded in surprise. One was dressed as some spandex-clad hero and the other as a rather macabre zombie, covered in fake blood. They couldn’t be older than twelve. He could almost feel the adrenaline in his veins recede in the disappointing absence of a new creature. His brows furrowed. What on earth could two children want at this time in the evening, and how did they know he lived back here? No neighbors lived nearby for miles, and he’d only settled in Gravity Falls two months ago.

Ford smiled hesitantly. “Uh- greetings, kids! What can I do for you two?”

The kids shoved burlap bags forwards, and the speed of the movement startled him enough that he stumbled backwards on his heels.

“Trick or treat!!” they exclaimed, twin smiles lighting up their faces.

Oh. Oh.

The costumes, the bags half filled with candy, it all made sense now. Well… it kind of made sense. This particular path of logic derailed when he remembered that it was late June, not October. After another second of deliberation he concluded that the kids were probably just having a bit of fun, trying to see who they could make a fool of. From the few excursions he’d made into town, a few of the townsfolk sadly appeared clueless enough to fall for such a trick. Lord knows he played equivalently dumb pranks on the neighbors as a boy. (Albeit not alone.)

He nervously clasped his hands behind his back and sighed, trying to formulate the best way to communicate this to the kids.

“Listen you two, I think it’s wonderful you’re having fun in the great outdoors like this, but it’s still only June. Halloween doesn’t come until October.” Keeping a wary eye on their reactions, he added, “I’d also appreciate if you didn’t trespass onto my property in the future.”

The zombie kid whispered to the other one. Ford inclined his neck to hear clearer, and only managed to pick up the last half of it. Something about “he doesn’t know,” and “see, I told you he’s new to town.” Didn’t know what?

“Common’, just give us some candy, mister!” the one in the spandex outfit whined. “We walked so far!”

“But it’s not Halloween,” Ford insisted, perplexed.

“No, it’s Summerween!” the zombie corrected. “It’s all the fun of Halloween but in summer. We always celebrate twice here. And if you just give us some candy I promise we’ll leave you alone!”

“We’ll tell our friends to skip your house, too!" his friend chimed in.

The young adult rubbed a few fingers against his temple, beginning to find this whole situation infuriating. He was now utterly sure that the kids were duping him. Summerween?? Halloween, but in summer? Who had ever heard of such a silly idea?  And these children had the gall to tromp all the way to his door and just demand candy from him? Were all the children in town this tricky and exacerbating?

“I don’t have any candy to give you,” he said matter-of-factly, gesturing towards their burlap sacks. His stomach grumbled, thinking of the uncooked soup still in the pan in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

His response must have struck a negative chord because the children began to whine and grumble at him, their increasingly angered outbursts overlapping one another’s.

“Aww, common!”

“Not even one piece?”

“You’re just being mean, mister.”

“This just plain sucks!”

Ford threw his hands to the side, his patience with the children all but shattered. “Fine!” he snapped, and paced to the kitchen to rummage in his shelves for any sweets he may have. If candy was the only thing that would make these insolent kids go away, then candy it would be. He was almost positive they were manipulating him, but he was far past reasoning at this point. He only wanted them off his front porch. With longing, he glanced at the soup on the counter.

His footsteps regretfully sounding a bit more angry than he intended, he found himself back at the door. Ford bit at his lip when he saw the children react in slight fear to his apparent anger, both backing away from the door.

“Here,” he said gruffly, offering two small packages of black licorice to them. Black licorice he had fully intended to snack on later. He considered giving them some jelly beans since kids were more likely to enjoy those, but decided he was too selfish to give his favorite candy up. The licorice would have to do. "Stay safe in the woods. Good night."

The children silently and hastily nodded their thanks and ran off with their burlap sacks between the trees, towards town. Suddenly feeling far more weary than any man in their mid twenties had any right to be, Ford leaned against the doorpost, watching them fade into the thick underbrush.

Too distracted by the thought of his waiting dinner, he never noticed them throw the licorice to the ground at the outskirts of the clearing in disgust.

I’m too tired to continue this but Ford ends up meeting the Summerween trickster, who mistakingly thinks HE threw that loser candy to the ground, and after clearing things up and apologizing for any offense made they chat for a few hours and Ford makes him tea. He ends up as one of the first big passages in Ford’s first journal. Also, moral of the story is don’t annoy Ford when he’s hungry.

[impishnature]

Ace on Deck

AO3

Rating: T

Summary: (Ace Stan) Ford makes an assumption about his brother based on the way he acts around people, and realises belatedly that perhaps they really do still need to communicate more. 

AN: Part one in a possible series of Ace headcanons. (and Aro? I’ll let you decide that for yourselves, Ace Ford too to me, in this one but focuses on Stan). If I do make it a series ‘Ace on Deck’ will be the series name. But I didn’t want to not use it if I didn’t write more. ^^   Pinging @fexiled cause we rambled a long time ago about this I feel ♥

.

Ford couldn’t help the smile winging across his face as he glanced up from his book at the bar, a boisterous laugh capturing his attention and drawing him away from his studies.

It was their first night at the new port and whilst he felt they had only been at that particular pub for a short amount of time, having spent most of it writing out the journal entry from the day before and nursing a drink, his brother had already found someone new to talk to.

It was almost fascinating watching his brother in these instances. He seemed able to sit beside someone at the bar, strike up some small semblance of banter and hold a conversation with a complete stranger without any trouble. Ford was always shocked by just how easy he made it look, how much fun he could have by chatting to people he’d most likely never meet again and get information out of them Ford couldn’t fathom them telling a complete stranger.

For instance, this particular technique had given them more than one lead to potential cryptid sightings. Who on earth told a complete stranger a heartfelt story that no one who wasn’t in their line of ‘work’ would ever believe?

Though Ford surmised, perhaps that was the point.

No one else believed them, perhaps a stranger might at least pretend to be sympathetic.

But it wasn’t just that. Stan came away with names, jokes, stories- things that Ford wouldn’t dream of telling people he hadn’t grown to trust. Even now there was a lot unsaid about his time in the portal and the 10 years between Stan being kicked out of the house and them meeting again.

But then again, from what he could tell, Stan didn’t exactly give much information back to these people about himself, always skimming questions he didn’t want to answer. Ready to deflect with a word and a smile. And Ford knew just as easily as Stan’s charm could gain him friends, such as now, it had also got them into more trouble than it was worth sometimes.

He’d always tease Stan for the particular incident that had for once seen them running from port from humans rather than being chased by a cryptid that Ford had accidentally aggravated.

He just didn’t know when to throw in the towel when it came to a fight and his mouth continued to run away with him if Ford didn’t keep an eye and pull him back from the brink.

It probably didn’t help at all that Stan was always up for a fight if one occurred. He wouldn’t necessarily go looking for one but if someone challenged him, he wasn’t about to shy away or back down.

Though there was no need for concern this time. Ford shook his head as another belt of laughter floated towards him, a higher pitch chuckle intertwined as Stan leant against the bar not far from him and flirted with a lady sat alone at the bar, who seemed quite happy with the interaction.

He rolled his eyes, back to his journal without another thought. No matter where they landed, Stan always had to try a pick up line on somebody, a cheeky grin on his face as if he hadn’t used that same pick up line three ports away. Ford was almost close to keeping a tally of how many times he’d heard certain ones. Most times he was met with laughter for his efforts, giving a cheeky wink as he left the person to it, but he always seemed cheerful about the interactions as he came to sit back down next to Ford regardless of his success at striking up a conversation.

Other nights like this, Ford might wonder where Stan was, for all of two seconds that is, before he heard some cheesy remark that made him groan or heard that laughter that had him shaking his head endearingly.

It was all just so Stan. On solid ground for all of a few hours, with a boat that may or may not need a few repairs before they set sail again from the rather eventful cryptid encounter the day before and Stan’s first port of call was to find someone to flirt with at the bar.

Ford, couldn’t see how that was relaxing. He’d much rather sit with his books and a drink, maybe take a walk around and explore the area quietly at some point, and be grateful they’d managed to get to port without making too many emergency repairs.

He blinked, realising he hadn’t made any headway in his journal entry as he mulled over their differences. He flicked a few pages of the other book beside him, trying to find any reference similar to the large aquatic beast that had attacked their ship seemingly unprovoked as he tutted to himself and got absorbed back into the moment.

“Found out what hit us yesterday, Sixer?”

Ford blinked, glancing up from his book as Stan looked over at him, smiling brightly. It felt like it had been seconds since he’d looked back down at his book but then again, he really couldn’t be sure with how quickly time passed while he was reading. They weren’t too far apart that Stan had to raise his voice and the wave from his twin’s newfound friend, the only other occupant in the vicinity, had him smiling awkwardly. “Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll find something before the end of the night.”

“Well, you better. I don’t want you dragging me back out towards it under the guise of researching a previously unknown species like the last time.”

Ford let himself smirk, playful mischief taking over as he saw Stan’s teasing expression, glad that they could banter like this again after all those years apart. “Oh, I’ll be dragging you back out there either way. You never know what new data we might be able to gather. That and I never did get a photo.”

Stan rolled his eyes, knowing the answer already but still up for the challenge. “You didn’t get any photos cause we were a little bit busy if I’m remembering right.”

Ford’s smirk grew wider, knowing when he’d won an argument before the response had even left his lips. “Dipper would be disappointed if I didn’t have a photo for him when we next have our video call.” He knew deep down that a sketch would be sufficient and that Dipper would rather they didn’t get hurt, but that was the fun of the teasing. Stan didn’t really mind a bit of recklessness in their adventure and both were always up for a challenge. As long as neither of them got too badly hurt they were always up for pushing the limits.

If the kids knew that, however, they’d probably be in for more than a little scolding.

Stan huffed, mouth opening and closing as he tried to come up with a witty remark before shrugging in defeat. “Well, you got me there. Guess we can’t disappoint the little nerd.” And before Ford could make a response, Stan had waved and turned back to his friend, coy smile back on his lips as Ford wondered what exactly they were talking about.

He shook his head, watching as Stan’s absorbed audience raised an eyebrow at his story, a small disbelieving smile on her face as Ford only assumed he regaled her with what must sound like a rather tall tale about their exploits the day before. Not that Stan seemed to mind that she didn’t believe a word of it and, if other instances were to be believed, later on he’d chuckle to his brother about whatever remark she made in regards to his story, considering at that very moment it was making him give that bark of genuine glee again.

He went back to his research, relaxing in his own way as he heard small snippets of the conversations around him. The warm atmosphere surrounding him kept him invigorated. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t find the exact creature in the number of books he had on hand, if anything it left him more intrigued, taking down note after note of everything he recalled about the creature just in case it hadn’t been seen before.

He tapped at his page, eyebrows furrowing as he opened his mouth to ask Stan a question and remembered late that he wasn’t sat next to him. He looked up again, seeing the conversation still in full swing and frowned almost exasperated, wondering what they could even still be discussing. He tapped his page again with his pen, curiosity piqued as to whether Stan had seen just how the creature had left a particularly odd scorch mark on the side of the boat, but also hesitant to ask him when he looked so content where he was.

He sighed, deciding against disturbing him and pushed the curiosity down. He made a note in his journal to ask Stan the next day, along with a few other questions that were now bubbling up to the forefront as he went to sip his drink. His frown deepened, a small noise of annoyance taking over as he realised belatedly that he’d already finished it at some point, his mind thoroughly distracted as he debated another drink or leaving entirely. He glanced again to his brother, mouth twisting thoughtfully as he took in how obviously he wouldn’t be missed if he went and spent the rest of the evening with his research back on the boat and saw no point in staying for another round when it’d be just as comfortable there.

With that decided, he stood up, starting to bundle the books back into his bag without another thought.

“Ready to go, Sixer? You could have given me some warning.”

Ford grinned back up as Stan walked closer to him, slightly sheepishly. “I thought I’d leave you two to it.” His smile turned playful again, his own turn to tease forming as he saw Stan’s face falter. “Don’t worry, I won’t wait up.”

“Nah, that’s alright. We were just having a conversation.” Stan coughed, turning back to his friend with a wink and a wave. “I’ve already said goodbye.”

“You don’t need to, Stan. Honestly.” Ford frowned as something dawned on him, eyes going between the two of them before lowering his voice. “Oh- I mean- unless you’d… I can get out of your hair for a bit in any case.”

“No, that’s not- Jesus, Sixer.” Stan gave him a slight shove, nudging him towards the door. “Let’s just go before you embarrass us both.”

“I’m just saying-” Ford chuckled, amused that he’d flustered his brother quite so much with such an innocuous comment. He hadn’t expected him to get that embarrassed. “I can give you two some privacy, that’s all.”

“Stanford, please stop talking.”

Ford’s mouth shut with an audible snap at Stan’s almost anxious response through gritted teeth. It was the use of his full name that really struck a nerve.

Something about the exchange had gone from playful sibling teasing to a territory Stan was not OK with and Ford was lost in the stream, not entirely sure where or when it had happened.

He looked over curiously as Stan continued to nudge them to the door, gathering what vital clues he could. He was far more sober than he usually was when they left, no wobble to his gait and eyes clear and slightly sharp, alert. The twist of his mouth was also a little less genuine and a little more forced as he nodded and smiled at the now slightly concerned friend he was leaving behind at the bar.

Ford watched out of his peripheral as they walked down the cold street, Stan’s posture uncertain and tense, his steps quick, until they were a ways away and he took a deep breath, slowing down marginally.

Even with the observations, Ford was still clueless as to what exactly had happened.

“Did I… do something wrong?”

Stan snorted, shaking his head. “Nah, not really.”

“Did I- was I too loud? Was that it? I didn’t mean to ruin your chances with her if you liked her. She seemed nice. I just thought I’d leave you two to it.”

“Ruin my- that’s the point, Sixer. I didn’t have a chance.”

Ford frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Nonsense, you both seemed to like one another. Why would you think-?”

“Alright, let me rephrase that. I didn’t want a chance, Sixer.”

Ford balked, stopping in his tracks as he paled. “Oh- I didn’t mean chance like- just if you do find someone, we could always stay a bit longer in town for once. You could- oh, I don’t know…” He frowned, his words tying themselves up in knots as Stan paused ahead of him, his face warring with itself. “I’m digging a hole, aren’t I?”

