#right in front of the real stanley at that

[acewithapaintbrush]

I saw the initial post by @wheretimegoestodie and @aroace-get-out-of-my-face addition about an Ella Enchanted AU with Stan and how easy it would be for Ford to accidentally activate the curse and it got me thinking, yeah but what if he does it intentionally cause he thinks he's helping Stanley? Cause, you know? The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that.

I started writing and it kinda spiraled out of control so more under the cut. Trigger warnings for gross food stuff and non-descriptive vomiting.

Stanley rolls his eyes as Ford sighs obnoxiously loudly. It’s the kind of sigh parents use when they want their children to notice that they have done something wrong without having to spell it out for them. Too bad Stan is not an unruly child. He’s an unruly adult and as such he ignores his brother who is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a scowl on his face.

Ever since Ford found out about Stan’s little predicament he’s been overly careful with his words. Stan is thankful, really. It has made this house safer than any other place he’s ever been where people just tell you to do things without thought, mostly even without bad intentions. But it means that sometimes there are moments when they are in the same room but it’s just this overwhelming silence between them that presses down on Stan like an anvil to his chest. He’s never been bothered by silence before, not since his enchantment certainly, but it’s different with Ford. Everything is always different with Ford. He forgot about that.

Sometimes it comforts him, sometimes it makes his skin crawl.

Ford sighs again and Stan tenses. Usually ignoring his brother long enough does the trick and the guy will either tell him what bothers him about Stan this time or he’ll give up. A second, even deeper sigh is new.

“You have skipped breakfast again this morning,” Ford states in that way that is supposed to be a question.

“I had a banana,” Stan lies because he isn’t actually sure it’s the truth. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it might have been yesterday. It’s hard to keep track sometimes and there are more important things to worry about right now. Like making sure his brother eats and sleeps with that demon in his head, cleaning up the house to make that doom and gloom disappear. A little bit of dusting and letting some fresh air in has already done wonders to the place in the three weeks Stan has been here.

He glances at his brother in the doorway and nods to himself. Ford looks better. He is still horrifyingly sleep deprived, too afraid his possessed body will do something he’ll regret if he allows himself to fall into a deep sleep circle, but he’s less pale and doesn’t look like he’ll drop dead any second now. His old biker gang used to make fun of Stan’s mother hen tendencies but if they help make sure his brother doesn’t end up in an asylum it’s worth it.

Ford watches him move another box and his expression is a cross between pain and exasperation. Stan knows that his stubbornness is not making this easy for his brother but he can’t help it. He needs to do something, to keep busy. Make his stay here worth Ford’s while. Sometimes he thinks this desperate need to make himself useful, to feel needed, is just another side effect of the curse but then he thinks of all the people that mocked him for being so needy, so hungry for acknowledgment and affection, to be noticed and seen.

Maybe the curse was inevitable for someone like Stan.

“You need to-” Ford starts and when he sees Stan tense he quickly switches track. “I mean, a balanced diet is important, Stanley.”

Stan snorts. “Look who’s talking.” Ford starts to glare with real annoyance. Good. He’s been too nice the last few weeks. It has thrown Stan off, made him wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. His brother rubs a hand over his face and it must have been another all nighter. He looks especially rough, in a way he hasn’t for a while now. For a moment Stan feels guilty but he needs to get this room cleaned up and so he swallows any apology he could make and instead waves his brother away. “Go do your portal science stuff. I’ll eat something later.”

“We both know that's a lie!” Ford hisses between clenched teeth. He’s fiddling with his hands and alarm bells go off in Stan’s head. “And I’ll do what I want in my own home!”

“Easy, poindexter.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Stan feels the compulsion take hold but it’s okay. It’s an easy enough command to follow. Ford hasn’t even noticed and Stan won’t tell him. His brother slips up sometimes and it’s okay, at least he tries. (Okay okay okay, Stan repeats in his head multiple times, until he believes it).

“Easy Ford," he starts again but his voice is trembling. He’s on edge now, wrong footed, vulnerable. “Why is this such a big deal? I’m fine.”

“Because I’m worried about you, you dunderhead. And you are not fine. You are the farthest thing from fine. You look like you’ll fall over any second now.”

Stan rolls his eyes again because Ford being worried about him? Please. “Yeah. Sure.”

His lackadaisy response sets Ford off in a way Stan has never seen before. His brother seems to explode right before his eyes without any sound. His eyes flash, his teeth gnash together. He slams a fist against the door frame and tears at his sweater as if he wants to rip it off. Stan involuntarily takes a startled step back.

“I am!” Ford shouts and his voice sounds wrong, strangled, as if he’s trying to hold back tears even though his eyes are dry like the desert and blazing with fire. “I am, Stanley! You are working yourself ragged right in front of my eyes and I can’t watch this anymore. You need to eat!”

Stan freezes and this time Ford notices what he’s done. He can feel himself take a step towards the kitchen and Stan expects his brother to take it back like he’s done a dozen times before. His brother opens his mouth, his expression stricken and apologetic but then something else crosses his face. Fear, resignation, horror, sadness.

And then, worst of all, resolve.

“Go into the kitchen and eat. And when you are done I want you to go to bed and sleep for eight hours.” He’s averting his eyes as Stan pushes past him in the doorway. “I’m sorry Stanley.”

Stan wants to scream at him. Coward. Asshole. Traitor. He wants to punch him and beg him and curse him. He wants to do so much but all the curse allows him to do is walk towards the kitchen on wooden legs and listen to his brother sink to the floor behind him, softly cursing under his breath “fuck fuck fuck”.

His brother never curses. Stan almost wants to laugh.

Not that he’s allowed to.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Go into the kitchen and eat.

That command is easy enough to follow. Thanks to Stan the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food.

But that is the problem. Because his genius brother has given a very broad command.

Stan is supposed to eat and when he’s done, he’s supposed to sleep.

Not when he’s full. Not when the leftovers of breakfast are gone. Not when he’s eaten whatever he likes. Stan is supposed to eat until he’s done. And without a clear limit that means eating everything in the kitchen.

Fuck.

Stan’s feet carry him to the bananas on the counter first. Maybe a cosmic punishment for his earlier fib. Thankfully he peels them before shoving them into his mouth one after another, barely enough time to swallow before the next one follows. There are seven bananas and he eats them all and he already feels full and slightly nauseous. No one is supposed to eat so many bananas in one go.

“I’m done,” he thinks fretfully but the curse doesn’t care. There is still food in the kitchen. It makes his hand reach for the cereal standing next to the empty fruit bowl and tip the damned box up to pour the contents into his mouth. It’s the boring kind, fibers and nuts and raisins. He chokes on the dry food a little. His brother didn’t tell him to eat and drink, just eat, so he has to swallow it as it is without milk which would have made this a bit more bearable.

Once the box is empty (a lot of it fell to the floor but thankfully the curse doesn’t make him lap it up like a dog) his body turns to the sink and his heart skips a beat. There is a big chunk of minced meat defrosting in there. He had planned to make burgers later that day. The thought now makes him gag. He starts to reach inside the sink and he just knows that the curse won’t let him cook it first. Food is food.

With more mental strength than he thought he was capable of he focuses on the pickle jar standing ready next to the sink and makes his body reach for that one instead. As he takes off the lid and starts shoveling pickles and pickle water into his mouth he finally starts to cry because he knows it’s just a temporary relief, just a postponement of the inevitable. The raw meat is right there, waiting for him, mocking him.

A pickle gets stuck in his throat and Stan bends over, coughing it up. All the food he’s already eaten suddenly protests and combined with his terror at what’s yet to come Stan can’t help but bend over further and start to gag. With a cut off curse he vomits everything he’s just eaten back up again.

The mess spreads over the kitchen floor and Stan has a moment to think how much he doesn’t want to clean that up later when he hears footsteps rushing towards him. Ford appears in the doorway, lured by the sound of Stan throwing up. He takes in the scene, the banana peels and the empty pickle jar and cereal box and the mess on the floor and if Stan had any mental capacity to pay attention to his brother he might have been able to see the realization dawn on Ford's face in real time.

As it is, the curse is already forcing him to continue and it’s with a resigned kind of horror that he watches his own hand creep towards the sink.

“NO!” Ford shouts and when Stan still reaches for the meat he runs forward. His voice is pitched impossibly high. “Don’t eat that! I release you! Stop eating. For now, I mean. Stop eating for now. Only eat if you want to! Oh God, Stanley!”

Stan slumps to the floor. He would have facepalmed into the mess if Ford hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him backwards into his arms. The two of them sit down on their asses with so much force that it’s gonna leave a mark for sure.

Stan is still heaving, still gagging. Now that the compulsion is gone he can taste everything with so much more intensity. He’s never going to eat bananas again. Ford snakes his arms around Stan from behind and pulls him closer. It almost hurts, the way Ford is crushing him against his chest. Stan can feel his brother’s heart jackrabbit in his chest through their clothing, can feel Ford’s breath against the nape of his neck.

He wants to push him away, to fight his way free. To punch him, honestly. He tries but Ford just clings tighter with an almost animalistic whine and Stan slumps back, loose-limbed and exhausted.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Moses Stanley, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to… I was just worried. I was so scared for you to- I’m sorry. Please, Stanley, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stanley. Please.”

Stan has no idea what Ford is pleading for. His forgiveness? As if there was ever any doubt.

“It’s alright,” he rasps through an abused throat. It’s not alright, but if he repeats it often enough maybe he’ll believe it one day. He pats his brother's hand that is fisted in his shirt, the only part he can reach. “It’s alright, Ford.”

It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright

For some reason that makes Ford sob and cling even tighter. He is shaking and a part of Stan wants to comfort him, tell him that he understands that Ford was just trying to help. But he is frozen, like an animal trapped in a snare.

“Never again,” Ford promises between sobs. “Never again, Stanley. I swear!”

“Okay.”

He’s tired. Maybe he won’t need Ford’s compulsion to sleep for eight hours.

This is actually good, he tries to tell himself. Stan was growing too complacent, too relaxed. He’s been waiting for the other to drop and there it finally is, dropped on his head like a ton of bricks. All that wrong sense of safety has made him forget the first rule of survival but he’s back on the right track.

He’s more familiar with this situation.

He knows how to handle this.

+++++++++++++++

The next morning Ford finds Stanley making enough breakfast for two and the table set for two people.

Ford goes into the bathroom and cries.

He's not hungry but he will eat.

Every last scrap.

********

Don't be too hard on Ford, he's got a demon in his head and runs on two hours of sleep, eight cups of coffee and spite

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Pony - CodyJey. 🐎

🚨 heavy dom/sub dynamics // brat!jey energy 🍑 // intense overstimulation 🥵 // on-camera sex 🎥 // possessive behavior // claiming vibes // ruined jey 💦 // headboard abuse (RIP) 🪦 // throat-grabbing & hair-pulling 🫢 // minor crying kink 😭 // praise and degradation at the same time (it's a talent) // multiple orgasms for Jey (pls pray for him) 🕯️ // Cody does NOT play about his baby 😭

Yes I accidently posted this shit without editing. Oh fucking. Well.

LockerRoom – RAW, just ended.

Jey plopped down on the bench, still sweating, still panting, the adrenaline not even close to wearing off. His phone buzzed in his duffle bag, but he ignored it. He was more focused on his best friend Liv sprawled out across the bench opposite him, boots kicked off, sipping from a neon pink Stanley cup like the devil in glitter eyeliner.

“Hey,” she said, like she’d just remembered. “You wanna see something fucking insane?”

Jey gave her a lazy side-eye. “Do I?”

Liv grinned and turned her phone around. No hesitation. No lead-up. Just a full, high-def video of her and Rhea in a hotel bed, clearly mid-session, Rhea’s hand around Liv’s throat, Liv laughing between moans.

Jey choked on his water. “Yo?!”

Liv just kept watching like it was a regular Monday.

Jey blinked at the screen. “Y’all was… filming that?”

Liv shrugged. “Rhea wanted to fuck so I let her.” She leaned back and grinned. “She’s meaner when she’s on camera.”

Jey dragged a hand down his face, jaw tight, ears hot. “Shit. Lucky.”

Liv perked up, devilish. “You and Cody don’t record?”

Jey groaned. “Man, Cody don’t let me do nothin’ fun on that damn tour bus. I swear I be beggin’ to suck him while he drives and he be like, ‘Joshua, I’m not risking lives just ‘cause you bored.’”

Liv cackled, loud and shameless. “That man got dad reflexes.”

“He got church-boy rules,” Jey muttered. “No cameras, no mess, no nothin’. Man won’t even let me ride him when the shades are up.”

Liv’s brows shot up. “Damn. That’s tragic.”

Jey scoffed and tossed his head back against the locker. “I’m sayin’. You out here gettin’ directed and I’m out here dry-humpin’ under a blanket.”

She raised her cup and clinked it against his knee. “So ask him.”

“Ask who?”

“Cody, dumbass."

Jey looked at her, eyes narrowing.

Liv raised her brows, slow and taunting. “Ask. Him.”

Jey bit his bottom lip and tried to play it cool, but the way his leg bounced gave him away.

“…You think he’d say yes?”

Liv smirked. “Not if you ask like a little bitch.”

--Later That Night

The overhead lights were dimmed, casting a nice glow over the interior. Jey adjusted the hem of his black PSD boxer briefs, rolling his shoulders and flexing in the mirror with practiced ease. Arms, abs, that vein down his hip... yeah, he was lookin’ right. Real right.

They had a driver now, finally, which meant Cody didn’t have to act like Mr. Responsible at the wheel. Jey figured that was his in. That meant fun was on the table, right?

He heard the hiss of the tour bus door and Cody’s voice float in from the front: “Hey, Ryan, just go ahead and drive through the night. We’ll let you know if we stop.”

Ryan muttered a polite yeah sure, and the engine rumbled softly to life.

Cody’s boots thudded gently down the narrow hallway, then the bedroom door opened. He glanced toward the bed and smiled faintly, already peeling off his jacket.

“Hey, babe.”

Straight past the bed. Straight into the walk-in closet.

Jey blinked, shoulders dropping. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, before scrambling onto the king-sized mattress like a pin-up model caught mid-thirst trap. One knee bent, arm propped behind his head, lips slightly parted.

By the time Cody stepped out in sweats and a thermal tee, Jey was waiting. Posed. Pouty. Thirsty.

“Don’t you think I look cute?”

Cody paused, glanced over, then chuckled.

“You are always cute,” he said easily, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. It was soft. Quick. Cruel.

Then Cody straightened up and walked straight to the TV, picking up the remote.

“Besides, tonight’s not even our adventure night.”

Jey’s mouth fell open.

Cody clicked through apps like he hadn’t just casually rejected a half-naked, six-foot Samoan laying across the bed like a damn OnlyFans thumbnail. A few seconds later, the familiar opening to Cheers filled the room.

Jey groaned.

“Codyyyyyy.”

“Mmm?” Cody didn’t look up.

“You hired a driver. You said we couldn’t do stuff when you had to drive. You’re not driving.”

“Still not a designated adventure night.”

“I look like this and you wanna watch Cheers?”

Cody tossed him a lazy smirk without turning away from the screen. “Yeah. You’re prettier when you pout.”

Jey huffed. He was gonna kill Liv. She said just ask him, not beg. But dammit if he wasn’t about to do both.

Jey shifted on the bed, legs spreading slightly as if the new position might tempt Cody more. The TV screen glowed across his skin, highlighting every line of his thighs and the glint of sweat on his collarbone.

