#stanowar

[demico-art]

A Tale of One Hoax - Page 28 (The End)

This is it, folks! The last page. It's been a loooong ride, and there were times I thought I wouldn't finish it. Thanks to the readers who stuck with me for all these years, and new readers too! I hope you enjoyed the story! A special thanks to my co-author @peonychikh (formerly known as Anfidersio) for the support and fun all these years!

Cover | Page 27

[a-fluffy-dog24]

The legend of the sea bros

The boys are off on an adventure at sea And talk about they issues and they need each other emotionally and physically to survive. Ford is trying to reject the help from his brother that he desperately needs.Stan is so worried about his brother that he forgets that sometimes he needs to rely on his brother for support.

September,8,2012

It was a beautiful morning off the coast of South America Stan was standing on the deck of their boat. "Good morning you up early" Ford said sarcastically Stan sticks his tongue out at him Ford rolls his eyes. "At least I don't go to bed at 8:00 "Stan teased "well at least I'm not hungover" Ford teased "Shut up and give me my coffee".

Ford handed him his coffee "what have you been up to this morning" "well I shower made breakfast and, I packed us supplies for today". Stan ate breakfast then they headed out to go exploring.Stan is wearing a red beanie and a white shirt and brown coat,blue pants Ford is weairing red sweater and blue coat,black pants boots They went through the forest, and caves and found a small black egg with red spots alone on the ground. Ford wants to take it to learn more about what creature it is he never seen an egg that color before. Stan thinks he shouldn’t.Because he remembered that time during the summer when he hatch a dinosaur egg and it end badly for his wallet. But Ford is interested on trying to hatch they had lunch on the top of the hill.

."Well Stanley we did it, do you remember when we were 12 years old and we found a boat and named it the StanOwar". "Yea seems like only yesterday I remember mom came to check on us to make sure we weren't missing she thought it was so cute"Stan said "yeah she took this picture of her two little adventurous" Ford put out the picture and showed him and Stan remember “we try to paint the whole thing" ,"I remember you through paint at me" Ford teased. "Yea by the time we were done we were covered in paint" "do remember how upset mother was"Ford said "She was pissed we didn't have shirts we were sunburned that was not a fun night "Stan remember

"Anyway this sandwich is beautiful” he says well eating “oww god I have a bad headache” he complains . “Do you take your meds this morning” Ford asked “no” he replied “well that’s probably why you need to take them when we get back”. They packed up and hiked back to the beach to their boat. They can see the sunset fading from blue to red."Did you see that" Stan asked "what did you do you see" "sixer I think a sea monster maybe". They ran onto their boat and put the egg down somewhere safe "I don't see anything" "never mind let go"Stan pulled up the aker. They sailed out to sea for a while then they saw it bobbing in the water.

Stan look at the water it rose from the water "LOOK THERE IT IS GET SOMETHING TO KILL IT WITH holy SHIT it's huge".The giant monster starts attacking the boat "ok I got a spear" Ford grabs a spear and throws it at the huge green sea monster. It has one eye but he misses and the monster gabs Ford's arm and starts putting him overboard.He accidentally hit his head into the wall of the boat it makes him feel like the floor is moving up and down.He starts pulling away and hitting it hard with his hand but it no use "Fuck " Ford yelled Stan run over and punks the monster in the eye, "GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU SON OF A BICH "he yells.It goes away back into the water, Ford laughs "you did it how hard did you punk it ""I don't know hard enough I guess".

Ford has difficulty sitting down because the his body is shaking and his head really hurts. He tried to get up on the wooden box,but he is feeling frustrated that he keeps falling down do his dizziness."Are you ok" Stan looked worried as he can’t even sit down "I'm fine" "but you’re bleeding and you’re still dizzy let me help you". "No, I can take care of myself I manage to for 30 years” Ford tried to stop the large cuts from bleeding. On his hand and arm it bleeding all down his arm. But he can’t hold still long enough for the blood to clog.Stan dock the boat on the sandy shore but after he come up with a first a kit and a bowl  of soapy water. Ford takes the wet washcloth and wipes his arm ."Thank you" "I'm not going to let my brother get hurt by some dumb monster" he said hopeing that his brother will let him help. “I’m perfectly capable of tending to my own wounds ” it takes him a long while to rap a bandage around his arm.

Then the guys try to call Dipper and Mabel "mazel tov how do you turn this thing stupid on "Stan frustrated hit the phone "I don't know, did you read the intrusion they gave us"Ford said sarcastically."shut up it's working " ....... "Hi Grunkle Stan Hi Grunkle Ford"she yelled excitedly "Hi you guys"said Dipper "we have missed you kids"Stan told them . "What are you doing?"she asks "I just defeated a sea monster" Stan said proudly "how big was it" she wondered "It was huge bigger than the mystery shack" "wow cool"she added "are you sure you're not lying"Dipper questions.

"No he's not and I found this meritorious egg" Ford held it in his hand. It's almost as big as his hand "that's amazing, what do you think it is"Dipper wondered. "I don't know, we have to wait and see" "I think it's like a big butterfly"she hoped ." Mom and dad said we have to go to bed by" Dipper interrupted "by love you guys"she smiled and waved goodbye "bye bye ""by see you soon"Stan hung up  the phone.

Then later Stan makes dinner because if Ford made it they would be eating cereal for dinner.They eat dinner they have fish with carrots and drink their beer on the deck and watch the stars. Ford turns on a radio to listen to some 60s and 70s music.Stan looks angerly at Fords bandages. “Why do you drive me crazy” Stan asks frustrated “what do you mean what are you talking about” he has an idea about what this might be about. “Ford why won’t you let ME HElP YOU ” Stan yelled “because I’m a grown man WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH” he argued “CAUSE I LOVE YOU StanFord I’m trying to make sure you don’t fucking die…. I don’t want you to be hurt” Stan argued. “You need to let people help you sometimes” he finish saying

“I’m sorry Stanley I’m just so used to being independent I don’t realize when I need you” Ford apologize. “It’s okay…….remember when we were kids and we tried to be explores we made a car out of a box. Whore dumb little outfits with the stuff from dad’s shop” Stan reminisce and lit his pipe. Ford takes a sip of his beer “Yes we were really young I think 6 or 7 without are understanding how gravity works.We tried to see what would happen if we pushed it down the stairs with us in it.” “Oh boy that hurt but that didn’t stop us we got up and did it again”Stan laughed. “I think thats how I lost my first baby tooth” Ford told him. “Speaking of which remember in the Photo Booth when we were fooling around and I fall down on my head. I lost my front tooth I was such a stupid kid .” Stan sheepishly .

“Yup I didn’t enjoy explaining that to are parents,they we should have known better at 13 not to be roughhousing. They never got it properly fixed did they?”Ford add “yeah as a teen I got a fake tooth and that help. I mean now I have dentures so that Solve that problem.”He eat some of his food. Then he asks Ford “I've been going out with this girl” “are you sure it’s not a siren we don’t want to end up like the men in tales” Ford jokes. “NO she not or I hope really hope not ……Sixer hey do you want girlfriend", Ford looks up from his journaling "umm Stanley I don't know how to say this but" "oh do you boyfriend"he ask seriously ."I'm ok by myself..I have hobbies, I have the kids, I have you and that is all the love I need. Romance is a confusing feeling to me.I don't want a relationship at the moment I would probably prefer a male partner. It's has taken me a long time to accept that part of myself rather than me trying to run from it. But thank you for the offer".Stan took a smoke from his pipe and blew it off then he asked him.

"Ok just thought I ask....I still love you" Ford hug him and lifts Stan up a little "Hey put me down"Stan smiles at Ford “ since when can you pick me up off the ground you and your week nerd arms” Stan quested. “I’m stronger than you give me credit for little brother” Ford tease him. “Only 15 minutes there show off” Then Stan tried to licks him on the cheek, "what are you doing? No stop it". He moved closer "AHH STANLEY are you high'' Ford laughs "little bit "Stan laughs. "Do you want some" he asks "no I tried it in college I didn't like it and I'm still to mentally recover" he jokes "do you still smoke cigarettes" he asks. "No I quit been clean for 13 years or so" Stan tells him "well that's really great I know you were smoking for a long while good job " "Thanks I did it for the kids Soos brought me to the doctor and helped quit. But I still smoke cigars and stuff like to mix it up every once in a while. I guess that’s not as bad ."

"..Did you bathe today" Ford asked "well no" "that weed makes you stink like stunk go shower" Stan sticks his tongue out at him Ford rolls his eyes and smiles. "Oh bye the way I cooked you clean" Stan asked him "ok but please tell me you didn't use every pot and pan we own." Ford said and goes to start cleaning the mountain of dishes.But before he quickly realizes he needs to keep the egg warm. He picks it up from the blankets it had raps around it He put the egg under the a heat lamp and turned it on. Maybe they’ll have a new pet.

After Stan showers, they go to bed.12:00 am Ford got up to use the bathroom and he found Stan outside out the deck watching the waves. A 6 fingers hand was put on his back "Stanley what are you doing out here" "I couldn't sleep" "Did you have a nightmare". "Yes... I was in a room by myself in the dark and someone was telling me that I was worthless and I believe it.

The voice said it again and again but louder  and then dad came out of nowhere he told me to my face again that he thought I never was good for anything anyway. I...I COULDN'T"T DO A GOD DAM thing about it and I couldn't make it stop it's all my fault "he sobbed. Ford hugs him tightly "shhh okay you are not worthless without you I still be stuck in a another  dimension or the kids would gone.He really was a bad person it's feels a little worse to say that about our own father. But he hurt you and thats Something I can't let you be dragged down by for the rest of our lives. You're much more smarter than I am when it comes to noticing  things and braver too you really mean the world to me Stanley.

“Did you take your medicine this morning” “I don’t remember.. just to let you know you’re the one diagnosed with depression the medication is under your name” Stan told him he’ll have to call the pharmacy in the morning to get the prescription under Stanley name. “Come on let’s go bed” he whispers. He carried Stan like a small child and walked back inside. Ford decided that he too tried and exhaust from his withdrawal to drag himself to bed.

And he thinks that maybe this is a way to make up for his mistreat of his younger brother. Ford thinks that he is unhappy with himself for not being a good brother to him for being so selfish and stubborn even when Stan just trying to help him. He finds it difficult to let himself be cared for. Because he struggles with his shame of feeling like he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Stan would has no problem doing the same for him. Inside Ford gets his him his medicine and helps him in to bed. Stan looked at him and smiled a little bit and Ford thought maybe he still has a chance to change. He feels a lot better now that he’s brother looks to be doing alright. Ford wrapped a red plaid blanket around both of them they slept and cuddled side by side.

A day or two later they did some exploring on the beach of the new island it seems to be very populated by people. The locals are friendly to the twins they stop at a restaurant for breakfast "hey Ford do you want to hear the dream I had last night". "Maybe? Sure ""I had a dream that mom told me that she is proud of me for helping you..Isn't that weird". "Yea that odd I had a similar dream that she wanted me to be less stubborn and she was very happy that we're looking after each other".

"I wish mother was here"Ford told him taking a sip of his tea "I wish too but if it makes you feel better she knew" Stan comforted him "she knew about the portal and my disappearance" he asked. "Yes she is the only one I trusted and she knew I could bring you back. She gave me money when she could to help run it.And told me when she died I think that was a little while after the kids were born. She said to keep going to Bring you back." Stan took off his gold chain and opened it to show him.And in Lock it was a picture of the two of them and their mother.Ford touched with 6 fingers hand gently rubbing it and smiled Stan smiled too.After they finished their food they did some shopping at the market for supplies and food that should last them a few weeks. And get some cool stuff to show the kids.