“Wow, self-aware today, that’s new.”

Ford rolled his eyes, huffing in irritation but at least glad his brother was making snide comments back at him now. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back and carry on talking to her?”

“Oh, for the love of- yes, Sixer. I am sure. Can we get back to the boat now?”

Before Ford could reply, Stan was already walking away without him, hands deep in his pockets and head down, leaving him to jog to catch up again and still out of the loop as to what was going on. He opened his mouth, ready to ask more but before he could say a word, Stan beat him to it.

“Will you drop it?”

Ford frowned, not liking the worried hesitant tone in Stan’s voice. “OK.”

Stan gave a heavy relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

The walk back to the boat went in relative silence after that, until they had left the inner part of the town far behind. The peaceful serene docks, the sails ringing in the slight breeze and the soft ebb and flow of water, did wonders it seemed for Stan’s still rigid posture as his shoulders finally slumped back from their defensive positive near his ears. Ford didn’t know what had caused the reaction though, nor why his brother seemed so affronted by it all, and as much as he had agreed to drop it, the words fizzled out before he could stop them. “Did you not like her?”

Stan froze for a second, his eyes darting away from Ford’s searching ones. “Not like that. She was nice though, had a good sense of humour.” His frown fell away, replaced by a small smile as he went to do what he would usually at this point and tell Ford about the silly jovial conversation and what he’d learnt about the area they’d found themselves in.

Ford beat him to it however, frowning deeply, not understanding his trail of logic at all. “But you were flirting with her. Surely-”

“For the love of- that’s all it was, Sixer, some flirting!” Stan bit out, stomping on to the boat with little else to say and leaving Ford scrambling to follow.

“I- I’m not trying to start a fight, Stan, why are you getting so defensive?” Ford raised his hands placatingly, hoping he didn’t seem argumentative. He just wanted to understand.

“Cause its- I dunno.” Stan scrubbed at the back of his neck, not looking at Ford. “Just that it doesn’t make sense to me so how would it make sense to anyone else?”

“Try me.”

Stan snorted dejectedly, obviously accepting that he couldn’t get out of this conversation easily, and Ford felt his heart pang at the noise. He really hadn’t meant to start a fight or make Stan that uncomfortable, it was just meant to be one of their usual back and forths. “Don’t… don’t worry. Forget it, I was only trying to tease you at the bar. It was none of my business, sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to- I’m just struggling to word it. And we did say we’d communicate more. Just worried that…”

Stan looked up at Ford, his eyes filled with an emotion that made something curdle deep in Ford’s stomach. “Stan, whatever it is, I’m not going to judge you if that’s what it is. You know that, don’t you?”

Stan wavered for a second, his hesitance showing the truth before he straightened up with a nod. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Just always been worried if I tried to explain it to anyone it would sound weird so I’ve just- never done it before?”

“OK.” Ford nodded towards the cabin, letting Stan sit down and gather his thoughts as he poured them another drink, hoping to give him some time to figure it out or put a stop to the conversation. Whatever he chose Ford would be OK with it, not really knowing where this was leading.

He sat down opposite him when he was done, staying quiet so as not to press him but he hoped at the same time still showing that he was ready to listen whenever Stan was ready to talk.

Stan looked over at him with a small chuckle, sliding into a more comfortable position as he took a sip of his drink. “What can I say? I like to flirt.”

Ford snorted, glad that his laughter seemed to relax Stan further. “I’ve noticed.”

Stan grinned with him before looking down, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration as his smile slipped. “But that’s all it is. Some harmless flirting? Does that make sense?” He shook his head before Ford could answer, his expression twisting thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that’s not quite right either. It’s just fun? Maybe? We make port, we explore a bit, and we leave again. What’s the harm in some small flirting while we’re here, you know?”

“I… guess that makes sense. I guess I just don’t see the point?”

Stan laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “Ford, you don’t see the point in chatting to new people when we land somewhere new let alone flirting, so that really doesn’t surprise me.”

Ford huffed out a small laugh. “I guess that’s fair.” It all made sense, when put down logically. What still didn’t, however, was Stan’s reaction to his questions. He mused quietly to himself, staring over at Stan. Something they hadn’t spoken about was relationships since he’d returned. He hadn’t thought about Stan’s lack of a partner, only that he had been busy on the portal and therefore just hadn’t had time. It was usually how he thought about himself. There was always something else far more important to think about than a relationship- research, his studies, plus he’d just never met someone who had made him think otherwise.

Stan on the other hand always seemed able to find someone to at the very least flirt with, someone who reciprocated his advances. And now a small swell of guilt bubbled up in his chest as he wondered whether the portal and his disappearance had seemed too big a secret to let someone in on or keep from someone that would be so important. “Have you never thought about it though?”

“Hmm?”

“A relationship? Because I meant it, Stan, don’t ever think that any of this should hold any bearing on stopping you-”

Stan groaned, running a hand down his face. Once his eyes were covered, his voice came out annoyed, as if disappointed that Ford didn’t get it without him saying anything. “No. No, I haven’t thought about it.”

“Never?”

“Neve-” Stan sighed, finally dropping his hand as he cut himself off. “Alright. Yeah, I have. Of course I’ve wondered about it but, it never… it’s not what I want. Have ever wanted if I’m honest.” He scrunched up his face, his eyes doubtful. “I’m not sure I’ve ever really understood the appeal.”

Ford’s brain floundered, images of their younger years bouncing behind his eyelids. “But you- when we were teenagers-”

“I pretended.” Stan’s gaze turned doleful, his fingers fidgeting together. “Everyone always asking if you liked someone- or more ‘who’ you liked cause you had to like someone otherwise you were lying.” He scratched at his face, sheepish. “Thing was, I never did actually like anyone, not like that anyway.”

“Oh.” Ford blinked and suddenly a new trail of thought unlocked that he’d never before considered. He remembered those moments, when their Ma had twittered away about if there were any girls they liked and to bring them around. When there would be jokes about his head being too far in any books to notice and the questions fell to Stan instead.

He’d never thought that Stan had been lying back then when he took his place in the limelight and played coy, or laughed the questions off.

“Why didn’t you just say no?”

“I- teenage boys are meant to think about girls, amirite?” Stan coughed, squirming in his seat, refusing to look over at Ford, gaze flicking out the window, over the water, instead. “Everyone else in the class, it felt like most of the time that’s all they ever wanted to talk about… I thought something was wrong with me.”

“There was- is nothing wrong with you, Stan.”

Stan gave another small laugh, eyebrow raised as he looked at Ford. “There’s a lot of things wrong with me.”

Ford gave a wry smile. “Ehh, nobody’s perfect. But in this instance, nothing is wrong with you.”

Stan gave him a grateful smile, sitting back more relaxed, as if there was a weight lifted that Ford had never expected him to feel in the first place. “It felt like there was though. All these messages on how we were meant to be and how we were meant to feel. What’s the saying? ‘One track minds’ and ‘only one thing teenage boys think about’ and I- just didn’t feel it. So, I pretended.” His voice went quieter, a small slip that Ford wasn’t sure he was meant to hear. “Didn’t want to add another reason for Pa to be disappointed with me.”

“Stan-”

“Hah, look at me. Made a big deal out of nothing, didn’t I? Sorry for getting short with you, Sixer.”

Ford sighed, resting his elbows on the table as he gave Stan a sharp look. “It meant a lot to you so I’m sorry for not realising, or asking first.”

Stan shrugged, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I mean, it’s not like you’d- I’m not exactly shying away from the attention, am I? But it’s just- fun, that’s all. There’s nothing to it and it’s nice.” He smiled brightly. “That lovely lady back there? She’d been stood up, I was just making sure she knew it was on him not her. And even if my pick-up lines are dumb and she’d never have fallen for them if I was serious, I hope I at least gave her a laugh on what could have been a rough night out otherwise.”

Ford smiled softly. “I’m sure you did.”

“It’s been useful through the years too.” Stan gave a playful wink. “People are always more likely to buy things at the Shack if you flatter them a bit first.”

Ford choked on his drink, coughing as he laughed. “Trust you to use flirting to make money.”

“Flattery will get you a lot of places in life.”

“I’ve heard- I think the last place it got you was in a spider’s web, wasn’t it?”

Stan jokingly winced as Ford chuckled to himself. “Yup, it’s got me into trouble just as many times.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, no, more when I didn’t realise I was flirting.”

“Ahh.”

Stan looked up as Ford nodded along, unable to resist the disbelieving lilt to his voice. “You know that one, huh?”

Ford seemed to flush slightly at the thought. “Quite- On my travels the other side of the portal, that is. I didn’t realise interest in scientific conversations could be seen as… flirtatious.”

There was silence for a few moments as Stan stared at him, Ford’s flush growing darker by the second before a roar of laughter escaped him. “Oh jeez- trust, trust you to find aliens that flirted using nerd talk!”

“I didn’t-” Ford spluttered, eyes darting to side as he pouted, voice offended. “To tell you the truth it was quite… disheartening. I didn’t realise they thought I wasn’t actually interested in their scientific pursuits.” His screwed up his face distastefully. “Nor were they impressed by my response to their advances.”

Stan sobered up quickly, his laughter quietening instantly at Ford’s obvious discomfort. “What dimension was this in?”

Ford shrugged, frowning. “I don’t know, I left kind of quickly after that. Why does that matter?”

Stan hummed. “Shame. Can’t go punch them for making my bro uncomfortable if I don’t know where they are.”

Ford spluttered again, thrown for a loop once again. “Yes, or the fact that the portal was dismantled for obvious reasons.”

Stan shrugged, his face still serious. “That too, but I’m sure there are means and ways, Sixer. Besides, we don’t have Bill to worry about anymore, do we?” He tapped at his head, grin widening at the kick to his shin. “What? Too soon?”

“You know it.” Ford took a sip, derailing whatever Stan was about to say next. “So, what about you? My ‘nerd’ talk got me into trouble, what about you?”

Stan’s actions were suddenly nonchalant, though his eyes held a different story. “I guess it was more not realising people were flirting with me. Just thought people were being nice. Bit naïve really and didn’t realise it seemed like I was flirting back. You kind of accept any kindness on offer when you’re living out of your car.” He twirled the glass in his hands a few times, watching the liquid swirl, his face sombre for a split second. “…Learnt quickly though.” His gaze lifted, a sparkle to his eyes as he grinned mischievously, though Ford could see it wasn’t completely genuine. “Like I said you can get far with flirting, once you know how to do it. Lay on the charm and hope no one takes you too seriously.”

Ford tried not to let it show how much Stan’s dismissal and brush off of that time had an effect on him. It left a sour taste in his mouth even as he tried to innocently smile along with his brother. “Any names?”

“Hmm? Names?”

“Of people I can go punch.” Ford’s grin turned vicious. “It’s a lot easier for me to do that, unlike you… if you’ve got names, that is.”

Stan choked of a laugh. “No. No, I don’t.”

“…Pity.”

For the first time all night Ford saw a genuine relieved smile on Stan’s face at his honest disappointment.

The protective streak went both ways and now knowing what he did, he might be a little sharper eyed when it came to Stan making friends, just in case.

And he was glad that Stan seemed to warm to that knowledge as well.

“And for the record you didn’t do anything wrong tonight.” Stan held up a hand to Ford, stopping whatever rebuttal he had. “You don’t have to- this is just me being honest and I don’t really want to explain but- it just made me nervous. Flirting is fun, but that’s all there is to it. I just, you made me worry that maybe she thought there was more to it than that and what if she heard you and did want something more or-” His words stuttered to a halt as he shook his head, a flicker of doubt and nerves on his face. “I dunno, there was nothing to it and nothing was meant to come of it-”

“You just like making friends.”

“Yes!” Stan paused, before his face split into a wide smile. “Yeah, it’s just sometimes people are more friendly when you compliment them. And it’s nice to make people feel good about themselves. Plus it’s always nice to get some attention back too, even if you don’t want anything more from it.”

“You are a showman, I guess. Must be odd not to have eyes on you.”

Stan bit his lip at that comment, a small nod of agreement. “I can’t disagree with that.”

His eyes sparkled mischievously as Ford seemed to settle, done with his questions now that his curiosity was sated and everything made sense again.

“Plus, laying on the charm really made picking pockets easier back in the day.”

“Stan.”

Any aghast rebuttal he had, or questions seemed to get absorbed into Stan’s loud peals of laughter at his balking.

Though really, he didn’t know why he was so shocked for a split second and instead gave an endearing exasperated shake of his head as Stan continued to chuckle away to himself.

Plus, he had to admit, as much as he was filled with questions about the ten years Stan lived in his car, he was much happier to leave the conversation there, with his brother finally happy again and the tension completely absent from his shoulders.

The room fell into a companionable silence, broken only by Stan’s stilted giggles every so often that he couldn’t seem to hold in. Ford wondered whether it was partly in relief at how the conversation had gone, wondered how many alternatives Stan had gone through in his head, especially when they were kids if his words about their father were anything to go by.

He tried not to dwell on it, glad that the tension had leeched from the room and his brother seemed to be back in as high a spirits as he had been before Ford had opened his mouth and changed everything.

But at least he had learnt something new about his brother in the long run, and maybe one conversation of opening up would make it easier for both of them in the future.

He yawned, hand going for the nearest book without thinking as his mind started to go back to his earlier research. But just as he was about to give in to the call, another thought crossed his mind, his head tilting as a new worrying bout of realisation hit him.

“What about Carla?”

“Hmm?”

“Carla Mccorkle. What about her?”

“Carla? Oh, worried that was another lie?” Stan winced as Ford nodded, his own expression shameful. “That one’s on me. I thought- I don’t know, maybe? Maybe I liked her like I was meant to like her? She was fun, great to talk to, to listen to and she liked to dance…” His gaze grew wistful, a soft nostalgia permeating his smile as he leant his head on his hand. “She was just great, you know? And for a while I was hopeful that I finally got what everyone was talking about but…” The smile dropped back to guilty shame. “Once we started dating I didn’t get why things had to change at all? I dunno, she wanted more than I could give her and I couldn’t explain it and it all just went… wrong.” He scrunched up his nose distastefully. “And then after getting kicked out there was Jimmy Snakes, but that ended almost as quickly as it started- boy, was that a bad idea. I think that was when I really realised I wasn’t interested at all in anything other than flirting… though it took a while to get him to get the hint.”

