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hermannsthumb · 6 years ago

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I love your writing so much 💕 💗 ❤️ and you write so much I don’t know how you do it. You write newt and hermans characters perfectly. Could you write about Herman finding newt trying to test his drift theory, or perhaps finding the tape newt left after everything is over and they’re together. Love 😋

ohohohoho finding the tape is such a classic vintage newt/hermann fic trope that ive somehow never written before (also thank u for ur lovely kind words!!!)

Packing up the lab takes a lot less time than either Newt or Hermann expect; they’d spent five years of their lives in that lab, after all, five years of deep research (broken vials and useless equations scrawled on graph paper and slowly decaying specimens), five years of cohabitation (mugs and dirty sweatshirts and the odd decades-old family photograph), five years of accumulating random junk (posters and dusty books and weird little trinkets Newt found in the city and gifted to Hermann), and that’s to say nothing of the contents of their bunks just off of the lab. Newt thought it would take them weeks, months, even, but the whole process only takes a few days. He supposes it helps that a lot of it is PPDC property and, thus, highly confidential and nothing they can take with them, and the stuff that isn’t highly confidential is useless at this point anyway.

What isn’t repossessed in the dead of night by Higher-Ups (Newt never even got to bid his samples farewell) mostly goes in the trash--Newt’s stash of disposable gloves, his work apron, pencils he’d stolen from Hermann and chewed beyond recognition, orange peels and dried teabags that littered Hermann’s desk, tiny nubs of chalk that were physically impossible to write with but Hermann refused to let go of until now. What isn’t repossessed or thrown out goes in cardboard boxes marked with Geiszler + Gottlieb in thick black Sharpie (because Hermann not-too-subtly indicated he wouldn’t mind continuing this trend of co-habitation with Newt even beyond their working relationship, and by “wouldn’t mind” Newt means, of course, that he caught Hermann looking up vacant apartments within walking distance from universities in every major city they had even the smallest emotional connection to, and not even specifying more than one bedroom).

All that’s left to do is finish going through their desks, which is proving to be the most demanding task of all. They have a lot of crap.

“You should save that,” Newt remarks, as Hermann attempts to throw one of his old work journals into the industrial-sized trash bin they’ve moved near the lab’s entrance. Newt’s on his hands and knees doing his very busy to peel up the hazmat tape that divides the lab.

“It’s just old, useless coding,” Hermann says, waving the book. “And I really do mean useless. Random scribbling. Not even a rough draft of a draft.”

If Hermann’s willingly parting with some of his precious math, it really must be useless. Still: Newt sits back on his heels and raises his eyebrows. “Could be worth a lot of money, dude,” he says. “You could sell it to the Smithsonian.”

Hermann snorts. “It’s garbage, Newton.”

Newt holds his hands up and mimes the shape of an imaginary plaque that would, hypothetically, adorn the museum exhibit for him and Hermann that will definitely exist one day. “‘Authentic jaeger coding by Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar, nerd savior of the world.’” Hermann laughs again, and Newt shrugs with a grin.

“Mm,” Hermann says, and tosses the notebook in the bin. “I’m sure. What about these?” He holds up more dried orange peels. (Where the hell was Hermann keeping all those? Why didn’t he just throw them out right away?) “Are these also worthy of a museum?”

“‘Authentic sustenance for Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, PhD, rockstar--’”

The orange peels go in too.

“Fine,” Newt tsks, scraping up another bit of tape, “but when I make a profit off my old tissues don’t expect me to spend any of it on our rent.”

“Our rent,” Hermann echoes, and Newt goes hot in the face and scrapes even harder. He spares a glance up once the clacking of Hermann’s cane fades to the opposite side of the lab: Hermann is smiling. Something flutters in Newt’s chest.

He can do this, Newt tells himself, heart pounding, scraping at the hazmat tape. He and Hermann can do this together, like they do everything. They can live together. They can navigate a relationship together. A relationship relationship, something clear and defined and real and more than just the confused jumble of emotions they’ve existed in a state of for years and years. They have time. They have all the time they could ever want, and they have each other. Another few inches of filthy, faded tape come up, and Newt turns it over thoughtfully in his hands. How poetic, really, that it’s one of the last things to go before he and Hermann--

“Is this yours?” Hermann calls over.

He’s holding up a very familiar tape recorder, and the bubbling warmth and hope in Newt’s chest deflates quickly. It must’ve gotten mixed up with Hermann’s things after Newt drifted with the kaiju brain. “Uh,” Newt says, scrambling to his feet and stumbling over to Hermann, because Hermann cannot listen to that tape, “that’s mine, I just--take notes on it, let me--” He swipes for it, but Hermann--giving him a rather bewildered look--tucks it to his chest and presses play.

“Kaiju-Human Drift Experiment Take One,” the Newt of four days ago says, and Newt shrinks back.

Hermann does not look away from the tape recorder the entire time, not when Newt explains what he’s going to do, not at Hermann, if you’re listening to this, not even when Newt’s monologuing devolves into half-shouts and gasps and a loud thud that means he’s fallen against Hermann’s desk and to the ground. The tape runs out just as Hermann enters and cries out his name, cuts off with an audible click in the middle of a long stream of no, no, nos that twist the knife of guilt deeper and deeper into Newt’s stomach. (He knew Hermann was the one who found him, the one who yanked Newt back to reality and cradled him in his arms and brought him water and tucked his glasses carefully into his pocket, but he didn’t think--well--he didn’t realize how it must’ve been for Hermann to find him.)

When Hermann does look up, his smile has vanished entirely. “I see,” he says, icily. He thrusts the tape recorder back at Newt.

“Okay,” Newt says, “okay, listen, I know you’re probably thinking what an asshole I am right now--”

“Oh?” Hermann says, in mock-surprise.

“--but in my defense,” Newt continues, weakly, “I didn’t really think I was gonna die?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Hermann throws the tape recorder aside to the lab floor and pushes himself to his feet. “Hermann,” Newt says, “Hermann--” Newt grabs his arm, and Hermann shakes him off.

“You very nearly did die,” Hermann snaps, “and the very last thing you ever said would’ve--”

Newt grabs for him again. “I didn’t really mean--”

“Newton,” Hermann says, furious and commanding, and Newt flinches but doesn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Newt says quickly. Hermann scoffs, but Newt presses on. “I’m sorry, seriously, Hermann, I mean it. I was pissed at you for treating me like an idiot, and I thought--I don’t know. I wanted to piss you off too. I wanted to prove you wrong. It was...petty.”

“It was,” Hermann agrees. He doesn’t look like he’s going to storm out of the lab anymore, which is good, even if he’s still scowling. “It was petty, and it was cruel, Newton.”

It’s Newt’s turn to scowl. “And shooting down all my theories for six months like I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and making me feel useless isn’t?”

Hermann does wrench his arm away this time. “I was worried your complete lack of self-preservation would get you killed, you imbecile, that’s the only reason I shot down your theories!” Newt snaps his mouth shut, but Hermann keeps shouting. “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch you--!” His voice breaks.

Newt’s kissed Hermann before (clumsy and drunk at Shatterdome parties, hard and furious during their not-infrequent no-strings-attached fucks on the floor of the lab or against Hermann’s chalkboard, sweet and gentle the night they closed the Breach and Hermann swept him into his arms and laughed and smiled), kissing Hermann is nothing new, not even when Hermann’s pissed at him, but they don’t hug, they don’t touch each other much, so Newt surprises them both when he flings himself at Hermann--who stiffens quickly--and wraps him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” Newt says, eyes prickling hot (Hermann saved him twice, Hermann found him seizing and bleeding and cradled him in his arms, Hermann drifted with him and for him, Hermann loves him and Newt was careless and cruel), “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

He hears Hermann sigh, feels him sag as the fight leaves him, then touch Newt’s back tentatively with his free hand. “Newton,” he murmurs. “Oh, darling--” Newt sniffles pathetically; Hermann slides his hand up to stroke gently at Newt’s hair instead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly, and Newt clings to him tighter.

They throw the tape recorder out together.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #feeding MYSELF on some Nourishing hurt/comfort #Anonymous

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disrepairhouse · 5 years ago

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Chapter 25 - Caught

No matter how hard she banged on the glass separating her from the outside room, it neither budged nor drew the attention of those around her. Her arms were heavy and thick cords restrained her every movement, pumping a strange purple liquid into her veins that made her head foggy and her legs wobble. The room outside the tube was filled with massive electrical wires and giant, roaring machines at every corner, all connected to a bulky computer directly in front of her. The screen displayed a collection of graphs and numbers and outputs that made no sense to her, no matter how she looked at them. The heavier she felt, the blurrier her vision became, and the harder the screen was to read.

She was tired and groggy and confused and could barely comprehend anything she was looking at, beating weakly against the glass until her fist slid helplessly down to her side. Her body was giving out on her. The large, round man at the computer in front of her finally turned her way, goggles obscuring the sharp, peering eyes behind them, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open long enough to study him, study his shape, remember his face… in case she ever escaped.

As she was dragged relentlessly to the darkness of her subconscious, the faraway sounds of explosions and furious growls echoed through the open doorway. Metal walls creaked and collapsed in on themselves, drawing the man’s attention away from his experiment. Alarms blared frantically as electricity zapped and snapped through the base, the roar of a tornado tearing through the facility caused a panic the small hedgehog could only mildly react to. The searing heat reached her even inside the tube and as the man ran out, panicking, screaming wildly, she knew she likely wouldn’t ever see him again.