"Is Shamans still alive" Ford asked him "umm no unfortunately he passed away a year ago from kidney cancer sorry" Stan told him. "That's a shame I thought we could go and see him is his wife Faith is she still alive" he said " Faith is she in a nursing home in Piedmont we could go with Michael if you wanted to" Stan offered Ford shook his head and agreed that they should when they get back home. Stan showed him a Hawaiian shirt he wants to buy even though he already has about 10. They headed to the ship and start dinner when the egg starts to hatch “look Stanley it’s hatching get my journal” Ford waits and watches what ever creature might come out.

“Lets hope it’s not a siren I don’t want to go through that again ” Stan hands him his phone a little brown head slowly pops out it has the ears of a cat and the eyes and mouth of a dog. A small round brown body covered in curly dark brown hair and a cat nose.Paws too big for it body thick tail with a white patch on the end. “Well that’s looks like something Mabel would draw she kind of cute” Stan try to pat her she moves away. “It’s incredible I’ve never seen anything like it before”Ford wrote down his observations.She jumped into his lap and licks his face “gross stop it be a good test subject ” Ford takes her and measures her height and takes pictures.Get a blood sample then he uses a microscope to look at her DNA.

A few hours later after Ford runs more tests Stan asks “You weren’t thinking of just using her to run your experiments and then getting rid of her were you”. “Well yes we can’t take care of a pet” Ford says “why not she can’t survive on her own just look at her” Stan points to her playing with a ball on the floor. “Ok you make a good point” he reaches out and gives her a scratch Stan pick her up and gives her her bottle. “How about Joy” he suggests “perfect” Ford agrees.They sailed around the world together from Colombia to Ireland to Australia to the Netherlands to Antarctica, to Africa and many other places looking for babes and treasure and creatures, myths .

[roseg96]

Thinking about these two old men today ❤️‍🩹

[donethedevilspedicure]

You see, it's funny because it's the metal band Manowar and the Stan'o'war is a pun on the word man o' war.

[maddexfox]

Stan O' War

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[itwouldeatyoualive]

tryinf to watch old gravity falls episode hurts so bad. gobblewonker episode i will never see u the same way ever againnnn 😭😭😭😭

[ckret2]

Chapter 70 of human Bill Cipher pretending he's not the Mystery Shack's captive for ten minutes:

This happens!

Whoops, sorry, zoomed too far in.

This happens!

Way more important and exciting.

####

Bill lasted—based on the sun's position—about a couple of hours before this body's needs knocked him out of his meditative mindset. He sat up with a sigh, checked his tanlines—the stripes he'd drawn across his abdomen were already darkening into a nice, angry burn—and glanced over at the lake to see what the Pines were up to.

At the moment, Mabel was holding a foot-long wiggling, glittery, gold-scaled trout in a net and grinning proudly. Stan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pointed at her in excitement as Dipper snapped a picture of them. Stan opened a cooler for her to drop the fish in. Mabel's face fell, and she hugged the fish protectively. Stan's shoulders sagged; but after half a minute of unsuccessful negotiations, he relented and pointed at the lake. She dumped the trout back in the water.

Bill clicked his tongue in disappointment and muttered, "If I'd thought they'd catch the golden trout, I would've told 'em that thing's like the holy grail to the Fishmasons." Stan probably would have insisted they keep it just so they could get something on Eugene. Bill wasn't emotionally invested in their feud; but the trout did grant three wishes. Bill could use that kind of power.

Oh well, he could tell them later. Maybe they'd get lucky and hook it again. Bill got to his feet. "Hey, old lady. I need to stretch my legs." Stretch his legs, look for entertainment, and forage for food—they were planning to be out here all day, but there hadn't yet been a grocery trip to properly stock his new fridge chest and he didn't trust Ford's nutrition pills, so he'd only brought along a bottle of hot sauce and a bottle of sprinkles and hoped he'd manage to find some food once he was here. (And if he didn't find any—well, at least he had hot sauce and sprinkles.)

"Okay," Abuelita said. She turned a page.

He put his slippers back on, dug his condiments and eye patch out of Abuelita's bag—his eyes were getting tired—put on the patch, and scanned the beach. "Hey. Looks like somebody's grilling hot dogs over there."

Abuelita made a noncommital sound of minimal interest.

"Hot dog might be nice," he said. "Looks like the grill's a biiit over thirty feet away, though..."

"Okay," Abuelita said again.

"So." He waved his braceleted hand demonstratively. "Shall we?"

"Eh. I don't want a hot dog." She slid the enchanted bracelet off and dropped it in the sand.

Bill stared at the bracelet, then stared at her. "What, that—really? You're just... really?"

"What am I, a cop?"

Good enough for him. "You're all right, lady." He wrapped the extra thread around his wrist, put on the second bracelet, and glanced at the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines weren't about to catch him off his leash.

The family was crowded around watching as Ford reeled in something heavy. He grinned excitedly as the hook dragged up a patch of soggy khaki fabric; and his smile vanished when his coat grabbed the boat with a furry hand. As the family scrambled to the far end of the boat, Bigfoot—wearing Ford's lost coat and a full set of scuba gear—climbed aboard the boat.

Ford punched Bigfoot in the face.

"Oh," Bill said. "Bigflipper. That'll keep 'em distracted for a while." Satisfied, he meandered up the beach.

He plastered on a bright smile as he approached the family with the hot dogs, veered around the husband working the grill, and walked right up to the wife sitting on a beach towel, eating a hot dog, and watching her kids play in the water. "Heeey, Wanda! What are you doing here! Look at you, you look terrific!"

The woman looked up at Bill from under her sunhat in bafflement. "I—hi? Sorry, do I...?"

"Sure, it's Goldie! Washington State! Fifteen years ago! We were in the same study group, remember? East Asian history? Honestly all I remember about the class is the other girls and that fifty percent of it was about Confucianism."

Wanda's eyes lit up, and then un-lit as she realized she still didn't recognize Bill. "Oh—heeey! Wow—sorry, guess I've slept since then."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just good with faces. Anyway, from what I remember," he jabbed a thumb toward the man at the grill, "at the time most of your attention was on Danny."

Wanda laughed again, a little more easily. "Right, god. I can't believe I made it through that semester with passing grades."

"Hey, you were still the only one in the group who could remember what order all those dynasties came in..."

Bill kept Wanda distracted for another couple of minutes with small talk about the study sessions he'd spied on out of boredom from a library stained glass window; and then, when he saw one hot dog had been set aside fully grilled and mustarded but as-yet unclaimed, he said, "But hey, I won't distract you anymore! Those kids look like a handful." While both parents turned to look at the kids, Bill snatched up the unclaimed hot dog, strolled down the beach, and called back, "It was good catching up!" That whole performance probably hadn't been necessary, he might've been able to time his loitering to swing by just as the hot dog was left unguarded; but it had been more fun this way. He didn't get to have a lot of conversations these days. Less where he felt like he was the one in control of the conversation.

He soaked the bun in hot sauce, dumped some sprinkles on the mustard, and took a bite while he glanced out at the lake again to see how the Pines were doing.

At the moment, Ford had Bigfoot in a chokehold from behind. Stan hit him with a right hook. Bigfoot kicked Stan in the chest with one immense flippered foot, and he tumbled backward into the lake.

Looked like none of them would be paying attention to anything on the beach any time soon. No need to go straight back to his cell. He scanned the rows of beachgoers sitting out by the lake, looking for fresh entertainment.

Bill's gaze fixed on one of the humans. One of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong. Amongst all the tourists in their swimsuits, one man—standing ramrod straight, dressed in a black suit, holding a heavy black device with an antenna—stuck out like a sore pale thumb in a pitch black bandaid.

An agent from the Bureau of Covert Investigations. The "eagles." The same guys that had covered up President Quentin Trembley's existence, a brief sightseeing trip Bill had taken to Roswell via nuclear testing-induced dimensional rip, and the miraculous and disgusting resurrection of cult leader/possession puppet Silas Birchtree; and, the guys that had been trying to find Bill's portal in Gravity Falls since they'd detected it in the '80s. Bill wasn't the eagles' biggest fan.

But they'd never been a big enough potential threat or a big enough potential help for him to intervene in their operations. In the mid '80s, when the lead investigator in Gravity Falls had been putting together his case, Bill had considered pulling some strings and manipulating them into taking over the portal from Stanley, before concluding they'd be more likely to disassemble the portal than activate it and it was better off in Stan's clumsy care. But all the same, he'd kept watch over their operations. 

And this, if he wasn't mistaken, was the lead investigator himself. Agent Powers. What was he doing here? Bill had thought the case was closed last year after Ford wiped their memories and sent them packing. Maybe Powers was here about Trembley? Depending on what the Pines had entered into the memory gun, the eagles might still remember that part of their operations in town.

Bill would kinda like to know where Trembley was these days. He studied the agent as he slowly finished his hot dog; and then he moved in.

"Hey there, agent!" Bill clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him start, and beamed brightly. "Welcome to town! What brings you to Gravity Falls?"

"Pardon?" Agent Powers gave Bill an appraising up-and-down look—threat assessment, probably—caught sight of his bikini top, and quickly looked him in the eye. "How did you know I'm an agent?"

"Oh, that's easy! I'm psychic."

Powers opened his mouth, paused, and then squinted skeptically at Bill.

"Just kidding. You've got an earpiece, a business suit at the beach, and the government's favorite car."

"Oh." Powers turned to glance toward where he'd parked. "Yes. I suppose so."

"Say! If you want a more covert vehicle, you oughta go to Gleeful Auto in town. You'll blend right in. Just tell 'em Mr. Locke sent you."

"Who's Mr. Locke?"

Right, Bill supposed he didn't look like much of a "Mr." at the moment. Humans didn't consider bikinis gender neutral for some reason. He took a split second to decide whether he'd get any practical benefits from trying to push past the agent's initial perception of his gender, and couldn't think of any. "Friend of mine!"

"Ah." Powers nervously looked Bill up and down again; then cleared his throat and glanced away, cheeks flushed faintly pink in the heat. "Right. Thank you, uh, citizen."

"No problem!" If Bill remembered his suits right, this agent was an easy target. Believed in "collaborating" with "local informants"; wasn't very good at the covert part of the Bureau of Covert Investigations. "You don't look like you're in town on vacation! Investigating anything interesting at the lake?"

"Well..." Powers flashed Bill a quick sideways glance before nodding vaguely toward a couple of people in dive suits further up the beach. "If you must know, we've picked up some evidence of the lake recently flooding its banks. Which is strange, because the amount of rain this area's received can't account for how high the water climbed..."

Not here about Trembley, then? "Flooding? Think there's any danger, agent? In our quiet, harmless little town?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Powers said quickly. "But, I've said too much. I should go." He shifted his footing anxiously. He did not go.

What was that about? Bill glanced down at himself; he still looked perfectly human, didn't see anything that should make a government agent nervous. Was it the lack of shaving? Was that too Seventies Feminist for Mr. Government Suit? Was the eyepatch setting off his secret agent "Soviet supervillain in a spy movie" instincts? He couldn't have noticed Bill stealing a hot dog.

Should Bill press his luck? (Stupid question—of course he should.) "Say, you keep giving me these odd looks, agent! Anything you wanna say?"

His pink cheeks flushed darker. "Er, no, no ma'am. It's just, I uh..." He gestured vaguely toward Bill, "I... couldn't help but notice that your... sunscreen is a bit streaky."

Bill glanced down at his tan lines. Streaky? He thought the burn lines were coming out pretty crisp.

The agent went on, "I was wondering if you needed help applying it more evenly." It took a split second for him to realize what he'd just said; and then he went even redder.