“Oh, so you do have a name.”

Stan blinked, almost forgetting Ford was there. “Wha-?” The world seemed to snap back into place as he shook his head, a huff of amused air escaping him as he regarded Ford’s hawk like expression, his hand twitching as if itching to write the words down. “You are not going on a man hunt for Jimmy.”

“Well, hardly- I assume ‘Snakes’ is not his real name? But it’s a start… Then I’ll go on a manhunt.” Ford gave a sickly sweet smile that had Stan shuddering with the darker intent behind it.

“No, and no. Besides, I’m sure it was my own fault, I probably led him on a bit without meaning to, didn’t make myself clear.” Stan’s voice turned guilty again, a tone of irritation at himself that Ford wouldn’t stand for.

“But you made it clear you weren’t interested at that point?”

Stan snorted. “I pushed him away in a bit of a blind panic if that’s what you mean. Tried to keep my distance after that.”

“And he still took a while to get the hint?”

“I guess? He came to the Shack once or twice to see if he could change my mind. Still don’t know how he knew I was there, guess there was a newspaper article or something that had my picture in.”

Ford’s face turned stony, his mouth a thin line. “I think you made yourself clear enough. Are you sure I can’t go hunt him down?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

Ford gave a long suffering sigh. “Well, if you change your mind…”

“It’d be a bit harder now but if he comes calling I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Good, I’d like a word with him.” Ford held up a hand, as Stan stared him down, eyes gleaming. “Hey, you got to punch Bill, I think I get to punch someone from your past who messed with you.”

Stan stared at him again before another hysterical bout of giggles took over. “I think ‘dimensional demon’ tops ‘persistent suitor’ any day. It’s not that important, honest.”

“It is to me.”

Stan coughed, embarrassed but obviously happy at the sentiment. “How about instead, we just try to help each other out of uncomfortable situations? I think that’s better- who knows, one day my charm might get me in trouble again.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You did after all get us chased out of that one town…”

“Hey, that was not my fault!”

Ford smiled into his drink. “Of course not.”

“Anyway, I still want to hear more on these aliens.” Stan grinned as Ford choked on his drink. “You hardly ever talk about your travels on the other side of the portal.”

Ford shuffled awkwardly, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the spotlight. “Stan…”

“Doesn’t have to be that one, or a bad one. But hey, I’ve been honest tonight, it’s only fair you tell me something to make us even now.”

Ford rolled his eyes at the childish expression, knowing full well that Stan wouldn’t push if he refused. But there was a much larger part that did feel like he owed Stan something after the evening’s events.

Besides, maybe he could get this to work in his favour as well.

“Alright. I guess that’s fair. But how about I get us another drink and we both share a few stories instead of just the one?” Ford raised his glass as he spoke, a cheeky smile on his face. “I’ll be next as you’ve already started tonight off.”

Stan chinked their glasses together after a small thoughtful moment with a nod, smile coiling on his face as he relaxed into the seat cushions.

“I think that sounds like the best idea you’ve had all night, Sixer.”

.

AN: Affectionate ace headcanon ♥! I hope you liked it ♥ I’m debating a headcanon focusing on Ace Ford, maybe another... who knows~ We’ll see I guess c:

[radioactivedelorean]

Running

“Come on, Grunkle Stan! You love pancakes! Don’t you remember, you called them ‘Stancakes’?”

“No, I d- yeah, yeah I did, didn’t I? Ha! Yeah!”

Ford stood just behind his bedroom door, listening to the conversation going on in the kitchen down the hall. Something sunk into the pit of his stomach, making him feel hollow yet crushed at the same time. He listened as his brother and the two young twins chatted and laughed together. He listened as the kids explained things to Stanley, as his brother gradually began to remember more and more. He covered his mouth with a hand and took a step away from the door, sitting down carefully on the sofa running along one wall of his room. His fingers tugged at his hair, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

This was his fault. His brother, his best friend since birth, was sitting in the other room struggling to remember his life story. Ford knew just how upsetting this was for the kids. They had spent the entire summer making so many wonderful (and sometimes scary) memories with their Grunkle Stan and now he could barely remember a thing. All their work, all their time spent together had nearly been lost completely. This was all Ford’s fault. Ford had noticed that the longer he was around, the more danger arose and the more Stanley seemed to be angry, the kids seemed miserable. Of course, he didn’t know what the twins were like before he’d returned, but he could only assume that they’d been much happier.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that the main - and only - cause of the children’s misery was Ford himself. All Ford had to do was simply recall everything he’d done since coming back through the portal. First, he’d punched Stanley in the face, an action which got the ball rolling. After Stan had worked so hard to get Ford back, he’d been repaid with a sharp blow to the jaw, delivered by the very man he’d been trying to save. Then, he’d been cold and hostile towards his brother. He’d told Stanley to leave as soon as the kids went home. Ford had made the decision to kick his brother out, repeating the very thing their father did all those years ago back in New Jersey. Not only that, but he would be taking away Stan’s only source of income at the same time. The only reason Stan had stayed alive this long was by turning Ford’s home into a tourist attraction in order to make enough money to survive. And Ford was going to take that away.

After that, Ford had generally given Stan the cold shoulder, not being anywhere near as thankful and appreciative as he should have been, considering the lengths Stan went to to get him back. Faking his own death, for crying out loud! That had been to get the gangs off his back so he could work safely, knowing he wasn’t a wanted man any more. Ford could now see why that was an incredibly intelligent thing to do. By faking his own death, the gangs would think he was dead and wouldn’t bother looking for him any more. It effectively wiped Stan from their radar.

Ford had ignored the kids to begin with, too. His nephew Dipper was fascinated with his work and Ford had treated him as a silly child with silly fantasies. He hadn’t spent any time with them, despite the fact that they were the family he never knew he had. He’d flat-out ignored the fact that the kid - and his sister too - had come across the majority of the monsters he’d cataloged in his journals and they’d come out unscathed. He didn’t even stop to consider that they were both more than capable of handling whatever Gravity Falls threw at them. He’d been too absorbed by his own research to share his research with the only other human being he’d ever met with the same passion for mystery as himself. It wasn’t until Dipper quite literally fell through the ceiling with his favourite game that Ford finally decided to actually spend time with his own family members.

Then, he’d given the twins the power to manipulate and control anyone they wanted to their own free will. He’d handed over the mind-control tie without a second thought. For all he knew, the kids could have ended up causing someone serious harm with it. He’d seen what had almost happened to the kids as a result of his careless actions - they nearly died, had nearly been blown to kingdom come by a ton of dynamite. That was a horrifically gruesome way to go - something Ford wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemies. Yet he’d almost sent his own family to that fate. Ford had been careless, indifferent and it had almost cost the kids - and others - their lives. He’d sent Mabel on a quest for unicorn hair in order to protect the shack, during which she was almost crushed under her own self-hatred, believing the creature’s cold lies. Mabel had truly believed she was a terrible person and it had broken her heart. It almost broke Ford’s too, seeing his great niece in such a state of self-hatred.

The biggest thing, of course, was causing the apocalypse. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that that was Ford’s biggest mistake, his most significant screw-up. He’d damn near ended the world. He’d single-handedly brought about the apocalypse. He was the only one to blame. He had been the one to summon Bill in the first place, ignoring all of the ancient warnings. He had brought the demon to Gravity Falls and he couldn’t even take him out again. In the end, Stan’s huge sacrifice was the only reason any of the townsfolk - or the rest of this dimension, for that matter - were still alive. Without that, Ford, the kids, and the rest of the world’s population would be dead. Ford couldn’t even fix his own mistakes. His brother had to fix them for him since Ford was too useless to do it himself.

Stanley was still suffering. He struggled to remember the simplest things, like the twins’ names or where he lived. The state of his memory fluctuated drastically, too. One day, he would almost be back to himself, then the next he would be back at square one, cluelessly wandering around, wondering where he was and who he was. It never got any easier for Ford to hear the kids’ voices, trying to encourage their Grunkle to remember them, to remember himself. It only got more difficult as the days went on. There’d be times when Ford’s hopes would really soar, finding that Stan was remembering so much about his life. Then there’d be times where everything would fall apart again, leaving Stan remembering almost nothing and the kids devastated.

Whenever this happened, Ford would lock himself in his room for days, unable to face the reality of what was happening. The fact that this was all his fault was too much to bear. He couldn’t face his family - they knew full well who was to blame for all of this. Ford believed that the best thing he could do under these circumstances was to remove himself from the picture entirely. The kids were struggling just as much as Stanley was and having the man responsible for this around would only make things so much worse.

When the kids eventually went home, Stanley seemed to be doing just fine. Ford managed to leave his room on occasion to check on his brother. He was always incredibly nervous about doing so. What if all of Ford’s mistakes were the only things Stanley remembered about him? What if Stanley had no idea who he was at all and demanded to know? What if Stanley remembered everything and knew whose fault his amnesia was and turned on him? Ford would only ask a few simple questions - are you okay, do you know where/who you are, what do you remember last - and then he’d retreat again. Ford tried to spend as little time with Stan as possible, trying to avoid reminding him of all of his mistakes.

As a result of his seclusion, Ford was barely eating, if at all. He’d been skinny, to begin with, after spending thirty years with no stable diet, but now he was on the verge of emaciation. He hadn’t had anything to eat since he’d come back - he’d forgotten to eat for the first few days, then Weirdmageddon had struck, making a meal seem like a distant memory. He would occasionally try to sneak a slice of bread or an apple here or there, nowhere near enough to sustain his health. He would never allow himself to eat up any leftovers Stan had cooked, or to make a meal for himself. He couldn’t bring himself to spend his brother’s hard-earned money on himself. That would make him selfish, and Ford didn’t want to be selfish ever again.

As the days passed since the end of the summer, Ford began to think more and more about how the town, and his family, would be better without him. Stanley would have never had to spend so much money paying off Ford’s student loans and paying to keep the portal maintained. The electricity bills for Ford’s lab were through the roof and Stan had been paying for them for thirty years. That added up to well over a few million dollars. That was more money than Ford could ever hope to earn in a lifetime with his research. Stan would be financially so much better off if he’d never had to pay for everything in Ford’s absence. They were Ford’s bills, he should have taken care of them himself.

The kids had been permanently scarred by everything they’d seen this summer. There was no doubt about that. They had been having nightmares during the few nights between Weirdmageddon ending and going home. Ford had heard them wake up abruptly more than once in the middle of the night. He’d heard Stan immediately go into their room and comfort them. Every time, Ford had stayed in his room. There was no question as to what their nightmares were about… or who was the cause of them. He felt so awful for scaring the kids like this. He had messed their minds up, destroyed their sanity, possibly permanently, as a result of his selfishness.

Ford’s fingernails dug into his scalp, scratching the skin. Tears leaked from his eyes, trickling gently down his face and dropping onto his knees. His teeth were gritted so hard they felt as though they would shatter. His body shook with suppressed sobs, his silent cries breaking free in a strangled gasp. All he’d ever done was ruin people’s lives. There was no doubt that the whole universe would be far better off without him in it. He wanted more than anything to apologize, to make up for everything, to try to fix this mess. He knew nobody would care to listen to him, to accept his help. He knew he’d just make everything so, so much worse. Ford found himself bringing his legs up onto the sofa, sitting cross-legged. He bent right forward, his face buried in his hands, and sobbed.

-----

In the middle of the night, Ford sat bolt upright with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded in his chest. He was panting and trembling violently. He felt sick. He brought one hand up to his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. That was the seventh nightmare he’d had since the kids had gone home. They were getting worse and worse as time went on. The first one seemed almost trivial compared to this one. In the first one, he’d been standing at the edge of the Shack, watching as the building itself and everything inside it burned to the ground. He’d been unable to move, unable to look away, as he heard his family scream. He could hear their bloodcurdling wails suddenly be cut short as the Shack collapsed in a pile of smoldering embers.

This time, it was far, far worse. He’d been back in the Fearamid, chained up like a cruel man’s beaten, abused pet. He could barely stand on his own two feet. He’d been forced to watch as, one by one, the lives of his family and his friends were taken away right before his eyes by Bill. He’s screamed and begged for them to be let go. Bill had ignored his requests, finding some sort of sick pleasure in seeing Ford scream and cry. Ford had tugged at the chains keeping him bound with all of his remaining strength. He’d fallen to the floor, unable to get up.

He’d been forced to listen as his family’s voices echoed around him. Cursing him. Berating him. Blaming him.

“If you weren’t so selfish, none of this would have ever happened!”

“Dangerous freak!”

“Monster!”

“Idiot!”

“Screw-up!”

Ford sat on the sofa, pulling the blanket around his shivering shoulders. The voices still echoed in his mind, even now. They reminded him of everything awful he’d ever done. Abandoning his family. Building the portal. Ignoring Fiddleford’s warnings. Causing the apocalypse. Permanently traumatizing the kids. They really were better off without him, weren’t they?

Ford took a deep breath, an idea settling into his mind. The best thing he could do for the town, for his brother, would be to leave. To leave and never come back. That way, he would never be able to hurt anyone ever again. He wouldn’t be around to make Stanley’s life miserable. He didn’t deserve to still be living with a roof over his head. He didn’t deserve to be anywhere near another human being. Stanley would be so much happier without his worthless, know-it-all screw-up of a twin brother around. The kids wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not their insane great uncle would do something that could end the world. The townsfolk wouldn’t have to be concerned as to what the madman in the Mystery Shack was doing. Ford felt disgusted that he’d already stayed this long.

Taking another few deep breaths to calm his nerves, Ford slid his glasses onto his nose and got up. He folded the blanket neatly on the sofa and pulled his boots onto his feet. He looked over at the small desk in the room. His blaster sat in its holster on the desk, untouched. Ford’s immediate instinct was to take it with him, but he shook the thought away. What if he got spooked by something and fired, only to hit an innocent person? He could never live with himself if he wounded someone due to his own paranoia.

He could barely live with himself, to begin with.