“Cody,” he tried again, voice dropping into that needy octave that always worked.

But even that didn't do any wonders..

Cody just propped himself against the headboard with a pillow and grabbed the second remote, the one Jey knew only got pulled out when Cody was fully in rest mode. His eyes didn’t even stray from the screen.

“What’s up, baby?

Jey scowled. “You know what’s up.”

“Mhm. I do.”

Silence.

A laugh track played in the background. Jey’s jaw clenched.

“So? You ain’t gonna do nothing about it?”

“Nope.”

“Codyyyy—”

“Don’t whine,” Cody said calmly, finally cutting his eyes toward him. “You know better.”

Jey sat up, hands planted on the mattress. “I’m literally layin’ here in nothing but boxers. Fuckable. Flexin’. Lookin’ good. And you wanna watch Cheers?”

Cody blinked once. Slowly.

“You do look good.

“That’s it?!”

“Yup.”

Jey stared at him. “Man, Liv showed me a whole damn video of her and Rhea tonight. She gets to be a lil’ slut on camera and I can’t even—?”

Cody held up one finger without looking away from the screen.

“Not another word, Joshua.”

Jey’s mouth opened, closed, then pressed into a tight pout. He could feel the hardness between his thighs now, faint but taunting.

But Cody still didn’t even flinch. Just reached over, grabbed a handful of trail mix like he wasn’t sitting next to a desperate Samoam with his thighs spread like a goddamn midnight snack.

“You gonna act up, or are you gonna lay down and enjoy the show with me like a good boy?”

Jey swallowed hard. Chest rising and falling with quiet frustration.

“...You’re such an asshole.”

Cody smirked. “Yup. And you love it.”

--

The TV had long since gone dark, the screen fading to black hours ago.

Jey blinked up at the ceiling. He could hear Cody’s breathing beside him, chest rising in that way that meant he was out cold. Asleep. Unbothered. Meanwhile Jey was wide awake. Throbbing. Aching.

He glanced at the clock.

3:04 a.m.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath.

He rolled over quietly, tugging the blankets off his lower half. His skin was damp with sweat and something sweeter. He slid a hand down his thigh, teeth catching his bottom lip. Quiet because he couldn’t wake Cody.

Except… “Someone’s impatient,” Cody mumbled without opening his eyes.

Jey froze. Hand still tucked between his thighs.

“…You were awake?”

“You get real breathy when you’re tryin’ to be sneaky.”

Jey turned fully, glaring at him in the dark.

“You always wanna have a schedule,” he hissed. “Like, what are we? Middle-aged?”

Cody cracked one eye open lazily.

“Not yet.”

“You know what I mean,” Jey said, sitting up now, sheets pooling at his hips. “I’m layin’ here hard as fuck and you don’t even care.”

Cody blinked slowly, like this was all amusing to him.

“You were the one whining during Cheers.”

“Because you chose Cheers over me,” Jey snapped. “We are literally actin’ like an old married couple. What happened to those quickies in gas station bathrooms? Huh? The closet at the gym? That time on the roof?”

Cody just stared.

“Did we hit a year itch or what? You don’t throw me around no more. I’m starting to feel… ignored.”

Jey’s voice cracked slightly on that last word. Just enough emotion in it to sting. His legs were still spread, hand resting near his inner thigh like he’d forgotten it was there.

Cody let out a slow sigh, then finally pushed himself upright.

He looked over at Jey..at the sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his mouth was pressed into a trembling line.

His brat.

“You done?”

“No. I got more.”

“I bet you do.”

Cody stayed silent.. and then he had a smirk.

“You wanna be thrown?” Cody asked finally.

Jey blinked. “Yeah.”

“You wanna be fucked loud enough that Ryan starts wondering what kinda potholes we’re hitting?”

Jey bit his lip, nodding quickly.

“You want me to break the damn headboard like I used to?”

“…Please.”

Cody smiled, dangerously. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

“You wanna be filmed so bad?” Cody murmured, voice rough with sleep and something darker. “Let’s do it right.”

He flipped the phone to video mode, turned the camera on, and angled it low in his palm. Jey’s breath caught.

“You’re gonna…?”

“I’m gonna record you,” Cody said simply, resting the heel of his hand on his thigh while the other kept the lens focused. “Start slow. Show me how much you want it.”

Jey’s heart thumped like a drumline. His thighs twitched. He let the blankets fall completely, revealing the full mess he was sweaty and flushed, his erect dick showing.

He swallowed hard and crawled forward on the mattress, his eyes locked on Cody like prey approaching its predator.

Cody didn’t flinch. Just adjusted the camera to keep the full shot of Jey’s parted lips, the tremble in his chest, the way his boxers clung damply to his thighs.

“Suck that dick baby... you know you want to.”

Jey moved between Cody’s legs, sliding down the bed until he was on his knees on the floor, bare ass in the air. He tugged Cody’s sweats down slowly, pressing soft kisses to his hip bones as he did.

“Look up at me.”

He did.

“Keep eye contact. I want this part on film.”

Jey’s lips parted as he wrapped his mouth around the head of Cody’s cock, sucking slow, tongue swirling at the tip like he had all the time in the world but his eyes were burning. So was his ache to be fucked.

Cody sighed through his nose, smirking just a little as he tilted the camera down to get Jey’s full expression with his lips stretched, jaw relaxing, hand stroking what he couldn’t take.

“That’s it,” Cody murmured. “That’s my good little slut. See? Told you you were prettier when you pout.”

Jey moaned softly around him, eyes fluttering.

“Don’t touch yourself until I tell you,” Cody added with a quiet threat. "Keep sucking Daddy's dick.."

Jey was a mess by the time Cody had enough. Face wet with spit, lips swollen, precum leaking thick down his dick to his thighs like it had a mind of its own.

Cody finally set the phone down on the nightstand, camera propped perfectly at an angle which was just enough to capture the bed, Jey’s body, and the look in his own eyes.

“Get up here,” Cody said, voice gravel now.

Jey crawled back onto the bed on shaky hands and knees. “Finally,” he whispered, but Cody wasn’t listening anymore. He was too busy grabbing him by the waist and keeping him face-down into the mattress like he weighed nothing.

The frame of the bed creaked, then groaned louder when Cody shoved him up onto all fours, one hand on his back, the other fisting his own cock.

“You want me to fuck you like I used to?” Cody growled, sliding the tip along Jey’s entrance.

Jey moaned shamelessly. “Yes, Cody—yes, please—”

SMACK. Cody slapped his ass, loud and sharp.

“Then stop talking.”

He didn’t warn him. Didn’t ease in. Just slammed forward with one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Jey choked on a scream and clutched at the sheets. The headboard rattled.

“Shit—!”

Cody grabbed a handful of Jey’s hair and yanked him back until their bodies were flush.

“You said break the headboard,” he whispered darkly against his ear. “Let’s see if it holds.”

Then he started to move; rough, relentless, full-bodied strokes that made the entire bus shake on its shocks. The headboard hit the wall again. And again. Faster now. Loud.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The video caught all of it. The gasps, the grunts, the way Jey screamed Cody’s name, voice wrecked and body limp, bouncing under each stroke.

Cody’s palm landed flat between Jey’s shoulder blades, holding him down now.

“You wanted it like this, right?” he snapped. “You wanted me to treat you like a toy on camera?”

“Yes! Yes!—Fuck!”

“Tell them,” Cody hissed. “Tell Liv. Tell Rhea. You’re theirs, but you’re mine first."

“I’m yours!” Jey sobbed, face buried in the sheets. “Yours—Cody, I’m yours—”

And that’s when the headboard finally gave, one screw popping out with a violent CRACK. The bed continued to move violently with every thrust now, Jey trembling beneath Cody’s weight, mouth open in a silent moan.

And Cody?

Still composed. Still in control.

He leaned forward, kissed Jey’s spine, then pulled out with a wet pop.

Jey whimpered, instantly pressing his hips back in protest. “No—no, daddy, please, don’t—!”

��Relax.”

Cody reached for the phone again.

Picked it up.

Turned the camera toward them now and angled it just right. He held it with one hand, the other wrapping around Jey’s waist to pull him back against his chest. Jey sat, shaky on his knees, sweat-drenched, lips parted. His whole body glistened under the bus' lighting.

Cody kissed the side of his neck.

“Look into the camera.”

Jey hesitated.

“Now.”

He obeyed.

“Tell them,” Cody murmured, voice low and mean behind his ear. “Tell them how good it is.”

Jey blinked into the camera, chest heaving.

“It’s… it’s so good,” he gasped. “He’s so—deep. I waited all night for this—fuck—Daddy's gonna make me come without even touching me—”

Cody smiled against his neck. “That’s right. All this pouting, all this begging—just to get used.”

He shoved back into Jey in one smooth, brutal stroke, and Jey cried out, both hands clutching the bed frame for dear life.

“Say thank you,” Cody hissed.

“Thank you!” Jey sobbed.

“For what?”

“For—ahh—for finally fucking me like I needed—!”

Cody wrapped a hand around Jey’s throat, pulling him back upright so his whole body arched on camera with his head resting on Cody’s shoulder, lips red and bitten.

“You think Liv’s gonna watch this?”

Jey groaned.

“You want Rhea to see you like this?”

“Yes—yes, show them, I don’t care, I want them to see—fuck, Cody—”

Cody grunted as he started thrusting again, slower now, but deeper. Jey rolled his hips with each one, chasing the pressure and the camera.

“They're gonna know who really fucked you,” Cody growled.

Cody’s breath was hot on the back of Jey’s neck, his free hand gripping Jey’s hip so tight it left crescent moon marks. The other still held the phone, camera steady, recording everything: the way Jey begged, the way his body shook, the way he looked like a ruined, breathless mess already.

“You ready to finish, baby?” Cody whispered, voice so low it curled down Jey’s spine.

Jey nodded fast, the movement clumsy and desperate. “Please, Daddy—please, I need to—I’m close—”

“You wanna come on camera, huh?” Cody teased. “Wanna show Liv how pathetic you get for me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes—”

“Then do it,” Cody ordered. “Now. Right now.”

That final snap of Cody’s hips? It was deep, relentless, aimed perfectly... everything Jey considered 'the last push'.

Jey screamed, his whole body seizing as his climax hit him like a wave crashing through every nerve. Cum poured out of him, thighs trembling, his mouth frozen in a silent O. He collapsed forward, breath shattered, chest heaving, eyes fluttering closed as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Cody pulled out with a wet sound, slowly, letting Jey fall flat against the mattress, dazed and barely coherent.

“Goddamn…” Jey muttered, voice weak. “You really filmed all that?”

“Mhm.”

Cody placed the phone back down on the nightstand, screen still recording, still angled. He ran his fingers up Jey’s spine gently, as if offering a moment of softness.

Jey hummed, tired and satisfied. “That was good…”

He shifted, moving to curl up under the sheets.

“Hey.”

Jey blinked. “What?”

“Who said we were done?”

Jey turned his head just as Cody grabbed his waist and flipped him over onto his back again. Jey’s eyes widened.

“Wait— I thought—”

“I didn’t cum.”

Cody crawled over him and pressed Jey into the mattress like he was nothing but prey.

“You got yours. Now I’m gonna take mine.”

Jey opened his mouth, but Cody caught both of Jey’s wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head.

“Stay still,” he growled. “You wanna act like a brat all day, you’re gonna take this like one too.”

Jey’s legs twitched.

He was already sensitive and spent but Cody? Cody was hard as ever.

“You came already, baby,” Cody whispered. “Now let me fuck you through it.”

“Cody… I—I just came…”

Cody didn’t blink.

“I know,” he said, calm and cold and terrifyingly hard. “And you’re gonna come again.”

“I—I can’t—”

“You will.”

Cody pushed back in, slow and cruel, stretching Jey wide again. Jey whimpered instantly, thighs locking around Cody’s hips in instinctive panic. It was too much, too wet, too sensitive, every nerve lit up from the first round.

But Cody didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.

“You said you wanted to be ruined,” he growled, lips brushing Jey’s jaw. “So stop fighting it.”

He started thrusting again with deep and steady strokes, like he had nowhere to be and nothing to prove. Just power. Pressure. Ownership. The sound of it was filthy; wet and sloppy, skin meeting skin in brutal rhythm. Jey's cries rose with every snap of Cody’s hips.

“F-Fuck—Cody—I—ahhh, I c-can’t—!”

Cody licked into his mouth, swallowing the words like candy. Then pulled back and slapped Jey’s inner thigh.

“Shut up and take it.”

The camera caught everything. The soaked sheets. Jey’s wrists still pinned. The way Cody fucked Jey like it was a holy ritual.

Jey sobbed.

Eyes fluttering, lips trembling, whole body shaking under the force of it.

“C-Cody—please, it’s—too much, I’m gonna—”

“Good. Let it break you.”

Jey screamed when he came again. Harder than before. His whole body arched, his back left the mattress, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Cum coating Cody’s stomach, the sheets, everything.

“Look at that,” Cody whispered, still fucking him through the aftershocks. “Still milking me. You’re disgusting.”

“S-Stop—p-please—!”

“Not yet."

Cody sat back on his knees, dragging Jey’s hips into his lap, and started grinding. Deep, relentless circles that rubbed against Jey’s raw nerves like a goddamn punishment.

Jey thrashed.

“Cody I can’t take it!”

THRUST.

“You can.”

THRUST.

“You are.”

THRUST.

“You wanted to be thrown around like a whore on camera?” Cody growled, leaning over again. “Then you better let this camera see you break.”

Jey bit down on his fist to keep from screaming. His eyes rolled back as another climax started creeping up on him, unexpected and terrifying.

“No—no—fuck I’m gonna come again—”

“Then do it,” Cody hissed. “Right here. On Daddy’s cock.”

And Jey did.

Again.

Harder.

Worse.

He screamed so loud Cody had to slap his hand over his mouth and even then, it didn’t muffle the sound completely. His legs trembled violently as he went limp, twitching through the kind of orgasm that left his vision blurry and his skin too hot to touch.

Cody finally groaned low in his throat, thrusting once, twice, harder and then pulled out just in time to finish across Jey’s chest and stomach, panting as he milked the last of it onto Jey’s ruined body.

The camera caught all of it. Every last second.

Silence finally settled in the room. Just the tour bus and the distant sound of tires on pavement.

Jey blinked up, dazed and soaked, barely breathing.

“Cody… you…”

Cody reached for the phone and tapped stop on the recording.

“Now that’s what you show Liv.”

[vellichorom]

Do GoreGuts or their parable have a Stanley? Because I don't think rosemary is supposed to be staney anymore right?

THAT'S RIGHT!

TLDR ;; rosemary's fall into the game accidentally knocked stanley OUT of it, leading to his unintentional replacement & his corruption into " the settings person " - also known as " nobody, "

unlike rosemary - who's a flesh & blood human thrust into a digital world, stanley was created by the narrator Mostly as an AI-driven vessel for the player to take hold of & for him to toy with. BUT- now the AI's more or less just fused to the simulated complex & helps keep it running.

BUT YEAH! HE'S THERE STILL. KIND OF !!!!

( you should ask @/tomiechu more about it as they designed the guy !!!! )

[mr-jack-letterman]

We need more young stan content out here.

And nah I ain't talking about 12 year old Stanley or 30 year old mullet Stan, I'm talking 17 year old, slicked back hair, acne riddled Stan pines.

Yeah that one.

I am so happy mullet Stan is so popular because his fit slaps ngl and the angst is so potent I can't not respect it. But teenage Stan has so much potential it's driving me insane.