Bill raised his brows. Huh. "Nooo, I'm great, thanks. It's supposed to look like that."

"Oh." Powers's brow furrowed in confusion. "All right." He nodded. "In that case, I really should be going, then."

"All right!"

But Powers hesitated again for a moment before finally moving up the beach away from Bill.

Well. Interesting. Interesting reaction.

He checked on the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines hadn't seen anything. At the moment—he squinted—they seemed to be playing poker with Bigfoot. He must not have liked Mabel's playing (unsurprising; she was an incorrigible cheat), because he picked her up and chucked her in the lake.

"She's fine," Bill muttered. "She's got her life jacket." They were good about that in this town.

He watched as Powers met up with the divers farther along the beach; and then he headed back to his towel.

####

Bill had decided his front was sufficiently roasted and was struggling to apply new sunscreen stripes to his back so he could flip over, when he overheard somebody say, "Oh hey, Toga Lady?"

Bill twisted around, already grinning in greeting before he'd even seen who was talking to him. "Heya!" It was Broken Heart and two of the others. Wendy's gang. Robbie, Tambry, and Nate. "What are you guys doing out here! You don't look like the beach types!" (In deference to the environment, all three of them had donned swim trunks and sandals; but that was as beachy as they'd gotten. Nate and Tambry were in black t-shirts advertising metal bands. Robbie was still in his hoodie. Robbie's legs nearly glowed white.)

"Hanging," Tambry said, one arm around Robbie's back and face glued to her phone.

Nate elbowed Robbie. "Dude, he's Toga Guy, remember?"

"Toga 'Lad' would be better," Tambry said.

"You sure?" Robbie asked. "Sh—he's kinda..." He gestured vaguely toward his own chest, realized that probably wasn't the best way to make his point, and finished, "uh... bikini."

"I don't want to spend my day arguing about whether I've got the right to go topless!" Bill got to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. "I could talk my way out of trouble with the police—it's the tourist parents I'm worried about." He pulled up one strap to examine his shoulder. "It's gonna ruin my tan, though."

They took in his tan in progress: several horizontal lines across his lower torso and upper thighs, a few disconnects vertical lines stretched between the horizontal ones. Tambry glanced up from her phone, snorted, and started typing faster; Nate said, "Dude, are you trying to make bricks like the triangle guy?"

Bill froze, mouth open. "Uhhh..." Sure, that was the objective—he just hadn't really expected humans to find it that obvious. Nosy little pattern-seekers. "I mean—"

"That's cool," Tambry said. "Stick it to the man."

Robbie had screwed up his face a bit, but at Tambry's reaction, he shrug-nodded and conceded, "Yeah, it's kinda punk, I guess."

Nate said, "Praise Bill or whatever, right?" He laughed. "Yeah, I thought about getting a tattoo of him. Up here or something?" He pushed a sleeve up above the snake tattoo wrapped around his left bicep to show the blank spot on his shoulder. "But my parents would flip if they ever found out. Maybe I should do the brick thing too, it's way subtler." Nate turned to the other two, lifted up his shirt, and said, "Hey Tambers, do you think I'd look cool with bricks around my waist?"

She didn't look up. "No."

"What if I got an eye on my chest too?"

"Let me think. No."

Bill watched this back and forth with wide-eyed stunned silence. Hold on. What? Praise Bill?

"Pfff, whatever!" Robbie rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're gonna regret getting a Bill tattoo once I get my sick symbol off the anti-Bill circle. It's like... giving me a permanent rock-paper-scissors win against you. For the rest of time."

Nate laughed. "Shut up, whatever man! The circle didn't even do anything."

"It would have! It was, like, glowing!"

"Heeey!" Bill stepped into the trio's line of sight again. "Right, yeah, praise Bill, by the way any of you wanna help me get my back?" He turned around to gesture over his shoulder. "Little favor between punk weirdos?"

"Yeah, sure." Tambry tucked her phone into Robbie's hoodie pocket and held out her hand for the tube of sunscreen. "Just continue the lines around your back?"

"You got it." Bill lifted his arms. "And try to keep the bricks evenly spaced."

"What is this stuff? Some kind of suntan lotion?"

"It's more like anti-sunscreen," Bill said. "By the way, you probably wanna wash your hands after this unless you want sunburned fingers." He wiggled his own fingers, which were faintly flushed from applying the first layer of sunscreen that morning.

"Hey, anti-sunscreen," Nate said, "you could call that, uh... sun-beam." He paused. "No wait, that's already a word."

Robbie laughed. "You're an idiot."

"Sooo," Bill said. "Is the triangle guy cool now? Not—not asking for any particular reason. Just curious."

"Oh, yeah," Tambry said. "Like half the school's decided he's our crazy anti-authoritarian counterculture chaos god now?" (Bill was adding that to his business card.)

Robbie said, "Somebody set up a shrine to him in a hollow tree stump behind the school. People started making animal sacrifices to him during finals week."

Nate said, "It's chicken nuggets and cafeteria tacos, but. Y'know. We didn't say live animals."

"Huh! Interesting!" Bill tried, unsuccessfully, not to sound too excited. He was hip with the youth. Who'd imagined! This was what he got for hanging out with the town's cops and politicans, he could've been exploiting this for a month. "But I think he prefers receiving gold!"

Nate laughed. "Dude, I'd prefer receiving gold, too. What we have is chicken nuggets and tacos."

"Fair enough," Bill shrugged. "By the way—if you want a Bill tattoo? The traditional style is to shave your hair and get his eye above your forehead, right here!" He tapped his skull over his brain's frontal eye fields. "It tells him right where to enter."

"Oh, sweet! That's perfect," Nate said. "I can shave, get a tattoo, and just keep my hat on until my hair grows back. No one will ever know!" (Bill tried to imagine hair growing out of his eyeball, and wished he hadn't.)

Robbie said, "Hey, weren't the Pines like... not letting you go outside because you knew him or something? That's what Wendy said."

That wasn't the story he'd told her. He'd have to find out where she'd picked that up. "Or something. It was more because of dumb academic ego-measuring contests than anything to do with that."

"So, they finally letting you outside alone now?"

"Only for group trips." Bill pointed out at the lake.

The three teens squinted toward the boat. "Whoa," Tambry said. "Are they arm-wrestling Bigfoot?"

"Oh, yeah. It was poker earlier."

For a moment, all activity ceased as the teens watched the battle out on the lake. Nate sat in the sand and propped his chin in his hand. Figuring Tambry was done with his stripes, Bill plopped onto his beach towel to watch as well.

Bigfoot defeated Stan, and Soos switched places with him to try next. Soos lasted five seconds before Bigfoot flipped him into the water. Melody scrambled to help pull him back aboard as Bigfoot pumped his fists in the air victoriously. Bill snorted.

"Bad luck," Robbie said. 

"I could beat him," Nate said. "Hey Robbie, think I could beat him?"

"Pfff, no."

"Bet Wendy could," Tambry said, recording through her phone as Bigfoot generously indulged Dipper and Mabel's attempt to take him on as a team. The guys murmured vague agreement with Tambry.

"Buuut anyway," Bill said, reluctant to let the conversation get too far away from himself, "yeah, I might've talked to the triangle guy a couple, several times."

"That's pretty cool," Nate said. "Hey, we oughta hang sometime, I bet Lee'd wanna hear about that. It'd probably drive Wendy crazy, but..."

Tambry let out a dismissive pff. "The triangle stuff's been driving Wendy crazy all year. She can take it."

"Not a fan?" Bill asked.

"Nah, she thinks the whole thing's creepy. Her and Thompson both."

"I think the whole cult thing's fine," Robbie said magnanimously. "As, y'know, one of the people prophesied to defeat him. If he ever really came back and caused trouble, we could handle it."

Bill tried not to roll his eye. Bold words out of a guy who, a couple of years ago, had left a plate of spaghetti in the woods to see if an "evil triangle" urban legend was true, and had thrown up when Bill dragged him into a dream state to show him just how true it was.

On Earth, urban legends about Bill tended to pop up and wither away in waves around the epicenter of his latest area of influence—like mushroom rings spreading away from a patch of ground they'd depleted of useful nutrients and left to die. Bill suspected the local urban legend Robbie had stumbled upon had been passed down in Gravity Falls for thirty years by teens misinterpreting Old Man McGucket's crazy ramblings about a "demon triangle" and "spaghettification."

He was always torn on whether to encourage or quash such urban legends: on the one hand, it was handy for humans to know he existed and was available for deals; but much less handy when they warned each other away from him. More than once, knowledge of him had nearly broken into the mainstream, and he'd had to put all his other plans on hold to focus on deflecting the whistleblowers' information into obscurity.

Apparently encouraging the spaghetti one had been the right move, if a year after his brief conquest of Gravity Falls the teens were offering him sacrifices rather than cursing his name.

Nate punched Robbie's arm. "Why would he cause us trouble? He's our chaos god, remember? We've given him offerings!"

"I like that attitude," Bill said. "Hanging out sounds fun! We'll... figure something out sometime." As soon as he found a way to make the Pines let him go outside without being surrounded by babysitters. Wouldn't that be humiliating, a full adult hanging out with teenagers and it's the adult who isn't allowed outside without a chaperone. No, that wasn't an option. If he came with an adult attached, they'd ditch him in a heartbeat for being too much of a drag.

The teens made their farewells and headed down the beach, Tambry and Robbie with their arms around each other again. Tambry wiped the anti-sunscreen off her hand onto the back of Robbie's hoodie.

As they went, they walked past Agent Powers—who was looking right at Bill.

Bill stared. The agent quickly looked away.

He didn't like that one bit. As he adjusted his position to lay face down on his towel, he said, "Hey, Dolores. You get the feeling we're being watched?"

"Hm?" Abuelita glanced up from her book toward Bill, then looked where he was looking. "Government." She made a disapproving noise and turned back to her book. "Nothing but trouble."

"You said it." Why was Powers so focused on Bill. He couldn't possibly be in any kind of trouble, he hadn't even existed until a month ago. And the eagles probably didn't know that, did they?

Nothing Bill could do about it in the middle of a beach trip. He propped his chin in his hand and checked on the fishing crew again.

In a fury, Bigfoot had ripped the motor off the back of the boat and lifted it over his head. The Pines family huddled together at the other end of the boat, trying to shield their heads.

A golden trout jumped out of the water, arced majestically through the air, and smacked Bigfoot in the face. Bigfoot stumbled backward and tripped out of the boat.

Hm. Maybe letting the trout go had been the right move. Bill shut his eyes and lay back down.

####

The sun was low and most of the beachgoers had gone home when the Stanowar chugged back to shore, battle-weary, disheveled, and dissatisfied. Except for Ford, who was wearing his sopping wet coat over his waders, holding one boot, and pleased as punch.

"Hey!" Bill shouted. "How'd it go!" He surreptitiously tossed half the bracelet over to Abuelita. She quietly slid it on.

Crankily, Stan yelled from the dock, "You didn't mention Bigfoot in a scuba tank!"

Bill shouted back, "Bigflipper wasn't there when I looked! What, did you expect me to check the entire spacetime continuum to find you the perfect fishing?!"

Faintly, he could hear Ford say, "See, I told you his proper name is Bigflipper."

Mabel repeatedly poked Dipper in the arm as they crossed the beach. Dipper flinched each time. "Ow, ow—Mabel. Cut it out."

"That's what you get for forgetting your sunscreen, bro-bro!"

Dipper's arms and face were bright red with a sunburn. "I didn't forget! I put it on at the beach, right before we left!"