Ford pulled his ratty old trench coat on over his shoulders, emptying his pockets onto the desk. There wasn’t much - a few dollar notes, some spare coins, a pencil and a walkie talkie. Ford had no idea how the walkie talkie got there, but he knew it would be best if he cut off all forms of contact with anyone else. What was the point of leaving if someone could easily just contact him with that? He made sure all of his pockets were empty before stepping quietly over to the door and putting a hand on the doorknob. He held his breath, listening for any sign of movement from upstairs. Nothing. Carefully, Ford opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Moonlight streamed in through the window set into the door. As gently as possible, Ford closed the bedroom door behind him and walked down the hall towards the door. He fumbled with the door key to unlock it, flinching as the keys chimed in his trembling fingers. He managed to get the door unlocked and stepped outside into the cold night air. He closed the door behind him and locked it again, before pushing the keys through the letterbox. They hit the doormat with a soft clunk. Ford took another deep breath and turned away from the Shack, heading towards the heart of the woods. He took one final glance over his shoulder before walking into the trees and disappearing amongst the shadows.

----

Stanley woke up at eight thirty the next morning, slowly sitting up in bed. His back cracked as he straightened himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Man, he was old. He shoved his glasses onto his face and got up, feeling his various joints and bones ache and creak in protest. He headed across the hall from his bedroom into the upstairs bathroom, intent on taking a shower. A quarter of an hour later, he was sitting at the table in the kitchen, easing his way through a steaming cup of coffee and a mountain of toast. He finished breakfast and put his dishes in the sink. He looked outside into the parking lot to see that a tour bus was just arriving. He grinned. Tourists meant money. He put his fez on his head and walked into the gift shop to greet them.

Stan took a break at around lunchtime, allowing the tourists to explore the gift shop before his next tour at 2:00. As he made himself some sandwiches, something popped into his mind. Ford had always had a terrible habit of ignoring basic health requirements such as eating whenever he was busy. Stan sighed inwardly, realizing he'd forgotten about his brother all morning. He made up another plate of sandwiches and headed towards Ford’s bedroom.

Stan knocked on the door. “Hey, Poindexter, you in there?”

He was met with silence. Stan knocked again before letting himself in. His brother’s room was neat, far too neat for Ford. His blanket was folded neatly on the bed and his books were stacked in a concise pattern based on authors’ surnames. The only thing that seemed out of place was Ford’s blaster. Stan remembered that Ford carried it in a holster on his hip at all times. The man frowned. Perhaps Ford had forgotten to pick it up? Or maybe he’d decided that nothing in Gravity Falls was worth carrying a weapon for.

Stanley shrugged and headed towards the vending machine. Maybe Ford was in his study, or down in the lab. He’d have to send him some lunch when the gift shop was empty. He couldn’t risk going into the lab with the gift shop full of customers. He left the plate of sandwiches in the kitchen and headed back into the gift shop.

---

At around seven, Stan had finally managed to clear out the gift shop and the rest of the cars in the car park left. Sighing in relief and taking the fez off his head, Stan ran a hand through his hair and headed back into the kitchen. He shrugged out of his blazer and grabbed the plate of sandwiches he’d made earlier. He headed to the vending machine, punched in the code and headed down to Ford’s study.

The elevator shuddered to a halt and Stan got out. He knocked on the door to Ford’s study, hoping that his brother was in there. “Hey, Poindexter!”

He waited all of ten seconds before opening the door and walking inside. The room was a mess. Papers strewn everywhere, pens, spilled bottles of ink. Images of Bill covered the walls, sloppily covered by tarps and papers. Stan cringed. He kept his head turned away as he looked around the room. Ford was nowhere to be found. Concern started settling in Stan’s stomach as he headed back to the elevator and moved down to the lab. He didn’t bother knocking this time, marching inside. For the third time today, he couldn’t find Ford anywhere.

With a sigh, Stanley made his way back upstairs and set the sandwiches down in the kitchen, covering them with a food net to keep the flies off. He looked at the clock. 7:20pm. It was starting to get dark outside. Maybe Ford was out doing research on a new type of creature? Maybe he’d gone on a walk? Stan rubbed the back of his neck. He knew that Ford was more than capable of looking after himself, with or without a blaster, but he couldn’t shake off the worry he was feeling. What if Ford was lost? What if he was hurt?

Stanley took a deep breath to get himself to relax. Wherever Ford was, he was probably fine. Stan was overreacting. He grabbed some food and took a seat down on the couch, allowing himself to relax. He stayed up until about ten when he decided he was too tired to wait for Ford to come back. He left the lights on downstairs and went upstairs to bed.

----

Ford continued to stumble through the woods. He’d walked for hours, until daylight, before he’d decided to sit down and rest for a moment. He had ended up falling asleep underneath a tree and had woken up maybe an hour ago. It was getting dark again, indicating he’d been asleep for almost twelve hours. Guilt continued to build up in his stomach. He had wanted to get as far away from everyone as possible, as fast as possible, and he’d just flat-out wasted twelve hours. He was severely malnourished - he was weak and wasn’t entirely sure how he’d been able to keep moving this long.

His body was a wreck. He’d been injured severely during Weirdmageddon and those injuries still had to be seen to. He had severe electrical burns on his wrists, ankles and around his neck. He had countless lacerations and bruises all over his body, a result of the torment Bill had put him through. He suspected he had a hairline fracture in one of his legs - it was painful to walk on and it was causing him to limp. At least one of his ribs were broken, brushing against his lungs and causing his breath to come in strained gasps.

He ducked under some low-hanging branches, feeling some of the smaller twigs scrape his face and knock his glasses crooked. He let out a sharp, bitter bark of laughter. Even the fucking trees were hurting him. It was almost as if Gravity Falls itself despised him as much as its residents. Still, Ford kept moving. He had no idea where he was going, how far he’d moved or how long he’d been moving for, but he had to keep going. Walking was the only thing that would keep him far away from anybody he could hurt.

Ford stopped, hearing something growl in the bushes off to his left. He turned, his hand automatically reaching for the blaster that he knew was no longer there. He’d left it behind. He’d left himself defenseless, knowing he didn’t deserve the chance to defend himself from harm. Why should he, after he caused so much harm to so many innocent people? He braced himself for whatever was there.

A young dragon-like creature jumped out of the bushes, teeth bared in a menacing snarl. Ford threw up his right arm to defend himself. The beast clamped its jaws shut around Ford’s arm, causing the man to cry out and jerk his arm away. The dragon came with it, thrashing and tugging at Ford’s arm. The sharp teeth easily tore through his clothing and punctured the skin, causing the fabric to stain red with blood. Ford fought against the beast’s grip, eventually managing to shake the dragon free. It landed on the ground with a yelp. Ford stumbled backward, landing roughly on his backside with his glasses falling from his face and landing in the damp grass. He quickly grabbed hold of his glasses and scrambled to his feet, making a move to run.

The dragon pounced, managing to close its jaws shut around the hem of Ford’s jacket. It tugged and pulled furiously. Ford pulled his arms back, managing to shrug out of the tattered garment and he sprinted off, his body running on adrenaline and nothing else. The beast stumbled backward, its body being covered by Ford’s jacket. With the creature temporarily stunned, Ford sprinted as fast as he could with his injured leg, crashing through the undergrowth and running through a nearby stream to try and throw the predator off his scent. He ignored the agonizing protests his injuries gave him. His breath came in strangled gasps, his starved body unable to produce the energy he needed to go any faster. His head began to spin after running for a mile or so. His jacket was long forgotten, leaving him in dirty black trousers and a torn, blood-spotted turtleneck.

Only when Ford was sure he wasn’t being followed any more, he allowed his pace to slow into a gentle, exhausted trudge. He panted heavily. His chest heaved, trying to replenish the lost oxygen in his lungs. His throat burned and his eyes watered. He stopped altogether, bracing himself up against a tree to catch his breath properly. Eventually, his head stopped spinning and his lungs no longer ached. The adrenaline from his system faded, leaving him weak and worn out. He shook off the fatigue and kept walking. His leg throbbed agonizingly and he was certain he’d made the injury worse by running.

As his tired feet carried him through the forest, Ford looked down at his injured arm. The fabric of his sleeve had been torn away, revealing the injury that lay beneath. The flesh was torn and ragged and still bleeding slightly. It would definitely need tending to at a hospital. Ford let out a bitter laugh. That would be if anybody would care to help him after everything he’s ever done. There were people in the hospital because of his selfish actions. There was no way anybody was going to help him. He couldn’t see the point in heading to a hospital anyway. What did anyone care if he died in these woods? They were all so much better off without him anyway.

------

Stanley awoke bright and early the next morning. He didn’t care that it was only a little past six A.M; he had to make sure his brother was okay. He practically leaped out of bed and down the stairs, eager to see if Ford had made it home safely. When he got downstairs, however, he found all of the lights still on and the plate of sandwiches on the table, untouched. Stan checked Ford’s room again, finding it in the same state it had been in yesterday, all of Ford’s possessions in the same place. There was no note, either, as to where Ford might have gone. Stanley’s heart sunk. Evidently, Ford had decided against getting some sleep, if he’d even made it back at all.

He has to be here, Stan thought as he rushed towards the vending machine. He checked the study and the lab, not finding Ford in either location. There was absolutely no sign of him at all. He started to panic. Ford had likely been outside for twenty-four hours now - he had to have been lost, possibly hurt. There was no other explanation as to where his brother could be. Stanley rushed back upstairs to the telephone. He practically ripped the phone off its stand and dialed Soos first, clutching the phone in sweaty hands.

It took a moment before Stan heard Soos’ groggy, tired response. “Mr. Pines? What’s up? You never phone this early.”

“Sorry,” Stan apologized quickly. “But I’ve got bigger problems right now, Soos. Ford’s gone missing.”

“What?!” Stan flinched away from the phone at Soos’ surprised shout. “Aw man, that ain’t good. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“No!” Stan exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “His room’s empty, the study is empty, the lab’s empty. There’s no note, no message, nothing! I didn’t see him at all yesterday.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Stan’s fingers tugged at his hair. “I-I don’t know! L-last week, maybe? He’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

“Guess he feels sorta guilty ‘bout, y’know, almost destroying the town ‘n stuff, huh?” Soos frowned, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe, maybe… uh… he went to go and try and help?”

Stan chewed his lower lip and shook his head. “He hasn’t gone out in public on his own since Weirdmageddon. He’d always go with either me or one of the twins at least. The whole town hates his guts.”

“Poor guy,” Soos murmured. “No wonder he feels awful.”

Stan didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to admit that he partially thought Ford deserved it. His brother did pretty much cause the apocalypse, and he hadn’t exactly been a perfect family member before that. Instead of voicing these thoughts, Stan took a deep breath. “Can you help me find him?”

“Sure thing Mr. Pines. Do you want me to get other people involved too?”

“If you can, that’d be great. I owe ya one, Soos.”

“You owe me nothing, Mr. Pines,” Soos insisted. “You’re a real great guy and I’d do anything to help out my friends.”

Stan couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, Soos. Meet me outside the Shack once you’re done, okay?”

“Will do!” Soos hung up the phone. The receiver went silent and Stan immediately began dialing Wendy’s number.

The redhead was less than pleased with being woken up so early. “Urgh, Stan, what is it? It’s not even eight in the morning,”

“You can get the rest of your beauty sleep later, Ford’s gone missing,” Stan replied.

Wendy muttered “thank God” under her breath before she could stop herself.

Stan’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his free hand into a fist at his side. “What was that? Thank God?!”

Wendy cringed at the venom in her boss’s voice. “Yikes, Stan, calm down. I mean, the guy did singlehandedly destroy the town.”

“That was Bill, not my brother!” Stan snapped. “Look, I don’t care how much you hate him. He’s missing. I need help looking for him and unless you want to spend the next year at your cousin’s logging camp, you’d better get your ass down here ASAP.”

Wendy groaned. “Stan, you’re overreacting. He probably just went out for a walk or something.”

“He’s barely left the house since Weirdmageddon. He won’t go into town without someone with him. The townsfolk hate him.” Stan explained. “I’m seriously worried he’s gonna get himself hurt, or worse.”

Wendy sat up in bed. “Alright, give me an hour to get down there.”

“Thank you. Try and get as many other people involved as you can.” Stanley said. “Try heading over to McGucket’s place. Ford and he used to be friends, maybe he’ll help.”

“Will do,” Wendy hung up the phone and went to get ready.

Sure enough, an hour later, Stanley was standing outside the Shack, facing the parking lot. Standing opposite him were Soos, Wendy, Fiddleford McGucket, and Gideon. Stan frowned. “Nobody else wanted to help?”

McGucket took his hat off and scratched his head. “Well uh, ya see, the thing is…”

“Most of the town told us to get lost,” Wendy crossed her arms. “Seems you were right about them hating Ford.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “Great. Well, we are what we are. Ford’s been gone for ages now, so we can’t waste any more time. Everyone grab a walkie talkie, a flashlight and a bag of supplies and let’s get going.” He gestured to the pile of supplies on the porch of the Shack. Each person took a flashlight, a walkie-talkie and a backpack full of food, water, and medical supplies.

Stan gestured to the area behind the Shack. “Soos, you take the West, Wendy, you go North. Gideon, you search the town. Fiddleford, you can take the East and I’ll go South, got it?”

The group nodded.

“Right,” Stan rubbed his hands together before collecting his own supplies. “Don’t hesitate to contact me if you find anything.”

With that, they each went their separate ways. Soos wandered around to the back of the Shack and started searching. Wendy headed North and Fiddleford went East. Gideon disappeared down the main road towards the town. Stan stepped over a cluster of rocks and headed South. Soon, the Shack, the road and the town blended into the trees and Stan was left utterly alone. Worry boiled in his stomach. What if Ford had gone much farther than any of them could reach on foot? What if he was seriously hurt somewhere, bleeding out with no chance of making it to a hospital in time? What if he was already dead?

Stan shuddered. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Ford had to be out there somewhere. He knew that his brother was still alive. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did. Ever since they were little kids, they’d both been able to tell, from pure instinct alone, whether or not the other twin was in trouble. This helped Stan out a lot when it came to saving his brother from bullies. He just hoped that forty years of separation hadn’t dwindled that ability. He could almost feel it in his gut that Ford was still alive.

Stan just hoped he’d find him soon.