She didn’t want to be left alone. Even if it was some mad doctor, something about the heat felt so much worse, so much more dangerous. Something that would destroy her, rather than simply use her for her powers. She had to escape, she had to break free, she had to…

Itara stared up at the strange red robot for some time when she noticed him. He looked as though he were waiting for an answer to something, some question she never heard. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know what it was, either. She shook the images from her head and glanced around before returning her gaze to the tall red robot. Zero, his name was, she remembered that much, at least. But she didn’t know anything else about him.

She didn’t know where he stood, nor who or what he was, he was a complete wild card and she didn’t like it. The only thing she knew for sure at this moment was that he brought her to Robotnik and that was all she needed to know. He brought her to Robotnik and put her in this situation. Whatever happened on this ship was his fault.

She took another step away from him and narrowed her eyes. She wanted nothing to do with him. Even if he promised not to harm her, or not to let harm befall her, he had already done that by bringing her here.

“T-Take me home.”

“I will do so once I have my answers,” the towering bot stated flatly. “So, I’ll ask once more: who and what are you?”

Itara remained silent. She wouldn’t answer that so easily. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. “I’m Itara,” she frowned, “I’ve already told you my name once before. And I’m just a hedgehog.”

“I didn’t ask your name, and judging by the Doctor’s response to your appearance, it’s safe to assume you’re not an average hedgehog.” She winced, but remained silent. “So, for the final time, what are you?”

There was a distinct threat behind his voice, suggesting she answer if she didn’t want to get hurt. It would have easily scared anyone, especially a child, and Itara briefly debated putting up an act to keep him from guessing otherwise. She realized, however, how meaningless that would be and only glared. She didn’t scare that easily and she wasn’t telling him her nature just so he could go tell Robotnik. There was more at stake than her physical well-being if he did.

When he realized she had no intention of answering he narrowed his eyes and stood back up. He towered over her, even more so than RK or Metal; if Itara had to guess he was even taller than the humans in their neighborhood. But she spent the first two-hundred years of her life dealing with Iblis; a too-tall robot wasn’t about to shake her.

“Fine. Then you can just remain here. I’ll be back.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out, letting the heavy, metal door slam shut tight behind him, leaving Itara to her thoughts once more. She sighed heavily once he did and let her legs slide out from underneath her, dropping her head with them.

“…RK…”

Pulling her legs up against her chest, she wrapped her arms around them, resting her head against her knees and curling up as tightly as possible. Brave of a face as she’d put on, she honestly was terrified. Not because of Zero, or even because of Robotnik, but because of the familiarity of the situation. Captured and powerless, left alone with no help within reach. The last time she faced this…

She shook the images from her head again. If she slipped back into that, escape truly would be impossible. No, she had to stay focused. RK and Metal wouldn’t be able to rescue her in this situation, not this close to Robotnik, and she doubted even Kipper would draw near him. She had to at least escape the airship on her own. Somehow.

If she could just get off the ship, if she could just get away, it would differ from the past.

Sighing heavily again, she lifted her head enough to glance around the room, studying it for any possible means of escape. It wasn’t a cell, at least. If anything, it looked like unused lab space, with bare walls and no windows. Everything was covered in thick metallic plates, like everything of Robotnik’s always was, and there were no noticeable fixtures or indents. Even the heavy door simply slid into the wall and nearly disappeared if she hadn’t already seen where it was.

But why was she in here instead of a cell?

She knew there had to be some, it was a large enough carrier and Robotnik always had some sort of holding cell, usually designed for a specific blue hedgehog. Was it because they thought she was just a child and they didn’t expect she could escape? But surely Robotnik would recognize she’s no normal mobian and likely had some sort of power. She doubted he knew she couldn’t control them, either. So why such a lackluster response? It was entirely unlike his responses to her in the previous timeline. Then again, he had nothing to do with her creation in this timeline. He had no idea who she was.

But what about the mobian girl?

She had still been kidnapped, likely still by Robotnik. Itara had wondered, many times, just how much Solaris reset, but the changes had all been so random in nature that she could never truly pinpoint it. Nor could she exactly ask him. But this was the first situation where she desperately needed to know what was different.

What did Robotnik know?

Had her changed appearance actually kept him from recognizing her? Or was everything about her erased from his memories? She needed to know. Maybe she could use this unfortunate situation to learn more about the reset, learn what Robotnik knew compared to what she knew. Shadow hadn’t recognized her at all and Robotnik only realized she wasn’t normal. Maybe she could drag some answers out of him if she played her cards right.

But first she would need to get out of this room. It was as good a way as any to keep her distracted, at least. With a determined nod, Itara began her trek around the small room, running her hand over the walls, studying the corners, looking for any indication of either a ventilation system or exit. She didn't find much, however, and continued over to the door, staring up at it.

Just like everything else, it stretched far above her head and any likely panel to open it was well beyond her reach. There had to be one inside, she knew, but it didn't do her any good if she couldn't even reach it, let alone find it. She took a couple steps back to get a better view of the wall beside it, having to strain to find the outline of a removable panel. Standing on her toes, her fingers just barely brushed the bottom indent and try as she might, she could do nothing to remove it. When that didn't work, she gave a couple small hops in hopes she could grab onto something before she landed, but that went nowhere fast, either. As a final resort, she gave the wall a swift kick in an attempt to intimidate it into listening to her… but that only offered a sore foot as a reward.

Huffing angrily, she sat down, both to think and rub her foot. She had to get that door open. Removing her shoe, she gave it a hearty chuck at the panel, but it only clanked against the metal and fell.

“Stupid Sparky… why’d he have to go and fight Sonic? He was supposed to be watching me.”

Metal wasn't the only one she blamed for her predicament. In addition to the red robot that brought her there and Metal, she also blamed Sceira. If she hadn't been there, if she hadn't been so annoying, Itara would have gone straight to the museum with Kipper and none of this would have happened. She could have gotten the manuscripts and gotten out and still at least been with Kipper.

Why did she even save that annoying scorpion in the first place? She could have just as easily left her there and she would have been an unfortunate loss during the attack, Itara couldn't have even been blamed for it. It would have been the perfect opportunity to finally be rid of the pain in her neck. So why did she save her? Why did she risk so much for Sceira?

It was a stupid mistake.

She wouldn't make it again.

Growling and pulling her thrown shoe back on, Itara marched around the empty room once more, giving a final, thorough look around, before returning to the door again. With a heavy sigh, she turned around and leaned against the wall, sliding down and curling up again. She hadn't felt so alone in so long she'd forgotten how awful it was. She had gotten so used to having Kipper or RK, or at least her phone with her, she felt lost without them. Even her useless book would have been a comfort, she could at least write her thoughts down. But she had nothing.

No powers, no book, no robots, no doll, nothing.

Before she could get too far back in her thoughts, however, the door slid open again, jolting her out of her head and causing a small screech of surprise to escape the tiny hedgehog. The ghost of a smirk touched the robot’s face as Itara scrambled to her feet, glaring back at him and standing on the defensive. He shook his head and motioned towards the hall, explaining, “We’ve got some things to discuss, come on.”

Itara remained in place, her spines prickling further at the potential threat, but no amount of prickling and glaring kept her feet on the ground as Zero walked over and picked her up by the back of the shirt again. She attempted to wiggle out of his grasp, but found it just as useless as before and finally retreated back into her mind to devise a strategy. She hated how little control she had over anything anymore. Quietly begging with her powers, her dad, even her book, to just give her control, even briefly, at least let her know where the current path led, she whimpered to herself when no such assistance came.

She was utterly at the mercy of Dr. Robotnik and the strange robot named Zero.

As they continued down the hallway, Itara taking note of every detail she could along the way, the familiar sounds of electrical wires and whirring machinery echoed from every direction. Itara had no doubt in her mind every inch of this ship was covered in some manner of defense that only Sonic’s – or Metal Sonic’s – speed could possibly out match. Escape would be difficult, but she already knew that going in. Robotnik dealt with Sonic on a near-daily basis, he would have contingency plans for any number of situations, and her tiny, stumbling, powerless self would hold nothing to someone like Sonic or Tails.

She missed Kipper. She would have felt even a little better if the ghost doll was with her.

They came to another set of large, metallic, sliding double doors and Zero reached over to punch a short code into a pad beside it. Itara did her best to remember it. The doors slid open with a heavy vwom and revealed the expansive main control room of the carrier. There were a number of screens and videos displayed on the grid-based window to the outside, showing several locations inside the carrier as well as the cities and hillsides around them. The video feed of Spagonia was growing smaller and smaller every second, tying a knot in Itara's stomach.

From what she could tell, they weren't headed back towards Soleanna, either. She had been hoping maybe they would return to the base RK had infiltrated before, at least putting her back on the ground and within running distance of home. But there was no such luck. In fact, they appeared to be heading the opposite direction.

In a grand chair in front of the screens, inputting some sort of command in the console, was the large, round man of her past, those same goggles glinting off the screens before him. Dr. Robotnik. Eggman. The cause of almost every great calamity to befall the world in its many timelines. The single-handed creator of the killer robots of the Metal Series. And, in a time reset, the cause of Itara's own initial creation, as well as the release of Mephiles and Iblis. His far-reaching genius was something to be feared, and often was, with few exceptions, though Itara was not one of them. She had seen his penchant for destruction a number of times over, both incidental and purposeful, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

Zero strode over to the chair at the center of the console, announcing his presence, and Itara felt her panic turn to terror with the turn of the chair, the reveal of that grinning face and those shining goggles. Once more, she could feel the peering eyes behind them and the inevitable destruction they always caused, and her body shuddered in response. Even for someone like her, whose goal was once to see the destruction of humanity, whose physical body was only a container for something greater, the unstoppable need for power consistent in Robotnik’s actions was a terrifying ordeal to face.