Bill grabbed up Abuelita's empty water bottles and tossed them in the nearest trash can, along with the rest of his tube of anti-sunscreen before anyone could get a good look at it. He ignored the kids and said to Stan, "But it was a good fishing spot, right?"

Stan grumbled, but grudgingly admitted, "Yeah. Until tall, brown, and hairy showed up. We caught four fish! That's gotta be at least as good as the guys from the lodge, right?"

Bill winced. "Ooh. Sorry, they went by an hour ago with eleven fish."

Stan let out a roar of outrage and threw his fishing rod in the sand.

"Grunkle Stan, you don't go fishing to catch fish," Mabel said. "You go fishing to catch memories! Look at this!" She held up a bunch of photos. "This is a whole scrapbook spread right here! We caught sooo many memories."

"And my coat," Ford said. He was admiring his #1 Grunkle pen, which he'd taken from the coat pocket.

"I'd rather have fish," Stan grumbled. "All right, c'mon. Let's get..." He trailed off, looking past Bill. "Hey, is that...?"

Bill glanced back over his shoulder, and grimaced. Agent Powers and his protégé were watching them from the far end of the beach. Bill quickly turned back around. "Yep. Your old friends from last summer," he said. "They've been scoping out the beach all day. I don't know what they're here for—but you probably wanna get out of here." More importantly, Bill wanted to get out of here—but he didn't see any benefit to letting them know he was nervous.

"He's right," Ford said. "If they see us long enough to recognize us—and his memories start coming back..."

"Who are they?" Melody asked.

Soos whispered loudly, "I'll explain it in the car." Bill bit back the need to point out that whispering didn't make a difference as far away as the agents were.

"I don't get it," Stan said. "What are they doing back here?"

"You wanna go ask him?" Bill asked. Stan grimaced.

The Pines and Ramirez families piled back in their vehicles and headed out. Bill had the uneasy feeling that Agent Powers was focused on the Ramirez's truck as they left.

####

(How long have I been promising the Agent Powers plot, since like the May before last or something? Here it is!!

Next week, either we launch straight into the Powers plot, or I finally have the Axolotl chapters (it's chapters plural now) sufficiently edited and we do that first, because once we start the Powers plot there's no place for a break until it's over. Hopefully the Axolotl chapters will finally be ready by next Friday, but if they're not...... tough. It's fine though, you'll live.)

[jermapliermiku]

HEAR ME OUT, gravity falls movie bro. animated ofc about how bill comes back through the power of his cults around the world. I mean come ON THAT SOUNDS AMAZING. I would like to see a scene where Ford, Stan, Mabel and soos on the stanowar boat getting attacked by a crazy dragon sea creature and Stan says a funny line like 'but her aim is getting better!' Ford 'no time to jooke :('

[a-stanford-pines]

heyyy sixer forgot to ask

did we go on a Stanowar trip in the end?

@the-coolest-man-ever

Oh haha yes! I'm actually on a trip right now, well me and Stanley stopped by a town for now, for get supplies and whatnot. You see, I'm researching anomalys found out at sea, with Stanley as my help and company. It's been quite the schlep, but we're both having a lot of fun and I'm happy with the progress I'm making on my research.

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

boo!! crab attack!!

something something sea grunkles something something stanowar… ocean?

idk you get the picture

anon i need you to know yes i do get the picture ans thank you i love you for sendjng me crabs

[emawinslow]

the fishing boat being called the stanowar

[a-fluffy-dog24]

A another fanfic it’s called the legend of the sea bros. Summary the boys are off on an adventure at sea And talk about they issues and they need each other emotionally and physically to survive. Ford is trying to reject the help from his brother that he desperately needs.Stan is so worried about his brother that he forgets that sometimes he needs to rely on his brother for support.

Here’s a sneak peek.

The giant monster starts attacking the boat "ok I got a spear" Ford grabs a spear and throws it at the huge green sea monster. It has one eye but he misses and the monster gabs Ford's arm and starts putting him overboard.He accidentally hit his head into the wall of the boat it makes him feel like the floor is moving up and down.He starts pulling away and hitting it hard with his hand but it no use.

[charqueen12]

In the second episode of gravity falls stabs boat said Stan o war wich completly tore me up because all Stan wanted was to have that relationship with the twins that he never got with ford

[demico-art]

Full color commission for @nippon-maverick37

---

Commission info

[gosecretscribbles]

Forduary 2018 Week 4: Stan O’ War

Thanks for this piece go to Mubfsw (on Archive of Our Own), who came up for the idea behind this story.  Enjoy!

Ford sat in the kitchen of the Stan O' War, various bits and pieces of machinery scattered around him.  

“My bonnie lies over the ocean...”

His jaw tightened and he drew the machine closer, trying to screw in the little nails as fast as he could.  

“My bonnie lies over the sea...!”

Ford finally gave up and stood.  “STANLEY WOULD YOU CUT THAT OUT!”

The cabin door opened and Stanley stuck his head in, grinning.  “Whatsa matter, Sixer?  Want me to pick a different song?”

“Yes!  Preferably one with no lyrics whatsoever!”

“You got it!”

“Wait no wait –”

“AAAAAH-OOOOOH-EEEEEH-YAYAYAYAAAAAA –”

Ford slapped his hands over his ears.  “Uncle, uncle!”

“You mean grunkle, baby!  POW!”

Ford groaned.  About a week ago they'd found a strange golden goblet with odd encryptions around the rim.  Stan, of course, drank from it the first chance he got, which was how they found out it cursed the drinker to hear the voices of the dead. Apparently the sea was heavily populated with ghosts from hundreds of years ago, and Ford had been excited to hear their first-hand accounts of ancient anomalies (well, second-hand, since Stan had had to repeat everything they said.  Occasionally with his own colorful interpretations).

After a few days, though, Stan got annoyed with having to listen to them nonstop.  They had yet to find a cure for the curse, so Ford was working on an astral disruptor to keep the ghosts at bay.  It would make the area very painful for any ghost to endure for long.

Unfortunately, Stan had hit upon something even worse: his singing.

“I am literally begging you to stop,” Ford said, looking up at his brother.  

“Sorry, pal!  Can't hear you over this drowned damsel screamin' in my ear!”  He inhaled deeply, preparing to sing.  

“WAIT!  Look, since we can't put enough distance between us, you've got to stop singing.  Just for ten minutes, or I'll never get this disruptor done!”

Stan cupped a hand around his ear.  “Did I hear that right?  The great 12th-degree genius can't fix a machine? Do I detect a sore spot?”

“I'll give you a sore spot!” Ford snapped.  

“Yeesh!  Alright already.  But don't expect to hear any more second-hand accounts of Atlantis from me.”  He pulled back and closed the door.

“That is the point of the whole disruptor!” Ford called after him.

He collapsed back on the bench next to the table and held his breath.  He was waiting for another migraine-inducing song from his brother.  When he counted to twenty, and the ship was still quiet, Ford let his breath whoosh out.  Dipper and Mabel had told him that the three of them defeated a horde of zombies by singing.  Given Stan's vocal cords, Ford believed Stan could've done it solo.

That must be what it's like for Stan, hearing those ghosts all the time. Serves him right, Ford thought.

But he pulled the disruptor close again. Karmic justice aside, there was no reason for Stan to keep paying for what had clearly been a dumb mistake.  

It took him about three minutes to finish the machine, attach the feed, and turn it on.  He brought it up to the deck.

“Okay, Stanley!  How's it...ah.”

Stan was fast asleep, slumped against the wheelhouse, fishing pole still held tightly in his hand.  His head was thrown back and he was snoring loudly.  It was almost...cute.  In a really crusty way.

Of course.  The ghosts had been pestering Stanley nonstop.  Ford hadn't noticed a change in Stan's behavior, but he really should've noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. They must've been keeping him awake at all hours of the night.  

Well, it was clear enough that Stan needed the rest.  Ford made to go back below deck, but his brother suddenly startled awake.  

“Ehn?  Wazzat?”

Ford turned back.  “I didn't mean to wake you.  I just finished making the astral disruptor.  Do you hear any ghosts?”

Stan blinked and looked around blearily.  “Um...no.”  He blinked a few times.  “Wow.  Wow! No wonder I fell asleep!  Those stupid things have been yackin' my ear off for days and now it's finally quiet!”  He sprang to his feet.  “Take that, you ectoplasmic whiner-babies!  Who's yellin' uncle now, huh? Hahahaha!”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “Yes, well, I strongly suggest we treat this as a trial run only.  And pay particular attention to any sounds you hear, whether or not you think I can hear them.  There may be some side effects to mixing an astral disruptor with your curse.  In fact, the particular wavelengths that the ghosts seem to use may also have been duplicated by other supernatural –”

“ROLLIN' DOWN TO OLD MAUI, BOYS/ROLLIN' DOWN TO OLD MAUI!”

Ford jumped so badly he nearly dropped the disruptor.  “Great Einstein's Ghost, Stanley!  I just told you the disruptor's working, you don't need to sing!”

“Sure I don't, that's why I feel like singin'!  WE'RE HOMEWARD BOUND TO THE ARCTIC GROUND –”

“That's it!”

Ford dropped the disruptor safely on the deck and lunged at Stan, literally bowling him over.  

It was like being kids again.  They rolled around on the deck, the fishing rod long forgotten, wrestling and trying to grab at each other.  Ford knew Stan's every weak spot, all the little places where, if he did it juuuust right...

“Sweet Mo – Moses, Ford!” Stan gasped, laughing so hard tears streamed down his eyes.  “You have twelve fingers, it's not –” and then he ran out of breath to say anything else.  He was practically doubled up laughing.

Ford paused on top of him, grinning.  “Give up yet?”

“I give, I give!  Grunkle!”

Ford laughed and rolled off.  Stanley sat up, still wheezy with laughter and clutching at a stitch in his side.  

“You tryin' a make me wet my pants or something?” Stan asked, smiling, when he'd gotten some of his breath back.  “I mean geez, that's just playin' dirty!  You coulda just asked me to stop singin'.”

Ford punched him lightly on the arm.  “I did ask, you knucklehead.”  

“Musta been short-term memory loss!”

He rolled his eyes.  “Really, Stan?  Must you kid about that?”

“'Must you', 'must you',” Stan mimicked. “Aaand you're back to bein' a stuffed shirt.  And here I thought my good influence was finally rubbin' off on you.”

“Too bad,” Ford said dryly.  “How're those ghosts of yours?”

“They're not my ghosts,” Stan corrected, and he yawned hugely.  “I dunno, can't hear a thing. Maybe the curse just wore off?”

Ford shrugged.  “We could turn the disruptor off to check.”

“No way.”  Stan yawned again.  “At least not until I actually get some sleep here.”

“Sure, sure.  Why don't – you mean here here?” Ford looked down, surprised.  Stan was lying down right on the deck, folding his arms under his head for a pillow.  “Stan, your back is going to stiffen up if you do that and you'll be in no shape for your chores around the Stan O' War.”

“Even better,” Stan mumbled, closing his eyes.  “Wake me when you...”  The rest of his sentence was lost in a snore.

Ford smiled and got up to retrieve the fishing pole.  It had fallen on the deck and the line had snapped, but the actual pole was still in place.  He brought it down to the cabin, found Stan's orthopedic back pillow, and brought it back up.  After he made Stan as comfortable as he could, he took up his post in the wheelhouse and checked to make sure they were still on course.  He supposed he could do the evening chores tonight, too.  

A/N: I DID IT GUYS FORDUARY IS DONE!!!

Wait...Forduary is done?!  NOOOOOO!

Thanks again to Mubfsw.  I wanted to finish Forduary in the actual month of Forduary, and the only reason that happened was because Mubfsw gave me an awesome idea.  Thanks again, Mubfsw!  