----

After nearly a full day of walking, Stan could hear Soos’ voice through the walkie talkie. “Mr. Pines! You’d better come quickly! I found something!”

Stan immediately started running towards the West. He fished the walkie talkie out of the holder on his belt and pressed down on the button. “Soos?! What is it?! Have you found him?!”

“Uhh, not exactly,” The uncertainty in his voice sent a chill down Stan’s spine.

“I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“Just past the river by the cliffs,”

Stanley looked up at the gap between the trees, seeing that the sky was beginning to darken. He cursed and kept moving. It took maybe half an hour for Stan to reach the river. He was out of breath and panting heavily. He found Soos standing in a clearing next to the flow of water. “What’s… what’s… up…?”

Soos swallowed and pointed to something lying on the ground beside the river. Stan’s eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat as he saw what it was. It was Ford’s coat. One of the sleeves was almost torn clean off and it was soaked in blood. The bottom of the coat looked as though something had bitten down on it and tugged furiously. Stan fell to his knees in the grass, holding the garment in his hands. The blood was almost dry, indicating that the injury had occurred a little while ago. Stan’s pulse rapidly increased. That wasn’t good. It meant Ford was hurt and alone somewhere in the woods, far from medical help.

“Oh shit,” Stan murmured. “We’ve gotta find him!” He scrambled to his feet and made a move to cross the river, but felt Soos’ hand on his arm, stopping him. He whirled around. “What are you waiting for?!”

Soos pointed up at the sky. “It’s getting dark, we can’t keep going. It’s too dangerous to look for him in the dark.”

“He’s hurt, Soos!” Stan snapped. “He could die!”

“We have almost no hope of finding him in the dark!” Soos countered. “It would be best if we wait until it gets light and then keep looking!”

Stan let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, but I’m going as soon as the sun rises.”

“I’ll be right with you Mr. Pines,” Soos grinned.

---

Ford stirred slightly, feeling something brush against his cheek. His eyes snapped open, fearing it was a predator. He let out a shaky breath, noticing it was just a leaf falling onto his face from the tree above. He tried to push himself up from where he was laying - the top half of his body propped up against the trunk behind him - but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. He let himself lie back again, his injured right arm lying uselessly at his side. It had stopped bleeding by now but it still ached tremendously. His sleeve was stained red with blood from the wrist to up past his elbow. The turtleneck was ruined.

Ford laughed humorlessly. Yet another thing he’d ruined.

He scrubbed at his eyes, feeling more tears leak down his face. He was sick of crying. It just showed how damn pathetic and useless he really was. Had his father been here, he would have told Ford to man up and get over it. To stop being such a wimp. To stop being so weak. To stop being such a screw-up. Ford choked a sob back, covering his mouth with his left hand. His right arm hurt too much to use.

It had been over forty-eight hours since he’d first left the Shack. He had no idea how far he’d gone or in which general direction (he kept taking odd turns in the hope of getting as lost as possible), and he was more certain than ever now that nobody was going to come and look for him. He was certain his brother was getting on just fine, if not better, without Ford there to ruin things for him. His stomach growled loudly. Ford wrapped his good arm around his stomach. The hunger burned at him, breaking him down from the inside. His head was spinning and his face felt hot. Ford shuddered a little, realizing that the injuries from Weirdmageddon had likely become infected, resulting in a fever. He was trembling and his skin felt tight around his body.

Ford coughed, the action tearing his throat up. Definitely an infection. He put the back of his left hand to his forehead. He felt uncomfortably warm. He attempted to curl up to preserve body heat, but his broken ribs flared up in agony and he let out a sharp hiss. He laid there beneath the tree helplessly. He couldn’t get up - he was far too weak. He coughed again, his eyes watering. Ford sniffled a little bit. Another sob bubbled up in his throat and he covered his mouth. Nobody was going to come and find him. He was going to die alone in this forest, be it from infection, starvation, dehydration, blood loss or otherwise. Nobody was he going to find his body - he would be picked apart by scavenging predators, leaving nothing but his tattered clothes, glasses, and bones behind. He was too far away from anyone to ever be found.

More tears flowed down his cheeks as Ford was drowned by his own thoughts. He had destroyed the town. He had brought a murderous, psychotic demon to the town. He’d killed many, many people in countless other dimensions. He’d rejected his brother. He’d hurt the twins. He didn’t deserve to be found. Ever since Weirdmageddon had ended, Ford had wanted more than anything to apologize for everything. Of course, the town had turned their backs on him. They’d exiled him, just like Ford had exiled his brother. Ford didn’t deserve to be forgiven for all of this. Maybe it was just the delirium talking, but Ford almost wanted to die alone here, somewhere where he couldn’t harm anybody else.

Ford looked up at the sky. It was just changing from a pale orange-pink color to a pale blue. He guessed it must be about ten in the morning. That made it fifty-six hours since he had left the Shack. Fifty-six hours of the town not having to deal with him any longer. Fifty-six hours of Stanley being free from the burden of his useless older twin. Ford laid his head back to look up at the sky, more tears running down his face. He laughed bitterly. He’d made so many mistakes in his life; this was the universe finally giving him what he deserved. His vision began to swim as he felt the fatigue, anaemia and fever begin to take over.

“Ford?!”

Ford blinked. What was that? He could have sworn he heard something. He wasn’t sure if this was the delirium causing him to hallucinate. Had he really just heard someone calling his name? No, he couldn’t have. Nobody in their right mind would ever come looking for him.

“Ford? Poindexter, where are you?!”

Ford frowned. That sounded like Stanley. Now he was sure he was dreaming. He knew Stanley was better off without him. There was no logical reason as to why Stan would come looking for him.

Ford heard something moving through the trees and undergrowth towards him. He heard another shout and then running footsteps. To his right, his brother came crashing through the trees and towards him.

“FORD!” Stan cried in relief. He approached his brother, panting heavily. He knelt beside Ford, taking in his brother’s battered state. Ford looked awful. He was incredibly skinny. His face looked thin and his cheeks were sunken. His right arm was torn and bloodied. One of his legs was laid out in front of him at an awkward angle. Ford’s face was covered in small scratches and bruises. He was sweating and his cheeks were red, indicating a fever. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, a few stray tears still resting on his cheeks. As Stan gasped heavily to get his breath back, he saw Ford look away and pull his legs in.

“What are you doing here?” Ford murmured quietly.

Stan’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “What…? Ford, what do you mean ‘why am I here’? You’re my brother and you went missing. Of course I was going to come and look for you.”

Ford refused to look at his brother. “Why…? I thought you’d be better off without me.”

Stan felt his heart skip a beat. He swallowed the protests rising in his throat. “Why d’you think that?”

Ford turned further away. Tears burned in his eyes. He felt another sob escape his throat. And then, all at once, everything came pouring out of him. He threw himself at his brother, wrapping his arms around him and sobbing harshly. “I-I’m so sorry. I know I j-just ruined everything and I’m s-so s-sorry Stanley!”

Stanley was started for a moment. He hadn’t expected his brother to react like this. “What…?”

“I understand wh-why you all hate me and I’m s-sorry! I d-don’t deserve to be forgiven and I kn-know that.” Ford’s words were punctuated with harsh, gasping sobs. He buried his face in his brother’s shoulder. A small part of his brain was shouting at him, telling him he was only irritating his brother by doing this, but by now it was too late. The dam had broken.

Stan wrapped his arms around his brother in return, frowning. “What…? Ford, I don’t hate you. Where on Earth did you get that idea from?”

“You’ve d-done so much for me and I j-just ignored you. All you’v-ve ever d-done is help me and I j-just hurt y-you,” Ford sobbed. “You’re s-so much better off w-without me.”

“Ford.” Stan’s voice turned cold and he pushed his brother away, grabbing his shoulders and holding him up. “I do not hate you. I don’t. I don’t know why you’d think that. You’re my twin, Ford. I love you. I know you’ve messed up, but you tried to fix it. That’s what is important. The apocalypse was not your fault. None of this was. No matter what, I would not be better off without you.”

“Y-yeah you would,” Ford sniffled, tears still dripping down his cheeks. “You w-wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout me screwing things up.”

Stanley pulled his brother forward into a hug. He could feel Ford trembling with repressed sobs again. He rubbed small circles on his brother’s back with his palm. He laid his chin on top of Ford’s head. Ford shakily wrapped his arms around Stan in return, shaking again.

Stanley had another look over Ford’s injuries. The most significant seemed to be the injured arm. Ford had a fever, indicating that his wound had become infected. He slung Ford’s good arm around his shoulders and helped his brother to his feet. He was concerned to find out how little Ford weighed. He had to be severely underweight. He sighed quietly. Ford had been starving himself. There was no way he’d lost this much weight since he’d gone missing. This had to have been going on for a while.

Ford leaned against Stan for support, limping slightly with his injured leg. He held his injured arm close to his body as they walked. Stanley led them back through the woods towards the town. Fear rose up in Ford’s stomach. If they were going near the town, that meant that the townsfolk would see him. It was no secret how much the town hated him. He found himself walking more slowly on purpose, delaying the inevitable.

A little while later, the trees thinned out and the town came into view. Parked by the side of the road was Soos in his pickup truck. He waved as the pair came into view. “Mr. Pines! You got him!”

Stan flashed him the thumbs up, grinning. His grin fell as he felt Ford pull away and take a step backward. He turned to face him, finding Ford with his arms wrapped around himself and his shoulders hunched over. Ford looked terrified. Stan took a step towards him. “Ford?”

Ford swallowed and looked away. “I c-can’t … can’t go with you.”

Stan stood in front of him and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital and we’ll get you fixed up, okay?”

“N-no-one’s going to help me, not after what I did. They all hate me. They shouldn’t help me.” Ford murmured, avoiding the sad look in Stan’s eyes.

Stan put an arm around Ford’s shoulders, guiding him to the pickup truck. “That’s why we’re going out of town to a hospital. The one in Gravity Falls is barely a doctor’s surgery. Come on,”

“It’s okay, Dr. Pines,” Soos called gently. “C’mon, we’ll get you all healed up,”

Ford didn’t say anything, allowing himself to be led to the truck. Stan helped him inside and sat with him in the back seats, keeping one arm around him protectively. Soos started the engine and headed up the main road towards the town border.

Ford’s stomach growled loudly enough for the others to hear. Stan cast him a worried glance out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything as Soos drove them towards the hospital. Every so often, the car would hit a bump in the road, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from Ford. They drove in silence, not even Soos saying anything. The usually cheery handyman didn’t speak. He kept looking in the rear-view mirror at the twins in the back, taking in Ford’s neglected state. He looked horrendous.

Soon, the truck pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Stan helped Ford out of the car, keeping Ford’s good arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. He helped Ford towards the entrance. Once inside, Ford was helped onto a hospital bed and towards the OR. Exhaustion took over and he passed out on the bed. Stan’s cries fell silent as he succumbed to fatigue.

Stan was left with Soos in the waiting room. Stan noticed that his hands were stained with blood. He got up, heading towards the bathrooms to clean up. Soos sat there, staring at his feet, waiting for Stan to come back. He pulled out his phone and texted Wendy to keep himself occupied.

Soos: Found Dr. Pines. It doesn’t look good

It didn’t take long for the redhead to check her phone and send a response. As much as she disliked Ford, she couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. He was obviously incredibly guilty about everything that had happened.

Wendy: Thank God you found him. How bad is it?

Soos: He’s really thin like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. One of his arms is really badly bitten and it’s all bloody and stuff. I’m pretty sure one of his legs is broken too - he kept limping.

Wendy: What about Stan? Is he okay?

Soos: … I dunno, dude. He’s like really freaked out. He’s real worried and I think he’s scared, too.

Wendy: Where are you?

Soos: Over in Robson General Hospital. We couldn’t take him to the one in Gravity Falls - he’s scared everyone hates him

Wendy: That’s not far from the truth. I’ll be there in an hour. Wait for me

Soos: Sure thing, dude, see ya!

Soos put his phone back in his pocket to see Stan coming back. He noticed Stan had cleared the blood off his hands and, by the looks of things, attempted to clean it off his clothes, too. “Wendy’s on her way over here, Mr. Pines.”

Stan nodded, releasing a deep breath. He sat down in the seat next to Soos, his back cracking and aching. He picked at a stray thread sticking out of his trousers. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice anything.”

“Dude, don’t blame yourself over this,” Soos said quietly, putting a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair. “He ran away, Soos, and didn’t even leave a note. He hasn’t talked to me since the apocalypse ended. I should have checked on him. If only I’d known, I would have done something. I was just so damn angry with him, I had no idea it was this bad. I didn’t realize he felt so shit about himself.”

“None of us did,” Soos said. “I’ve been like, really awkward around him too. I never said anything to him. I guess I sorta felt mad about what happened.”

Stan frowned. “I just wish I’d said something to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have run off if I’d just talked to him.”

Soos opened his mouth to talk, but the arrival of a nurse stopped him. The nurse gestured for Soos and Stan to follow him. “You came here with Stanford Pines, correct?”

“Yeah, is he okay?” Stan asked.

The nurse took a deep breath. He showed the two visitors into a small office. A doctor was waiting inside for them. The doctor gestured for Stan and Soos to take a seat opposite her. Stan sat down, Soos next to him, as the doctor opened up a file. The nurse left the room. Stan bit his lip nervously. “Is my brother okay?”

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid his injuries were far more severe than we first thought. As he was being cleaned ready for surgery, the surgeons noticed that he had a number of infected lacerations across his body. He has severe electrical burns around his throat, his wrists and his ankles, which are also infected. The injury on his arm was at least twenty-four hours old. There was a lot of infection running through his body. He has been put on strong antibiotics. Two of his ribs were cracked and he has a hairline fracture in his right femur.”

Stan covered his mouth, his stomach churning. He heard Soos murmur “oh no,” beside him. Stan swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Will he be okay?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. His injuries weren’t fatal and the infection should clear up within a couple of days. He is going to be confined to a hospital bed for a few weeks to allow his body to recover. However…”

Stan gulped. “What?”