With Zero’s release of her shirt and her placement back on solid ground, she slid back down into a sitting position and stared up at her captors, frozen, shaking. The two studied her before shifting their focus to one another.

“She refuses to answer any questions,” Zero explained, looking between the doctor and the small girl, a touch of suspicion in his tone as he explained, “it seems she’s quite afraid of you.”

A small grin spread across Robotnik’s face before he wiped it away again and leaned back, studying the little girl staring, horrified up at him, her bright green and purple eyes making him somewhat uncomfortable. Shaking his head, he looked to Zero again, “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve explained what the mobians think of me, it’s not uncommon for the young ones to fear me.” Something about the statement caught Itara’s attention as her previously flattened ears perked. Turning back towards her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying her, trying to understand her strange appearance. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. We just want to ask some questions.”

Something was off. He was putting up a face, though Itara couldn’t imagine why. He’d never been the type to act coy around children, he’d been the one who initiated her kidnapping, after all. Why the façade? Itara’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, her ears pinning back again as she unconsciously leaned further away. But the shift in expression in the Doctor brought her attention to her own movements as she sat up straight again, studying him. She couldn’t be so obvious, if she wanted to learn what he knew, she’d have to play the same game. She had to join the act.

She shook her head slowly, shifting her expression back to one of concern as she stammered, “L-like what?”

“Well, for starters, what’s your name?”

The strain in Robotnik’s voice and the look of frustration on Zero’s face would have gotten a laugh, realizing just how ridiculous the situation was. Only one of them was putting on no act and he was the most out of place. Meanwhile, both she and Robotnik were hiding their own natures, for one reason or another, and would likely get nothing out of the interaction about to happen, yet Zero seemed to be the most frustrated over this. She became curious of his goal, as it clearly wasn’t the same as Robotnik’s. What was he looking for, that he thought only Robotnik could give? Perhaps she would start there.

After a short back and forth between her and Robotnik, neither of them gaining anything, just as she suspected, Robotnik grew frustrated first. He turned away, waving for Zero to take over the conversation, which he seemed all too happy to do. Itara watched Robotnik turn back towards his computer to go back to monitoring whatever progress was happening before shifting her gaze to Zero, who seemed to be debating how to go about getting answers from the small mobian ‘child’. If Itara had to guess, he was normally a shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of guy and having to reign that back was putting him on edge, in addition to whatever other problem he was apparently dealing with. She decided to ease up the act ever so slightly with him, wanting answers, herself.

“If you promise to take me home, I’ll tell you about my crystals,” she offered, but interrupted before they could respond by pointing to Zero, “but it has to be you, not him.”

Zero debated, but nodded, “fine, as I said before, I’ll take you home if you answer my questions, I have no intention of doing otherwise.”

Itara noticed the hitch in Robotnik’s face and shook her head, wanting to test the waters, “he does. He doesn’t want to take me home.”

She watched Zero cast a long sideways glance towards the Doctor, studying both their expressions carefully until Robotnik waved the thought away. “Nonsense,” he argued, though refused to turn towards them and kept his sight on the computers, “I have no need to keep a child here.” She needed to push this further.

“There,” Zero responded, looking to her again, “I’ll take you home, so answer the question: what are those crystals?” Itara remained silent, looking cautiously between the two, stalling for time to come up with an answer. They weren’t exactly easy to explain, and she didn’t want to give Robotnik any ideas, she had to deal with the situation carefully to avoid piquing his interest. But apparently, she remained quiet for too long and pushed the red robot a bit too far as she rather suddenly found the end of a glowing blue sword pointed in her direction, impatient blue eyes sparking behind them as he once again demanded, “answer the question.”

Itara jumped and scrambled further away, staring up at him with widened eyes. She still wasn’t even sure what the sword was made of and didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. “I-I-I don’t know!” she stammered, “they just… appear-show up sometimes! Wh-when I’m upset!”

The answer drew Robotnik’s attention back as he turned towards them again, studying her and the angry bot. “Are you the only one this happens to?”

Itara winced and looked away, the shining light of the sword still present in her peripheral. That was a dangerous answer. But what would be the best response? “I… n-no, I…” her ears pinned back again, “m-my dad… could also do this but… he… he died… last year.” The sword finally lowered and retreated into its hilt, giving her a moment to breathe, but it was short as Robotnik hummed, curious.

“Your dad, hm?”

The best lie was often sprinkled in with truth, she’d learned early on, but she doubted any amount of lie or truth would have kept Robotnik off her trail. She was caught the second he saw her. Perhaps she could have convinced someone else that she was just some kind of rare breed of mobian, but not Robotnik. She kept her eyesight off to the side, curling in on herself again, lost in thought about both her situation and now the mobian parents that had, in fact died. She wasn’t sure how to respond anymore.

“I… I told you… so… take me home now,” she mumbled, only looking up enough to watch their responses. Zero studied her before turning his gaze to Robotnik, but the doctor only kept his sight glued to her.

“We will, in due time,” Robotnik responded, “but that wasn’t the only question we had.” Of course it wasn’t. “What do you know about Solaris and Gaia?” Itara’s ears pinned tightly against her head as she cast a wary glance towards him, trying to look as confused as possible.

“What… do you mean? Solaris is… Soleanna’s Sun God, right?” The frustration in her voice when she uttered his name caught even her off-guard, and Zero’s attention.

“That’s right, you’re from Soleanna, aren’t you?” Robotnik continued.

“I… m-maybe.”

“Well we can’t take you home if we don’t know where that is, after all. In fact, why don’t you come put your address here in my console and we can talk on our way there,” he motioned towards the long, backlit keyboard spread out across the table, reaching up to pull the GPS up for her.

Itara hesitated, eventually shaking her head, “I said he could take me home, not you.” Even if she had no intention of giving either of them her real address, she didn’t want Robotnik even knowing where she’d be dropped off. He reached up and rubbed his chin, seeming to consider this before shrugging.

“Alright, alright, then let’s talk a bit more, about the monsters that attacked. Do you know what those were?” Itara shook her head. Of course, she knew, but he didn’t need to know that. He continued once she did, “they were monsters created by Solaris and Gaia, two of the three main Gods of this world. Do you know the last one?”

Chaos.

Now that Itara looked up to the GPS, she could see their current location and heading. They had gone west from Spagonia, apparently, across the desert. They were headed over the ocean. The destination was Station Square. So Robotnik did know something, he was on the exact same path as her. But… how? She had no further time to debate as the doctor turned to her once more.

“You look like you know, after all. There’s more to you than just those crystals, aren’t there?”

“I…”

“So why were you at the university?”

“I… was just… on a field trip. For school…”

“Is that so?”

“How…?” Itara’s brows furrowed together in confusion, realizing what had struck her as odd before, “How did you… know about Solaris’ creations?” No one should know what Solaris’ monsters looked like, no one but her. How did Robotnik know they were his? Robotnik remained silent, but grinned, and only then did Itara realize she gave herself away. She shouldn’t have known.

#Disrepair House #Itara #Zero #Dr. Robotnik #Eggman #Chapter 25 #Caught #Sonic #Sonic 06 #Mega Man #Arc Two #Recalibration #fanfic #sonic fanfic #askblog #sonic askblog #kidnapping #time travel #timelines

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1d-sexualdesires · 6 years ago

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4,5 and 21 for harry!

4. NOBODY’S WATCHING, WE’RE GOOD. , 5. LET ME TOUCH YOU PLEASE. , 21. NEED TO BE QUICK, LOVIE.

PURE FILTH Ft. Boss/CEO Harry

Here goes…

“Harry, stop!” Y/N whispered and shrugged him away as he pressed his hard cock against her bum. The lift was nearly to capacity.

“Nobody’s watching, we’re good.” He whispered hotly in her ear. His hand rested on her hip and he grunted quietly as he rutted against her ass.

“We’re going to get caught.” She warned in a small whisper, taking the chance to step away and pressing her back against the wall as people started filtering out. He pouted at her, placing his binder over his crotch. Smiling at people as they came off the lift until finally it was empty of them except him and Y/N.

“Y/N, please, lovie… dunno what’s going on, but I’ve been having an issue all morning.” He said and she sighed.

“Well you’re going to have to wait until after work. We never do anything at work; that’s the first rule. This meeting is big, you know it.” She said and he gulped. His cock had started budging up shortly after he had arrived and it’s nearing the hour mark, suddenly his eyes widened, “What is it?” She asked and he sighed.

“Mr. Richards gave me an acidity pill this morning. I felt a little queasy.” He said and Y/N’s eyes grew wide.

“Was it blue?” She asked horrified and he nodded.

“Fuck! fuck! How am I supposed to function. M’gonna be hard until the afternoon!” He whined and she started giggling, “S’not funny. Specially if you don’t want to help me out.” He complained and she bit down on her lip to suppress any more laughs.

“I mean, I would, but we’re at work and we have a meeting.”

“I don’t even need to be there!” He whined.

“It looks better if you are. Do you want these people to invest or not?” She asked and he groaned. “Then suck it up, H! If you really need to, just excuse yourself and tug one out in the bathroom.” She said and he hated the idea already, but that was what was going to have to happen.