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again - Chapter 17

Whole Again on AO3

-Three Days Before Christmas-

What the hell was Stan Bill thinking? What the hell was that? Stanford could feel his pulse racing, rapid beat, a throb at his pulse points: the back of his crania, his neck, the center of his chest, his thumbs, his wrist…

Stanford took a steadying breath, willing his heart rate to return to normal. He clenched his hands tight to ease the shaking. He'd done it so many times before, willed himself to not feel fear, to not feel emotions. It was as familiar and as simple as falling asleep. Then why was it so hard to make himself calm down? What was Bill playing at? What the hell did he think he was going to accomplish with this charade?

Stanford was startled, scared. He'd been scared before and he'd learned to concentrate on his intellect and let the irrational emotions ebb from his mind. But the blood that beat a rough staccato at his pulse points wasn't cold, wasn't leaving him chilled and anxious to run. He was burning; his clothes, his very skin, feeling tight. He felt faint as the perspiration dripped from his brow and down his neck. He would burn up if he lost control; it was always fire in the end with Bill. And with Stan.

It was Stan Bill who looked like Stan. Bill who wore the same face as his twin. Bill who spoke with the same voice, who had the same mannerisms, the same memories, the same sense of humor that had Stanford rolling with laughter even forty years later. But Stan was gone now. Only Bill remained. And Bill looked like Stan, and despite that, Stanford was still affected by the daemon. His body still responded to the monster that manipulated him, that put his family in danger, that killed his brother. God, what kind of sick creature was he? To still be attracted to that thing? To...still...love Bill? He did, didn't he? He still loved Bill, and nothing that had happened between them, nothing Bill had done was enough to break that. To finally squash that damnable flutter he felt whenever Bill was near. He couldn't kill that burst of affection that warmed his chest when he thought of his muse. He couldn't sever the hold Bill had over him, and the worst part was, he wasn't sure if that was what he really wanted.

He wanted to want to leave Bill in his past, to move on and live his life, be with his family. But he had lived so much of his life obsessing over Bill. He’d spent what seemed like years working alongside him, calling him friend. Bill had been such a large part of his life, that a part of him didn't want to forget about Bill; still longed for the daemon’s touch, that it was a fight every waking moment to not give in and just let go. To just go to Bill and stay here with him, floating in the ocean, together. Just forget about everything. Forget about those waiting back home. It hurt to think that a part of him was so selfish as to separate himself from his family once again. And to what? What would Bill give him that he didn’t already have? What could Bill be for him that wasn’t already filled by the other people in his life.

And that was the sticking point; Bill had been the most important being in his life once. Bill encouraged him, engaged him, stretched his mind to the limits with concepts and theories and philosophy far beyond his own mortal understanding. They had been partners in every sense of the word. They worked and lived together, they talked about politics, advancements in mathematics and science. Bill would sit in the peripheries of his mindscape, even while Stanford was awake, and just be there. Just spend time while Stanford worked, humming strange and alien music, occasionally making images for Stanford’s amusement out of the clouds and dusty mist that existed in the gap in Stanford’s mindscape. The gap, more a link or an overlap between Stanford’s mind and Bill’s; not really one mind of the other, but a place where both existed at the same time, in the same place.

They had also been intimate, or as intimate as you can get with a being that only exists as a projection into the mental plain. It had only happened once, but once was enough to hook Stanford. Enough to drug him, hypnotize him, and drown him in his already unhealthy obsession. Once was enough to leave him shaking and tingly and thoroughly debauched, although his physical body had remained untouched. It was difficult now to tell if it had been a dream built on years of sexual repression and culminating in a subconscious manifestation of his affection for Bill, or something Bill had actually projected into his mind as a way of keeping Stanford both focused on the project and completely emotionally reliant on Bill. It was a memory that, despite all attempts to repress it, had remained resolute and vibrant. And it still affected him.  

*~*

Stanford had been distracted for two full days, unable to make any real advancements in the project while his mind kept wandering, while his trousers felt tight in all the wrong ways. He had been long past his formative teenage years where puberty and hormones controlled him like some base animal, but nothing he did could alleviate the low thrum of ‘want’. Everything even remotely attributed to sex flitted through his mind and disrupted his calculations, flinging numbers and variables this way and that as the flirty cashier from the corner market stripped for him, or Cathey Crenshaw from high school pulling down the top of her strapless dress to expose her (Stanford had been reluctant to admit he’d noticed) rather perky and sizable breasts, or the muscular boxer with a fuzzy face, large hands and a mouth Stanford was sure tasted of Pitt Cola and toffee, or the young undergrad that had grappled for his attention in grad school who had hidden beneath his desk one night to surprise him. Stanford had sent the boy home, but his hormone drugged mind filled in what would have happened if he hadn’t; a hot mouth and slick swipes of a tongue along his cock, a willing body on their knees, face pillowed between his thighs. The fantasy wasn’t constant (it never was); the undergrad’s short black hair grew long and faded to red, the moans coming from the boy’s throat increased in pitch until Stanford could feel Cathy trailing her perfectly manicured nails along his hips, then changed again, taking on a much rougher pitch, like gravel in a rock tumbler, making his cock throb and the hair darkened to a chocolate brown, boxing gloves thrown over the young man’s shoulder. He would knit his gingers into that mop of hair and thrust, and the subsequent groan would change yet again, becoming more smooth and sultry.

Stanford had been well in to the fantasy, palm pressed against the front of his trousers and hunched over the basement desk, when Bill had popped into his mind, pulling Stanford fully into the mindscape. The fantasy had dematerialized in an instant, Stanford dropping out of the now non-existent chair to float with his trousers around his knees and cock painfully erect, red, and throbbing, still slick with the imagined saliva from his fluctuating, illusory partner. A tense moment passed between them, Stanford’s mind still hazy from his exasperating distraction.    

“Heya there, Smart Guy. Need some help?” Bill’s voice had taken on the same chipper tone it always had, only this time, there was a slight veneer of curiosity. Stanford had instinctively made to cover himself, make himself decent in the face of his muse, but six ribbon-like tentacles erupted from Bill’s form and wrapped around each of his legs, his wrists, his waist, and his erection.

“Bill, what��?” But the question died on his lips as Bill lifted him closer; he could feel the tentacles writhing, twisting, and kneading against his exposed skin, his clothes having vanished without his noticing.

“No sweat Sixer, just let me handle this. You humans were always so weird with your physical needs. I never understood how you ever get anything done.” The tentacles started moving with purpose, tracing the line where his buttocks and thighs met, and coiling and uncoiling around his erection. One tentacle left his right arm loose and snaked over his chest to ghost over his nipples. Rubbing circles around the areola lightly before flicking the hardened bud. Stanford swallowed a squeak. He could feel something pool in his intestines. It was tingly, and warm…no, hot. Heat. It felt like his blood was rushing to his groin. His head felt light, his mind filled with random and unorganized thoughts. The tentacle wrapped loosely around his cock doubled up on itself; the lower girth still stroking his erection up and down while the probing tip inched its way back to his perineum, pausing to tease his testicles and tug gently as the pubic hair.

“Ooooohh.” Stanford couldn’t hold back the groan even if he had the mental focus enough to try. His hips jerked of their own accord. His mind blurred with questions, the words materializing and whizzing in the ether around them: What, Bill? Why are you doing this? Holy Moses, that feels amazing! Why do this for me? Are you curious? Nnnhhhhh! God, I’d let you watch. I have before, right? You wanted to know what it felt like. But why participate now? What are you getting out of it? He felt a four-fingered hand cup his cheek and he tiled his head up, blinking through a lusty haze to gaze into the eyes, er, eye of his muse.

“Hey there, Sixer. You still with me?” Bill was amused. While the triangle had no mouth (or rather, his eye was both his eye and mouth), Stanford could tell Bill was smirking. The set of his eyelids were nearly as expressive as a pair of lips on humans. What would they taste like? Would they be soft? Would the lashes ringed around Bill’s eye feel ticklish as they inevitably fluttered across his face? He nipped at his lower lip, imagining the taste of Bill’s lips on his. He found himself wrapping the tentacles around his limbs further in an attempt to pull himself closer to Bill. The black appendages looping tighter around his arms and legs, the bulk of his weight held by the one wrapped around his waist and hips and gently prodding at his navel. His hips were still bucking into Bill’s touch, the constant shift in weight in this gravity-less void pushing him closer to the triangle until he heard Bill sigh and felt the tentacles draw him in. Stanford let out a soft groan when his body finally came into contact with Bill.  

Bill’s surface was warm and surprisingly soft, just as he remembered. Stanford pressed himself as close to Bill’s form as he could, his twelve fingers splayed and drawing patterns on Bill’s form. Bill had kept to a mostly human size, maybe slightly larger. Stanford’s arms, tugged loose from the tentacles, wrapped around the upper part of Bill’s form, holding the triangle tight against his body. He felt like he was on fire, and the cool temperature of Bill’s form did nothing to abate the heat. He hadn’t noticed that he had started mouthing and licking at Bill’s surface until his lust fueled brain registered that he was tasting what might be described as a spiked energy drink, something vaguely metallic, and something bitter that reminded him of sulfur or quinine. It was a flavor that was very quickly proving to be addicting.

“God, I…” Stanford couldn’t even pause in his ministrations long enough to speak. Instead, he just panted and moaned, feeling the sounds bubble up from his chest. It may have been wishful thinking, but he swore he felt Bill shudder. With every movement, his erection brushed against Bill’s warm surface. Here he was, Stanford Pines, so desperate and needy he was grinding against Bill, his muse, his friend, his teacher. Using the omnipotent deity for his own inferior carnal pleasure. His hips snapping with every thrust, erection bobbing between them, smearing precum and leaving slick trails over the triangle; the bowtie was quickly becoming damp. He couldn’t help it; Bill’s touch was electric. He needed it. God, but he needed it. But it wasn't enough. His lips worked their way to Bill’s eye, kissing and gently nipping at its perimeter. His fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises on Bill’s back if it was possible. The tentacle around his cock squeezed, and Stanford took the risk, bringing his lips to Bill’s eyelids in some semblance of a kiss.

Bill’s lips, really eyelids, were soft and supple, and the eyelashes didn’t get in the way as much as he expected. Stanford licked at Bill's lips, tracing the plush ridges, and nipping the bottom lip, holding it between his teeth. He wished Bill had a proper mouth, or a tongue, or something. He felt Bill pull away and couldn’t hold back a whimper at the loss.          

“Whoa, slow down there IQ. Knew you were inta weird stuff, but I didn’t think you were this depraved.” Bill punctuated his statement with a long slow stroke to Stanford’s cock with one of his actual hands. Stanford whined, throwing his head back and gasping as Bill pressed at the spot below the head, sending a jolt of pleasure down his spine. He heard Bill hum and repeat the action. Through his haze, Stanford desperately tried to claw his way back to Bill; his fingertips just barely making contact with Bill’s face.

“Please…I want…” Stanford didn’t really know what he was asking for, not really. Maybe he just wanted to touch Bill, maybe he wanted to make Bill feel as good as the daemon was making him feel. Bill’s chuckle filled his ears the same moment his hands felt the plush warmth of Bill’s face, and he felt the tip of the tentacle massaging into his perineum creep further to brush over his entrance. Soft, and barely there, feather-like touch. Bill’s hand on his cock continued jerking, thumb swiping at the tip and smearing the beading precum.  