There is a line dividing the 17 years of relative happiness Stan had with Ford and the 10+ years of depression and crime he had on the streets, and teenage Stan uses that line as a goddamn jump rope.

Seriously, depending on how you look at it dude is either living his best life or is fighting for said life in the trenches of homelessness and poverty.

I see a lot of content regarding Stan on the streets but it only ever focuses on 30ish Stan in his later years of homelessness where he's already a hardened adult after years of dealing with this bullshit. But Stan didn't just drive away and then magically turn 30. There were times in those first few months after Stan got kicked out where he was in his car, trying to sleep, probably starving, while still being fundamentally a child.

Hell, compared to the 30ish age of mullet Stan and the 60+ year old con man he'd later become, teenage Stan is damn near a baby. There's a certain brightness about him, a sort of warm naive optimism that still clings to him because he's straight up just too young to know any better.

He's still fully convinced he's gonna make it rich and go back to his family in a few years. He still believes wholeheartedly that even if shit sucks right now, eventually everything is gonna be okay. It has to be. But it's not gonna be okay. It's not gonna be okay for a long time. And some parts are just never gonna be okay.

Seeing a happy and oblivious teenage Stan feels like watching a baby lamb walk into a slaughter house.

The next 10-something years are going to tear him apart limb from limb. In 40 years he's going to wake up on a boat during a bout of amnesia thinking he's in Columbian prison, or he's locked in the trunk of a car and about to drown, or his shoulder is on fire and his brother is gone, or it's the end of the world and everyone he ever dared to give a shit about is about to die in front of him and it's all his fault because he was too weak to stop it.

At some point, a young Stanley is going to get into his first true life or death fight. He doesn't even have to be involved with crime yet for it to happen. He's probably bruised and bleeding, with not nearly enough money to afford a doctor. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his El Diablo having a complete and utter break down because he almost died and suddenly everything is real.

Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing is going to be okay and whatever is left of his teenage innocence, naivety, and warmth dies in that car and it never comes back.

The next 10+ years are going to fundamentally change Stanley as a person and he's never going to be the same ever again. But teenage Stan doesn't know that, he's still a kid trying to sleep in the back of his car, ignoring hunger pangs and finding comfort in the half baked business ideas his mind cooks up because he doesn't understand how utterly done for he is.

12 year old Stanley I believe is so appealing because of his bright rambunctious spirit. He's still just a kid playing on the beach with his brother, but so was teenage Stan. I just wish the wholesomeness that comes with that and the subsequent hurt that follows as that spirit is broken over and over again by the world was explored more.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[silentstyx]

MORE STANLEY URIS OR I WILL EXPLODE 🙏🙏

seduction and stutters

sum: "One of your characters is very flirty and overtly sexual and the other is shy and bumbling and awkward."

very very suggestive guys. also reader is female.

tw: heheh sex jokes lolz (this was a richie impression pls laugh), also i mention abuse AS A JOKE but just a lil tw (no but srsly guys #savestanleyhedoesntdeservethis)

best. couple. ever.

im so serious. hottest couple in town. bowser was also rejected by you, the hottest girl in town.

you guys are so couple goals. someone has come up to you two at least once and said "you guys are my favorite couple by the wayyy"

no no if your very flirty and overtly sexual you're childhood friends with none other than than richie 'trashmouth' tozier.

oooh and stanley does not love that you guys are best friends.

cos when you and rich are together you tease stan, then he hugs you to hide away, then he gets teased more. its a horrible cycle of abuse.

#savestanleyhedoesntdeservethis

but when you guys are alone he's so sweet and quiet, you guys just cuddle mostly.

he layed like on top of your boobs once and like he wasn't even doing it for perverted reasons, solely to be closer to you and your face

he moved to lay his head on the tops of your boobs, though they were completely covered with a shirt you couldn't but snicker.

"if you wanna touch 'em all you have to do is ask baby?" you say with a smug smirk

he turns red. red i tell ya. he is redder than a stop sign. he moves his head back to your arm and you burst out laughing.

poor boy just wanted to kiss you, stop playing with his emotions like this you cruel cruel woman.

you're mostly never nice to him, and he's always nice to you.

it's always one joke after another.

one time he tried to snap back... never again.

"mm since when are you such a prude?" you pout at him.

he sighs, "why are you literally richie? i didn't want to date him. i wanted to date a pretty girl that was nice to me."

you smile and your eyebrows are raised. he groaned immediately, going face first into your neck.

you laugh in response, your smile growing wider, "no no sweet boy, come out of hiding. what were you saying? you're dating richie? and you want to break up with him? does he know about this? i think i'm gonna tell him you're planning to break up with him, and trust me. it won't be a pretty sight."

he sighs and presses a peck to your neck, cheek, and lips, before going right back to your neck and shutting up.

you're usually only nice when you want something, are jealous, or sleepy.

contrary to popular belief i think he likes when you're jealous. it reminds him that you want him and as long as you don't get crazy he kinda enjoys it.

cos you get all pda and loving and say nice things to him that you normally wouldn't do.

but when that happens he has more hickeys soo.. ya win some ya lose some i guess.

yeah you had to buy him a real good concealer cos you like to leave hickeys but he doesn't like people seeing them...

so you taught him how to color correct and to use orange and then the concealer. sometimes foundation if it's real bad.

he lets you doodle on him wherever though.

someone asks him about the doodle?

"hey i like the drawings on your arm and hand. that flower is really pretty!" the girl in front of him said as she turned around in her desk. she was whispering so the teacher wouldn't hear but she had a big flirty smile on her face.

he smiled real smug and scoffed, "thanks yeah, my girlfriend drew it. uh, you might know her, it's [insert readers name]" and then he flipped her off.

no, no. your sweet boy wouldn't do that. that's just what you wanted him to do and what he thought to do in his mind. here's how it actually happened.

he did the weird awkward smile but its really line with your lips and said, "thanks."

sigh.

he's usually oblivious to flirting but sometimes people make it real obvi. when he knows he's just giving out one word responses. when he doesn't know he's just giving out one word responses.

babe he's real awkward what do you expect?

you're the only girl he's been able to have a good conversation with besides his mother.

no but don't let him being awkward and shy fool you. he is SO sassy.

if you make fun of him he eye rolls you. let's not forget canonly he unironically puts his hands on his hips.

this boy is so sassy. but also very very sweet.

even when you mess with you're still sweet to him every day when you guys get tired.

you both usually take naps together when you hang out. he wraps his arms around your hips and you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

anyways 9/10 boyfriend. -1 point because he's so sassy.

©️ silentstyx please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work with out my permission. thank you!

[annarobszombies]

The Early Days

StanXeno x Fem!Reader as high school friends turned lovers.

I have no regrets

Content warning: bullying, harassment, mild violence, smoking, suggestive

"Oh my God, have you seen the new girl?" It's almost cliche, the way the group of girls giggle over the latest hot school gossip.

"Right? I mean, come on with that outfit!"

They quiet when Stanley walks by, giggling for a whole new reason now. One girl twirls her hair around her finger, batting her eyelashes, but he just keeps moving. He had no interest in people like that, but that only seems to make them swoon over him more once he passes.

He makes a hard left, the school chemistry lab just ahead, with Xeno likely already inside.

"Yo," He says, throwing the door open. Several other science club students startle, but Xeno doesn't budge. He stands calmly, carefully mixing chemicals and noting the reactions.

"Stanley," Xeno says. "You made it."

"Uh-huh." Stanley kicks out a chair from a nearby table and drops himself into it.

The lab returns to its quiet bustle, the other students focusing again on their experiments and reports. Stanley idly glances around the room, watching each and every one of them for a moment before letting his gaze settle on Xeno.

Xeno's eyebrows are knitted tightly, his eyes entirely focused on the delicate chemicals. His gaze never wavers, his attention never strays.

"You see the new student today?" Stanley asks once he finally gets bored of watching Xeno drop one chemical into another at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Indeed. She and I share our third period computer science class together," Xeno says, voice soft as if he worried being too loud could ruin his experiment.

"Mm."

"And you, Stanley?"

"American Lit. Fifth period. She sits next to me."

"How lucky for her."

Stanley chuckles and rolls his eyes. He tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, toying with the lighter he hid within one of them. He was itching for a smoke, but the last time he got caught on campus he was threatened with suspension, which he couldn't afford right now.

The two fall once again into silence, but that wasn't uncommon. They'd known each other for so long that they rarely needed to talk too much about little nothings anymore. At most, Xeno may make a few idle comments about whatever he was testing, but any real conversation would likely wait until they were in Stanley's car on the way home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Um..."

Xeno's eyes lift, finding the source of the voice standing in front of him, anxiously gripping a notebook.

"Yes?" He asks. You shift your weight from foot to foot, the tips of your ears a cute pink.

"The teacher...said to work with a partner on the, uh, project she assigned?" You say it like a question, as if you weren't totally sure you were correct in what you'd been told.

"Ah, did she? I apologize, I wasn't listening." It was a lie, of course, he'd heard the instructions perfectly clearly. He was used to working mostly alone, so he was a bit surprised that you had approached him.

"Do...do you mind?" You ask, cheeks turning pink now. He can hear the sounds of some other girls giggling, the weight of their stares heavy on his shoulders. So, you'd been denied by everyone else, it seems.

"Of course not," He says, gesturing for you to take a seat by him. You let out a relieved sigh, grabbing a chair from a nearby desk and settling it across from him, gingerly setting your notebook down on the top of his desk. "We haven't yet met officially, my name is Xeno."

You tell him your name, smiling sheepishly when he repeats it carefully back to you.

"I look forward to working with you."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You dust your hands over your shirt, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Xeno had said to meet him in his club's classroom after school so that the two of you could go home together and work on your project, but you couldn't help feeling nervous.

Making friends in this new school had been really difficult, but he had been very nice to you the past few days, so you felt hopeful that you might be able to come out of this assignment with someone you could continue to talk to and maybe hang out with on weekends. But that relied on you not totally fucking this up and making him hate you on accident.

You start to reach for the door, jumping a little when it swings open from the inside.

"Oh," The young man who looks down at you is downright stunning. You'd seen him before, of course, he was your desk neighbor in your American Literature class. But this was the first time you'd heard his voice, the first time he'd actually paid you any attention. "Hey."

"Hi," You say softly. "I'm...looking for Xeno?"

"Inside," He says, brushing by you and heading down the hall, hands stuffed in his leather jacket pockets. He didn't strike you as the kind of person to be in the science club, but anything was possible.

Stepping inside the room, it's exactly what you expected. There are are several students inside, some in groups while some worked individually. Xeno stood at a desk in the front right corner, his back to you as you walk further in. He turns to glance at you when you softly call his name upon approach, offering you a kind smile.

"Give me one moment to finish this and we will leave shortly," He says, waving for you to come closer and sit in the chair that rested at his side. You decide to work on some homework while you wait, carefully balancing both a textbook and your notebook on your lap.

It takes about an hour for Xeno to finish what he's working on and clean his station, but soon enough he's giving you a gentle nudge and telling you it was time to go. He smiles when you scramble to pack your things up and throw your backpack over your shoulders.

"My friend Stanley will be driving us," He says, leading you from the room. "I hope you don't mind, he'll be sticking around for the rest of the day."

"That's fine!" You say, perhaps a little too eagerly. Xeno smiles again at you.

"Excellent," He says. You follow him through the halls, pausing at his locker long enough for him to transfer a few items to and from his bag, then out into the parking lot. He walks slightly ahead of you once you exit the doors, his pace picking up the moment you both hit fresh air.

He pauses at the edge of the sidewalk where parents would pick up students who didn't drive yet or ride the bus, but the two of you only wait about a minute and a half before a car whips around, stopping just in front of you. The passenger window slides down, and in the driver's seat, you see the beautiful boy from earlier leaning over the middle console to look at the two of you.

"Get in," He says. You note the cigarette between his teeth, wondering now if that was the reason he'd left in such a hurry.

Xeno opens the back door to deposit his bag, taking yours from you to do the same before telling you to sit up front.

"Don't worry," He says when you hesitate. "Stan doesn't bite."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stanley Snyder does, in fact, bite. He just doesn't bare his teeth until he has to.

You get comfortable around him pretty quickly, which seems to drive every girl in the school totally insane. Not that you could blame them, Stanley was objectively beautiful and ignored just about everyone.

On a typical day, he's calm-if not a bit lazy-and generally collected. He sticks close to Xeno, which means that as you and the young scientist get closer, he begins sticking to you as well. He talks to you in class now, leaning over to mumble bad jokes that make you laugh too hard to be ignored by the teacher.

But today was not your typical day.

You'd been on you way to meet Xeno and Stanley for your after school hangout and homework time, when you were cornered by a senior guy by your locker. He'd leaned against the lockers, grinning and proud at the way you startled at the sight of him. You tied to go around, but he moved to purposefully block you, keeping himself in front of you so that you couldn't break and run.

"I just wanna talk to you," He says.

"I really don't want to talk to you," You say, trying to scoot around him, only to fail yet again. You were getting frustrated and a little scared. Xeno and Stanley were waiting for you, you didn't want them to leave you behind just because some asshole wanted to make himself feel big.

"C'mon, you hang out with that science club freak and his pretty faced boytoy all the time, why don't you spend your day with someone else, huh?" He asks, reaching to make a grab for you. His words make you flush a bit in anger. Sure, you knew Stanley and Xeno were something (they weren't exactly subtle), but to have it thrown at your face as if it's a bad thing made you absolutely livid.

Who was this guy to talk about your friends that way? He didn't know them! How dare he!

"Don't talk about them like that!" You snap, just barely too slow to avoid the hand that clasps around your forearm. The boy in front of you scowls, his grip on your arm tightening to a bruising hold.

"Come hang with me, and I'll show you what a real man is," He sneers, making your face flush even hotter.

"I said no!"

"Don't be such a little prude-"

What happens next happens so fast that it takes far longer than it should for you to process. The boy holding to you is jerked backwards hard enough to force him to release you, though you also stumble forward a few steps at the sudden movement. Then, before you can blink, Stanley has him slammed into the floor. He stands over him, frighteningly calm despite the hard glare his golden eyes burn into your harasser.

"Pretty sure when a lady tells you no, you're supposed to back the fuck off," Stanley hisses, his voice dripping with sarcasm and anger.

You can't help jumping a little when those sharp eyes flit up to look at you, though you note how they soften at the sight of you're slightly shaking figure.

"You alright?" He asks. You nod quickly.

"Y-yeah, I'm good. Can we go?" You ask, taking a tentative step towards him.

"Course we can," He says, stepping back from the other boy and lifting an arm for you to tuck yourself under. He holds you against his side, escorting you without further issue outside to where Xeno had been left waiting.

You don't question where he goes after he and Xeno discover the hand-shaped bruise on your arm, nor do you question why that same boy comes to school several days later with two broken hands and a black eye.

Something inside you already knows that Stanley did it for you.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your relationship shifts suddenly one night after graduation.

The three of you are in your room, Xeno leaning against your pillows with a book in his hand while you sit in the middle of you bed, makeup strewn around you, and Stanley sits on the edge, leaned forward so you can paint his face as you see fit.

"Open," You say. Stanley huffs in amusement, parting his lips so that you can press the lipstick against his waiting mouth, swiping your favorite deep purple across his surprisingly soft looking lips.

"Now rub."

He hums, doing as instructed. You pick up a little pocket mirror and open it, handing it to him so that he can look at your handiwork.