As soon as he and Y/N sat down they sent the others to come in, she was prepping her laptop to take notes and then people started filtering in. Harry’s cock felt like it was going to explode if he didn’t cum soon. He introduced himself to everyone, shaking their hands firmly, introduced Y/N and then proceeded to initialize the meeting, introducing the investors to the team from the company they would be financing. He was literally there to nod and smile when the team broke out the financial graphs showing the money he’d made with investing in their product. The conference room grew dark as the CEO of their company started to present on the product itself and he pulled out his phone, as rude as it was, but he needed to do this, he was desperate. Y/N had stopped taking notes, since it was the presentation and she glanced down at her phone as it lit up in her lap.

Harry:

Scoot this way.

Y/N:

No! There’s people here.

Harry:

It feels like my cock is going to explode, love. Need something, anything. Let me touch you, please.

Y/N:

I’m sorry, Harry. Just excuse yourself, I’ll cover for you.

Harry:

I don’t want my hand. I want to stuff your tight little pussy full. Want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk. Fuck, the things I’d do to you with this 4 hour hard on. Fuck, it hurts so bad, need you, lovie.

Y/N:

Please, go to the bathroom Harry. You need to get yourself off. They have the nice single ones on this floor so you’ll have privacy.

Harry:

What if it doesn’t help?

Y/N:

Anything would help you at this point, H. Just go, real quick!

He groaned, reading the text and then quietly standing and slipping out of the room. He headed straight for the single stalls, slipping inside quietly and pressing himself up against the door. He groaned as he rubbed his cock over his trousers. He unbuttoned them quickly, throwing his head back as he stroked slowly, knowing he was about to make a huge mess. He closed his eyes and tried his best to picture Y/N on her knees for him. God, one time he had taken her out to dinner and on the way back to his she just couldn’t wait and for the first time in his life he got road-head. He had to pull over because he’d never had his cock sucked so good in his life.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He moaned softly, moving his hand faster, until he felt it bubbling in his tummy, his body tensing as he came close to the edge so quickly and groaned as his cum spurted out, landing into the sink and a few splatters at the bottom of the mirror.

As he came down he felt it dribbling over his fist, he had come so fucking much and he still needed to cum some more. He quickly opened the tap and washed his hands and the cum that had fallen in there, he wiped the mirror and looked at himself, still rock hard. He felt a little guilty, but he needed Y/N to see how big he looked, he took his phone from his pocket and opened up their messages and he took a picture of himself, cock in hand. He was never one to do this kind of shit, but he knew that somewhere in her dirty little mind she’d love it. She’d get soaked seeing him like that. He started pumping his hand quickly again, his movements stuttering as he felt close again.

****

Y/N saw her phone light up from her peripherals, not even bothering to look down and check because she figured it was Harry saying he’s coming back soon. When it lit up again a few minutes later she saw she had two messages from him. She discreetly looked away from the presentation and into her lap, pressing her thumb to the home button and her eyes bugged out for a second at the image of him, hard cock in hand.

Harry:

Already, came twice and I’ve still got so much more. Please come, lovie, and let me put my third load between your pretty legs.

She nearly moaned at that. Looking around the room and biting her lip. Deciding to speak up.

“Um, sorry to interrupt.” She said, stopping the presentation and all eyes were set on her, “Mr. Styles is feeling a bit ill, I’m going to fetch him something. I’ll be back in a tick, hopefully he can re-join us as well.”

“Oh, no worries take your time. I’m rather interested in this presentation.” the investor said and that boded well for the small company presenting. She nodded and hurried out, storming down the desolate halls until she heard faint little groans coming from behind a closed door. She knocked and the sounds stopped.

Harry:

Y/N?

“Yes, open up!” She said softly and he let her in and he was a right mess. His hair was deflated and his forehead sweaty, cock hard and he was panting. “You have some fucking nerve, Harry.” She whispered and he shook his head.

“M’sorry, lovie. Just want you so, so bad.” He said leaning in to kiss her hard and she couldn’t deny that she was turned on. She was ready for him, throbbing even.

“Told them we’d be back in a few minutes.” She said and he nodded.

“Hike up that pretty skirt and bend over the counter.” She slipped off her panties and did as she was told. She could feel his ring clad hand pressing into her ass cheek, squeezing roughly. “Fuck, can’t wait to stretch your tight little hole.” He moaned, painting his cock over her wet pussy.

Without warning he thrust inside her, making her moan, covering her mouth as he fucked her hard and fast. His hands were on her hips, pushing her back against his cock, he felt bigger than usual and it was driving her wild, her eyes fluttering closed as he reached deep into her, making her legs feel weak.

“You like this, Y/N? Like me fucking you at work, in the bathroom? Feels good to break the rules, huh?” He grunted quietly and she nodded, “God, wish I could hear you. Love to her you moaning m’name.” He continued, winding her up.

“Fuck, m’close.” She whispered and he bit his lip.

“You’re not gonna cum until I cum twice. Y’made me wait, lovie. Now you’re going to wait.” He whispered and she frowned, her eyes fixing on his reflection in the mirror, driving into her hard. “Fuck, lovie. Here’s one, where do you want it?” He asked and she moaned, a little too loud and he hummed, “Right, I promised inside, didn’t I?” She nodded weakly, “Good, s’where it belongs.” He groaned before stilling deep inside of her, she could feel it filling her up.

“Oh my god!” She whimpered and he chuckled, “So fucking much.” She whined and he pulled her up by the throat.

“It is, you’re dripping with me.” He said making her moan and he panted against her. “Now, I want you to watch us. Look how good we look together…” he said as he thrust back into her slowly.

“We need t’go.” She moaned, head falling against his shoulder and he groaned.

“You’re right, we need to be quick, lovie. So tell me, how do you want me to fuck you?” He asked and she moaned.

“Like this, please. Give it to me like this, want to see you fucking me, dripping out of me, want to see it all.” She whispered and he smirked, groaning when she reached up, fingers tugging at the curls at the back of his head. He slid out and thrust hard making her yelp.

“Fuck, the meeting. After this you’re going to go tell them that I am way too sick to re-join.” He thrust hard again, her legs nearly giving out, “Then, we’re going to go to my house and I’m going to fuck you until this fucking thing wears off.” He said and she moaned, “understood?”

“Mhmmm, yes.” She said and he, broke rhythm, making her whine, “Please.”

“Yes, what?” He asked sternly and she bit her lip, her eyes connecting with his in the mirror.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” She whispered and he groaned.

“Good girl. Ready to come for me?” He asked and she nodded, he reached down and rubbed over her clit, her legs were trembling. Mostly being held up by his arm around her waist.

“Fuck, M’ gonna cum!” She moaned and he kissed the side of her face.

“Good, with me, lovie.” He whispered and she nodded, “Keep squeezing like tha’, fuck!” He groaned and she tightened around him as he thrust faster and faster until he was groaning into her neck, filling her up again, his eyes were watering and her head was thrown back onto his shoulder, seeing stars because he felt so damn good, struggling to stay standing. Finally he pulled out and she whimpered, missing the feeling of being full. “Now, keep that little cunt squeezed tight, don’t want to see a mess on the floor.” He said and she moaned, nodded her head.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” He pressed his lips to hers quickly and wiped her thighs with tissue for whatever had come out.

“Now, meet me at my car, lovie. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Yes.” She panted pulling down her skirt.

“Yes, what?” He asked once more, menacingly and kissed his cheek tenderly, softening his gaze on her.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

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merrikstryfe · 6 years ago

Text

Answering a genuine question about gender with math

"I have a question. And I’m hoping it doesn't come off as rude or something. Why are you transitioning pronouns? I’ve known some trans people and i understand that. The changing of identity involves the changing of pronouns. But the change is to align gender to identity. I’ve never known someone using neutral pronouns. I’m struggling a bit with it and maybe if i can understand it better it will make it easier on me. Again nothing but respect, just trying to understand."

First, this is exactly the way to ask these kinds of questions, so good job!

Now, let’s talk gender theory!

So imagine two circles in a venn diagram, not overlapping at all. Inside one of these circles is all women, and inside the other is all men. This idea of two distinct, exclusively partitioned genders is called "the gender binary", and it's the model of gender that is familiar to most.

Now condense those circles down to points, and connect them like a number line with only two numbers on it. One on extreme end of the line is "Men" and on the other extreme end is "Women". If you imagine people moving from one point to another, this is how gender transitioning works under the gender binary model; you transition from man to woman, or woman to man, totally and completely.

Thinking about it like this leads naturally to the question: what about all the space in between the two end points? What if someone's gender identity falls somewhere between the two extremes? If decide that it's allowed to have a gender somewhere between "man" and "woman", then congratulations! You've invented non-binary genders!

The natural way to refine this image of gender is to mark the midway point between the two ends, and say that this point represents a gender that is 50% man and 50% woman. This gives us a nice sliding scale where you can place yourself as idenfitying with either gender, each to a certain extent, to any degree of precision that you care to measure.

This is obviously a much more expressive and flexible image of gender, and it is much better at measuring our reality, where people have been complaining for a long time that the previous, highly restrictive model, doesn't make sense when applied to their lived experience and internal sense of self. Awesome! Let's make it even better.

There are people who look at this model of gender and say "this is better, but I still can't place myself on this." For example, there are people who call themselves agender, and describe themselves as not having whatever it is that everyone else is trying so desperatly to classify. We don't have a place on our scale where gender equals zero, and trying to fix that isn't necessarily straightforward.