A litany of whimpers and panted exclamations of need passed his lips as his fingertips dug into Bill’s surface. “Ah, Ah, Ah, AH!” He was so close, but it was all so wrong. Here Bill was, giving him exactly what his body and mind needed, what his soul needed, an act of intimacy with the being he loved most, and Bill was getting nothing in return. He wanted to do something, something that would make Bill feel as good. If that was even possible. What if Bill’s kind didn’t do anything like this? What if there wasn’t any way for Stanford to reciprocate? Was Bill just helping him and getting nothing in return? The questions spiraled in his mind and clumped together like a heavy stone in his gut. A chill whipped through his blood stream and he felt is erection soften.

“Hey, what’s the matter? You’re overthinking this aren’t you?” The subtly glow accompanying Bill’s words made Stanford’s heart flutter. It made Bill look ever more like the divine being that Stanford believed him to be; it made Bill’s attentions to him, both academic and physical, all the more special because here was this perfect and omniscient being that actually went out of his way to spend time with Stanford.

Bill had spoken of creating a better world, one where the atrocities and injustices of the current world didn’t exist. One where every person was able to get by on their own merit rather than some lucky draw of the genetic or financial lottery. One where diversity and deformities like Stanford’s were celebrated, rather than ridiculed. One where he could…

Stanford felt a bizarre mix of longing, revulsion and fear itching at the back of his crania. It was strange. Something he wanted, something he couldn’t have and felt ashamed for wanting. He wanted Bill, and without the portal, he couldn’t ever really be with his muse. Some may think less of him for seeking such a relationship with something so dissimilar from humanity, but he felt no shame in desiring Bill; perhaps this shame stemmed from the fact that his desires were physical and not purely mental. He was weak to his baser emotions and physical needs just like any other human. But even still, Bill sought out him, Stanford Pines, to share his infinite knowledge with. And Bill seemed to be enjoying this in some way, so there should be no shame felt. And there wasn’t really, other than he felt he should do something to reciprocate. It was absurd that these feelings were for anyone expect Bill; Bill was his whole world. Fiddleford was a friend, sure, but Bill was his friend, confidant, muse, and dare he say, now lover. Bill was everything, so, naturally, his emotional conflictions would stem from Bill…right?

“Hey, it’s gone soft again. Did you finish? Wasn’t there supposed to be some sorta fructose-dihydrotestosterone-enzyme acid mix that went with it? Human bodily functions are weird, I never really understood them. But I’m guessing you just got lost in that maze of a mind ya got there.” Bill waved at the words and questions floating around them, dispersing Stanford’s insecurities. Stanford felt his throat tighten. How to explain it? Could he?

“Or is it that I’m not doing it right? It that it?”

“What? No, no it was, God, it was great! I just…” Stanford took a steadying breath, “I want to do something for you. Something like…” Stanford, being uncharacteristically bold, lunged forward to capture Bill’s lips/lids in another kiss. He peppered Bill’s mouth with short, rough kisses, trying (and again wishing that Bill had one) to lap at his tongue. Bill could read his mind, right? He knew what Stanford wanted, but maybe he didn’t understand it? Or maybe he didn’t want to do this? Maybe he was just humoring the stupid little human? Maybe…

“Alright, I gottcha. I can’t exactly get that same thing out of this, but I can probably do something.” The tentacles, all at once, particlized and dropped out of existence. Instead, Bill grew several sizes and Stanford was being supported by three of Bill’s hands; one supporting his back, one gripping his slowly hardening cock, and one cupping his hips under his buttocks. One eager finger softly probing his entrance, this time with some slick residue.

Something large and black, with intimidating girth, smacked Stanford on the cheek, rubbing the same slick substance over his face. He nuzzled at it without thinking, before opening his eyes to stare at Bill questioningly.

“There. I tried to make something with the same nervous system and electrical feedback loop you humans have. Go ahead, give it a whirl.” Stanford stared at the...well, it was supposed to be a penis, wasn't it? It looked far more like a fat tentacle that tapered slightly with a bulbus tip. Stanford could feel his mouth water. He'd never even thought of performing fellatio before – he'd never had the opportunity to entertain the idea – but he eagerly lapped at the head and shaft, letting his saliva drip down his chin. The pressed his tongue into the gap that was supposed to resemble the urethral opening and grinned when Bill moaned.  

“Whoa…..whoooooookay. So, so that's why you humans are obsessed with this, huh?” Bill shuddered and Stanford felt the newly formed shaft throb against his lips. But it was still more tentacle and prehensile than a human organ, and the surrealness and alien sensation sent a pulse of raw heat to his groin and Stanford bucked into Bill’s hand.

The tentacle pressed against his lips, wedging itself into his mouth and running over his tongue. It thickened gradually, open his jaw wide and forcing Stanford to swallow around it. He both heard and felt Bill moan. He could see a light shade of red pigment begin forming at Bill’s edges. His eye was closed and he was shaking. Stanford felt electric. To be able to pull a reaction like that out of Bill, to be the one, possibly the first, to make Bill feel this way. He swallowed hard, taking the tentacle as deep as he could, careful to not scrape his teeth. He swiped at the head with his tongue and heard Bill groan. “Oh man, I gotta get me a real body! This is great! Oh yeah! Laer rof siht yrt attog I. Siht ot desu teg dluoc I kniht. Tep taerg a ekam duoy. Uoy peek annog mi, snepo latrop taht nehw.” Bill eased a fingertip passed the ring of muscle, easing the way with the makeshift lube.

Stanford was too far gone to understand what Bill had said. Far too gone to understand much of anything besides the white heat in his veins. He whined. Hips still bucking into Bill’s hand and lips working their way up and down the shaft Bill created. Stanford came with a muffled scream around Bill’s cock. But Bill hadn't yet.    

Bill had been rough, and the power dynamic fluctuated back and forth between them. He would have had bruises, scratch marks, curved indents of teeth had they both been physically present. Bill had made himself a vulva, and Stanford had plunged in without hesitation. Bill had pushed into him while he simultaneously fucked Bill; the differing sensations, differing perspectives had been too much. His mind whited and he woke sweating and hunched over his desk, pants damn near dripping and papers stuck to his face with drying perspiration. The ink was smudged beyond all recovery, but Stanford could not bring himself to care. He never mentioned it to Bill, he didn't know what to say, how to approach the subject. He finally decided that if Bill wanted that again, they would do it, if he didn’t, then...well, Stanford would simply handle himself. He had plenty of fantasy material to work with.

***

Stanford shook his head free of the memory. He was sitting on his bunk below deck, he'd left Bill upstairs in the cabin. Stanford thought it must have been a dream now, because Bill had been too out of character with the being he knew. One bad thing about having an Eidetic memory, was that he remembered every detail, every touch, and it affected him just the same. Stanford shifted, feeling the tightness in his trousers. God, he was in his sixties, he was too old to be getting randy over memories of fantasies.

The worst part? He missed Bill. Missed being with the daemon. Missed talking to him, discussing the world, discussing life and the worlds and universes beyond this one. They would talk, about everything and nothing for hours, sometimes days. They would play interdimensional chess and D, D and MD for days. They would just sit in silence, Bill playing with the elements between space and Stanford working on expanding his notes, or working out his hypotheses for the strange things going on in Gravity Falls. He enjoyed Bill's company. He enjoyed being around the daemon, despite all the slightly off or disturbing things Bill was into.  

Bill had told Stanford of his family, his life before being ousted from his original dimension. Yes, Stanford knew that Bill was not a native to the Nightmare Realm, knew that Bill’s life in the gap between dimensions was wildly different and infinitely more fun than the boring life he lead as a merchant. And Stanford had told Bill about his family, his parents his older brother, Sherman, and…and Stan. Stanley. His twin brother. His best friend for the first eighteen years of his life. The one person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with. The one person who loved Stanford for who he was, who never treated him like a freak. The one who's love and devotion nearly suffocated Stanford. The one Stanford had tried to protect, because Stanford wasn't...he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe to be around. He was…wrong, weird…a freak. And it wasn't just because of his hands.

Bill had understood. Bill had helped him redirect and harness these blasphemous feelings. Stanford never understood why, but he'd always wanted to...do...something…with Stan. To Stan. Something he most definitely shouldn't. But it was so nebulous. So intangible, that he was never able to pin down and define what exactly he'd wanted from his twin. He terrified him when he was younger. He got jealous when Stan tried to make other friends, he got possessive over Stan’s time, always wanting to keep Stan with him, doing the things that he wanted. It got better as they got older; Stanford had been able to be content with Stan continuing boxing lessons, had been begrudgingly fine with Stan dating Carla. But he was never able to isolate why he felt like that. He wanted companionship, a friend, a confidant. Someone who could keep up with him, who had the same thirst for adventure and knowledge he did.

He had wanted to go to college both to expand his knowledge and opportunities for discovery, but also because, while Stan’s devotion to Stanford was suffocating, his own tenuous feelings about Stanley were driving him to asphyxiation. He never thought he would get over it, but then, miracle of miracles, Stanford had found Gravity Falls…and Bill Cipher. Bill had fit that need for companionship so much better than Stan ever could. And he felt safe around Bill, like he wasn't taking advantage, wasn't moments from doing something unforgivable and irreversible to harm Stanley. Like his wretched mind had finally calmed down and he could think clearly for the first time in nearly two decades. Bill had set him free from a nameless demon and gave him exactly what he wanted, what he needed. Now, Bill looked like Stan. And Stan was gone, and even after forty years, he still didn't know what it was he felt for Stanley, only that his demons had never been banished. He had never been freed. They had simply lied in wait, biding time. Ready to rear its head back from the repressive portion of his mind.

His feelings for both Bill and Stanley clashed in his chest, in his mind. Beating against the walls of his crania and kicking at his ribcage until he swore he felt bruises. These feelings wared with one another, so similar and so different. In a perfect world, both would exist, and both would be safe, and his relationship with them would be definable. No, in a perfect world you would have gone to West Coast Tech, Stan would have never been homeless and you would have never even heard of Bill Cipher or Gravity Falls and never had the audacity to think you could change the world by building an interdimensional portal to an unstable universe. Stanford felt his jaw ache from pressure, gritting his teeth so hard he was surprised they didn’t shatter. Then he would have to get dentures or an implant. He shuddered. Nope, not even in self-deprecating fantasy would he stoop that low. He licked at his teeth as if to sooth away the potential damage. Stanford’s posture sagged and he flopped sideways on to the bunk. His feelings for both men (could Bill be referred to by masculine terms?) warred because now, it seemed, that Stan had been absorbed by Bill, possessed by Bill. Now…now they were the same.

No, they weren’t. Stanley may be the embodiment of every negative quality that grated on Stanford’s nerves, but Stan was NOT that same as Bill. Never. Bill was a monster, and sure, his brother was sketchy on the best of days, but the man wore his golden heart on his sleeve and was a hopeless romantic. He was tender-hearted and kind, almost to a fault. And Stanford loved his brother. Wanted to be more like Stan, more open, trusting; his nameless feelings for Stan be damned. He could never be like Bill. Ever.          

But that didn’t matter now. His feelings didn’t matter anymore, for Stan, or for Bill. And it didn't matter that Bill wore Stan's face, that had been clearly evident by his reaction earlier. It didn't matter that Bill acted so much like his brother in an attempt to break him. It didn't matter that looking at Bill brought more than just a little pain to his chest.

But it could. It could matter. Stanford could fight it. He could control his feelings and pretend nothing affected him, that Bill no longer had any effect on him. He could suppress this. He had to. He had to be strong in the face of adversity. He was just surprised at Bill's actions, he wasn't expecting it. He had his guard down, a mistake he wouldn't be risking again. Whether Bill was Stanford's captor or his prisoner, it didn't matter. They were here, for as long as it took to fix this, to save his brother, if it was even still possible. They were here until he could bring Stan back, or they were here forever. If Bill ever tried to leave, to get back to shore, Ford would sink the boat. He would mix a chemical explosive and blow it up. Kill them both. Maybe. Maybe then he would give in, when it didn't matter. In the last few moments. Maybe he would go to Bill and give himself to the monster, let himself be taken by the beast, let himself give in to this godforsaken need. But not yet. And maybe not ever. But if…

Stanford had to be ok with if.