"Not bad," He says, turning his head left and right to fully inspect his new face.

"The dark lips suit you, Stan," Xeno says, peering over his book to take a look for himself, earning an amused hum from Stanley.

Its in this moment that you realize how close Stanley had gotten. His face mere inches from yours, eyes heavy with...something. Something heavy, something wanting. It makes you flush and shuffle backwards on instinct alone.

Stanley follows, crawling after you, backing you up even further. He doesn't stop until you're literally in Xeno's lap, the other young man letting out a noise of annoyance and frustration.

"Must we do this now?" Xeno asks, letting his book fall to his side, his arms wrapping around your middle as if to guard you from Stanley, who pouts. It was always quite the sight to see, when his lower lip stuck out and his eyebrows furrowed like that.

"Don't act all innocent right now, Xee," Stanley says, smirking when both he and you notice that one of Xeno's hands has snuck under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips gingerly brushing over the soft skin of your side.

Your whole body feels warm, heart hammering in your chest. Weren't they partners? What was happening right now?

Stanley creeps closer, effectively sandwiching you between the two.

"Hey," He says, voice low. "Wanna make out?" His question flusters you just as much as Xeno's continuing touch. It felt so out of character for him, yet he still sounded so like himself.

You must nod, or agree in some other way, because before you know it, Stanley's lips are on yours, smearing his freshly done lipstick all over you. His tongue ends up in your mouth, and you suddenly become very aware of how much more experience he has.

He pulls back slightly, lips drifting from yours to press kisses to your cheeks and jaw while you pant softly. Both of Xeno's hands are up your shirt now, his wicked fingers making you shiver.

"What's the verdict?" Xeno murmus, pressing his own lips the soft spot between your neck and shoulder.

"Perfect," Stanley hums, sinking his teeth into your other shoulder, kissing the spot when you wince.

"Quite the conclusion you've come to," Xeno says, one hand sliding from your torso to your chin, turning your head as far as it would comfortably go to look back at him. "I think I'd like to give my own opinion, if I may."

"Okay," You breathe, drunk on all the attention.

Xeno's kiss is slower, more exploratory. He doesn't devour you, like Stanley had, but that doesn't change how good it was.

Both of them kissed you like they wanted you, like they'd wanted you for a while, and by the time the night ends, all three of you are covered in lipstick.

[ryusuisloveinterest]

hey girl!! it's been a while,

I've been having massive stanley brainrot, so may I request Stanley x Reader where reader is one of the scientists in the DARPA expo and was also one of the ones who revived by themselves. Reader and Xeno are like close colleagues and Stanley falls for reader??

Also, how do u feel abt dr stone season 4 coming out next year?! I'm sooo excited honestly!!

I’m so this took so long!!!! I’m loving season 4 so far and Stanley is cooking every time he’s on screen😩 I hope you like it and thank you for your patience bestie💕💕💕💕

Stanley x DARPA scientist reader💝

You’ve worked with Xeno countless times, on different assignments, experiments, and whatever else people at NASA do

Though it still took awhile for you to meet Stanley

I believe Xeno would keep his personal life to himself, keeping the line between his life and work very bolded

But one day he invited you to his house to work on some thing together or because he’s let you cross that line 

You both chat for a while with some tea and treats when some grumpyass soldier barges through the front door 

“Guess what they’re doin now Xeno??? They’re cutting down spending for my branch!! Not only that but my men are leaving left and right! That’s some utter bull-“ 

Stanley pauses when he sees you, his eyes in complete awe at the sight of you 

“Oh um pardon me…” he reaches his hand out for a handshake, “Lieutenant Stanley Snyder, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for that outburst.”

You giggle and introduce yourself as well, “it’s ok Lieutenant Snyder, the government doesn’t treat us that nicely at NASA either”

“Please, just call me Stanley”

Xeno gets the vibe REAL QUICK

He’ll quickly say something like, “oh I need to use the restroom,” or “I’ll go prepare more tea” and just leaves you with Stanley 

After that you’ll see Stanley appear around the office more and more

“Oh sorry y/n I didn’t mean to bug you. Xeno’s office is right around the corner so I thought I’d come say hi”

Xeno’s office is halfway across the building💀

That brings us to the DARPA meeting

Everyone’s discussing the birds and stone and idk what else they talked about lol

But a small break is held

Stanley gives you a drink while you two talk about random things

“Say y/n, maybe after all this shit is over, me and you can go have a little drink together, my treat. What do you think?”

“You better be the one paying, since you’re asking me out~”

A smile breaks out of the soldier

BUT THEN A MYSTERIOUS BIG GREEN LIGHT POPS OUT OF NOWHERE AND EVERYONE GETS TURNED TO STONE😛

3700 years pass when you’re randomly awakened 

You walk around and immediately get a gun to your back

Without fear, you giggle and say, “is this your idea of a first date Stanley?”

His cool helmet falls off and you see the man you’ve waited 3700 years for

He kisses your forehead

“I’ll be sure to make it up to you with much better dates doll~”

You two waste no time in starting to date

Ofc Xeno still need a help working to rebuild, so during the day everyone focuses on working and rebuilding the modern world 

But as soon as the day’s over or works all done, yours his and his ONLY

Like I’m talking bodies constantly touching (whether it’s hand holding, sitting on his lap, cuddling, other things👀)

Always talking to each other, whether it’s deep or not is up to you two

Tries to take you on whatever dates you can in the stone world (dinners, stargazing, crafts, etc.)

While he might cut Xeno off on some of his science rants, but he’d never do that to you 

“Sorry if I’m talking a lot Stanley, I’ll stop it you-“

“No I like your voice, way better than Xeno’s.”

Overall 1000/10 would recommend 

[darlingdaisyfarm]

I need Stan and Ford's reactions to being cat-called by the reader. Who whistles and flirts back, who gets shy and drops whatever he's holding? Who can't stop blushing like a fool and who starts strutting more because a hottie couldn't contain themselves? We gotta fluster these senior citizens!!!!

yahoo i love this !! yeah let's make these old men shyy

Stanley!!

he needs it, i tell ya. . . there’s no delicate way to put it. Stanley, bless his grumbling, gold-toothed heart, is starved for that kind of affection. of course he’ll roll his eyes and toss back a “real mature, sweetheart” when you whistle from across the mystery shack parking lot as he bends down to haul smth heavy, he’ll absolutely act like you’re being inappropriate, but did you see that little smirk he tries to bite down??? yep

and i think it’s doubled in intensity when it’s you, his closest person, the one he lets fold into his arms after hours. early in the relationship, yeah, he might bark out a sarcastic “hey! hands off the merchandise!” if you swat his ass, heheh. he’ll turn red all the way down his neck, curse under his breath, maybe try to walk away, grumbling what a little pervert you are. but later on, he slaps you back, maybe even an exaggerated “you missed, try again, sweetheart.” he’s thrilled to be wanted by you, desired. that kind of attention makes him shine. you want him? oh, he’ll give you a show. struts more. flexes more. suddenly that tank top that was “just comfortable” is riding a bit higher than usual. he’ll even ask you if you noticed he shaved that morning, and if you didn’t, well, he’ll drag your hand across his jawline and make damn sure you do.

so yes, this man eats it up. eats it up like a free buffet on a lonely thursday. try to whistle at him from across the porch, call him “handsome”, he’s immediately puffing up like an old tomcat in the sun, grinning so hard it damn near splits his face open. hand goes to his belt buckle, like yeah baby take a good look, chin tipping up a little, flashing you his teeth. im sure he’d say some shit like, “don’t start what ya can’t finish, toots.” except he wants you to start it. Stan wants your eyes crawling all over him like ants on honey. and then he’d throw the flirt back at you tenfold

oh but Ford. darling Ford. im sure flustering this man is too easy, and yet the results are so devastatingly rewarding it feels illegal.

so. . . he’s used to being praised for intellect, research. for what his mind can do. im sure lots of people have called him a genius, smart guy, pioneer, marvel. but his sweetheart, you're the only one who dares to whistle when he walks in wearing a slightly newer shade of his sweater. you lean against the shack’s front desk and coo, “oh wow, Ford. . . that color looks good on you. brings out your eyes.” and he’s gone. freezes. literally.

he drops what he’s holding, a mug, a stack of journals, some weird thing from his lab. the sound is loud and so is the color blooming across his cheeks. he stammers smth, possibly denies it even happened, before adjusting his collar and looking anywhere but at you <3

or he does that tight awkward laugh. might even scold you gently, all “really now, that’s hardly appropriate behavior”

but the thing is, HE LOVES IT. he may not know how to receive it, might fumble his words or hide behind a chalkboard, but inside he’s absolutely losing it. FANGIRLING. burning up. scrawling equations in the margins of his notebook that are just your name and a hundred question marks ehehhe

and if you keep calling him pet names, “handsome, genius, baby, sweetheart,” especially in casual, teasing tones while you’re working side by side, oh it makes him aware of his body in a way he never was before. and suddenly, he’s thinking about whether his clothes fit right. whether you noticed the new belt or boots. whether you like how he smells (stinks)

eventually, you’ll catch him fishing for compliments, but it'll be so damn awkward because guys c'mon it's STANFORD PINES. he'll be standing at doorways a little longer, making sure you see him, brushing his hair back before he enters a room. waiting all excited and nervous, silently begging. and if you whistle again, he might groan and say “oh, please,” but his fingers curl and his jaw flexes and you know he’s actually soaked in that affection

so yeah he tries to act unfazed, keeping his notes in order. but an hour later he’s bringing you tea with shaking hands and saying “so. . . you think my hair’s nice like this?” like you didn’t just fry his nervous system an hour ago with one whistle and a wink

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“Perpetual care” platonic!(Nandor x reader)

Requested by @sleeplessdreamer14

Word Count: 2,209 words

Age Restrictions: 16+ (vulgar language)

Tags: Fluff, crack, platonic, parent-child dynamic

Synopsis: Your dear friend Guillermo accidentally finds out that you are related to a certain ruler of Al Qoulnudar and he’s dying to meet you.

Author’s note: I’m an energy vampire, except I get my energy from people who request platonic fics for this account >:) Thank you so much, made my day

________________________________________

“Yeah, but the Stan that we knew the whole show, wasn’t the real Stan. The real Stan was the Stan, that came out of the portal. So this Stan is Stanford, but the Stan, who we thought to be Stanford, was actually Stanley.” You ranted, walking down the damp streets of Staten Island beside your old college friend.

“Okay, okay, [reader], I promise, I’ll watch Gravity Falls someday.” Guillermo said, still unable to process the lore you’ve been trying so hard to explain the entire time. He noticed the mailman on Ashley street out of the corner of his eye. “Go right, I need to grab the mail, before werewolves tear it apart.”

“Right now?” You grimaced.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” He crossed the road and you trailed behind him, hesitating slightly.

“I don’t know… Your house gives me the creeps ever since you told me about your, uh, ‘employers’. I’d rather live to my 40s, you know?” The half-joking tone of your statement made Guillermo chuckle.

“Don’t worry, they don’t harm the people, who are close to me. Plus, it’s way too early for them to be awake. The sun is barely set and they usually don’t get up until I wake them.” He shrugged and strolled towards the big, dark building.

“Should’ve brought my crucifix…” you mumbled.

The sky got darker and darker, as you finally approached your destination. The house seemed to tower over you, like an angry giant. It wasn’t that big, but it sure looked that way to you, since you knew what kind of creatures inhabited it. You instinctively stood closer to Guillermo than you usually would.

The familiar glanced into the mailbox and pulled out a few envelopes. Bills, some r-rated magazine Laszlo is subscribed to, grocery store ad and a mysterious envelope labelled ‘AncestryDNA’. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, distracting you from the thoughts about your current location.

“Man, I did this one too a few months ago! It’s kinda useless to be honest, it’s not like I’ll contact any of the people I’m related to at 0.01%.” You chuckled. “But it was fun. Had no idea there were so many nationalities in my family.”

“Oh, that’s great! I did one for me and Nandor. He was feeling a bit down recently, ever since he found out that his country Al Quolnudar no longer exists, so I thought letting him know about his relatives would… cheer him up.” He smiled.

“Aw, that’s so cute.” You said, then remembered that it’s a bloodthirsty vampire he’s talking about. Guillermo started walking towards the front door. “Wait, wait, wait! Where are you going?”

“To leave the mail inside, it’ll be a second.” He reassured you.

“Come on, man. Don’t leave me here alone.” You looked around. You weren’t sure if you trusted the night sky anymore. Anything could be around. Werewolves? Witches? Other vampires?

“Then come in with me. It’s alright.” Guillermo reached out his hand and you unwillingly took it, following him inside.

The inside of the house was beautiful and perfectly preserving of the many ancient relics, that seemed to litter every shelf. Your friend truly did a great job at keeping the house pristine. You barely made two steps inside, when you saw an unfamiliar woman descending down the staircase. She was ravishing, but seemed rather annoyed.

“Oh, there you are! Where the hell have you been?” She growled at Guillermo. You mentally noted her unique accent.

“Just out. I didn’t expect you to be up so early, Nadja.” He replied calmly, seemingly used to this treatment.

“Early? It’s 11pm for Sire’s sake! Barely woke up for the midnight snack.” The man looked at his watch, realising that he did in fact loose track of time with you. Meanwhile, Nadja’s gaze travelled to you. “Oh, I see you brought a treat. Well, maybe I can forgive you this one time.”

The woman smiled and suddenly disappeared into thin air. There was a moment of sheer confusion, when you wondered if your brain was playing tricks on you. Out of nowhere, a pair of cold hands grabbed your shoulders in a matter of seconds.

“Nadja, wait!” Guillermo shouted, barely turning around in time and you felt the vampire’s fangs stop inches away from your throat. “They’re not a snack, they’re my friend. I just needed to… Uhm…show them something in my room.” He tried to make up an excuse for you being in the house.

“Why the hell would you bring a random human into our house?!” Her voice roughened.

“Look. I’m sorry, Nadja. But you know I would never bring anyone dangerous into the house. They know about vampires and they’re not a vampire slayer. Trust me, they’re harmless.” He pleaded.

Nadja scoffed and looked at you once again, as if contemplating killing you, before leaving completely. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in the first place, still very much shaken by the sudden near death experience.

“Did she just teleport behind me?!” You whisper-yelled.

“Yeah, they can do that.” He whispered back. “Sorry, I thought they’d be aslee-“

He couldn’t finish his talk, before a loud voice echoed through the walls: “Guillermo! The lid is stuck again!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I have to deal with that.” He ran up the stairs immediately.

“Wait up!” You followed.

You reached a wooden door with a golden knob. The familiar turned around to you, overthinking the plan for a few seconds, until he finally spoke up.

“Okay, you stay here. I’ll go help Master. Then when we come out, I’ll introduce you. If you meet anyone in the hallway, just come inside the room. Unless it’s Colin Robinson. Got it?” He let out in one breath.

“Wait, I-“ But it was too late and he already closed the door behind him.

The hallway was quiet. Even too quiet. You looked around, when another new face appeared from around the corner. A man, dressed very fanciful and rich. He smiled at the sight of you and you noticed his fangs right away.

“Ah, lunch!” He exclaimed and before you could ran inside the room next to you, the voice of Nadja interrupted the ordeal.

“It’s not food, Laszlo! It’s Guillermo’s friend.” She said, in an evidently displeased voice.

“Oh, pardon me then. Laszlo Cravensworth.” He extended his hand and you shook it.

“[reader]. Nice to meet you.”