If we change our midpoint on the numberline to be the 0% point, we now have a line where you can slide from 100% woman to 0% either and continue to 100% on the other end. This gives agender people a place but now excludes people who were 50% man and 50% woman. If you play around with this it becomes clear that a simple line is not going to be sufficient to model the complex* nature of gender.

(*This is a math joke about how to solve this problem).

There are a few ways to think about the next step, but both involve adding another axis onto our graph. Now instead of a simple line graph we have a full cartesian plane, which you might remember from high school algebra. One way to label this new vertical dimension is to call it something like "intensity", and to draw a curvy line all the way from one side to the other measuring how much you are that percentage of that gender.

An alternative method is to instead make one gender the horizontal axis and the other gender the vertical axis. This allows us to make a point that marks any combination of gender percentages, or enclose a region and say "my gender identity is somewhere in here, it swims around a bit". This is my favorite way of modeling gender because it implies the existance of negative genders (gender aversion?), and raises the question of what kind of genders would exist if we extend our graph space to the 3rd dimension or higher. Gender theorists have made some weakly defined conjectures but there hasn't been a concrete testable hypothesis yet.

#lgbt #non-binary #NB #gender theory #also #math

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baeddel · 3 years ago

Note

[yawning and stretching like a lazy rabbit in dungarees] don’t worry, thanks to the DWP the only labour i can do is free. here, you know about the gambler’s fallacy, right? the degenerate gambler knows all the statistics. he knows how often his number comes up. so he’ll put money on that number over and over again, saying, wrongly, my number is due, telling himself it’s gonna come up some time since he’s well over the expected number of rolls. but it may never come up. why is he wrong? it’s because the dice rolls are not connected in the causal chain. every throw is one throw, perfectly singular, and exerts on the board its entire potential. A THROW OF THE DICE, says Mallarme, WILL NEVER ABOLISH CHANCE. it is only in my nervous, trembling, degenerate little rabbit paws that the dice possess any likelihood of displaying my combination. when i throw them, the dice that roll back tumble through Fortuna’s fingers, totally unconditioned and unanticipated by my throw.

alright, alright, i guess you know that. and unless you’re about to get suckered into playing craps, it won’t help you. because in society the dice are not uniform. they are always loaded. there are conditions upon which events depend. but the conditions are, likewise, not fully predictive. we can never fully foreknow the next step, yet neither is it ever completely random. it is chaotic, predictable but unstable, having both virtu and fortune within itself. what? oh, sorry. i’m getting carried away—here’s what i mean. Marxists have a good way of explaining things. they can talk about class interests. the proletarian class is interested in higher wages, for less hours of work, in safer conditions, and so forth. but if you’ve ever worked (i’ll rely on your experience, partner—i stretch more and wriggle around a little until i am comfortable in the hay—for i’ve never worked a day of my life) you’ll know that, in actual fact, proletarians will take whatever low-paying work they can, they’ll come in sick and stay on into overtime just to get things done, boasting about their work ethic and grousing about the layabouts that leave early, and they’ll leave their helmets on the kitchen counter and take off their gloves when they start to sweat. these interests only become apparent under particular conditions of class struggle, when the proletariat inevitably encounters the ever-raising price of food and shelter, encounters the problems they share with other members of the same class, and encounters their ability to make collective demands to address them. these encounters are not inevitable but, given the actual conditions of society, the opportunity is presented over and over again, so we find that proletarians do regularly play the part that class struggle has assigned them. in other schools of economics they talk about preferences, incentives and even games which actual events can sometimes more or less predictably follow the form of.

these are all ways that allow us to move from the predictive power of statistical graphs to the actual events of history, that is to say, from the abstract to the particular. all of my grousing really amounts to this: with respect to things like whiteness, gender, cissexism, and all the rest, most of our conversations have a weakly developed understanding of the relationship between abstract and particular, and as a result, our understanding of those things is poor. we are not sure what to do about those things and can’t advise anyone else. i hope this was more, and not less, clear than the original. now i’ll go back to snoozing or whatever other leisurely activity i prefer…

what are your criticisms of privilege theory?

fuzzy. misplace of focus. excites the wrong moods in the listener. and lacks explanatory power for the most pressing questions. in order,

Keep reading

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timetogoslumming · 7 years ago

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another fluffy little sprace oneshot for you!

race finds out that spot missed out on a vital part of childhood.

For the first few weeks that they were dating, Spot never saw Race’s apartment. It just made sense for them- Spot lived alone, and Race’s roommates could be a little bit intense. One evening, though, after they had gone out for pizza, Spot was clearly uncomfortable as they walked back toward his apartment.

“Don’t you live like, a block from here?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

Spot worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute. “Okay, I don’t want to tell you this-” he started.

Race looked down at him, concerned. “What is it?”

“I really have to use the bathroom,” Spot said. “Can we please just go back to your place tonight? I really don’t want to walk the rest of the way back to mine holding it.”

“Oh, my god. Fine.” They took a left at the corner and were quickly back to Race’s building. Spot stepped back while Race unlocked the door. “Just… sorry in advance about my roommates,” he started. “They’re kinda- anyway, they’re probably going to interrogate you.”

But his worries, as it turned out, were unfounded. The apartment was empty. Jack, he assumed had gone to Davey’s- he had been doing that a lot lately- and Albert just sort of disappeared sometimes. He would be gone for days at a time, then come back saying he had run out for a bagel. Race knew him well enough to know not to question it. Al would probably come up with a story about being abducted by aliens or something if he asked too many questions.

“My bathroom’s the one at the end of the hall,” Race said, pointing, and Spot walked, a little bit too quickly to be casual, toward it.

“You have a space shower curtain?” Spot yelled from inside.

“Yes! Don’t judge me!”

Race wandered aimlessly around the kitchen while he waited for Spot, eventually starting up the Keurig for a cup of coffee. Not too long after, the toilet flushed, the sink ran for a minute, and Spot emerged, looking much calmer. “Little late for coffee, isn’t it?” he asked.

Race shrugged. “No such thing as too late. Besides, caffeine calms me down.”

“Fair enough. Show me your room. I want to see if you’re as big of a nerd as I think you are.”

Race led Spot to his room and stood awkwardly in the doorway as Spot looked around at his various posters and photos on the wall. He occasionally asked who someone in a picture was, and Race would answer, but aside from that, it was mostly silent. Race had learned when they first got together that Spot liked to know his surroundings like the back of his hand. Unfamiliar spaces made him nervous, so he took the time to thoroughly explore every new place he found himself in. “Why do you have four calculators?” Spot asked, pointing at the stack of advanced graphing calculators on Race’s desk.

“In case three break,” Race replied, only half kidding.

Spot stopped at Race’s bookshelf, picking up a ratty teddy bear, which had once been white and was now a sort of greyish-brown. He held the bear up to Race with his eyebrows raised. “Really? You still have a teddy bear?”

Race made a grab for the bear, but Spot was faster and yanked it out of reach. “Fuck off,” Race said. “I got him when I was a baby.”

“It’s a him, huh?”

Race grabbed for the bear again, but this time, Spot let him have it. “Yes, he’s a him,” Race replied, smoothing the bear’s fur, which had gotten sort of patchy in old age. “His name is Barney, in case you were wondering. But seriously, everyone still has some kind of stuffed animal.”

“Not me,” Spot replied, taking a seat on the end of Race’s bed. “But then, I never really had any.”

“What do you mean?” Race asked absently as he carefully placed Barney the Bear back on his shelf.

“Never had like, a teddy bear or anything.”

Race spun around so fast that his neck cracked a bit. “What, never?” he asked. “Not even when you were little?”

Spot shrugged. “Nah.”

“How?”

“Well, when your mom is in prison and your dad thinks that kind of stuff is too sissy, you don’t get a whole lot of teddy bears.”

A pang of sadness hit Race straight in the heart. “That’s… really shitty. Every kid needs a teddy bear. Or something. I think Al had a stuffed fish, but still. Seriously, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uh… nothing?”

“We’re getting you a teddy bear.”

Spot shook his head. “We really don’t need to-”

“We’re going.”

The next day, after a long lie-in in bed and a massive breakfast at IHOP, Race dragged Spot to the mall, making a beeline for the Build a Bear Workshop. Spot stopped just outside, staring at the display of Pokemon in the window. “Race, I really don’t want to do this.”

“Too bad. Every kid needs a teddy bear,” Race replied, shoving Spot inside.

“I’m twenty-two.”

“Yeah. We’re making up for twenty-two years of lost time.”

Inside, Race pointed to the wall of stuffed animals, telling Spot to choose the one he liked best. Slowly, they walked along the line, occasionally picking up a bear to make a joke. “This one looks like you,” he said, gesturing to a garish tie-dyed cat.

“Shut up,” Race replied, picking up one that was meant to look like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, but really just looked like a mistake. “This one looks like you.”

Finally, though, Spot settled on a classic teddy bear with fur the same color as Race’s hair, although neither of them made that connection out loud. An overly cheery teenage employee rushed over. “Are you ready to bring your bear to life?” she asked.

“Uh… sure,” Spot replied.

“Okay!” she enthused. “Come choose a heart for your friend!” She gestured to a huge bowl of red hearts.

“That’s… not necessary.” The employee started to protest, and Race nudged Spot. “Okay, fine.” He grabbed a heart at random.