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

Stan found himself standing on deck, leaning over the railing, and staring into the inky black water below. He'd really gone and done it this time, hadn't he? He just had to lose control of himself at the worst possible time. He wanted Sixer to trust him, to be his brother again, to see him as as something other than a monster. Instead, Stan thought he’d seen the thin wisp of arousal in Ford – had inanely thought that something would come out of it and that Ford would be receptive – and acted on it. And now Stanford was downstairs hating Stan-Bill and himself all the more.

It hurt to see Sixer like this. It hurt to know that Sixer still loved him, but loved the part of him that Stan hated. It hurt that he, as both Bill and Stan, loved Ford, but he couldn't act on anything without turning their already unhealthy relationship into an even more twisted impression of what it was supposed to be. He could feel Sixer’s agony, his desire. His memories. (God, he remembered that night with wicked clarity, feeling only approximate sensations while in Sixer’s mindscape.) Ford wanted to act on it. Wanted to fall into Stan’s embrace and throw caution and all sense to the wind. But only if Stan was Bill. Only if it was Bill that fanned the icy blue flames that threatened to consume him. Stan wasn't Bill. And if it was the last selfish thing he ever did, he never would be again. Even for Ford.  

Stan had to block his mind off from Stanford's, think of something else, something stronger than the thoughts whirling in his brother's head. He tried to just let Stanford's thoughts drone on as background noise, white fuzz. But it wasn't always easy, he couldn't always drown out Sixer's fears. Or his desires.

That was how he’d ended up like this, wasn't it? Because he just couldn’t say no? He just had to be curious, just had to play with his new puppet and drown in it. He remembered the first time he’d become curious. IQ was so unusual compared to other humans, but even he was subject to life’s baser needs. What would the mind of someone like Stanford Pines be like when all defenses were lowered? What would feeling it, experiencing it first hand, be like? Sixer had let him. Stan pressed his forehead into the cold metal of the railing, the memory as clear as it was decades (or was it now months with the folded timeline) ago.

*~*

IQ had made the deal and had granted Bill permission to inhabit his mind and control his body. The first few moments, the first rush of adrenaline and he couldn’t help the gleeful delight that bubbled up inside Sixer’s body. He’d laughed. Sixer had laughed. It had been momentous and wonderful and horrible all at the same time. Sixer had given him full permissions. Not that he needed it (he’d planned on taking over IQ’s body whenever he needed to), but it was still nice to have. The truth was, physical form, the kind that organic life takes, was kinda awkward. He had inhabited a human body before, but never long enough to require taking care of its needs. Breathing was strange, the rush of air coming into this gaping hole in this body to fill two large and fleshy sacks, the exchange of gasses and then pushing the majority of the air back out again. It was horridly disgusting and inefficient and unnecessary. There were creatures in this dimension that could absorb the required gases from the air through their skin, why couldn’t humans do that? Blinking was fine, a bit strange that it was partly involuntary, but relatively normal. Digestion was creepy. In a good way, but still, the feeling of Sixer’s insides churning and moving and wriggling had him stop writing and just sit. The feeling was so unique and novel that he just sat there, wrapping Sixer’s arms around his gut and just…feeling this body function. He was tempted to try and cut himself open and start prodding at the stuff inside, but he didn’t have the same abilities he had in his own dimension while possessing something. And he liked IQ. He’d have a chance to play with his puppet when the portal was completed. Then, he could explore human functions all he wanted, with no limits. In the meantime, Bill had just experienced things through Ford. It was all so disgustingly exciting. The thrill of discovery of new feelings.  

His foray into human waste processes was also disturbingly fascinating. He had nagged at Sixer to let him experience it. To, as soon as Ford had felt the urge to pass waste, let Bill take over and just learn how it felt. Human experiences, while simple enough to understand, were still fascinating because as a being of Flatland, human functions were something he couldn’t do, could never experience. So, he had begged, and Ford had finally relented and let Bill used the toilet.

He instantly regretted it. It felt so so wrong and uncomfortable and the smell was,…just, nope. Nope he was NEVER doing that again. Sixer had woken to find himself naked and wet, laying on his bed when Bill had given control back. Not having the necessary coordination to properly clean himself, Bill had decided to bathe Sixer (the man needed it if Bill’s new sense of smell told him anything) and clean up any and all of that nasty human waste. Ford had, embarrassingly, guessed what happened, and had laughed at him. Laughed!

But, despite the rather horrid experience, and the embarrassment, Bill still wanted to experience what humans were like. And so had spied on Sixer while he worked, catalogued his actions, his movements, his functions based on which ones intrigued him the most. Urination was out – too close to that other one – eating and drinking were on the table, but only if Bill got to choose what to try. Running was something Bill hadn’t gotten the hang of yet, walking was hard enough. Sitting and writing were easy, and sleeping was not something he could really do as the human body’s way of dealing with the mind while unconscious, forcefully ejected Bill. He really wanted to try falling, but he might have to wait until he got another willing puppet; falling tended to be fatal. Burning alive too, and drowning. He could try stabbing himself, but it would have to be something small, like a needle or a pen, so as not to harm Sixer too much, or to scare the man off. It was so much better having a willing puppet than a non-consenting one.    

But the one thing he wanted to try and wrap his mind around, what the reason humans (males, anyway) yanked at that organ between their legs so often. Even his Sixer did it (though not often) so there must be something to it. He’s made up his mind to knock that off his list first. He didn’t have to wait too long, maybe a week or two.  

He’d found his puppet sprawled out on the sofa, head cradled by the decorative pillows. Sixer’s clothes were split open down the middle; his coat and shirt unbuttoned and pushed to the sides, his tie loosened and draped over one shoulder. He could probably tug at the tie and cut off Sixer’s airflow, but the sounds his pet was making were making his insides wriggle again. Sixer’s pants were split too, and pushed down around his knees. The thing that passed waste water was bright red and swollen and Sixer’s six fingers were tightly wrapped around it, rubbing in mayonnaise, no wait, it smelled like flowers, so lotion. Unless mayonnaise smelled like flowers. No, it was definitely lotion, in this dimension at least. He sat down on the bunch of Sixer’s pants to really get a good look. He wasn’t really there, just a projection – one that took far too much energy which is why he used the representations of himself in the third dimension more often than not – but he still could move around and see things. In order to feel things though, he needed to possess something. He was content to just watch, for now.    

Two of Sixer’s fingers were slipping in and out of his mouth, pressed together to make one. He was sucking on them, caressing the sides and tips of his fingers with his tongue, nipping delicately at the skin with his teeth. Sixer’s teeth were healthy, as far as human teeth went. He brushed and cleaned and flossed and gargled that weak antiseptic to keep his mouth clean and free of foreign bacteria. It was fascinating to watch the man who would frequently forget to shower and eat, spend so damn long making sure his mouth was devoid of any debris.

Sixer had a pathological fear of losing his teeth. The nightmare he’d had as a child had burned its image into Sixer’s psyche, so much so that Ford had developed a complex about his teeth. He had given IQ a dream where he’d gone through a completely normal and boring day, starting with drinking coffee, eating breakfast, reading an article on thermoplastic properties of a new joint implant, going to his lab, and performing absolutely dull and mind-numbing calculations, pausing for lunch and dinner, reading a self-indulgent bodice ripper novel while drinking tea before going to bed and taking out his dentures. Sixer’s scream was heard for a literal mile! Oh, that had been fun. Although the next day, Sixer had brushed and flossed his teeth until they bled and Bill had forcibly possessed his body to get him to stop.

With all the effort he put in, Sixer had perfect teeth. Canines a slight point, molars perfectly formed and cusps all in the right places. His bite was impeccable, perfectly even and practically reflected light when he smiled. Those teeth were now being used to bite and scrape along his fingers while he ran his hand over that organ most human males have. What was it called…a pancreas? Yeah, that was it. Sixer had a big one, too. He moved down off his perch to sit in the divot of Sixer’s hip. Sixer should really get out in the sun more, he was super pale. Red was a better look on him; like his cheeks. Sixer’s cheeks were beautifully red like fire, and the color was creeping up to his ears

Sixer didn’t do this often. He had watched enough humans to know that they did things like this a lot, way more than was necessary. It was bizarre; their bodies didn’t require them to do this, not like breathing and digesting, but humans seemed to engage in this kind of activity as though it kept them alive. Some even resorted to violence to get it; which was absolutely ridiculous, but there you have it. Humans were ridiculous, and bizarre and unnecessary. But his Sixer didn’t seem to have the same problems as other humans. His Sixer didn’t engage in this activity like other humans did, and certainly he didn’t seek out other humans to engage with. It was…intriguing. If even his pet was bound to this practice, then what was it like? What drew humans to do this so frequently as to develop whole parts of their culture around it? He was pulled out of his musings by the startled sounds coming from his puppet.

Sixer gasped, gripping his teeth together and following the motion of his hand with a jerk of his hips. The two fingers he had been sucking on now danced across his chest and started pinching at those vestigial nubs. Ford let out a particularly vocal sigh as his back arched and he followed through with a hip roll. It was enough for Bill, he wanted to see what was so great about prodding at oneself, and now was the perfect opportunity.  

Bill entered Sixer’s mind, not possessing his body, just lingering on the edges of his consciousness, just present enough that if Ford stopped to pay any attention, he would notice. But it was unlikely that old Fordsy was going to notice anything right now. Not with the burly boxer hogging all his attention. Oh, Bill knew who it was, even if Sixer didn’t. Even if the face was blurry and the body was a bit slimmer than reality, and Sixer refused to call out a name. In Sixer's mind, The Boxer, (because that's what old Fordsy had taken to calling him) was over top of him, braced with one hand on the couch cushions and the other wrapped around Ford's pancreas. Was that right? Bill was sure before, but now it sounded wrong. Either way, The Boxer had taken one of Ford's chest lesions into his mouth and was licking it, mimicking Ford's actions in the physical world. In his mind, Ford had pulled their hips together by snaking one six fingered hand down The Boxer's shorts. Ford rolled his hips again and Bill heard The Boxer chuckle, voice like gravel and strangely muffled. Man, Sixer was really repressed, wasn't he? Bill could feel the lingering sense of intangible wrongness dance in the void around them, even as he continued to imagine tasting Pitt Cola on the man's lips. The lingering doubt was causing Ford to lose focus; The Boxer was flickering in and out and Ford's movements slowed.

Maybe he should gain IQ’s attention? He eased his way slowly into Ford's consciousness, sitting atop the faceless man's head and staring Ford dead in the eye. Or, would be, if Sixer would open those baby blues of his. The image was still flickering as Stanford again questioned why this fantasy felt so wrong. Bill sprawled out on The Boxer's brown hair and reached out a hand beeped Sixer's nose. Stanford's blue eyes snapped open, vision clearing for just a moment as the features of illusionary man above him came into focus. Bill couldn’t have that. He yanked on Sixer’s hair, bringing the human’s attention back to him, and blurring The Boxer’s face once again.

“Bill…?” The whisper boomed in the ether. With no eyebrow to speak of, Bill quirked his eyelid and gave Sixer an obvious apprising look before meeting the human’s gaze again. “Hey there, Smart Guy. Mind if I watch?” Though he posed it as a question, Bill made it very clear he was not asking permission as he made himself comfortable in the chocolate brown fluff on The Boxer’s head.