“I like your grip, [reader]. Nice and firm. Tell me, are you Gizmo’s friend or friend?”

“I, uh…” You observed Laszlo’s face and he seemed absolutely serious. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Finally, the door swung open, revealing a tall, rather intimidating man. He looked at Laszlo and nodded, greeting him and the other vampire answered accordingly. His soothing voice, made you a bit less scared, but his fangs made it very hard to calm down.

“Ah, so this is [reader]?” He glanced at Guillermo and pointed in your direction, to which the familiar nodded. “Greetings, [reader]. I am Nandor the Relentless. They call me that because I don’t relent.” You could tell, he’s really forcing himself to be nice to you.

“Nice to meet you, mr. Relentless.” A nervous smile painted your face.

There was a beat of incredibly awkward silence, that felt simultaneously like a nice break and a staring contest. Finally, Guillermo broke it.

“Well, let’s go check that DNA test while we’re at it?” He suggested.

“I suppose that is a good idea.” Nandor agreed and you simply nodded along, now getting way too intrigued by this situation.

Downstairs, the three of you desperately tried to fit in Guillermo’s tiny space under the stairs, which didn’t seem like adequate living conditions, but you bit back the urge to bring this up. He punched the code on the envelope into their site and watched the loading screen for a few seconds until it showed you the result.

“Master, it says here, you are 70% Persian, 15% Kurd, 10% Turkmen and 5% Kazakh.” The vampire seemed to have a bunch of questions about this ratio, but before he could ask any, Guillermo continued. “And we can check if you have any living relatives, would you want to see that?”

Nandor’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, as he moved closer to the computer, sandwiching you between the two of them as if personal space is not a thing. “Relatives? Yes, yes, go on…”

The familiar clicked to the next folder on the site and it showed a ridiculously high number. More than three hundred thousand people. All of you remained in a state of collective shock.

“I’m a granddad?” Nandor looked at the screen in awe.

“Yes. Yes, you are.” The familiar choked out, unsure if he wants to delve into the implications of this amount of descendants. “Look how much you’ve got in the US alone.” He pointed at the map.

“All of these dots… They are my grandkids?” He squinted his eyes a bit to distinguish them better.

“Yeah! Well, some of them might be your grand nieces and nephews or something.” You chimed in.

“Oh, no. I killed my siblings before they could procreate.” He shrugged and you couldn’t tell whether it was a joke or not. “Are there any in Staten Island?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s see.” Guillermo zoomed in on the particular area of New York. “Yeah, look! Over here.” He pointed at the address, funnily enough, it was your street. What a coincidence.

Guillermo clicked on the dot in Staten Island, which revealed the profile of Nandor’s supposed relative. A picture with a familiar face popped up. Your face. With a caption: [reader], born [_], ethnicity [_] and so on. All the information you filled out, when taking the test. Both heads suddenly turned to you.

“Is that you?” Nandor asked, already knowing the answer, but needing confirmation nonetheless.

You nodded shakily and let out a nervous chuckle. “Wow… wouldn’t have ever guessed I had a vampire grandpa.”

His smile grew wide with an uncharacteristic gentleness, as if he was genuinely happy to have you here. This felt weird. Just a second ago you saw this man as a terrifying bloodthirsty lunatic and now he’s apparently your ancestor. You weren’t sure how to act, so you awkwardly excused yourself, saying something about it being late and having work tomorrow, before practically sprinting out of the vampire residence.

You spent the night, pondering over the idea of reconnecting with your relentless grandpa. You weren’t sure if it was a sense of pity, sympathy, morbid curiosity or all at once, but the idea didn’t seem half bad. After all, he was the only one who hadn’t tried to kill you, which was a low bar to cross, but it was still crossed and that is taken into account.

The next day, you were getting ready to confront the vampire for the second time, to see if he’s down for a small family reunion. But as you opened the front door of your apartment, you saw Nandor and Guillermo standing outside, both looking a bit worried.

“Oh, hi! I was just about to go visit you.” You stated bluntly. The door opened wider to let both of them in. The familiar stepped inside, but the vampire just remained standing there. “Uhm, come on in.”

Only then did he come into the space and take a sit in your armchair.

“So I brought a present for you.” Nandor smiled in excitement and pulled out a little plush toy from a paper bag he had. “We made this at Build-a-Bear. If you press its paw it recites the warrior’s code in Farsi. I recorded it myself.” He handed it to you with almost childish giddiness and you couldn’t help but feel affectionate towards the gift. Unconventional, but sincere.

“Aw, thank you so much.” You held it close. “That’s very nice.”

“All the best for my grandkids.” He nodded.

“Maybe we should get to know each other better?” You suggested, sitting down on your bed.

“Yes, of course!” He tried to think of a good conversation topic. “Uhh… Thoughts on arson?”

“Hot.” You replied without thinking.

“I like you already.” He laughed a bit too loud for a mediocre joke.

The rest of the nighttime was spent with the two of you talking and doing dumb shit inside your apartment (Guillermo was just there for emotional support and because Nandor wanted him to stay). You found Nandor’s inability to spend more than 15 seconds pondering an idea and his earnest desire to connect with you, despite the generational rift very admirable and actually grew to like him. Of course, it would take much longer than several hours for you to fully start considering him family, but you’re willing to put in the work and so is he.

When it was time for both of your guests to leave, you shared a long heartfelt hug with your newfound relative.

“Goodbye, grandpa.” You said without much thinking.

“Grandpa?” He asked.

“Oh, sorry. Too early? Goodbye, Nandor.” You corrected yourself right away.

“No. Grandpa’s fine.” The vampire returned in a slightly shaky voice.

You weren’t sure, but you might’ve seen tears form in his eyes. Though you’ll probably never find out…

(PS: he did cry)

[senipsenipsenip]

Stan shook his head, chuckling as he hung up the phone. Geez, if he hadn't put a stop to that he was pretty sure his nephew was going to overheat and explode like one of Ford's old computers. Speaking of, he should probably make sure the fire extinguisher down in the lab wasn't expired if Ford and Dipper were gonna be messing around down there the rest of the summer.

Eh, that was a tomorrow problem. Dipper was still up in the attic with Mabel unpacking for another summer in Gravity Falls. Hopefully that meant Stan had at least twenty-four hours until the nerds started blowing stuff up. Mabel and Dipper's parents had seemed surprised the twins wanted another summer with their Grunkle Stan. After all, they were teenagers now, Stan couldn't blame their parents for expecting the two of them to want to spend a summer with kids their own age in California rather than an old fart in the middle of the woods. Well, two old farts, but their parents didn't know about the second one. Besides, Ford would probably object to being called a fart. He'd probably complain that's not the proper term Stanley, if anything I'm an old flatulence.

Stan shuddered. Man, he musta been on that boat with his brother for too long.

"GRUNKLE STAAAAAAAAAN!"

Speaking of the kids. Stan grunted as he hefted himself out of his armchair and made his way up the stairs toward the attic. There hadn't been any sound of breaking glass before Mabel's call, so he figured he could take his time getting up there. He heard a loud thump, a groan from Dipper, and a loud giggle from Mabel. Okay, maybe he should walk a little faster.

"There you are!" Mabel called. Stan stood in the doorway, staring at both of his niblings sprawled out on the floor, a half-rolled poster laying between them and a hammer still clutched in Mabel's hands.

"Dipper's trying to hang up this poster, but he's still not tall enough. I tried climbing on his back, but I guess he still hasn't gotten his puberty muscles yet." Mabel scrambled up and ran to Stan, holding out the hammer in front of her. "Can you do it?"

"I do too have muscles," Dipper grumbled, sitting up. "But no one can expect to hold up the forty pounds of sequins on your sweater and your giant head!"

Mabel stuck her tongue out at her brother. Stan laughed and took the hammer from her, ruffling her hair.

"No sweat, Pumpkin. Let a real man take over." He couldn't ignore the way Mabel's smile grew wider at the nickname. It had been almost a year since Stan got his memories back, but it seemed any little reminder that he was recovering still made his family happy. It was weird, in a good way, to see people care about him so much. And if he made sure to call Mabel by her nicknames even more than her real name, well sue him.

"You could just get me a stepladder," Dipper grumbled, shuffling to his feet.

"Ugh, then I gotta walk all the way back downstairs," Stan picked up a bent nail off the floor. "I'll just get it over with now. Besides, then Mabel can whip us up some lemonade while I work."

"Ooooo can I make Mabel-ade?"

Stan shrugged. "Sure, knock yourself out."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mabel was squealing and running down the stairs. In the silence, Stan shifted on his feet, giving Dipper an awkward sideways glance.

"I haven't...had Mabel-ade before, have I?" he whispered.

Dipper smiled. "Nah, don't worry. That's a whole new horror you get to experience first hand."

Stan chuckled. "Right." He made his way to the wall, squinting at the wooden beams to try and figure out where he could safely sink a nail in. It's not like the place was structurally unsound, but he also hadn't had any sort of building inspection in uh...ever.

"So," Dipper started. "Why'd you want Mabel out of the room?"

Stan smiled. "Perceptive. Good job, kid." He lined up the nail on the beam that had the least amount of termite holes. "You're not in trouble, just wanted to warn ya. Speaking of 'puberty muscles', your Pops called. Apparently he thinks you still haven't had The Talk yet. He told me to keep an eye on ya and that he'd explain everything when you get home."

Stan slipped the edge of the poster under the nail, resting his elbow against the poster to hold it in place while he started hammering.

"Had himself all worked up over it. 'Oh Uncle Stanford, Dipper's a teenager now, he might start to get ideas'," Stan laughed as he finished hammering. "So just, ya know, when you see him pretend I didn't tell ya about the birds and the bees already or anything. Some dads get weird about that. Apparently, he wants to be the one to tell you himself." Stan put his hands on his hips and admired his handy-work. A little crooked, but what wasn't in this place? He nodded and turned to Dipper, who was looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

"But...Grunkle Stan, you didn't have that talk with me," he murmured.

"Ha! There ya go," Stan grinned, punching Dipper on the shoulder. "You're gettin' better at lyin' kid."

"But I'm not lying."

"Wow, I almost believed you that time!"

"No, Grunkle Stan," Dipper grabbed Stan's hand before he could leave the room. Stan looked down at Dipper and realized the boy's face had turned from confusion to distress. "You really didn't."

Stan frowned. "Whaddya mean I didn't? Don't tell me you forgot. I still remember having that talk with my old man." He shuddered. "Not the sorta thing you forget."

Dipper gripped his arm tighter. "How well do you remember having that conversation with me?

"Kid, you were making a face like I was about to pull your teeth out the whole time and you screamed, like, a lot. You couldn't even look at the diagrams in my Why Am I Sweaty? book."

"Grunkle Stan...none of that happened."

Stan froze. "But I remember it."

Dipper gently pulled the hammer out of Stan's hand and set it on the ground before grasping his other hand. "Have you...has this happened before?"

"Has what?" Stan could feel his heart rate picking up.

"Remembering things that aren't real."

"Alright kid, whatever joke this is, it isn't funny." Stan ripped his hands from Dipper's hold, rubbing them against his pants as his eyes darted around the room. An old habit. Looking for an exit.

Dipper held up his hands as if approaching a wild animal. "Stay calm. I can get Ford, maybe he can help figure this out. Maybe the memory gun just...um..."

"Just what?" Stan could feel his voice going shrill. "That gun was supposed to take stuff out of my head, not put stuff in!"

Dipper was beginning to look as panicked as Stan felt.

"Oh God," Stan muttered. "What else did it put in there. Dipper? What else isn't real?"

"This is the first time!" Dipper began to pace. "Unless...has Great Uncle Ford said anything? On the boat, did anything like this happen? This conversation?"

Stan shook his head, his breathing starting to feel funny. "No. But apparently asking me to remember stuff isn't exactly trustworthy - "

"He would have told me," Dipper said with certainty. "Great Uncle Ford would have told me if something happened. So it didn't. So this is the first time and, and, and, we can fix it! Right?"

Stan just stared at Dipper. They shared the same frightened eyes. For Dipper's sake, Stan nodded.

"MABEL-ADE IS READY! YOU WERE OUT OF CHERRIES, SO I USED MARBLES!"

Dipper and Stan glanced towards the stairs.

"Let's get you something to drink first," Dipper muttered, walking slowly towards Stan to take his hand again. "Then we can figure everything out."

"Sure, kid," Stan whispered. He didn't let go of Dipper's hand until they reached the kitchen.

***

They decided it was best not to tell Mabel. After all, it didn't seem like the sort of problem that the scrapbook could solve, and it wasn't worth causing her distress until they knew what they were dealing with. Instead, Dipper had been tasked with distracting Mabel while Ford and Stan commiserated in the kitchen. Stan really wasn't sure how good of a job they were doing of fooling Mabel. She had given him a weird look when he gave the kids money to go get ice cream in town. He couldn't blame her. He'd even thrown in a couple quarters so she could get sprinkles.

"Didn't Dipper mention some sort of brain scanner?" Stan offered. "I don't really like the idea of you poking around in there, but would it help?"

Ford shook his head. He was pacing the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. "No. Project Mentem is broken. And even if I were to fix it, all I could do with it is see and or encrypt your memories. There would be no way for me to discern what's true and what's false since your mind interprets all of them as true." He stopped his pacing to take another swig of his Mabel-ade. Stan liked to give Ford grief about his coffee intake, but at this rate he'd be willing to let Ford have a couple cups of Joe if it meant he'd stop ingesting whatever sour, spicy, glittery drink Mabel was trying to pass off as lemonade. He was pretty sure Ford's eyes were starting to shake.

"So, you had no memory of this talk with Dipper until your phone call with his father?"

"Right."

"And when the memory returned, did it feel like the rest of them? Think hard, was there any difference in sensation?"

Stan shook his head. "Nope. The same sort of itch I always get."

Ford hummed. "Fiddleford told me once that some of his returning memories would get scrambled. Two puzzle pieces fitting together that shouldn't. For example, he swore there was a Christmas that I spent with him and Emma Mae, but it turned out he was combining his memories of Christmas with her with our own holiday celebration in the lab. Can you think of any other conversation with Dipper you could be mixing up? Anyone else you would have been having that conversation with other than Dipper? Perhaps your mind replaced your real conversation partner with Dipper?"

Stan frowned. "You think I just go talkin' about the birds and the bees with everybody?"

"Stan, just think."

He shrugged. "The only people I talk to who would even be young enough for that would be Soos or Wendy. There's no way I woulda given that talk to a girl, and I'm pretty sure Soos's abuelita woulda ripped me a new one if I had done anything to take away Soos's 'innocence'. I have enough self-preservation not to do that."

Ford nodded. "Alright. I feel comfortable with that reasoning." He took another swig of Mabel-ade. "However, then we're dealing with the more uncomfortable reality of the memory being completely fabricated."

"If you keep drinking that stuff, you're gonna start hallucinating too."

Ford's glass slammed down onto the table. "You've been having hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, not that I know of at least. Have I been?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Alright, then no."

Ford sighed and sat down in the chair across from Stan. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table and hands clasped together.

"I don't like hearing you do that," Ford murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Doubting your mind." Ford looked up to Stan, his eyes that horrible mix of calculating and pitiful that tended to appear these days.

Stan shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? We know I'm just making stuff up now. Heck, if Mabel didn't have pictures of all the crazy stuff we got up to last summer I'd probably think that was made up too."

Ford's eyes narrowed. "Hm. That might work."

"The scrapbook?"