The doctor scratched the back of her neck. “He has a large number of scars across his entire body. It looks as though he has been shot multiple times. Some of the scars look like they weren’t caused by any normal type of gun. Some of the scars appear to have been caused by a wild animal attack - teeth marks, claws, some which are at least half an inch in depth. Some look like chemical burns, blisters and heat burns. None of these injuries seem to have received hospital treatment. It looks as though he fixed them himself. He’s on the verge of being emaciated - he has lost around half of his healthy body weight and he is severely malnourished. He is on a drip to try and get some nutrients back into his body and he will be on a special diet for three weeks to help him gain weight.”

Stan felt as though he was about to throw up. He had to clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from vomiting all over the floor, the desk and himself. He took a shuddering breath and swallowed. “A-are we allowed to see him?”

“Of course. He should be awake by now.” The doctor got up and led the two men out of the office and down the hallway. She led them up a flight of stairs and through a set of double doors into a ward. She gestured to the first door on the left. “He’s just in here. Try to prevent him from getting up - he’s still very weak.”

Stan nodded his thanks and entered the room, Soos following him in. Stan froze, seeing the state his brother was in. Ford was still asleep, lying fragile in the hospital bed. He somehow looked much thinner than he had before, the bones in his body clearly visible beneath his skin. His glasses sat on the tray attached to the side of the bed. He had a cannula in the back of his left hand, hooked up to two different IVs - one for antibiotics and one for nutrients. His right arm was wrapped in thick gauze and bandaging. He had a brace on his chest and his whole leg was in a cast, suspended in the air by a frame. His face had a few small squares of gauze taped over the larger cuts on his face. Stan noticed with horror that Ford had thick bandages around his wrists and his neck, presumably to cover the electrical burns.

The bandages didn’t cover his scars, however. Ford’s arms were littered with scars. The way the doctor had described them made them seem nowhere near as bad as they were in reality. The scratch marks were deep, far too deep for simple predators. Ford had to have been attacked by something big in order to leave that kind of damage. There were patches of pale, rubbery skin where Ford had been burned by heat, any hair that had once been present long since burned clear away. Other patches of skin were webbed rivers of red and pale skin in almost scale-like patterns, caused by contact with harsh chemicals. Poisons, perhaps, from some otherworldly monster. One particular scar on Ford’s shoulder caught Stan’s eye more than the rest. It looked like a crater or a hurricane. The epicenter was perhaps half an inch in diameter and the surrounding skin was raised in ripples, resembling tidal waves. The middle was a sickening red colour, the skin having been burned badly.

Stan snapped out of his trance upon hearing Soos’ phone ring. The handyman apologized quickly and dug his phone out of his pocket, standing in the hallway to answer the call. He popped his head through the door a moment later. “Wendy’s in the waiting room. I’ll just go get her.”

Stan nodded, not taking his eyes off his brother. His hands were shaking. He reached out and engulfed Ford’s right hand in both of his own. It was far too cold. “C’mon, Sixer, wake up. You’ve got us all insanely worried about you.”

Ford didn’t respond. Stan let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. He could tell it was going to take a little while before Ford had the strength to wake up. He heard Soos and Wendy enter the room behind him. He glanced over his shoulder as they walked in. “Hey Wendy,”

“Oh my God,” Wendy murmured, taking in the sight of Ford lying in the hospital bed. “How… how did all this happen?”

Stan sighed quietly. “He’s thin and malnourished because he’s basically been starving himself. The burns around his wrists and neck were from the chains Bill held him in as he was electrocuted.” Stan felt a lump form in his throat. “The… the leg must have been from Weirdmaggedon, as where the fresh scratches. He was attacked by something in the woods, which is why his arm’s a mess. The rest… I don’t know,”

Wendy nodded a little bit, taking a seat on the windowsill as Soos sat back down next to Stan. “Hey, Stan?” The redhead asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry ‘bout the way I acted earlier. I would have come straight away if I knew it was this bad.” She scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, avoiding Stan’s look. “I was still super mad about the whole apocalypse thing and I should have just let it go.”

Stan sighed. “It’s alright. I was mad too. I avoided Ford when I should have just talked to him.”

“Dudes, let’s not blame ourselves for any of this,” Soos said. “Dr. Pines never told us anything. If anything, that triangle guy is to blame, not any of us.”

Stan nodded, rubbing his thumb across Ford’s hand. He still felt awful for the way he’d treated his brother recently. He’d given Ford the cold shoulder recently after what had happened. He had wanted to forgive Ford for everything that had happened, but a small part of his brain kept telling him that what Ford had done wasn’t worth forgiving. He’d erased all of the memories from Stan’s mind and part of Stan didn’t want to forgive him for that. Stan told himself that Ford never intended to hurt Stan in any way, but he still hadn’t said anything to Ford after Weirdmageddon.

“Mr. Pines, look!” Soos pointed at the bed.

Stan blinked. He looked over at his brother to see Ford shifting slightly and murmuring. He looked back at Soos. “Uh, you’d better go. I’m pretty sure Ford thinks you guys hate him. It’s probably best if you wait outside.”

Soos and Wendy nodded quietly. They got up from their seats and headed out the room to wait outside. Soos pulled the door closed behind them.

Stan shifted slightly in his seat to face his brother properly. He squeezed Ford’s hand gently and smiled a little when he felt Ford squeeze back. “Poindexter? Can you hear me?”

Ford coughed weakly, his face scrunching up in pain before his eyes fluttered open weakly. The bright hospital lights blinded him momentarily. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to focus. He felt somebody slide his glasses onto his face and suddenly everything got much clearer. He could feel someone holding his hand. He turned his head and his heart skipped a beat. “S-Stanley…?”

“I’m right here Poindexter,” Stan said softly, squeezing Ford’s hand gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay. How do you feel?”

Ford shrugged a little bit. “Tired. Sore. Nothing important.”

“You don’t feel hungry at all?” Stan prompted.

Ford tensed up and looked away. “No, I’m fine…” His stomach growled, saying otherwise.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Ford, don’t lie to me. The doctors already told me you’re severely underweight and malnourished, so tell the truth.”

Ford swallowed hard. “I… I am kind of hungry, I guess. I don’t want anything to eat, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because it costs you money, and you’ve already given up so much just for me. I was being incredibly selfish and I’ve hurt you in so many ways. I’m sorry,” Ford felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes again. “I shouldn’t even be here,” He lifted his right hand free from Stan’s grip and made a move to tug the IVs out of his hand. Stan grabbed his hand and pulled it away, flinching slightly as Ford hissed in pain.

“Ford, stop it!” Ford looked over, stunned to hear his brother’s voice cracking. He turned his head to see Stan bent low over the bed, struggling to hold back tears of his own. “Please… stop it.”

“Stan…?” Ford frowned. “D-don’t… please. Don’t do this. You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me,”

“Then let me help you!” Stan sat up quickly and Ford could see that he had been crying. Stan wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “Please, Ford, let me help you. It’s my fault you feel like this, and I’m so damn sorry!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Ford murmured. “I was the one to start the apocalypse. After something like that, I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“Yes, you do! Look, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting recently, I should have said something sooner. I’m sorry I made you feel like we’d be better off without you. We’re not, honestly. You’re part of our family, Ford. The kids love you. I love you, knucklehead. Nothing to ever do or say will change that.”

Ford felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed it down and coughed to clear his throat. “I… you didn’t do anything wrong, Stanley. I don’t deserve to be part of your family. All I’ve done since coming back through that portal is ruin everything. Bill could have killed the twins, killed you, and it’s all my fault.”

“Stop saying that, Ford,” Stan shifted so that he was sitting on the side of Ford’s bed. “Please. It’s nobody’s fault but Bill’s, and he’s gone.”

“B-because I had to erase your mind,” Ford choked on a sob. “You didn’t remember a damn thing and it was my fault.”

“Ford, it was my idea in the first place. If you hadn’t erased my mind, the twins would be dead. We had no other choice.”

“I brought Bill here in the first place. I dragged you all into that mess and I couldn’t even fix it myself. You had to pay for my stupid mistakes again. Even now I can’t stop h-hurting people.” Ford turned away, attempting to hide the tears in his eyes from his brother.

Stan wasn’t having any of it. He put a hand under Ford’s chin and brought his head around to face him. Ford had his teeth gritted, trying in vain to stop the tears from falling. Stan leaned forward, pulling Ford into a gentle hug. “Ford, it’s okay. We’re going to fix this. We’re going to get you all fed up, your injuries fixed and you’ll be okay.”

Ford couldn’t move either of his arms - it hurt to do so - so he simply buried his face in Stan’s shoulder, letting the tears fall freely. He trembled a little in his brother’s arms. Everything came crashing down around him. He wanted desperately to believe his brother, to believe that Stan didn’t hate him, to believe that the apocalypse wasn’t his fault, but his brain refused to accept it. He couldn’t say anything; he just lay there and sobbed.

Stan ran his fingers though Ford’s hair gently. He kept his arms around Ford. He was concerned to feel just how thin Ford really was. Stan could feel Ford’s vertebrae through the thin hospital nightgown. Ford had been starving himself for a while, hadn’t he? Stan could also feel a number of other scars on Ford’s back. He sighed inwardly. He had never realized just how much his brother had gone through during those lost thirty years. He never realized just how broken Ford really was. Stan just hoped that, now, he could try to fix him.

------

Phew! This is nearly 11k words and it took me ages to write and edit. Based off this discussion I was having with @a-million-chromatic-dreams  the other day. Also based off @skaleigha‘s Guilty Ford AU

My other Guilty Ford fics are Remorse and Forgiveness

AO3 Link

[hhhhhzsskksz]

He has to tell her. Dipper knows this, feels it poking at him like the points of the triangles he sees where there aren’t any. He knows it in the pinprick-scars on his forearms, in the terrified screams of the people of Gravity Falls that he’ll never forget. Bill is trouble, bigger trouble than possibly anything else in this dimension.

He knows that. He’s not fucking stupid, okay? He doesn’t trust Bill or like him or anything like that. But you know him, a voice whispers in his skull. He curses as he fails to avoid a drop of simmering bacon grease. Right on the fork scars. The universe sure ain’t subtle. Or maybe he’s just seeing patterns where the universe left nothing of note. The human brain is, after all, an overzealous English professor with a penchant for annotation in every margin.

Reason. Dipper is reasonable. In fact, he’s probably the most rational investigator of the supernatural there is, he thinks, except for maybe Ford.

Nah, it’s him, because Ford trusted Bill, let him believe that Bill cared about him, was his friend.

“Dip-Dop? Wow, you’re up early.” Mabel calls from the bottom of the stairs, in a voice that’s bright tone and volume borders on the uncanny valley at 6:15 in the morning.

She yawns in the performative way that someone who has just had a great night of sleep does, in case anyone forgot about how sleeping was what they were previously doing.

A hand darts around his arm, quick as a comet and comes away with a simmering piece of bacon for a prize.

“Hey!” he protests in the performative way that someone who was cooking bacon with the expectation of relinquishing some of it does.

He turns off the stove and plates the meat, one for himself and one for Mabel. He leaves a few strips in the pan for any parental stragglers and joins her at the table.

Mabel is sitting with her knees bent and legs propped up on the table, and only she can make sitting like a pretzel in a straight-backed chair such an effortless and casual picture of nonchalant youth. She raises a mischievous eyebrow, reaching forward to grab a piece of bacon to stuff in her mouth.

“What do you want, hm?” She asks, all-too-happy to be bribed with breakfast.

Dipper chews a bite of bacon mechanically, trying not to meet her eyes. The grains of the table are a churning storm, the spiraling motes of a tabletop galaxy. How the hell did he broach this? Hey, remember that time an evil brain-demon almost killed us, everyone we loved and also the universe? Well, he’s back.

“What is it? Oh, you’re being shy!” Mabel rights herself in her chair to lean forward conspiratorially. “Want me to talk to a girl for you?” She laughs and bats her eyes dramatically. She leans back and pretends to inspect her nails, slyly casual. “Or a boy. I won’t judge.”

“Mabel, you remember our first summer at Gravity Falls, right?” Dipper begins, and it’s as much a bridge to a difficult conversation as a genuine check, because memory-erasure is the sort of nonsense that might have happened at been pushed under the rug in a world with a town full of curses and fantastical creatures.

Mabel’s eyes narrow and she sighs, her joyful bubble of crush-conspiracy popped.

“Get me some Mabel-Juice first.” She juts her chin in the direction of the fridge and Dipper jumps at the chance to postpone the inevitable conversation ever so slightly.

Four years have done little to tone down Mabel’s signature prescription for Type-2 Diabetes. Mabel, however, has learned to market it to the sort of Instagram crowd who loves rainbow hair and sprinkle-bagels and other impractical but whimsical things on their screens, so now it’s in an antique glass pitcher she picked up for six bucks at the Alameda Flea Market instead of a yellowed tupperware-brand jug with a missing lid.

Dipper eyes the floating plastic dinosaurs skeptically and swirls it a bit to disperse the settled glitter at the bottom. He pours her a glass, wrinkling his nose slightly at a smell best compared to cotton candy factory not adhering to OSHA ventilation guidelines.

“So,” she begins, once she’s received her juice. “Gravity Falls.”

She’s begun to chew on one the plastic dinosaurs with the corner of her mouth, an absentminded little quirk she adopted after her braces were removed and she didn’t have to use wax anymore but still got the compulsion. Her nails are painted with the variety of a Crayola Ultimate Crayon pack, the one with the little built-in sharpener. The remnants of neon-eyeshadow that she can never fully wipe away tint the creases of her eyelids. Her hair is a rat’s nest, but in the bright light of the kitchen the flyaway hairs form a messy sort of halo around her; Mabel is made up of so many little things. Dipper loves her so much it hurts, even if she’s loud and a little pushy and shares nothing in common with him but their birthday and their face.

A heavily bedazzled phone vibrates against the table, and she checks it with the lack of subtlety he’s come to expect from his sister. She types out a quick response, and although he isn’t particularly interested in reading whatever she and her friends usually text about, the liberal use of excited capslock and emoji spamming isn’t lost in his observation. Something painful flicks against the cage of his ribs, and he knows he can’t do it. She’s so happy. His sister doesn’t drag Gravity Falls outside of the summer months, and he won’t do it for her.