“Great!” Race was beginning to suspect that the girl was a robot built by Build a Bear’s corporate headquarters. “Now warm the heart in your hands!” Spot hesitantly closed his hands around the red heart. “Good! And now whisper a wish to your bear’s heart.”

Spot jerked his head up. “You’re joking. Do I really look like the kind of guy who whispers wishes to little hearts? Who do you think-” “Dude,” Race said, interrupting him. “Will you just… be cool?”

“Fine,” Spot snapped. He brought the heart up to his hands. “I wish for cheap booze and good sex,” he whispered with a grin, quietly enough that Race and the employee couldn’t make it out.

“Now seal it with a kiss!” the girl said perkily. Spot bitterly gave the heart a quick kiss.

“What’d you wish for?” Race asked.

“Oh, no!” scolded the employee. “If he tells you, it won’t come true!” “Yeah, Race. I can’t tell you,” Spot confirmed with a smirk.

The poor girl helped them stuff the bear, but was quickly rebuked when she suggested that Spot give it a hug test to see if it was full enough, and then weakly suggested that they give the bear a bath.

Spot stared at her, slackjawed. “Give it a what?”

“A bath,” she replied, pointing toward a blue trough shaped vaguely like a dog groomer’s tub.

Spot held up the bear, which had just been stitched up. “This is a stuffed animal. It’s not real. I just bought it. Are you telling me this bear isn’t clean?”

“Spot,” Race hissed.

“It’s not really water,” the employee responded.

Spot nodded. “Okay, great. Can we pretend for a minute that I’m an adult and don’t want to give a stuffed animal an imaginary bath?”

The employee actually rolled her eyes, her robot exterior cracking. “Go pick out clothes or something,” she said dully, gesturing to a wall of clothes.

As soon as they were by the wall, and the employee had gone back to the register, Race nudged Spot. “Why are you so mean?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not mean,” Spot replied as he looked through tiny outfits. “This is stupid.” As he dug through the clothes, he froze and did a double take, looking back at Race. “Hey, look,” Spot said. “It’s your shirt.”

The tiny shirt he held up was weirdly similar to Race’s, although not identical. Race’s shirt was a diagram of Saturn, with arrows and captions pointing out various parts of the planet. The bear shirt was just a picture of Saturn. “I’m getting this.”

“Aw, so you can cuddle with me even when I’m not there?” Race teased.

Spot scowled. “Fuck off. No. It’s because this is stupid and you’re stupid.” He held the shirt up to the bear like he was trying it on. “Besides. I don’t cuddle.” Which, for the record, was the truth. Spot liked his space.

They shopped around for a while longer, before finally settling on an outfit, which was nearly identical to Race’s. After checking out with the employee, who by this point, was completely done with them, and after a quick apology to her from Race, they left, carrying a box shaped like a house.

“Want to walk around the mall a little?” Race asked.

“No,” Spot said quickly. “I don’t need anyone to see me carrying this shit around.”

Back at Spot’s apartment, they unboxed the bear. “Okay, well… cool,” Spot said awkwardly, letting it sit on the couch between them.

“Admit it,” Race urged. “You love it. You finally got your teddy bear.”

“Get out of my home.”

#newsies #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #myfics

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mathematicianadda · 5 years ago

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Au revoir, GRA

Today (Wednesday 18 March) the Groups, Representations and Applicatons programme at the Isaac Newton Institute came to a premature end.

There are still some hopes that it can be revived later, but at the moment the only certainty is that it is closed now.

The director of the Institute, David Abrahams, drew our attention to the fact that while Isaac Newton was self-isolating, he did some very good research.

I have my grumbles about various things, especially the accommodation in the Weat Cambridge desert (as I hinted here), but now is not the time for that.

The third workshop was reduced to two and a half days, many of the talks presented remotely, and even for the live ones only ten of us allowed in the huge lecture room. (This despite the fact that most of us had been working together since January.)

So I will just mention one talk, a beautiful talk (as usual) by Tim Burness, on the length and depth of a group. The length of a group is the length of the longest chain of subgroups in the group, and has various applications (the question of determining the length of the symmetric group was raised by Babai and is fairly distantly connected with graph isomorphism). I believe I was the first person to find the beautiful formula

l(Sn) = ⌈3n/2⌉−b(n)−1

for the length of the symmetric group Sn, where b(n) is the number of ones in the base 2 expansion of n. This result depends on the classification of finite simple groups, but only rather weakly; I seem to remember that, at the time (early 1980s), I observed that using Babai’s “elementary” bound for the order of a primitive permutation group, the formula can be proved for all n greater than about 1000.

The depth of a group is the length of the shortest unrefinable chain of subgroups. There are some very appealing arguments concerning depth; for example, the proof that there is an absolute bound for the depth of Sn uses the proof by Helfgott of the ternary Goldbach conjecture. However, what I didn’t see was any application of depth comparable to the several applications of length. (If the depths of symmetric groups are bounded, it is not a very good measure of their size, methinks.)

Anyway, tomorrow we head back to Scotland and go to ground. There were several projects I had hoped to get finished here, and we have at least pushed them on a bit; also the two things from my February trips that I talked about earlier.

from Peter Cameron's Blog https://ift.tt/395peo1 from Blogger https://ift.tt/3b8zr4J

#Blogger

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thelastspeecher · 7 years ago

Text

Stan Pines, Farmhand - Chapter 16: This is How the World Ends

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 AO3

Holy shit, it’s finally done! I’ve been working on this fic since October, and this AU series for over a year! But it’s done! I mean, as done as I’ll ever be; the multichaps are over, and all that’s left are random posts or ficlets I might make about it. Thank you guys for all your support, it has been lovely, and so wonderful to write this, with all the love you guys have given me for my nonsense. I love y’all, and I hope this is a satisfactory ending. In this, the final chapter, plot lines are resolved, there is yelling and hugging and reconciliation, and Angie tells Ford off. Enjoy~

Gsrh rh sld gsv dliow vmwh. Mlg drgs zm zklxzobkhv, yfg z xlmevihzgrlm. Zmw rg xivzgvh z xszmxv gl hgzig levi.

August 14, 2012

Emily winced as the shouting from her parents’ bedroom reached new decibels.

“I’ve never heard them fight like this before,” she said quietly.

“I wanna know what they’re saying,” Mabel said. “But the last time Grunkle Stan caught me eavesdropping, he grounded me. And then he said that if he caught me again, he’d cut off my ears, so I couldn’t do it anymore. He probably won’t do that, but I asked for some cute earrings for my birthday, so…”

“Ya don’t wanna risk it,” Emily finished. Mabel nodded. “I can try to listen, if ya want,” Emily offered. “It’s not like they can really ground me anymore.” Mabel beamed.

“Thanks!”

“You got it, cuz.” Emily ruffled Mabel’s hair on her way to her parents’ bedroom. She pressed an ear against the door.

“I’m not gonna apologize for protectin’ you. You and the kids,” Stan said firmly.

“Ya didn’t protect me! Ya lied to me!”

“Bullshit.” Stan’s short response was enough to stop Angie in her tracks.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s bullshit. I protected you. I protected the kids. Do you have any clue what woulda happened if I hadn’t kept all of this a secret? Even with all the precautions I took, Bill still almost got the house this summer.” Emily’s eyes widened.

Dad knows about Bill? Did he overhear Uncle Ford talkin’ ‘bout him?

“Who the hell is Bill and what does he have to do with ya lyin’ to me fer thirty fuckin’ years?!” Emily’s jaw dropped.

I didn’t know Ma even knew real swear words.

“Bill’s the asshole demon that possessed Ford and pushed ya down the stairs thirty years ago,” Stan said.

Wait, what? Bill hurt Ma?

“All the more reason ya should’ve talked to me ‘bout this!” Angie said fiercely. “If Bill is such an evil, manipulatin’, powerful bein’, ya needed someone to help ya out.”

“Clearly, I didn’t,” Stan snapped. There was a long, drawn-out silence.

“Clearly,” Angie said in a subdued voice.

“Angie,” Stan started. Emily could picture him moving toward her mother, reaching out his arms to comfort her.

“Leave,” Angie said. Emily blinked.

That’s not usually how fights end with them.

“…What?” Stan asked, like Emily, taken aback.

“Leave me be, Stanley Pines. I need some time to myself.”

“You just got back, though.”

“I know.” Emily winced at her mother’s choked-up voice. “I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be apart from ya. Yer not the only one with old issues resurfacing.” Stan said something so quietly that Emily couldn’t make out what it was. “Yes,” Angie said. “So ya can understand why it hurts me to send ya away. But- but we can’t sleep in the same bed tonight, Stan.”

“…Fine.” There were footsteps. Emily moved away from the door just before it opened. Stan looked at his daughter. “Squirt, how many times do we have to tell ya not to eavesdrop?” he said tiredly, closing his bedroom door.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Emily protested.

“Kid.”

“Okay, maybe I was. But it was for a good cause!”

“Mabel asked ya?”

“Yeah, but I was gonna do it anyways.”

“Figures.” Stan took a seat on the floor in the hallway. Emily sat down next to him.

“Are ya sure you’ll be able to stand up again?” she asked. Stan sighed.

“Now’s not the time,” he said. Emily looked down.

“Sorry.”

“Not yer fault. Nope, it’s my fault. All of it.” Stan groaned. “This isn’t how today was supposed to go. The first day of seein’ yer ma in months, well, if I hadn’t messed up like this, there’s no way we’d be spendin’ it in separate beds. Can’t really do what we planned on in-”

“Dad.”