"No, physical stimulus." Ford stood from the table again. "You said that when you had this conversation with Dipper you used a book to show him diagrams and such, correct?"

"Yeah. Why Am I Sweaty?"

Ford blinked. "You still have that thing?"

"Ma mailed it up back when she was cleaning out the house. She said she had a whole bunch of 'old science books' she thought her 'little scientist' might want before she donated 'em. I said I'd take 'em 'cause I was hoping some of them would be able to help with the portal. Turns out it was just a bunch of textbooks I stole from the high school and that thing. Came in handy though." Stan shrugged. "Maybe."

"Where is it?"

"If it wasn't destroyed it's probably still in my office. Why?"

Ford left the room without a word, coat billowing behind him. Stan took the opportunity to dump the rest of Ford's drink down the sink. He had a hunch he was about to have the full attention of a scientist on him for awhile and he'd prefer if that scientist wasn't vibrating like a beehive.

"Here we are!" Ford announced as he entered the room. "As I was saying, a physical stimulus might -" he stopped, staring at his glass. "My drink."

Stan shrugged. "I got thirsty."

Ford squinted at him. "Hm. Try looking through the pages of this. Maybe it will help ground you."

"But, won't that just make the fake memory more real?" Stan asked, flipping through the pages. The Pituitary Gland.

"That!" Stan shouted, pointing at the diagram. "Dipper screamed at that!"

Ford frowned. "That seems unlike him."

Stan groaned, dropping the book and putting his head in his hands. "I know but...I swear I can see it Ford. It feels so real."

Stan could hear the sound of Ford getting out of his chair, and there was suddenly a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out, Stanley," he said softly.

"I just don't get why my brain would choose that memory to make," Stan mumbled through his hands. "Not that I want a buncha fake memories, but I could have at least come up with something cooler. Like winning a prize fight or kissing a mermaid or something."

Ford chuckled. "Well, I - " he was interrupted by the sound of the Shack door slamming open, frantic footsteps racing toward the kitchen. Stan lifted his head from his hands, leaning back to adopt a more nonchalant position in his chair. Ford gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel burst into the kitchen, two small paper cups in her hands. "The ice cream lady said I could have two free samples, so I got two old people flavors! They're melted, but you can drink them. Who wants Butter Pecan and who wants Rum Raisin?"

Dipper shuffled in behind her, Mabel's enthusiasm waning as she took in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you guys not like those flavors?"

Stan turned to look at Ford, who had that pinched look around his eyes again.

"Mabel," Ford said gently. "Maybe you should sit down. We have something to -"

He was interrupted by a scream. Mabel had dropped the ice cream cups on the floor, leaving two splats that Waddles wasted no time in beginning to lick up. Stan sat up quickly in his chair.

"Sweetie, what - " before he could complete his sentence, Mabel had grabbed Why Am I Sweaty? and hurled it through the open kitchen window.

"Die childhood killer, die!" she shrieked. She stood huffing for a few more moments, eyes slightly crazed, before straightening up and looking towards the floor.

"Awwww piggy cream!" she cooed, squatting down to pat Waddles' head.

Dipper was the first to break the silence. "Mabel...what was that?"

She glared at Stan from the floor. "An evil book. Is that why you wanted us out of the house? So you could trap us with that horrible book when we got back?"

"You know that book?" Ford asked.

Mabel shuddered. "Ugh, unfortunately. Why do you even wanna read that thing again? It's not like it's hard to forget. Unless..." she frowned. "Were you...showing it to Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford, do you not know where babies come from?"

"No, I am well acquainted with a variety of human and alien reproductive systems." This time it was Stan's turn to shudder.

Ford reddened. "Not like that!"

"Wait, Mabel, you read Why Am I Sweaty?" Dipper asked. He looked to Stan, who was beginning to look green around the gills.

"You're the one I read that to?" Stan asked hoarsely. "But that's...that's not for you! I thought I read that to Dipper, you're telling me that I read that to...What?!"

Mabel slowed her petting of Waddles, beginning to look sheepish. "Well...you didn't know it was me. You thought I was Dipper."

Stan's mouth hung open. "Are you telling me my brain was swiss cheese before the memory gun?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," Dipper groaned, slapping his hand against his head. "That was during the whole carpet thing wasn't it."

Mabel nodded.

"Carpet thing?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," Mabel began to scritch under Waddles' chin. "That carpet from your secret room. It made everybody switch bodies. I was Dipper for awhile and he was me. Soos was Waddles and Waddles was Soos!" Mabel grinned, holding up Waddles to stand on two legs. "Just look at this adorable little former handyman!"

"I was also Waddles," Dipper admitted. "A lot of people were a lot of people. McGucket tried to eat Soos."

Ford frowned. "Soos as Waddles?"

Dipper and Mabel shared a look.

"Never mind all that," Mabel offered, smiling tightly. "Let's talk about why Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were talking about puberty. Do old people do it twice or something?"

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "We weren't talking about puberty, we were talking about a memory Stanley had of discussing puberty with Dipper. Which Dipper thought wasn't real. Now we know why."

Stan raised his hand. "I would now like to pivot the discussion to Ford not leaving his experiments lying around where small children can find them."

"Wait!" Mabel gasped. "Does this mean that Dipper hasn't had the talk yet?" She leapt to her feet. "Because Mom gave me the girl one when we got home last summer! Does this mean I know the girl one and the boy one and Dipper knows none of them?"

Dipper sighed. "Mabel, I've seen nature documentaries."

Mabel whooped. "I know more about something than Dipper! Like, an actual science thing!"

"Mabel, I still know about - "

"Oh yeah?" Mabel reached into her skirt pocket. "Then what's this then?" With a wicked grin she slapped a bright pink wrapper covered in stars onto the kitchen table. Stan slapped his hands over his eyes. Ford's face went slack. Dipper grimaced.

"Mabel...I share a bathroom with you, I know what a pad is."

Ford cleared his throat. "They certainly," he coughed. "They certainly have changed a lot in the past thirty years."

Mabel frowned. "Were the old ones in black and white?"

Stan groaned. "Can we skip ahead to the part where Sixer burns that carpet and we all celebrate that I'm not actually losing my mind?"

Mabel wrapped her arms around Stan, pulling him into a big hug. "Of course! I'll go grab the lighter fluid!" And with that she fled from the room, snatching the pad off the table as she went. Stan lifted his head from his hands and the three Pines men stared at each other awkwardly.

"Well," Ford clapped his hand back on Stan's shoulder. "Another mystery solved."

Dipper nodded. "Sorry to freak you guys out like that. I don't know how I didn't think about the whole 'body swap' thing earlier."

Stan hefted himself up from the table. "No sweat, kid. Er." The three of them turned to the window where Gompers could be seen chomping away at the pages of Why Am I Sweaty?

They turned to each other. A silent agreement was made. Stan grabbed the popsicles out of the freezer and they began to file out of the kitchen, ready to meet Mabel at the fire pit to send that carpet back to Hell where it belonged. If there was anything they'd learned from last summer, it was that some knowledge was best left hidden.

AN: Sequel to this and this! I may or may not manage to get another one done by the end of Stanuary tomorrow (probably not), but either way, thanks for joining me!

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Oof, just realized in the Count Nikola au (gonna keep finding names for cat vampires) when his mom calls him saying that Stan has gone missing, his first reaction probably isn't going to be anger.

It's going to be panic. Because there is a very real threat spreading in the world, and Stanley, as Fords twin, is a very real target. (And as a homeless loaner, but Ford doesn't know that).

Stan's just there cringing because while vampires still aren't real and he's perfectly fine (albeit a cat), he was kidnapped by Ford's crazy stalker for a bit, so maybe Ford's panic has a point.

Count Nikola is an amazing name. You know people call Stan that here. It's purrfect.

And you're so right. Ford here's Stan's missing and immediately freaks. The reason he didn't look for Stan in the first place was because he didn't want to draw his brother into his life or draw attention to the fact he had a twin at all, so Stan being missing means it was all for nothing and stans in danger and Ford has no idea where he is and there's a beast and Bill and-!

But he's got a whole network now to help him, and Nikola the vampire cat might have been the beast all along. There's no sign of Stan in Bills clutches, but the vampire lord could be biding his time, waiting to use Stan against him.

Which Bill already did? He's very put out that Ford keeps yelling at him about Stan but is too embarrassed to admit that not only did he turn Stan on accident he also lost him. Keeps making vague statements that could mean anything then whipping around when Fords gone and screaming at his underlings to find Stan so he doesn't look like an idiot in front of his future husband.

And Stan's just chillin there, cringing at all the vampire rp used to disguise everyone's blantent blood lust. Sure Fords in a murder cult and Bills in a rival one but can't they just slaughter each other like normal people and drop the vampire part? It's messed up enough already, and the fact that the vamp cultists are willing to bite a cat is so goddamn weird.

Also worrisome that he was briefly held captive and traumatized by the leader of a murder cult. Stan got lucky there by making it out alive! (No, he didnt). Feels bad about how much effort Fords putting into looking for him but also not really because he was trying to use a box of knocked over cereal to spell his name and Ford yelled at him >:(

[bloodchapell]

vanished — stanley s. SIDE B; part one

brief summary: darkish turn on this request (SIDE A)

what to expect: physical and verbal violence, underage drinking, underage smoking, mentions of stabbing, cliché-y teenage rebellion, stealing, minor reference to s.a

your sword's note: someone create a time machine and take me to see crystal castles pleaseeee, this ended up being kinda long and ill have to do a part 2 to space it out better. more on my mistresslist

During his junior year of high school, Stanley got a girlfriend. She was a popular girl that had asked him out and somewhat clueless he had accepted. He didn't find her pretty, even when he would hear that she was, he didn't find her interesting, he didn't even like her. What he liked was the attention, the occasional gifts and definetely mocking her with Xeno.

"On god I will beat that girl." She babbled whole putting makeup on the lunch table. "She pushed me with her shoulder in the hallway."

Stanley and Xeno looked at each other, holding a laughter. When she saw you carrying your tray of food and seating in a corner she whispered to her friends that it was you. They immediately encouraged her to get up and talk, so she did. While they rambled about whatever latest thing they thought was important, Xeno told Stanley that he had AP physics with you but had no idea what your name was because you had been at the school for about a week.

"Won't you do anything to stop her?" Xeno asked and Stanley shrugged, giving each other the look that meant they could explode laughing at any moment.

"Meet me in the field by the school after class bitch. If you don't come I will find you and end you."

No response. The cafeteria was silent listening to the threat.

The day went on as usual. Though Xeno was building a more complex gun and Stanley was helping him as usual, they stayed behind to watch, it was always funny to watch that girl get in trouble and mock her.

It was odd that you were already standing in the field after school. Her friends and the people that were watching stood around, and she walked towards the front.

"What the hell is your problem?" She asked, no response.

"Oh she is in my class." Some random student called, saying your name attached. Stanley turned around, it sounded familiar.

At your silence, she approaches you and slaps your face.

"You all saw that right?" You ask, she is confused, when you hear the 'yes' from the crowd, you continue speaking. "It wasn't me who started, so legally I am allowed to defend myself."

"Shut the fuck up." She pushed you. Nothing. When she reached for your hair you moved back, dodging her hands.

"What is she doing?" Xeno asked his friend, referring to you.

"She is waiting for a good hit so she can excuse hitting back." It took Stanley a good second to reply, his chest beating so fast that he felt a little dizzy. He was nervous, excited to watch.

Once the girl threw her fist at you, you let her hit you. And then it was on. A communal gasp when the smack of your knuckles against her face drowned the rest of the sounds in the field. Stanley observed agape, that was not a punch like his girlfriend gave in her kitty fights, it was a real punch that had thrown her to the ground.

"Get up." You asked, she touched her face offended and launched herself at your feet, but her tackle barely made you stumble and instead gained her a kick. Stanley made note of it again, not a kick to simply push her away, a kick like one he would have given in a fight. Once her friends realized that you were for real, they dragged her away.

"I hope you haven't forgotten my name, so you can look it up in the town's judiciary records, bitch."

You took your backpack and left.

"Let's go Stan, we have to look her up." Xeno pulled on his friend’s jacket but he was already walking towards his girlfriend, who was being tended by her equally idiotic friends.

"Look, I can't have my reputation tarnished, I have never lost in a fight and this makes me look back by association." The blonde said to the girl condescendinly. "It's better if we break up, you know?"

She screamed so loud you could hear it down the block; you paid it no mind. Stanley walked towards his friend and they got in the blonde’s car, driving to Xeno's house. They ate lunch and despite his previous excitement to keep building his latest gun, Xeno sat by the computer to look you up in the judiciary records website.

"Assault in first degree. Sentenced to one year in juvenile detention." Xeno read out loud. "What on earth..."

Stanley remembered then, a year before he had heard about a girl from school going to juvie.

The next day at school, he heard that the principal gave you detention, so he stood up in his algebra class and cussed out the teacher to get detention too, and he did. At the end of the day, he walked towards the classroom where detention was held and upon entering he saw you already sitting there. You were quiet, listening to music and drawing on a notebook.

"That's a cool drawing." He slid a note to your desk. You looked at him.

"Thank you." A concise response and you went back to the drawing.

"So what did you do?" He asks.

"You were there yesterday." You remind him and his heart drops, of course, how stupid. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Out of curiosity." He replied honestly seeing that the lying card had failed already.

The teacher then interrupted saying that she would be going to the bathroom for a second, and walked outside locking the door. As soon as she left, you got up, opened the window and threw your bag out.

“I have tried that, doesn’t work.” He pointed out, but you place your hands at the length of his shoulders and then at the length of yours, of course, your body was smaller and it had no problem slipping out through the small gap of the window. He sees that you don’t leave just yet, and a few seconds later the window opens on its entirety. Surprised he goes through the window and sees you holding a screwdriver. “Why do you carry a screwdriver to school?”

“How about you start minding your business?” You close the window and start walking.

He doesn’t know what method to use to approach you, but he keeps trying. He follows you with the excuse that he also happens to be going in that direction. When he sees you taking out a cigarette pack and taking one, he speaks again.

“You smoke too?” His question seems to get your attention. You nod, and as a common courtesy between smokers you give him a cigarette too. “Damn these are expensive.”

“Nothing is expensive when you get it for free.” You pat his back and pass him the lighter. His eyes dance around your bruised hands.

And he thought he was the biggest delinquent around; at least he had the decency of buying his vice. You keep walking and he keeps following you, the weather remains gloomy and hopeless.

“Xeno said you have AP physics. How?” Stanley says trying to have a conversation; you seem to not know who he is referring to for quite some time until it clicks in your head.

“Oh, yes, the one you’re always with.” You point out, he lets out a laughter. “Why would you assume that I can’t be in AP physics with your twink boyfriend? Do you happen to be stupid? Only the brilliant know the tight relationship between intelligence and rebellion.”

“I assumed you were more similar to me than to him, but maybe it’s a middle ground.” He says ignoring the banter around his dubious friendship with Xeno and you huff surprised. "So why are you on the town's judiciary records."

"Oh that actually was a reach." You say exhaling the smoke. "But I am assuming you looked it up."

"Assault on first degree and one year of juvie is a reach?" He laughed incredulous.

"It is nothing serious, once I tell the story it will loose power." You say stopping in the middle of the street. "So?"

"So?" He repeats not understanding.

"So where do we sit?" You ask and he smiles. He asks if the diner close by is fine and you nod. By the time you get to the diner, both of your cigarettes are done. For some mysterious reason Stanley is happy you obliged into talking with him. You two sit in a both, facing each other, the waiter asks if you want anything, Stanley gets coffee and you ask for tea.