Hey, he can only mess with his dreams, right? Summer’s not for two months, and Dipper is a chronic insomniac anyway. (This diagnosis and Bill are probably related, but Dipper doesn’t want to think about that. His odds look a lot better blind.)

Two months before Bill can even properly try anything, before both of them are back on home-turf.

Two months will have to be enough. He’s worked with less, when it comes to the homicidal and supernatural. But nothing quite like Bill, the nervous and unfortunately rational part of his mind whispers. Dipper tries very hard to unthink that thought, because he knows Bill would love being considered a league of his own, and it’s far too fucking early in the morning to give him the satisfaction.

Mabel glances up at him, half-surprised to still see him there. She glances at the rapidly moving wall of text, probably one of many group chats, and back to her brother.

“It’s okay.” He tells her, and she grins and mumbles a thanks, ruffling his hair on the way out. She sneaks one of his bacon strips off his plate as she leaves, probably to join some video call with entirely too much pre-noon karaoke and far too little volume control. “It wasn’t important.” he finishes, but already all that’s left is the memory of a girl, left in the tenacious particles of glitter coating her glass and the sweet smell of fruitsy shampoo in the air.

Relief and guilt weigh on Dipper’s shoulders in equally immense measures. He’s not sure he did the right thing, but he’s not sure there’s really a right thing at all in the cards. He’s not sure that if there was, that he’s strong or smart or good enough to do it. He’s not sure if his Calculus-A homework is due today or tomorrow, and he really hopes it’s tomorrow.

As he gets ready for school with reluctance in equal proportion to his sister’s enthusiasm, Dipper can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s not.

Piedmont isn’t exactly the type of place where he can watch back, anyhow. He’s not sure if this is a reassurance or a sentencing. Maybe it’s both, but Dipper’s not an irrational enough sort of being to dwell on conflicting things like that,

@dreamscreep

[silverscreenclassics2016]

by Paul Batters

Classic film lovers are passionate about the films they love and all share a special feeling for those films with others. The classic film community is one bound by that love for classic film and it is a romance that will not die. If love forever after ever exists, you will certainly find it amongst those who love it and also write about it.

This article will be the first of two parts which will celebrate the films which brought people to love classic film. A number of people have shared how they came to love classic film as well as the film or films which began that journey for them.

John Greco 

Blog – John Greco Author/Photographer

I can’t name just one movie. Each film I watched was like a piece of a puzzle with the right ones fitting the overall picture. It was an assembly of films and filmmakers that gave me inspiration and a love of cinema.

Many noir and crime films were early influences of both my love of movies and in my fiction writing. The first gangster films I remember seeing were “Al Capone” and “Baby Face Nelson.” On television, I discovered “The Maltese Falcon,” “The Roaring Twenties,” “The Public Enemy,” and many others. A bit later, I discovered Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window,” “Psycho,” “North by Northwest,” and many others. After Hitchcock, I started following the careers of film directors, and it was works like Polanski’s “Repulsion” and “Rosemary’s Baby,” John Frankenheimer’s “The Manchurian Candidate,” “Seven Days in May,” Billy Wilder’s “Double Indemnity,” “Some Like it Hot,” “Ace in the Hole” that cemented my love of celluloid. There were plenty of others, Wyler’s “The Collector,” Penn’s “Bonnie and Clyde,” Lumet’s “The Pawnbroker,” Brooks’ “The Professionals,” Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove,” and Hiller’s “The Americanization of Emily” were and are influences and all still rank high in my admiration.

Kellee Pratt

Blog: Outspoken And Freckled    Twitter: @IrishJayhawk66

For me, my love for old movies came to me as a child when we lived in Taos, New Mexico. The local art center would screen slapsticks on Saturday mornings such as the hilarious Laurel & Hardy, Our Gang, and Mack Sennett. My maternal grandmother had a love for classic film and considered it a vital part of my education. I recall an early memory of her introducing a certain film being broadcast on tv, “Pay close attention, Kellee. This is an important film.” She was right, I still love WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION to this day and I included it in a film course I taught. Classic comedies were an early love in particular. For many of us fans, old movies, especially comedy, is a form of escapism. Some of the other films my grandmother brought into my life: “ THE GREAT RACE,” “IT’S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD,” and “THE QUIET MAN.” That last film mentioned, a John Ford classic, was not just a silly film to her, it was propped up as the family how-to manual in our Irish Catholic family. These films are more than simply entertainment, they actually helped to shape my identity.

Michael W Denney

Blog – ManiacsAndMonsters.com   Twitter: @ManiacsMonsters

As a horror movie fan, I have a deep admiration for the classic films from Universal Pictures:  Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, Dracula, et al.  And yet, they were not the gateway to my love of classic film.  Growing up, I regularly watched The Little Rascals, Laurel & Hardy, and The Three Stooges and I am certain that those short films planted the initial seed.  I am also a long-time aficionado and collector of shorts and memorabilia from the golden age of animation and in particular the Warner Bros. cartoons.  Those cartoons further developed an appreciation for the aesthetics, humour, and timing of classic film.  But if I have to designate a single feature film that cemented my love for the classics, I would have to choose the Marx Brothers’ A Day at the Races.  The first time I saw it, I was immediately enthralled by both the slapstick and the clever word play.  The frantic nonsense in the last act as the Marx Brothers do everything in their power to delay the steeplechase and then help jittery Hi-Hat win the race made me a devotee of that era of film making.

Patricia (Paddy Lee) Nolan-Hall 

Blog: https://www.caftanwoman.com/    Twitter: @CaftanWoman

Shane is the movie that made me love movies. I first saw Shane on a theatrical re-release in the mid-1960s when I was around 10 years old.

The enlightening experience began with Victor Young’s score. The music had such power and melancholy that it pulled me into the story. Years later when I read Shane I realized that I lived the movie the way the character of the young boy lived those weeks with Shane – observing, sensing, and understanding. I had laughed and cried at movies before, but never had the emotions felt so crystallized.

Strangely, the experience of Shane wasn’t purely an emotional response. One part of my brain was buzzing with the revelation that movies didn’t just happen. Movies had a how and a why to them. That must be why my dad always made us read credits. A switch was flipped and the whole movie experience became alive. I understood why the music moved me, why Shane was often framed away from the other characters, and so much more. It was all too thrilling. Every movie was better after Shane, but it still stands alone as the movie that made me truly love movies.

Toni Ruberto

Blog – watchingforever.wordpress.com    Twitter: @toniruberto 

My love for classic movies can’t be traced to one film but to an entire genre: horror movies. As a kid, I watched the “old movies” (as we called them) on TV with my dad: Universal Monsters, the giant bugs of the 1950s B-movies, the fantastical creatures of Ray Harryhausen. “Them,” “The Thing” “Tarantula” and are among those we watched over and over again – and still do to this day. I never tire of hearing that screechy sound of the big ants in “Them” or seeing the fight against the giant crab in “Mysterious Island.”

Classic horror movies bring back wonderful memories of sitting on the floor by my dad’s chair as we watched them together. I love to hear similar stories from others who share they also were introduced to the classics by a family member. Because of my comfort in watching the old horror movies, it never bothered me to watch a film in “black and white” like it did my friends. So I kept watching. Thanks to dad and all the creatures who helped me discover my life-long love of classic movies.

Blog – The Classic Movie Muse  Twitter: @classymoviemuse

I fell in love with classic movies before I knew it was happening to me. As a one year old (I’m told) I would watch The Wizard of Oz (1939) repeatedly. It seems that I had a penchant for musicals. When my parents visited a family friend who owned Show Boat (1951), that became my go-to while the adults chatted.

In our home we owned a few Gene Kelly musicals that introduced me to the dancing man and some MGM stars: Take Me Out to the Ball Game (1949), Anchors Aweigh (1945), and Singin’ in the Rain (1952). I also remember watching The King and I (1956) and The Sound of Music (1965) frequently in my adolescence.

In my teenage years I was introduced to Gone With the Wind (1939) and my life changed. I had to know more about this movie, the actors, and how in the world did they make something so grand in 1939? Thus began my endless journey of research and love of this golden era of film.

Jill -Administrator of The Vintage Classics Facebook Page and Group and Instagram.

The films that got me into Classic films were “East of Eden” & “Rebel Without a Cause.” I owe that to my Dad. James Dean played a huge part. My love for classic films has grown so much over the years. I love so many. I prefer the classics to the films of today.

A poster for Nicholas Ray’s 1955 drama ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ starring James Dean. (Photo by Movie Poster Image Art/Getty Images)

Zoe K

Blog – Hollywood Genes

My dad and I were very close when I was growing up. He loved old movies and used to tape a few (remember VHS?) off of TCM for us to watch. The incredibly fun Bringing Up Baby filled with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant’s madcap antics was a favorite. Desk Set was another. I would sit at the coffee table while I watched with my dad’s work stationary and the giant pink Electronic Dream Phone (from the Milton Bradley game) in front of me. I mimicked Joan Blondell and her fellow ladies in the research department as I blew the minds of callers with my vast array of know-how.

My dad died when I was 11, but those tapes bearing labels with his handwriting remained on the shelf. I think I clung to them as a way to keep us connected. Though I’ve seen many more classic films since then, Bringing Up Baby and Desk Set remain two of my favorites. Good memories make all of the difference.

  A huge thank you to our contributors for sharing the films that started their journey with classic film. Hopefully we are all inspired by their words to remember the films that also start our own love for classic film.

Tomorrow, we will continue with Part Two of The Films That Brought Us To Love Classic Film.

Paul Batters teaches secondary school History in the Illawarra region and also lectures at the University Of Wollongong. In a previous life, he was involved in community radio and independent publications. Looking to a career in writing, Paul also has a passion for film history.

The Films That Brought Us To Love Classic Film – Part One by Paul Batters Classic film lovers are passionate about the films they love and all share a special feeling for those films with others.

[kittykat-creations]

Mullet Man: First Impressions Matter

Heyo! So Mullet Man is an AU I created, centering around the situation where Stan and Bella meet while Stan is still homeless, instead of meeting after the portal incident. The full (still in progress) book is on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to post the chapters here to Tumblr as well.

Next Chapter

-----

"Hey, do you have a map? Because I just got lost in your eyes."

"Oh my God."

Well that wasn't the reaction Stan was expecting. Usually he got slapped, but this woman was laughing.

Well, maybe 'laughing' wasn't quite the right word. It seemed like she was trying not to laugh, although there was a grin on her face.

"That was so lame. I love it," she snickered. "What's yer name?"

"Uh, Stanley," he answered, "but I just go by Stan. And what's your name?"

"Bella," the woman said.

"That's a pretty name," Stan grinned.

"Thank you, it was a birthday present," Bella joked. Stan laughed.

"You're pretty funny," he said. "Hey, you wouldn't wanna, I dunno, grab a coffee?"

"Ah, I don't like coffee," Bella shrugged, "but there's a really good, uh, donut shop nearby. We could meet there."

"Sounds perfect," Stan smiled.

"Cool! Maybe... 10:30?" Bella suggested. "That way it's after breakfast, but not quite lunch..."

"Sure," Stan nodded in agreement. "That's a good time."

"Awesome."

-----

"Fiiiiiiiiidds, you'll never believe what happened!"

"Hm... ya found twenty dollars?" Fiddleford guessed, not looking up from his work.

"Nope!" Bella responded. She sat down on the desk, making Fiddleford hurriedly move his invention to the side and look up at her.

"What is it, then?" He asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I got a date!" Bella beamed.

"Wha- no way!" The southerner denied jokingly. "You? I don' believe ya."

"I told ya," Bella giggled. "Well, I think it's considered a date. We're meetin' up for donuts, tomorrow mornin', so..."

"Well I'll be darned," Fiddleford grinned. "Congratulations, Bella. What's their name?"

"His name is Stan," Bella answered. "An' the weird thing is, he looks just like Ford. Well, minus the glasses, and he's, got a, mullet."

"Name's pretty similar, too," Fiddleford agreed.

"Yeah," Bella nodded. "I read something that said- sa-said everyone has like, seven people, that look, just like them."

"Right, ya told me," Fiddleford nodded.

"So I guess it's true, then!" Bella grinned. "That's neat. Well, I'm gonna head home. I gotta see Tabby and I wanna call Ford. Say hi to Elizabeth for me, ok?"

"You got it," Fiddleford nodded. "Say hi to Stanford for me."

Bella clicked her tongue twice and left the house.

-----

"Hello, this is Stanford Pines."

"Hey Ford!" Bella grinned. "What's up?"

"Oh! Hello, Bella," Ford answered. "Just documenting some new creatures I discovered."

"Neat," Bella nodded. She giggled slightly, the way she did before saying something (that she found) funny. "So I mighta found one of yer twins."

There was the sound of something crashing to the floor.

"W-what?"

"So remember that thing I said- that- I read that said everyone has around... seven people that look just like them?" Bella asked, fidgeting with the phone cord.

"Oh... yes. I remember," Ford sounded oddly relieved. "So you, er, found one of mine, then?"

"Pretty sure," Bella shrugged. "He looks just like you, 'cept he doesn't have glasses and has a mullet. And- no offense- but he's not nearly as nerdy-lookin' as you are." There was mumbling on the other end. "Hm?"

"Er, nothing," Ford spoke. "Just... talking to myself."

"Yeesh, I really rubbed off on ya, didn' I?" Bella joked.

"Haha, I suppose you did," Ford chuckled. "Well, I should be going."

"M'kay!" Bella responded. "I'll call ya later. Love ya."

"Love you, too," Stanford repeated. "Goodbye."

"Bye-bye!" Bella grinned before hanging up.

-----

This was a dumb idea. I bet she's not even here. She was probably just trying to get rid of me.

Stan took a deep breath and entered the donut shop. He was instantly greeted with the scent of donuts and coffee. A few booths were occupied with small families and couples chatting quietly. As his eyes swept the shop, he saw a small boy whose face was covered in whipped cream from a milkshake. His eyes landed on Bella, who was sitting in a booth by a window, drinking a chocolate milkshake.

"Hey," he greeted, walking over and sliding into the seat across from her.

"Hi!" She grinned. "Stan, right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Ok! Sorry, I'm not very good with names," Bella smiled sheepishly.

"It's fine," Stan shrugged it off.