However, his perch flickered and vanished a moment later, sending him down to bounce on Sixer’s exposed torso, sitting between his…pectorals? – he really needed to brush up on his human anatomy, or humans in this dimension anyway – with his legs sprawled. He felt a vibration pass through him as Sixer chuckled.

“Still curious? I can give you a proper run down of all the biochemical reactions that are happening if you want.” Sixer had let go of himself, hands coming up to scoop up the tiny triangle and lift him back to a floating position above his left shoulder. Bill, with an indignant huff, squirmed out of Sixer’s grasp and plopped back down on on the bunch of Ford’s trousers.

“I’ll watch from here.”

“Uhhh, sure. Well, um, right now my body is reacting to mental stimulus and my parasympathetic nervous system is increasing my heart rate to increase blood flow to, erm…my…groin area, and the nerve endings are sending signals back to my brain to increase signal conduits in the area. It also is sending feedback on external stimulus, namely my hand, and the result is the release of nitric oxide into the blood stream around….the, uh…penis.” Yeah, yeah, he knew all that alre…wait, penis?

“I thought it was called a pancreas.” Wasn’t it?

“Umm, no,” Stanford seemed confused that Bill could get that wrong, “that’s the organ that sits below the liver and produces both digestive and cellular metabolism hormones.”

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to know what you humans call your parts. I don’t have any of that.” And possessing humans to get what he wanted didn’t count.

“Hence the lesson. Now where was I…oh, right, nitric oxide in the blood stream causes the spongy tissue…”

Bill tuned him out. He really did know all of this already. Theoretically, anyway. So, he was confused as to what organs belonged to which names; there were an infinite number of universes out there with an infinite number of organ combinations. He couldn’t keep track of everything. Sixer had trailed off in his scientific explanation, instead opting for biting back gasps as he picked up where he’d originally left off.  

He could hell that Sixer was trying his best not to bring any fantasies to mind; smacking them away as quickly as they came into focus. It was adorable how much Sixer was trying to be scientific about this for him. But that wasn't why he was here. He knew what happened chemically, hormonally, and physically. He was here to try and experience what it felt like, why humans engaged in this activity so often as to prevent real scientific advancement. Why humans had purposefully stalled in the advancement of civilization because they couldn’t last a few days without finding a mate or spending an hour or four touching their bodies. Why Sixer was, dolefully, no exception. Did he expect Sixer to be an exception? No, not really, but he couldn’t deny that he had hoped. He held Stanford in high regards; no other puppet had been as intelligent, had kept his attention, had been as fun to be with as Stanford Pines. So, what did Sixer get out of this?

“And….ahhh, as the process continues, the heart rate and blood p-pressure continue to-to rise…and…”

“Hey, IQ. Why don’t you cut it with the commentary? I think some firsthand experience would work better.”

“Huh?” It was clear that Stanford had been reciting the process out of a memorized textbook and had not actually been focused on a proper explanation. “Oh, um, sure. Just…ahhhhhh, just take over when you think you want to. I’ll…ohhhhhhh….” But he didn’t finish, instead letting out a long sigh and rolling his hips, flinging Bill into the air. Stanford was close to the big finish Bill had seen in so many humans before. Now was the time.        

In the final few moments before Stanford’s body arched, and his abdominal muscles tightened sending wave after wave of euphoria through his body and protein rich enzymes to coat his navel, Bill took control of Sixer’s body to ride out the orgasm. His control hadn’t lasted long, Sixer’s body passed out shortly after it begin to relax, ejecting Bill from the mind and back into the room as an astral projection. Even without a physical form, he still felt tingly, and light, and just overall like he imagined what coming through the portal would feel like. Okay, so maybe there was something to this mating thing after all.    

It was less than a month later that they had their, ‘encounter’ in the mindscape, and Bill put his knowledge to good use. Stanford had been ecstatic.

*~*

Stan groaned in misery when he felt the heat in his jeans. Damnit. Well, guess pills aren’t gonna be a problem anytime soon. He did his best to adjust the position of his traitorous erection when he caught a whiff of tension wafting off of Ford and snaking like a genital caress into his mind. He slammed that window closed and kept his hands gripped to the very cold, very real, and very grounding metal railing until it hurt.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be like this. He could almost forgive his desire for Sixer as Bill - Sixer was his obsession and was so unique and fascinating, the one being who outsmarted him - but his human desires, while Sixer was his own flesh and blood? He couldn't forgive that. No one could. He couldn't tell you when it started, when he began to think of Stanford as something more than a brother. He does know that it went from hypothetical thoughts and fading dreams to continuous and agenizing need that plagued his every moment with thoughts so vivid and loud he was sure that Stanford would know he was obsessing over that fucking kiss.

What had Sixer been thinking? What had he been thinking? Sure, Sixer had offered, but Stan had said yes. Stan hadn't stopped it. Had been so God Damn ready to keep going when Ma had caught them. They had both been thinking about that couple they saw on the beach and trying to parse out what it might mean for them, but Stan couldn't let it go. And then Sixer had been so accommodating, so damned supportive, wanting to help Stan experience something in a safe place. Stan had lost himself that night. Lost every chance he may have had to get over his brother, lost himself in shame and guilt that swallowed him like quicksand. And he suffocated in it. Sixer had once called Stan suffocating; if he was, then Sixer was cutting off Stan’s air with twelve beautiful fingers. Because Stan’s feelings for Ford were crushing his throat, his chest, with their weight, with their revolting and biting claws like needles.

No, that wasn't true. Not exactly. Yes, Stan’s feelings were suffocating, but he had never really felt revulsion at them. Stan wanted to be repulsed by them, because maybe then there might be some hope of salvation. There might be some dignity, some humanity left clicking away in his ancient ticker. That maybe he was really human now, and finally deserving of redemption for everything he had done in a past life. But he didn’t. He wasn’t. He used to be. Back when he had been just a teen and had no fucking clue how the world actually worked and he’d been so scared of losing his best friend. He used to care, used to feel shame. But thirty years of living with these feelings, thirty years of loving someone – then to realize it’s been a hell of a lot longer – the bite of shame fades until even the dull ache is hardly noticeable. After thirty years of living in his brother’s house, reading his brother’s notes, and clinging to that last shred of hope that he might get his brother back from that hell, shame just hadn’t been a top priority. He’d put his qualms and apprehensions on the proverbial back burner, and the flames had just died with time.

It was only now that Stan knew that Stanford had his own misgivings about him. Bill had seen into Sixer's dreams, his twisted desires, those hidden from his conscious mind. Ford had…been possessive of Stan. Had fought with himself over how much he wanted to play into Stan’s loyalty. Not consciously, no, Sixer was sharp as a Carbon-18 Obsidian blade form Caladon 4, but the man was dumb as a post when it came to some simple observations. Sixer had wanted him. Wanted Stan, but was so immersed in the culture in the early 60’s that he hadn’t even recognized it. Instead, he had tried to escape Glass Shard, and thought Stan hadn’t known it at the time, had probably saved them both. Stan had been such a bad influence on his brother, always egging him on, encouraging them to get into trouble. It was no wonder that Stan’s feelings had, in a way, rubbed off on Sixer. He just didn't know how much it had bothered his brother until now. How much Sixer had been frightened by his indeterminant feelings. How much he ended up hating himself over it when he pushed Stan away.

They grew more and more distant after the night Ma caught them. Spending less time together, working less on the Stan 'O War, spending more time away from home, away from their room, away from Stan. When the science fair was announced and the seniors were asked to submit project ideas at the beginning of the year, Ford had thrown himself into it. Working endlessly in the library, the school shop and digging through discarded electrical components that Pops had decided were too far gone to even sell as salvage. Ford didn't even ask Stan to help welding the perpetual motion machine together even though Ford sucked at welding and machining was that only class Stan was passing. Stan should have known then that something was wrong, but he was too wrapped up in his own guilt and trying to squash his own feelings to see that his brother was pulling away from him.

Stanford's decision to distance himself from Stan had probably been the smartest thing he had ever done. Because Stan knows himself. Hates, detests, and loathes himself, every part of himself. But he does know himself. And he knows that he wouldn't be able to let Sixer go. Even if he wanted to try. Stan was weak, no sense of self control. He would have kept Stanford from the moment Sixer let him. Brother, or puppet, it didn't matter when, Stan and Bill would have kept Stanford for himself, forever. He was selfish, no amount of time or life changed that. He was selfish and had no self-discipline.  

It took everything he had to sit himself down every night for thirty years and learn physics and mathematics to fix the portal. To learn how it worked. To build and program that damn bio-scanner. He's still not sure how he did that one; a whirlwind of freaky gnome herb inspired madness and he woke up with the plans and codes scribbled out on sheets of paper, cardboard, whatever he had handy. A few times while inputting the damn program code, he even had flashes of memories writing it. He once thought that he had been given help from some divine being, later thought to have been the same one that contacted his brother. The thought was so horribly laughable now.

It was so trippy, being segmented like this. Being, in a way, two people in one. There weren't two minds in his head, not two personalities, but the different set of memories that until recently had been separated, were clashing. Bill knew things about Stan and Sixer that Stan didn't, and having two different perspectives of the same events make his eyes twitch and he felt his eyes shift again. He'd given up trying to stop it from happening. There wasn't much of a point anymore; it used to bother Sixer, but like all things weird and anomalous, Stanford had just grown used to it.

Sixer had even stopped having nightmares. His subconscious mind was calm, his sleep uninterrupted. Stan had stopped meddling in Sixer’s dreams weeks ago. His brother slept soundly, still fell asleep watching Stan across the room. Stan still woke every morning looking into his brother’s eyes. Despite whatever happened during the day, the twilight hours before sleep and just after waking were calm, almost intimate between them. Stanford was almost like a different person then, treated Stan like Stan was different. Stan had woken one morning to Ford brushing the hair out of his eyes, Ford’s six fingers trailing over his brow and down his cheek. His fingertips felt electric on Stan’s skin. They had laid there, just watching one another until Stan had been overcome with the urge to pee and had gotten up, breaking the spell, and ruining the moment. Ford was in the main cabin when Stan was done. These quite moments between them, it was almost as if Ford still loved him. But Sixer didn't see Stan when he looked at him. No. Sixer saw Bill.  

And Sixer loved him. Had loved Bill, still did. But Stan wasn't Bill anymore. He wasn't sure if he could be again, but even so, he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be that monster again. Remembering all the atrocities he committed, all the lives he had taken just because he was bored, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Yes, Ford had wanted Stan, once upon a time. But he hadn’t recognized it for what it was, and instead had attributed it to feelings of possession and control, and had let the guilt and shame wash over him and then repressed it. Buried it in his subconscious waiting for Bill to find it. And as repressed as Ford was, part of him still thought about his brother and the possibility of what would have happened that night if they hadn’t been interrupted. A small part of him wanted Stan. But Sixer, despite everything, wanted Bill more. Stan wanted to be what his brother wanted, was willing to change if only Ford would love him, romantically, platonically, he didn't care. But this, becoming that beast again just to please his brother…he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. No force in heaven or Earth could make him be that monster again. Not even Stanford. Not even…

Stan was weak and selfish and undisciplined. He would break, it was only a matter of time.

But now was not the time to be worried about this. He had something special planned for Christmas for the twins and Poindexter. He had been practicing for days now, if he could pull this off, well, he hoped that maybe it would be enough to convince the kids that he was still himself. That he still loved them. That he still loved all of them. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night so as not to bother them on Christmas Eve. He should probably get some sleep if he could. Tomorrow night was going to wipe him out, but it was all going to be worth it.

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