"I detest coffee." You say almost as a punctuation to his sentence, the waiter smiles awkwardly not knowing what to say and leaves. "Before I start, you will have to reciprocate my sharing."

"I'll tell you my social security number if you want." He says. "You can write it down."

"Okay, I'll start." You laugh. "I live in a two story house. On the first floor there lived a couple of heroine addicts my grandma rents to. 5 years ago they had a daughter. Since they are ass, I have taken care of her as if she is my own blood. Last year, I couldn't pick her up from daycare one day, so her mother did. When I got home, she was in my room in the second floor, she was fidgety, so I asked her what was up. She didn't say anything so I went downstairs and asked her fucked up mom and she said that her dealer had briefly touched the kid. So I naturally beat the shit out of the woman, and unfortunately I am not the best at managing my emotions so I took her phone and called him back, I took one of the knives from her kitchen and stood by the porch waiting. When he saw me he started walking away but I chased him down and well ended up slashing his face and stabbing him around. The neighbors called the police and well, I got lucky the judge was a woman and the jurors pleaded in my case, so I didn't get charged with aggravated assault —that would have gotten me into real jail—, and they only gave me a year. So before they took me away I begged my grandma to take my little bird in and she did, after what went down, her parents got big time jail for a bunch of things and the kid had nowhere to go so well. It is not like I am going to do that to some high school cunt for slapping me but might as well mention it just in case."

"That's a lot..." After a while he said. "Is she okay?"

"She is okay." You nodded.

"Did you have a hard time in juvie?" He asked and you shook your head immediately.

"Not really, most people there loved children and respected what I did, the low rest didn't care because I mind my business; I define minding my business as not getting into uncalled shit until it concerns me." You shrugged receiving the tea and he laughed, understanding what you meant to say, unless someone crossed you, you had no reason to get them back. "So what do you have to share, sissy boy?"

"Do you not know my name?" Stanley asked, jokingly offended. You shook your head.

"Is there a reason why I should know it? Have you done some crazy big thing?" You asked defiant and he stayed quiet.

"I haven't done anything crazy big." He repeated your words. "Just petty stuff."

You shrugged telling him that it didn't matter. For the rest of the afternoon you talked about pointless stuff while drinking each your own beverage.

"Next week, let's sneak into the Crystal Castles concert in Houston." When it gets dark and you part on your separate ways, you tell him. He doesn't know what Crystal Castles is but he agrees immediately. He has to walk back home since he left his car at school, he sighs but he doesn't care as much when he thinks again of you, a spectacle of magic in the void of suburban town hell.

The next day at school during lunch, Stanley drags Xeno along to sit beside you. His now ex girlfriend is fuming at the sight but none of you care, for starters neither Stanley or Xeno would take her seriously before and she wouldn't even dare think about humiliating herself again in a fight with you. After some conversation between the three of you, you learn that they are in fact not dating (shocker) and that Stanley actually used to date the fight girl, you ask if Xeno is also crazy and when both of them shrug kind of nodding, you tell him to tag along for the concert. The week passes by and the following Monday, the three of you skip class and go to Houston. Stanley is driving when suddenly his car breaks down and even though he gets off to figure out what is going on, he doesn't know what is happening.

"Why do you carry a screwdriver? They said." You shake your head getting off the car and seeing the motor. In a few minutes you fix the problem.

"Do you belong to the category of tomboy girls that have a liking for cars?" Xeno asks.

"No, I like mechanics but not in the 'I am one of the boys because I know about cars' way but in the 'I am going to study engineering and Lock Heed Martin might recruit me to build missiles' way."

They both laugh and suddenly confess their borderline criminal record on building full on weapons (borderline only because they have not been caught yet). You praise them. Eventually you arrive at Houston, Stanley parks some streets down and you walk to the venue.

"We are here to clean the bathrooms." You say at the back entrance where only the staff works and they nod.

"Is it really that easy?" Stanley asks once they let you walk in.

"I guess."

Xeno had no idea what kind of music that was, and Stanley had only listened to the first songs he found when he looked them up, but regardless they enjoy the concert so much that they suggested driving all the way to Dallas to sneak into the concert next day.

"Actually?" You asked.

"I don't care." They both replied. Instead of driving home, Stanley gets on the road to Dallas and decides to park over at some random store's parking lot in the middle of nowhere. You and Stanley get off the car to take a smoke while Xeno complains inside about the dangers of nicotine.

"I like the name Stanley." You say tapping the cigarette so the ash falls off. "It suits you."

"What the hell does that mean?" He laughs, but eventually thanks you not knowing what you were talking about.

You spend the night in the car, playing cards in the backseat and talking about nothing in concrete. You don't realize the moment in which you fell asleep but you do realize when Stanley shakes you to wake up.

"Woah calm down..." He says when you hit him with the screwdriver.

"This is also a weapon." Once you are awake you say putting the screwdriver down.

The drive to Dallas doesn't take more than 4 hours, so once you arrive you eat breakfast at some restaurant and spend the day at the mall you found on the way to the venue. Again, miraculously the three of you manage to sneak into the concert, and now since Alice seems to recognize you from the previous night she throws a shirt at you. Just as the last night, you jump along the crowd and they have no other option than to follow along, and the flashing lights go so fast at some points that you have to close your eyes for some seconds and your eyelids are full of colors, and whatever it is that someone is trying to tell the others is impossible to hear with the loud music that resonates down to the chest with the bass so high.

Once the concert is over you walk back to the car, stopping at a convenience store where Stanley grabs an energy drink while you basically peer pressure Xeno into walking around with a six pack of Smirnoff.

"Okay at count of three we run... Three!" You whisper to them and bolt out of the store, they are left confused for a second but have no other choice than running out and following you.

"Where is the car?" Xeno yells out of breath after you have done a lap around the block trying to find an escape from the angry clergyman that was running behind you.

"It is in the other fucking block..."

Crossing the street you all almost get run over and barely make it to the car.

For a minute or so you simply sit in silence looking at each other.

"That was the most fun I have had besides building a functional gun..." Xeno sighs happily while you rest your forehead against the window trying to catch your breath.

"No drinks for the designated driver, get your licenses god damnit..." Stanley sighs sadly while opening his can looking through the rear view mirror how you open two bottles and drink with Xeno.

After another 4 tortuous hours of driving back to Houston and some 45 minutes of driving to your fuckass town, with the music blasting and having to handle drunk you and equally drunk Xeno, Stanley parks in front of his friend's house to drop him off.

"Actually my parents are on a business trip... let's have a crazy party, yeah...!" Xeno laughs.

"Yeah, an amazing party, let's go, get everything ready..." You grab him and go inside his house. "Put some whatever around here and music and all..."

Stanley follows you two and simply stands idle while watching you two plummet to the sofa and fall asleep (or in a coma? god forbid). He sighs now feeling the effects of the energy drink wear off and the results of two sleepless nights of insane exertion catching up to him; he picks up Xeno and puts him in his parent's bed and then comes back for you and put you in Xeno's bed. He lays on the sofa and doesn't even realize when he falls asleep.

"We have to go to school!" Xeno's scream wakes you and Stanley up.

"Seriously? Who the fuck cares about school? Do you not have a massive headache?" You ask getting up not even wondering how you got there.

"It is already 7:50, we have ten minutes to get there..."

And so, the three of you end up at school and have possibly the worst day of school ever. Regardless, the three of you agree to meet after school to continue building whatever Xeno has on mind.

"I have to go to the bingo, take care of your little birdie." Your grandma passes by the school with the little girl, imitating you when saying her nickname.

Xeno and Stanley look at each other then at you, then at her.

"I missed you!" The little girl runs towards your legs and hugs you.

"Little birdie..." You sigh still tired but picking her up despite being exhausted. "These are my friends, Stan and Xeno, and you two, this is Angelica."

She greets shyly.

"I am six." She puts up her hands and they both nod with a smile.

You all walk to Xeno's house. Angelica narrates her day at elementary school in your arms and both guys chat with her. Once home, the three of you sit wondering what to do, not wanting to build a literal gun in front of the kid. You end up deciding to watch a movie.

"I have a doll in my bag." The kid points out. "We are not supposed to take toys to school but I would miss her."

"Hey, don't say it to everyone, what if the school finds out and takes her away?" You tell her and she shrugs.

"Well I will fight whoever tries to take my doll away."

Again Xeno and Stanley look at each other, no wonder who was raising little birdie and no wonder how she was talking. You end up watching some animated movie of her choice, they don't complain and once the movie is done they listen to her talks and agree with whatever she has to say.

You are happy, it seems now that you have good friends and over all, she is happy too.

[stanleymyhusband]

Stanley Snyder NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare

Not overly affectionate but makes sure his partner is comfortable.

Offers water, a cigarette, or just quiet time together.

Runs his hands over their body, admiring them in a possessive yet soft way.

“You good?” whispered in a husky tone.

B = Body Part (His & Theirs)

Proud of his strong, well-built body—especially his arms and hands.

Loves running his hands over their body, memorizing every inch.

Has a thing for thighs and hips, gripping them tightly during the act.

C = Cum

Very possessive about where he finishes—prefers inside but also enjoys marking skin.

Growls in satisfaction when he sees them covered in it.

D = Dirty Talk

Expert at low, gravelly whispers that send shivers down their spine.

Not vulgar but seductive—“You’re mine,” “You take me so well,” “Look at you.”

Loves teasing them about how good they feel, how much they want him.

Can switch between slow, deep talking and rough, commanding orders.

E = Experience

Had multiple one-night stands but never a real relationship before.

Knows exactly what to do and how to read his partner’s body.

Every touch is intentional—he enjoys learning what makes them tick.

F = Favorite Position

Missionary when he wants to be intimate, watching every reaction.

From behind when he’s feeling rough—gripping their hips tightly.

Lap sitting if he wants them close, feeling every movement against him.

Against the wall for quick, heated moments when patience is gone.

G = Goofy (Serious vs. Playful)

Not goofy, but has a teasing side when in the right mood.

Smirks when they get flustered, enjoys their reactions.

“What, can’t handle me?” with a low chuckle.

Usually focused and intense, but knows how to make them comfortable.

H = Hair

Always well-groomed, trimmed but not bare—doesn’t like feeling messy.

I = Intimacy

Surprisingly deep and intense—makes sure they feel every emotion behind his touch.

Shows intimacy more in actions than words—how he holds them, how he lingers after.

Looks them straight in the eyes, wanting to see every reaction.

Even in rough moments, there’s always a sense of connection and possessiveness.

J = Jack Off

Not a frequent habit—he prefers the real thing.

If he does, it’s only when he’s thinking about them.

Has a strong sex drive but holds back when necessary.

If they’re apart for a while, expect a hungry reunion.

K = Kinks

Possession/Marking – Loves leaving bites, scratches, and bruises as proof of their nights together.

Domination – Takes control naturally, enjoys being the one leading.

Praise – Loves hearing how much they need him, how good he makes them feel.

Teasing/Denial – If they’re bratty, he makes them wait, whispering things in their ear.

Control – Dictates the pace, enjoys making them beg for more.

L = Location

Prefers a bed for long nights, but isn’t picky when the mood strikes.

Against the wall, in the shower, or even somewhere risky if they’re alone.

Has a thing for doing it in places where they "shouldn’t"—as long as no one hears.

Morning sex in bed is his personal favorite.

M = Motivation

Stress relief—military life builds up a lot of tension, and this is the best way to let it out.

Their body—if they so much as stretch the wrong way, he’s already thinking about it.

Soft moments—as much as he loves rough nights, something about slow, deep touches gets to him.

N = No

Won’t degrade them—he can be rough, but never disrespectful.

No public places—as much as he likes the risk, he won’t actually do it in front of anyone.

Won’t push past limits—if they say stop, he listens instantly.

O = Oral (Giving & Receiving)

Giving: Absolutely obsessed with it. He takes his time, teasing, licking, sucking, watching every reaction.

Loves holding their hips down if they start squirming too much.

Smirks when they beg him to stop or speed up.

Receiving: Enjoys it, but doesn’t demand it. If they go down on him, he’s watching them the whole time.

P = Pace

Usually rough and deep, wanting to make them feel everything.

But when it’s slow and intimate, every movement feels personal, intentional.

Either way, he lasts long and makes sure they do too.

Q = Quickies

Absolutely down for it if the situation allows.

“We have ten minutes—think you can handle it?”

Usually leaves them breathless, marked, and struggling to recover before he buttons up like nothing happened.

R = Risk

Loves risky situations, but only when they’re actually safe.

Gets a thrill from nearly getting caught, but would never let it happen.

If they’re alone in a place where they shouldn’t be doing this? Perfect.

S = Stamina

Insane stamina—military training means he goes multiple rounds without breaking a sweat.

Doesn’t stop until they’re completely satisfied.

T = Toys

Not interested. He prefers using his own hands, mouth, and body.

Thinks he can do a better job than any toy.

If they ever bring it up, he’ll listen but he prefers skin-to-skin contact.

U = Unfair (How much he teases)

If he wants to punish them? Merciless teasing—slow, drawn-out touches, deep whispers in their ear.

Enjoys watching them get desperate, but won’t push them too far.

“Say please, and I’ll think about it.”

V = Volume

Not loud, but his voice alone is enough to ruin them—deep groans, low grunts, sharp exhales.

Dirty talk in their ear makes up for his quietness.

Occasionally muffled curses when it’s too good.

W = Wild Card (Random Headcanon)

Possessive, but in a deep, protective way.

If they tease him too much in public, they’re getting wrecked later.

Loves biting— their neck, shoulder, or anywhere he can leave a mark.

X = X-Ray (What’s he packing?)

Trimmed, well-groomed, and thick.

Above average in both length and girth.

Knows exactly how to use it—angle, depth, pace.

Veiny and warm, twitches when he’s holding back.

Y = Yearning (How high is his sex drive?)

Very high, but he’s good at controlling it.

If they’ve been apart for a while? It’s over. He won’t let them go all night.

Even on normal days, he can go multiple times if they’re up for it.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly does he sleep after?)

Usually stays awake for a while, watching them, arms wrapped around their waist.

Eventually falls asleep holding them, only fully relaxing once they’re by his side.

Wakes up before them, smirking at the marks he left the night before

[emmabirb8]

My first official venture into a super rare pair, EmmaStan, aka Emma-May Dixon and Stanley Pines!! @cosmo-shell and @slug-ball opened my eyes to the concept of these two, and WHOA the potential really stole my heart. It's absolutely not what they're serving out front, lmao, but the ship has bewitched me body and soul nonetheless. I just fell in love with the idea of these two tortured souls finding comfort in each other during the most difficult periods of their lives. They've been through HELL and deserve nice things. 😊💖 (And Emma-May in particular deserves WAY more love and attention in this fandom!)

My personal interpretation of Emma-May was mainly inspired by this piece by @birdskullz and this piece by @cosmo-shell.

Check out my AU fic for them here if you want! I haven't attempted a multi-chaptered fic in a VERY long time, lol, so hopefully this one will pan out well. First two chapters are up, but I've got more drafted out that will be posted very soon!