“Right.”

“It does suck, though,” Emily said. “You thought Ma would be happy to have Uncle Ford back, and that Uncle Ford would be happy to be back and wouldn’t punch ya. And ya didn’t think you’d be worried about yer twin stealin’ yer family from ya.” Stan looked at Emily, startled.

“What?”

“Dad, I was there. I was there durin’ yer very questionable run for the mayor of Gravity Falls. I was there when ya started gettin’ worried over Uncle Ford and Dipper playin’ that weird graph paper game. The same one Danny ‘n Daisy like fer some reason. I’ve seen how nervous ya are that Mabel and Dipper like him better.”

“Damn. You’re too smart for yer own good, kiddo,” Stan said quietly.

“I know.” Emily leaned against Stan. “Things’ll work out.”

“Ya keep sayin’ that.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s true. It’ll just take a while is all.”

“Don’t have much summer left fer that.”

“So?” Emily asked.

“Never mind.”

“No, tell me!”

“Nope. Help me up, will ya,” Stan said. Emily groaned.

“I guess.

-----

August 17, 2012

There was a gentle knock on Ford’s door.

“Come in,” Ford said, concentrating on shaving. The door opened.

“Uh, Stanford, why are ya holdin’ a lighter so close to yer face?” Angie asked, staring at him.

“Hmm? Oh, I’ve found that this is much faster than traditional shaving.”

“And more dangerous,” Angie said. She took a few steps into the room and closed the door behind her. “Stanford, I didn’t get a chance to talk to ya yet. Between the jetlag and the…emotional roller coaster, I’ve been too exhausted. But I’ve gotten some rest, and feel refreshed. Which means we need to discuss what happened thirty years ago, and what’s happenin’ now.”

“Okay.” Angie took a seat on the couch and patted a spot next to her. Ford reluctantly joined her.

“Look, I’m glad to see ya. But you made one hell of a mistake back then,” Angie said shortly. “Fidds told ya not to get dark magic involved, but ya still made a deal with a demon, and just about all of us paid the price.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think Bill was-”

“Ya didn’t think a literal demon was bad news? Stanford, yer supposed to be a genius. Act like it,” Angie snapped. Ford stared, surprised to hear such a cruel tone from her. “Ya don’t owe me an apology just fer makin’ a deal with Bill. Ya owe me an apology fer pushin’ me down those stairs. Ya put me in a coma. My arm was broken. I had to go through speech therapy ‘cause my stutter came back. And my fam’ly was put through hell worryin’ ‘bout me. Worryin’ ‘bout Fidds, and Stan, and you. Stanford, we were terrified fer you.” She sighed. “And then Stan told us that you were dead.”

“I know. I’m not very pleased with that.”

“Don’t matter whether yer pleased with that. Ya still owe some apologies. And ya need to thank Stan fer bringin’ you back. Emily told me ya never did that.”

“I’m not going to thank Stan for endangering the entire universe,” Ford snapped. “And I’m sick of your judgmental tone!” Angie glowered. Ford immediately regretted his words.

“Yer over fifty years old, Stanford Pines. So why are ya actin’ like a child? And I should know what a child acts like. I raised five of ‘em.”

“…Five?”

“Someone had to help Fidds with Tate. You left a mess behind, and instead of thankin’ folks fer cleanin’ it up, or apologizin’ fer makin’ it, yer lashing out at yer own damn fam’ly. My tone may be judgmental, but I’ve got good reasons to judge ya. I have no clue what is so broken between you and Stan that ya can’t even recognize what he did fer you. Was it perfect? No. But it was still an enormous undertaking.”

“I can’t thank someone who put my safety above others’.”

“That’s what Stan does,” Angie said softly. Ford looked down, her words connecting with the guilt he’d had in the back of his mind. Angie played with her hands. “Okay, I just have one thing left to say ‘fore I go hide from my husband some more.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to keep Dipper and Mabel away from the weirdness of Gravity Falls.” Ford stared at her, thinking about what Stan had told him.

“Why not?”

“They’re kids. They’ll mess with things ya tell ‘em not to.” Angie sighed. “Over thirty years of bein’ a dad, you’d think Stan would’ve figured that part out. But I prefer that you encourage them to look into things. To be curious. That way they know how to be safe ‘bout it. Stan was right, Gravity Falls is dangerous. But only if ya don’t know what yer doin’. So show ‘em. But show ‘em how to be safe, too. No matter how difficult it is to break yer habit of throwin’ caution to the wind.” Angie smiled weakly. There was a hesitant knock.

“Yes?” Ford said. Dipper opened the door.

“Great-Uncle Ford, I was wondering if you had any research you wanted to do today. Mabel wants me to help plan our birthday party, so I thought I should check in first.” Dipper noticed Angie sitting next to Ford. “Oh, hi Grauntie Angie.”

“Howdy there, kidlet,” Angie said.

“Actually, Dipper, yes, I do have something I could use your assistance on,” Ford said. Dipper’s eyes widened eagerly.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Ford said. Angie patted Ford’s leg.

“I’ll leave you two kooks to do yer research.” Once the door had closed, Dipper looked at Ford.

“So, what do you need me to help with?”

“You recall the containment for the rift, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s cracking.”

-----

Emily hesitantly opened the door to her parents’ bedroom.

“Ma?” she said cautiously. Her mother looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

“Hey there, sweetling,” Angie said, putting her book to the side. Emily sat on the bed next to her. “What’s the reason fer ya stoppin’ by? Thought you were workin’ in the gift shop right now.”

“I had Wendy cover me fer a few minutes,” Emily replied.

“That Corduroy girl is somethin’ else,” Angie said.

“Yeah. Look, Ma, here’s the thing. Dad is- he’s really upset. Like, really upset and-” A stormy expression gathered on Angie’s face. “-and that’s clearly not what I should be talkin’ about.”

“I know yer dad feels bad fer what he did,” Angie said slowly. “And he should.”

“I know! I know he should feel bad. But maybe give him a break?” Emily suggested. Angie shook her head.

“No,” Angie whispered in a broken voice. “No, I can’t. Not yet. He lied to me longer ‘n you’ve been alive.”

“Ma-” Emily started.

“Leave me alone,” Angie said suddenly.

“What?”

“Em, I need some time alone.”

“But-”

“Emily Marlene Pines, leave me be!” Angie snapped. Tears were standing in her eyes. Emily bit her lip.

“Sorry, Ma, I didn’t mean to-”

“I know you didn’t, but I just can’t handle talkin’ ‘bout yer father right now,” Angie whispered. She rubbed her eyes. “Go, sweetie. I don’t want ya to see me cry like this.”

“Ma-”

“I mean it! Get goin’!”

“O-okay,” Emily stammered. She stood up and walked over to the door. Before she left, she looked back at her mother. Angie’s head was in her hands, her shoulders shuddering from the force of her sobs.

“Yer ma’s still angry, huh?” a voice asked, the second Emily had closed the door behind her. Emily spun around, startled. Stan was in the hallway, looking abashed. Emily rubbed her face.

“Dad, I think she’s beyond angry right now. Ya know how important tellin’ the truth is to her. Everyone’s upset, including Mabel and-”

“Wait, Mabel’s still upset?” Stan interrupted.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I thought I talked her down.”

“Well, I saw her a few minutes ago and she was crying. And I was goin’ to ask Ma fer help, but I brought you up, and that pissed her off, so I had to leave ‘fore I could ask.” Stan frowned. Emily recognized the look. “What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?” Stan rubbed his chin.

“I’ve been wonderin’ if I should try that McGucket conflict resolution thing with Dipper and Mabel.”

“Is that the same thing you and Ma had me do with Daisy?”

“Yeah. It worked with me and Ford, and we were way past what Dipper and Mabel are dealin’ with, so it should work for them.” He sighed. “I’ve just been hopin’ that I wouldn’t need to, that they’d figure it out on their own.”

“Dad…”

“I know, I know. I shoulda tried to fix things sooner.” They heard the bell of the gift shop door jingle. Voices carried to where Stan and Emily were standing.

“Dipper and Uncle Ford are back,” Emily said quietly. She looked at her dad. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

“Yer right. Go fetch Mabel, I’ll handle the nerds. A fam’ly discussion is long overdue.”

-----

Soos walked into the living room, closely followed by Angie.

“I brought her, dudes,” Soos said, gesturing to Angie. She frowned.

“Jesus, you weren’t serious about the salamander you claimed to have found, were ya?”

“…No,” Soos admitted. Angie sighed and took a seat on the floor.

“Fine. What’s goin’ on here? An intervention?”

“I think so,” Mabel said slowly. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying earlier. “But I don’t know what it’s about. I mean, after the last one, I stopped using glitter in everything I bake!”

“This isn’t about glitter,” Emily, who was standing near one of the exits, said. “It’s about how everyone in this house is upset, but no one’s doin’ anything ‘bout it. Ma’s avoiding Dad, Uncle Ford won’t explain whatever he’s doin’ in the basement, and I guess forgot how manners work, and now Dipper and Mabel are havin’ issues, too!” Angie looked at Dipper and Mabel, concerned.

“Is that true?” Angie asked. Mabel looked away. “What happened?”

“Ahem, I’m the moderator,” Emily said. Angie raised her eyebrows. “…Ma. But anyways, yeah, Dipper and Mabel, go ahead and explain what happened.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dipper said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah right, apprentice,” Mabel scoffed. Dipper stared at her.

“How do you know about that?”