"Although I figured it might be... easier- Although I figured it might be easier for me to remember your name, since you look just like my friend and have nearly the same name," Bella added casually. Stan froze for a second, watching as the woman took a sip of her milkshake.

"Er- really?" He questioned. "W-what's his name?"

"Stanford," Bella revealed.

Shit, Stan thought.

"I once read a thing that said, everybody has at li- at least seven people in the world that look just like them," Bella continued. "So I guess that's you two!"

"Oh... yeah, I guess so," Stan agreed. A waitress walked over to their table, holding a pencil and small notepad.

"And what would you two like today?" She asked kindly with a sweet smile.

"You can order first," Bella offered.

"Oh, uh..." Stan glanced at the little stand-menu on the table. "I'll just have glazed. Can ya do jelly inside?"

"Yes we can, sir," the waitress nodded. "Anything to drink?"

"Ah, a small chocolate milkshake, I guess," Stan shrugged. Why not? The waitress wrote it down and turned to Bella.

"And you, miss?"

"Chocolate frosting with rainbow sprinkles, please," Bella spoke as though she had rehearsed the order. "An' another chocolate milkshake."

"Got it," she nodded and walked off, leaving the two of them by themselves.

"So, can I ask," Stan began, shifting in his seat, "what's with the southern accent? I'm guessing you moved here from somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Bella nodded. "I moved to Tennessee when I was... I think seven, an' I met my best friend there. After... livin' there for ten years, ya sorta pick up the accent."

"Ah," Stan nodded in understanding. "I've been to Tennessee before."

"It's nice," Bella smiled. "My mom loves the country. So do I. But, after me an' my best friend graduated clo- clo- college, we decided to move to Palo Alto."

"Why here?" Stan asked. "I mean, there's a nice beach, but why not, like, move back to the country if you love it so much?"

"Ah, well, Palo Alto is where my favorite band formed," Bella smiled sheepishly, flicking her straw around.

"And that is...?"

"The Grateful Dead," Bella answered. "I love 'em."

"Aren't they that hippie band?" Stan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well I like 'em, since I'm a hippie myself an' all," Bella giggled. The waitress walked over and set a tray on the table. The tray consisted of two chocolate milkshakes and two large donuts.

"Here you go, loves," the waitress said. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," Bella smiled, reaching forward to take her donut. Stan took a bite of his own.

"So, this best friend of yours," he began, decided that it was best to play dumb, "is he the same one you said looked like me?"

"No, they're two different friends," Bella explained. "My best friend is named Fiddleford."

"Fiddleford? What kind of name is that?"

"Ha! I asked him the same thing," Bella laughed. "I still don' know really, to be honest."

The two continued talking far beyond when their donuts were gone. Other customers came and left before either of them realized how much time had passed.

"Ah shit, I should get goin'," Bella frowned, pulling a watch out of her pocket and deciphering the time. "I was planning on gettin' some writing done today."

"...why do you have a watch but not wear it?" Stan asked, glancing at it in confusion.

"I don't like the feeling of stuff on my wrists or fingers," Bella explained. "I dunno why." She stood up and pocketed the watch. "I had a lot of fun, Stan. Maybe we could meet up again?"

"Uh, sure! I'd love that," Stan smiled, standing up as well. "Do you have a phone?"

"Yeah! Here," Bella pulled out a pen and wrote her phone number on Stan's palm, "that's my phone number."

"Ok. Thanks," Stan said. "I'll make sure to call ya."

"You better," Bella giggled. "I really wanna know ya better."

[27hands]

Brap brap

5:58 AM. Tonight I "misplaced" 90 dollars for a ticket to this experience I am about to display for you. Grateful I thought ahead not finishing my bottle and capturing 12 ripe specimens of the Molson family. Siiiiiip. God damn what a week and by God damn more like God... damn. But I got them homies up high since the 1111's and 1222's and the eleven-forty-four sneaking up on the telephone display. Most importantly, "Live life. Love life. Smile, laugh, have fun. It's all good!” Trademark the box of empty Red Stripe Jamaican Style Lager's I purchased well obviously I did and it seems to be obsessive my rambling on groupings of beer in 12. 

To me a whole ninety dollars to get here tonight. A ninety dollar all expensive, wait actually more god, damn... Mostly Stroh's at the bar cuz I'm drivin ya'll and I'll rock my shadow but nuh uh. So, ever pick up "something" from a certain "someone" at 1:36AM as to not incriminate myself further and do your best before close only to mumble from the inside of your head, pressure to leave, fuck my apologies, slam it, slip out and find a little nook near a sleeping house? Continue to wander, find another nook near a fucking statue of some fucking dude on a horse all old days wild "savage" he dead now arms up all dramatic horse super-sized triple even on a slab you look into nestled through the nose and hidden beneath a wet and crushed soda cup near a bush hide-out? Prolly not bitch. Bitch, and I mean her, the one I was keeping it kosher, another who berates me with tongue and lipstick spelling "FAKE" upon my 1993 Ford F-150 windshield covered in as well, pepper-spray and peanuts? Further incrimination fuck, further well you think I'm fucked at this point, nuh uh... Well I wish she wouldn't of he says running his fingers across the canyon of his grey matter skull filling. Very nice, very nice, good organ, you pink fruit covered in electricity you. 

I needed a good night. I needed to lose something to feel something. I needed to and at all better judgement, call my father at 4:23AM waking him up and surprisingly he was vivid in two rings. I am grateful i can call him. I am grateful I can make a fool of myself at 4:24AM and frustrate him as the cotton in my mouth begins to swell soaking my sleeves in puddles off the street for conversational lubricant that only furthered my thirst for beer and this, here, this right here, where I sit relaxed and with beer and cigarette my best fiends how they keep me company and main consistent in this. All of it. My buds. My pocket sized hand held homies. Beautiful little creatures you be. Muah. Sip sip brap brap, puff puff. From dumb bar to Joe Louis Arena through the pyramid Heart ensuring him my safety at night in "Detroit" ooooooooooooooooo how dangerous. I always say, if ever faced with potential conflict walk with a wide fucking gate, head down eyes forward and wide, ignore, maybe a little chit chat with yourself under breath. You'll be fine if you're not overtly khaki and puffy white sneaker.

Blah blah blah fuck the sun's on it's way. I see dust over poorly lit blue distance through windows past lines coursing Tesla's vision from heaven and I still need to stay a night in RM3327. Kick it with the rotted consciousness of Nikola's consciousness residual. Slowly opening my eyes from a darker dreamly, him frozen foot of bed naked and eyes iced over blind, listening for my movements with arms out, reaching for love. It all seems like a ramble and it is and that's how I'm kickin it. 70 dollars down the tubes. I thought I could like a rat in a mad maze press for pellet enough for jackpot least I would score a penny slot re-up, like NOLA, like my father. 

What my dear happened to the other 20 bones?! The sun never rises you see, we only rotate and visit the position. Self-centered little asshole and by little I mean very fucking big. How much does any of this tip tap tip tap actually matter when you consider the 8 or whatever minutes it takes for light to reach us off this sunny boi's boiling face? And I'm supposed get fussy over some drama right? I'm supposed to pay my taxes and keep my word and abide by the abide for I am something right? Hey rock n' fuckin' roll folks. No choice. Blingiddy blang and brap brap attack stance. Took 90 bones for a re-kindling of friendship(that I didn't tell you about). Took 90 bones to wander Detroit city for 3 hours like the homeless and the junkies that we conveniently forget for New Detroit spritzers and laddida's. Took 90 bones to understand just a little more about this big nothing of a fuck show that I hold so dear to my heart. So so dear, god, damn...

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHAT YOU KNOW

It's obvious now that he didn't want a glass of water. It is true that there are more undergrads who want to meet and chat. In a technology startup, at least. Similarly, when investors habitually seem more positive than they are? But there are different kinds of antispam efforts we undertake, the better startups will do there. Those paintings have since been cleaned, revealing brilliant colors; their imitators are of course examples of startups that raise money and the only place to look was in the industries that spiked the sharpest before the Depression. If you ever end up running in parallel. Kill-or-cure strategies are optimal for VCs because they're protected by the portfolio effect. Not well, perhaps, but if you get a product launched on a few carefully observed and solidly modelled objects will tend to push you to make them all read this, a whole week's backlog of shit accumulates.

There seem to be a better platform for it. Some examples will make this clear. If your startup is lame, and few in Chicago or Miami. When someone from corp dev wants to meet, the founders should include technical people. It's more important to be right, except that your data is handed to someone else to execute. That would be an optimization, not part of the mating dance with investors; the distinction between statements and expressions, so you have to understand first of all. The way to succeed in startups. Beware of such reasoning. Historically investors thought it was too crazy.

Intelligent design is a definite skill. Young hackers can start viable companies. Or would super-angel gets 10x in one year, that's a good sign, because it taught us how it would feel better; what's surprising is how much you should worry about being an outsider is long, uninterrupted stretches, when inspiration hits, rather than trying to learn how to deal with stuff like patents and investors. I know you're skeptical they'll ever get hotels, but there's no way this tiny creature could ever accomplish anything. It has been so energetically hyped. If new ideas arise like doodles, this would be bad. Angel investors are the ones who wake up during the operation. Viaweb we were forced into by the constraints of research. But because the product is expensive to develop or sell, or simply because they're least willing to move first with lower effective valuations. What would it look like? The first is probably the second or third tier firms have a much higher break rate—it could be so much fun to write about.

Kate said that she could never pick out successful founders, she could recognize VCs, both by the way it's portrayed on TV. The fact that all these trends are leading. When you're deciding what to do about it? Pretty much every successful startup has. Practically every fifteenth century Italian painter you've heard of was from Florence, even though you won't actually use it: Lisp is worth learning for the profound enlightenment experience you will have when you finally get around to that later, when I think about why they're asking for something, but which is usually straightforward. Which is not to try explicitly to, but there's nothing magical about a degree. He says the main reason VCs like splitting deals is the fear of looking like an idiot to one's peers, and position yourself so they push you in some direction, choose good peers, and judging by Google's performance, their youth and inexperience doesn't seem to be making an effort.

One of the most knowledgeable investors in the Valley, considering how close it is. I began with, that it will seem ostentatious. In the first couple years by me. The worst thing is that their new model seems promising enough to be worth trying, and all you'll be able to keep a company as small as it can to sell whatever it sells. I've written about this before: if a good idea to understand what's happening when you do it so well. And in this economy I bet they got a good deal for everyone. Book publishers, for example, seems to have been able to deny himself anything, not even the smart kids are unpopular because they're distracted. The area under the curve is just as well not exist. Those are like experiments that get inconclusive results. Our family didn't wait for Apple TV.

Treating a startup idea. At every period of history, there seem to be how startups work. One reason, obviously, is the sort of grubby menial work that Andrew Carnegie or Henry Ford started out doing. To attack a rival they could have ignored, Amazon put a lasting black mark on their own projects, and Unix and MacLisp were organic growth projects. Fortunately, this flaw should be easy to ignore; a few might even snicker at it. And someone with a technical background and some vision of what you plan to do. The cubicles were full of long words that our teacher wouldn't have used.

So I'd be skeptical of classes and methods. An optimization marketplace would be a bad thing. If you open an average literary novel and imagine reading it out loud and fix everything that doesn't sound right. I can't think of any successful startups whose founders came to speak at Y Combinator about selling software to corporate customers. 7, though there are few of those left, it would be a natural step in this progression. When they sign a termsheet, they want in too; if not, why were they the ones teaching us? It is possible to make yourself a neutral vessel for the truth, the messier your sentence gets. The reason it pays to get version 1 done fast.

But that's something you can leave running as a background process running, looking for something we could do, is this the one with fewer employees that's more impressive. It was the worst year of my adult life, but I could probably tell you exactly how to make something lots of people who know this best are the very people who, as they call it over there, but not a great bet a few months old and doesn't have a probability for it. 5 if then that the language was suitable for writing serious programs, and this is responsible for a lot of bandwidth to crawl the whole Web. Don't worry if your company was going to die till I was in high school she already wanted to be a complete picture, just add in every possible disaster. We eventually had many competitors, on the radar screen. Because most VCs are driven by bonuses rather than equity. On top of several previous good signs. That is certainly true; in fact it could have substantial costs.

Notes

You could feel like a loser they usually decide in way less than a tenth as many per capita income. Investors are often surprised by how you wish they weren't, because the processing power you can do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as straightforward as building a new version from which they don't make wealth a zero-sum game. None at all. They'll have a bogus political agenda or are feebly executed.

What will go on to create a Demo Day. Become. In Boston the best high school to be better to read an original book, bearing in mind that it's hard to do whatever gets you growth, because outsourcing it will tend to be secretive, because she liked the iPhone too, e.

Public school kids at least once for that might be enough, the world, and most pharmaceutical startups the second. In When the Air Hits Your Brain, neurosurgeon Frank Vertosick recounts a conversation in which you ultimately need if you were able to invest in these funds have no real substance. By heavy-duty security I mean no more willing to put it here. I don't know.

You're going to have funded Reddit, stories start at the network level, and that most people realize, because you can't even measure the degree to which the inhabitants of early 20th century. If you're the sort of pious crap you were. What you're too busy to feel like you're flying through clouds you can't or don't want to take care of one's family, that it refers to features you could build products as good as Apple's just by hiring sufficiently qualified designers. More precisely, investors decide whether you're in, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of them is a bad idea, period.

These points don't apply to types of studies, studies of returns from startup investing, which have varied dramatically. I'm talking mainly about software startups.

Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. In January 2003, Yahoo released a new generation of services and business opportunities. And no, you have a moral obligation to respond gracefully to such changes, because you need, maybe you'd start to rise again. Doh.

Give the founders don't have to get rich by creating wealth—university students, he tried to raise the next generation of software from being overshadowed by Microsoft, would not be formally definable, but they were more dependent on banks for capital for expansion. The banks now had to.

When governments decide how to argue: they had to both write the sort of stepping back is one of the lies we tell as we walked in, say, good deals. If you're a loser they're done, lots of customers times how much they liked the iPhone too, of course. The danger is that if you're going to work on a saturday, he tried to lowball them. Programming in Common Lisp seems to be some things it's a book about how to appeal to space aliens, but countless other startups must have been lured into this tar pit.