Writing out some key HCs about Emma-May and a rough timeline of events I constructed for my AU fic under the cut here:

Emma-May's family moved from Kansas to Tennessee when she was less than a year old, so she was raised in TN

Her mother is black while her father is white, and she has two older sisters

She became friends with Fiddleford and his siblings sometime during childhood

She attended college in New Jersey (went to a school I made up called “Gertrude University,” sort of a ref to the real university of Rutgers), majoring in botany, while Fidds ofc went to Backupsmore somewhere in the midwest 

Met Stan by chance once as a college student about a year after he was kicked out of his house and was still struggling with treasure hunting (probably around 1970 or 1971)

Married Fidds anywhere from 1973-1975 when they were in their 20s – felt pressured from family and society to get married, but they were best friends and did love each other (but the marriage was covertly strained from the beginning bc neither could get what they truly needed from each other – best friends don't necessarily work as a married couple even if some level of attraction is there along with the love)

Had Tate in the early-mid 70s, both love him to pieces and Fidds was a very devoted father up until he started unraveling 

Fidds left his family around the very late 70s to early 80s to work with Ford

Fidds abandoned the portal project in the early 80s, at that point already having started his descent into madness due to his reliance on the memory gun

Emma-May filed for divorce after becoming fed up with his bizarre behavior, lack of calls home, and a big fight they had around Christmas of the early 80s

The “homicidal pterodactyl-tron” attack happened during springtime after that Christmas, and this solidified Emma-May's decision to take Tate someplace safe (to stay with her aunt who lives in another state) while she set off to Gravity Falls herself to try to track Fiddleford down and figure out wtf happened to make him so different and dangerous 

At some point either right before or after the pterodactyl attack, Fidds created the Society of the Blind Eye and subsequently lost what remained of his mind and memories

Emma-May bumped into Stan, once again by chance, the night before he arrived in Gravity Falls upon Ford's request

[riverside--wren]

Welp, I wrote a bit of a fanfic for the Town Kook Ford au by @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense, set before Ford became the town kook. Hope you enjoy.

Now cross-posted on Ao3

Icy winter winds whipped past Stanford Pines and settled themselves somewhere deep in his bones as he trudged the final few steps to his front door. The trenchcoat he had wrapped tightly around himself was insufficient protection from the pervasive chill. It was okay. It was fine. He’d gotten far too used to being cold recently. Ever since he’d had largely stopped eating and entirely stopped sleeping, Ford’s body had been wracked with shivers at all hours of the day, no matter how he tried to warm himself. He learned to quit listening to his body’s signals. Ignore the desire to wrap a blanket around himself that would only make him comfortable and complacent and drowsy, ignore the way his eyelids kept trying to slide themselves shut against his will, ignore the false images that danced in the corners of his eyes, ignore the sounds that reverberated just out of his range of hearing.

It was fine. Stanford would be fine. He could still fix this. Stanley was coming.

The postcard had been placed in the mail. He’d only just come back from dropping it off at the Post Office (spending the whole time pointedly ignoring the strange looks the townspeople were giving him and the way they tried to avoid him when he drew near. He knew they must think him unbalanced, disheveled and sleep-deprived as he was, but those people simply had no idea what he was dealing with). The hastily scrawled card was well on its way to its intended recipient, and soon Stanley would be here, and Stanford could finally begin to set things right. Even just the thought of his wayward twin was enough to cause Ford’s shoulders to slump in relief… and then immediately tense back up again because HE COULDN’T AFFORD TO RELAX, ESPECIALLY NOT NOW!

It took a few tries to get his key in the front door lock. He needed to use both hands to hold it steady enough to align with the mechanism. Ford couldn’t stand the way his body was turning against him, the same way his mind was eating itself alive.

Once back inside his cabin, his safe haven, Ford quickly went down the line of locks: latch, chain, bar, deadbolt. He clicked them into place one by one; sealing himself off from the outside world. Only then did he feel marginally safe.

There was no one in Gravity Falls he could trust. Bill’s spies could be anywhere. Fiddleford was gone, stolen away by the portal and possibly (probably) dead. (Don’t think about it, don’t think about the wife and son he left behind, don’t think about the innumerable ways you failed him, don’t think about the look of terror on his face as he fell through the machine you built with your own two hands). Bill Cipher had betrayed his trust, revealed himself for the monster he truly was. Stanley may have been a conman and a liar, but he had also always been there for Stanford when he needed him. No matter what, Stanley had been the one person in his life he could trust (right up until he couldn’t).

And right now… Stanford was ashamed to admit Stanley was just about the only option he had left. He’d burned through plans A through Z and was onto labeling them with greek letters and alchemical symbols. Stanly was his last chance, his Hail Mary. If this didn’t work out, the only options he had left were the truly desperate and the truly insane. This would work because it HAD to work.

Out of habit more than anything, Stanford went to the kitchen to check the phone answering machine. He always checked, even if there were never any messages for him. There was no one to call. If Stanford died in the snow out here, no one would even know. So when he saw the red light, slowly pulsing on and off, it took a minute to work it’s way through his sluggish brain that someone HAD left a message for once.

He lifted up his glasses to check that what he was seeing was real. Closed one eye, then the other. With the way his hallucinations had been increasing lately, he wouldn’t have been SURPRISED to have an imaginary a phone message. But it remained stubbornly lit, and stubbornly real.

He checked the machine.

There were five missed calls, all from the same unknown number, and one voicemail message. Fear churned in the empty pits of his stomach, although he couldn’t quite place why. Nothing was wrong yet. People recieved messages on their answering machines all the time.

A voice came through the speakers clear and clean, allowing Standard to hear the harsh breathing and subtle wobble that accompanied it. “Hey, Sixer, it’s your brother,” the voice spoke. A voice he hadn’t heard in ten long years. Ford’s breath caught in his throat, making each subsequent breath a struggle. Why was Stanley calling him? How did he even get this number? It was far too soon for Ford’s postcard to have reached him yet—was this some new trick of Bill’s to force him to turn the portal on? “Listen, some big stuff has been going down here lately, and tomorrow… well, it’s not like it really matters. But if you don’t hear from me, I just wanted you to know that I still love you. So, uh, bye.”

The voice message ended with a decisive click.

Ford had missed the call. Had missed what may have been the last call from his brother… no, no it wasn’t the last call. There would be many more calls in the future. Because Stanley was FINE, and he was coming HERE, and then everything would be okay.

The phone message meant nothing; Stanley was just overreacting to something as per usual. He was sure to call again soon to let Stanford know that everything was going to be okay, and they would laugh and set things right.

Ford busied himself with anything he could think of for the next two days, anything he could do to keep himself awake. He memorized parts of his journal he thought could be important in the future, he organized stacks of papers, he finally moved the giant dinosaur skull to a place where he could quit tripping over it, and he most decidedly did NOT worry about Stanley.

Because Stanley was fine. Just like Stanford was FINE, and the whole situation with the portal was FINE. It was all okay, Ford just needed to wait.

He had almost slipped into a light doze, slumped against the fish tank that was the new holding place of the skull, when a shrill ringing awoke him. He quickly patted himself down for signs of possession, but his body was just as he left it. He must not have fallen deeply enough for the demon to worm its insidious way into his mind.

The phone rang again.

Ford barely kept his feet under himself as he scrambled for the kitchen, desperate for news.

“Hello, this is Stanford Pines speaking,” he answered, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Hello,” the caller answered. A high, feminine voice. Not Stanley. “I hate to ask this, but do you happen to know a… Panley Stines?”

“Stanley…” Ford muttered under his breath, exasperation tainting his words. He quickly swallowed down the sudden surge of panic that threatened to crawl up his throat—he had no proof anything was wrong, not yet—and he responded in as measured a tone as he was able. “Yes, this is his brother speaking.” (Ignore the fact he felt the need to give a fake name. Ignore how distressed the voice on the other end of the line sounded.) “May I inquire what this is about?”

She let out a huff of air. “Well you see, I found this scrap of paper with your phone number on the nightstand when I was cleaning up this motel room after—well, you see… something happened, and… your brother’s dead, Stanford.”

Breathing went from difficult to impossible as all the air suddenly seemed to evacuate the room. “No.” The phone shook in his grip, nearly dislodging his glasses with how hard it trembled. “No, you’re wrong. Stanley is not dead. He is my twin. I would have FELT it, I would have KNOWN.”

“Sir—”

“Do not call this number again.” He slammed the phone back into its cradle. Cracks spiderwebbed across the wall behind it, and he studied them as he worked to calm his breathing.

Stanley wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead. He would call any minute now to clear this up, to explain what had happened and reassure Stanford that he was okay. Then he would come to Gravity Falls, and Stanford could finally fix everything with Bill. Stanley had to. Ford needed him.

Ford just needed to wait by the phone. The call would be coming any minute now.

The phone rang.

Ford picked it up, clutching the worn plastic tightly.

“Hello?” He warbled. It took a few clearings of his through before he could make it through his standard greeting. “This is… Stanford Pines speaking.”

No voice came through from the other end of the phone, just crackling and popping static. Stanford would be furious if this was his mysterious prank caller once again. Didn’t they know he was waiting on an important call from his brother? Fiddleford had once offered to build him a 50-foot tall death robot that would seek and destroy all prank callers worldwide, and Stanford was beginning to sorely regret not taking him up on his offer.

Just as Stanford was about to hang up on the dead air, a voice came through. Distant at first, then louder. Laced through the static of the call was a distinctive, high-pitched laughter. Cackling with wild abandon: the voice of his greatest enemy and his former closest friend.

With a roar of rage, Stanford ripped the machine from the wall, yanking the wires out of their respective holes. He panted harsh breaths as he stared at the disconnected piece of plastic and thoughts churned their way through his mind. He needed to do something about Bill. He couldn’t live like this much longer. Stanley was (not dead, not dead, not dead) unavailable at the moment. Yet another plan that had fallen through. He was steadily losing the war in his mind, inch by inch, minute by minute. Soon there would be nothing of him left. There was no longer anyone he could rely on. Nothing he could do.

The phone rang.

[kale-of-the-forbidden-cities]

Snippet of the Bill Isn't Real AU - Probably will be titled "Dipper's Guide to the Unsolved" because it mostly follows Dipper and him figuring out the past

@iwasonceabookworm because you asked to be tagged :)

this is just part of chapter 1, but depending on how much more i write it might be most of it (as "chapter 1" is currently 5k words and still not done. so i might split it). I'm posting mostly as a sort of interest check to see if people like it.

enjoy and feedback appreciated :) also none of this is 100% final

△▽△▽△▽△

“Welcome back to Dipper’s Guide to the Unsolved. I’ve been running this podcast for, um, a few years, and, I think it was last year, I discovered an unsolved case that really interests me. It interests me because it’s actually kind of… personal. 

“My name is Dipper Pines, and today, I will begin my investigation into the unsolved murder of Stanford and Stanley Pines.” 

△▽△▽△▽△

Piedmont, California

March 2019

“How’s that?” Dipper asked, clearing his throat before taking a sip from his water bottle. 

“It sounds great!” Mabel encouraged him. “Nice and catchy.”

“I think I stuttered too much.” He picked up the script laid out in front of him and glanced over it. “And I forgot I was supposed to look at the camera. You’d think after two years of video stuff, I’d remember to do something so basic.” 

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself,” his sister said as she came over. “People love you despite your awkwardness.” 

Dipper scoffed. “First of all, not true. They don’t love me, they just come for the true crime and whatever. Second of all…” He paused, considering. “I mean, I guess I am awkward in most of the stuff I do.” 

“Like your first TV interview?” 

“Oh god, don’t remind me,” he laughed, his face reddening at the thought. “There’s a reason they never invited me back.” 

Mabel giggled. “It was funny, though!” 

Dipper tossed a crumpled piece of paper from his desk her way. She dodged before picking it up and throwing it right back at him. He sighed and turned his swivel chair back to the desk. 

“...Do you think it’s weird that I’m doing this?” he wondered aloud.

“Huh?” Mabel walked over and leaned on the desk. “What do you mean? You’ve been solving cases since you were sixteen, and making true crime stuff even longer.” 

“I mean, like,” Dipper paused, fumbling for words. “Like, I’m investigating the suspected murders of people in our family. Is it weird to be documenting it like this and posting it online?” 

Mabel thought for a moment. “I don’t think so? It’s not like you’re doing this for any of them. You never were, you just like doing this stuff. Cause you’re a nerd.” She flicked his bangs. “They’re just along for the ride.” 

“I guess,” he admitted. “In any case—” 

“Any case?”

He gave half a smile to his sister’s joke. “...This whole thing is weird. Did I tell you that I already covered a case that happened in the same town? Though way more recent. It was only… a year ago, maybe? Closer to two.” 

“Yeah, I remember you mentioning it! Axe murderer?” 

“Yep. But when I was looking for stuff about Stanford and Stanley, I found out something weird.” He rolled his chair over to the bulletin board that Mabel had dubbed his “conspiracy board,” because, he had to admit it, it did look like some kind of conspiracy was happening, from the pinned up photos, notes, and string. “Apparently, a bunch of people go missing in that town all the time.”

“Ooh, and we’ll be going there!” Mabel said with enthusiasm that sounded genuine, but really shouldn’t have been. 

“Yeah, I already told you you don’t have to—” 

“I want to come! It’ll be fun!” she insisted. “Plus, the only thing worse than going to a town where people go missing on the regular is letting you go to that town alone.” 

“I guess that’s true.” 

“Plus! I get to help out with your channel in person! And self advertise!” 

Mabel had helped Dipper with his little hobby of a podcast since the very beginning, drawing his profile picture (a little blue pine tree inspired by a “lucky hat” he’d had as a kid), and later a banner for his channel, as well as putting together thumbnails and such. Dipper also helped Mabel with the things she liked to do, from doing the shopping for her baking, to grabbing any yarn he thought she’d like when he saw it. He wishes he could do more for her, but other than researching and talking about criminal cases, he didn’t seem to be good at much at all. So the least he could do would be to let her promote her baking channel, which was already linked in his profile. 

“We’re already all packed for tomorrow, so it’s a little late to cancel anyway,” Mabel pointed out. 

“Yeah, I know,” he admitted. “I guess I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“You’re always nervous.” 

“Heh, you’re right about that…” 

The conversation died down after that. Dipper did a couple more takes of the introduction, and wasn’t happy with any of them, so Mabel picked the one she thought was best. Now all he had to do was finish writing out what he was going to say to cover the basics of what he knew at the moment. 

Mabel had suggested that they do a “vlog” style video as they investigated the town and the case. Which actually wasn’t a bad idea. Not because Dipper had any interest in vlog content, but because he was a strong believer in the sentiment of always having a camera to catch something, just in case. He had an old VHS camera that still worked, and, despite the low quality, it’s what he preferred to use. Easy to hold, don’t have to worry about literally everything ever being lost if something happened to it (like with a phone camera). 

He wasn’t all old fashioned or anything, don’t get him wrong. He actually considered himself pretty tech savvy. He could never admit it publicly, but he had hacked his way into security camera files in the past. Nowhere too protected, so it wasn’t like it was hard. He’d been able to make connections that police couldn’t, which is what eventually led to him solving his first case. When talking about it online, he would just say he “gained access” and leave it at that. 

“Make sure to get some sleep, Dip,” Mabel said as she got up to go to bed for the night. “We leave bright and early, remember!” 

“I know, I know.” Dipper suppressed a yawn at the thought. “Night, Mabel.” 

“Night!” 

With Mabel gone, it didn’t take him long to fall into his habit of chewing on the neckline of his shirt. It made him feel like a kid, but it helped him focus. And didn’t hurt his teeth as much as biting his nails or pens. By two in the morning he’d written generally what he wanted to say. He would let Mabel know that she could say whatever she wanted. He planned to upload the video right before they left for Gravity Falls.