“The walkie-talkies! Doy!”

“Wait, catch me up here,” Angie said, “Dipper’s an apprentice?”

“Great-Uncle Ford asked me if I wanted to be. I’d stay here in Gravity Falls and help him with his research,” Dipper explained. Angie crossed her arms and glared at Ford.

“He asked ya that, huh?”

“And Dipper agreed!” Mabel burst out. She sniffled. “He’s- he’s gonna stay, and I’m gonna leave, and-”

“But this is a huge opportunity for me,” Dipper said to Mabel.

“It’s a horrible opportunity for me!” Mabel shouted. “You’re- you’re supposed to be the person I can count on. I don’t wanna leave Gravity Falls behind, but- but when I thought you were gonna come back home with me, that was all right. Now you’re not? I- I don’t wanna grow up without you!”

“Hold on,” Angie interrupted. Mabel and Dipper looked at her, but she was still staring at Ford, clearly furious. “Stanford, ya didn’t consult anyone about any of this.”

“I-” Ford started.

“If yer goin’ to ask a boy to leave his fam’ly behind, talk to ‘em first! I mean, I don’t think Caleb and Amelia would actually be comfortable with this. But now ya went and got his hopes up over somethin’ that, logistically, won’t happen.”

“Caleb and Amelia would be ecstatic, given my educational background and experience,” Ford said.

“Just ‘cause yer smart don’t mean ya make good decisions,” Angie snapped. Ford glowered.

“The boy needs space to develop his intellect! He’s been suffocating, tied down by a twin that he’s never been apart from!”

“Is that what you really think?” Mabel whispered. Dipper stared at his twin, devastated.

“No! I- I never said that, Mabel, I promise!”

“But you were gonna leave me.”

“I-” Dipper stopped. “I don’t want to,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I ever wanted to. I just got caught up in, y’know, the coolness of it all. Being an apprentice to the author of the journals. Saving the world and whatever. But I’d be spending my teen years cooped up in a basement, and without you. And I don’t want that.” Mabel smiled weakly at him.

“And Mom and Dad would freak,” Mabel said.

“Yeah. They would,” Dipper said. “Awkward sibling hug?”

“Sincere sibling hug.”

“See, Mabel?” Stan said, watching the two embrace. “Like I told ya, you’ve got your brother with you. You’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine, too, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said confidently. She patted Dipper on the back twice and they broke apart. Stan smiled, but it was clearly insincere.

“If you say so, kiddo.”

“Actually, Dad, that’s a really good segue,” Emily said. She looked at Dipper and Mabel. “You two can leave, if ya want.”

“And miss out on all the juicy gossip? Please,” Mabel said, waving a hand. Dipper nodded.

“Yeah, like we’d leave of our own free will, when things are gonna start getting good?” Emily looked over at Stan.

“Dad, you can decide if they stay or not. It’s yer business that we’re dealin’ with next.”

“Great,” Stan muttered. He sighed. “They can stay. They’d eavesdrop even if we kicked ‘em out.”

“You know it!” Mabel chirped. Stan cracked a half-smile.

“All right, then. Onto Dad’s issues,” Emily said. Stan closed his eyes with a groan. “Who wants to go first, Ma or Uncle Ford?”

“Ladies first,” Ford said, gesturing towards Angie. Angie frowned.

“Sure, yer quite the gentleman when yer tryin’ to avoid talkin’ ‘bout yer feelin’s,” she said snidely. “You Pines folk ‘re all stunted emotionally, I swear.”

“Ma,” Emily intervened. Angie sighed.

“Guess I’m up first. Stan, ya did the wrong thing fer the right reason. But I can take care of myself. I don’t need unsolicited protection.”

“I know,” Stan said. “But when ya were comatose in a hospital bed, or gettin’ frustrated over how slow yer speech therapy was goin’, really didn’t seem that way.”

“The lyin’ went on past that,” Angie replied.

“Yeah. It did. I’m sorry, Angie.”

“This is the sort of thing married folks aren’t supposed to have. Secrets that go on fer thirty years. Is it any wonder I have issues lookin’ ya in the eye?” Angie asked, her voice breaking. “Is it any wonder I can’t hardly be in the same room as ya? All that time, all that time spent together, happy, raisin’ our kids. Now those good memories are- are poisoned. ‘Cause you were lyin’ durin’ ‘em.” Angie bit her lip and looked away. “Sometimes…sometimes I wondered if ya were cheatin’ on me.”

“What? Angie, I would never-”

“Cheat? But how can I trust ya ‘bout that now, knowing yer lies?” Angie shook her head. “Maybe the blame’s on me, too, though. I ain’t blind. I knew somethin’ was happenin’. I knew there was a reason you were runnin’ yourself more ragged than usual, that there was a reason ya suddenly developed an interest in what Stanford was workin’ on, that there was a reason ya had us move into yer dead twin’s house, and start up, of all things, a tourist trap. I told myself you were just grievin’ in yer own way. But I knew there was more, and if I hadn’t been too scared to actually figure out what else was goin’ on, maybe- maybe we wouldn’t be in such a rough spot right now.” Angie finished her speech with a decrescendo, getting quieter as she neared the end, until the last few words were almost a whisper.

“Angie, when we got married, you said there wasn’t anything that could make you leave me,” Stan said. He swallowed. “Is that still true?” Angie looked down.

“It hurt every day I was in Maine,” she said softly, after a pause that was far too long for Stan’s liking. “But not from old age. From missin’ you. I’m furious ‘bout all of this. But I love you and the life we built together more ‘n I’m angry.” She looked up, and there were tears standing in her blue eyes. Eyes that still had the same brilliance Stan had first seen forty-one years ago. “Stanley Pines, I can’t think of a single thing that would make me leave.” Stan smiled weakly at her. “Even with the lyin’, and my nightmares comin’ back, and everything feelin’ like it’s fallin’ apart, I- I can’t get over how much I love ya. I ain’t leavin’. I ain’t plannin’ on ever leavin’.”

“I’m sorry that I dragged us into this mess,” Stan said.

“It- it is what it is, I s’pose. All’s we can do now is try to move forward. Work on the trust stuff a bit more.” Angie and Stan shared a tentative smile. Ford, who was standing near the tank Angie kept her favorite amphibians in, frowned.

“Nightmares?” Ford asked.

“Nothin’ to write home ‘bout, I don’t think. Had ‘em a bit ‘fore Stan showed up at the farm, had ‘em a bit ‘fore you showed up at the farm, and they started up again while I was doin’ research in Maine this summer.” Angie shrugged. “But they stopped when I got back. Put me in an awful mood fer Stan tellin’ me he got you home, though. I was so exhausted and frustrated, even without the nasty things I was dreamin’. With all of it together, I almost didn’t come home.”

“Shi- shoot, Angie, if you didn’t come home,” Stan said, “I…I don’t know what I’d do. Send the kids home? Kick Ford’s a- butt for bein’ the reason?”

“Mm. Prob’ly both, knowin’ you,” Angie said. She suddenly registered the concerned look she was getting from everyone else in the room, other than her husband. “Wh- what’s the problem?”

“Bill has the ability to cause nightmares,” Ford said.

“So? The human psyche can make ‘em, too,” Angie said. Ford nodded.

“Yes, but the timing seems odd. Your nightmares tend to have surges at crucial points. Stan arriving at your house, and therefore not becoming a homeless criminal. Stan and I meeting at your house, and therefore patching things up before we became too distant. Stan telling you that I’m back, and therefore we can put a stop to Bill’s insanity once and for all.”

“When yer stressed-” Angie started.

“We set somethin’ up around the house,” Emily interrupted. “It keeps Bill’s influence out. He can’t peek into any minds here, can’t cause any nightmares. And yer nightmares stopped when ya came back.” Angie was silent.

“Violynn said that yer nightmares got so bad the first time, that yer folks almost didn’t leave,” Stan said quietly. Angie looked at him. “If yer folks didn’t leave when they did, they wouldn’t have found me. And the second time, they talked about not lettin’ Ford come over. And now…”

“…Now I almost broke yer heart, which would’ve ruined everything else,” Angie whispered.

“If Stan and I got in a physical altercation, or the kids went home, Bill would have found it much easier to gain access to the rift,” Ford said. “Frustration, anger…those emotions are ones Bill relies on. He can finetune righteous fury until it fits his own perverted needs.” Angie put her head in her hands.

“I have a million questions,” Angie said quietly, “the first one bein’ what ‘the rift’ is. But- I don’t think I’m ready fer the answer right now. I thought it was bad enough, that demon puttin’ me in a coma. But playin’ with my mind? I-”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Dipper said firmly. Angie nodded.

“Sure does, kiddo.” After a long pause, Emily cleared her throat.

“So…Dad and Uncle Ford?”

“Are we seriously still doin’ this?” Stan demanded.

“Yes.”

“It’s been a long day, I think we could use a break,” Ford said.

“Nuh-uh. If we stop now, we won’t ever finish,” Emily said, shaking her head. “So. Dad and Uncle Ford. Talk.”

“Ford, up yours.”

“What?!” Ford said.

“Dad. Not helpful.”

“Fine. Ford, thirty years ago, ya asked me to abandon my fam’ly, to save yer skin. Sure, that fight might’ve ended in me pushin’ you through the portal. But it never woulda gotten that far if you didn’t put your own bullsh- crap above everyone else,” Stan snarled. Ford glowered.

“I put my problems above others’? Stanley, you were willing to risk the universe’s safety for your family, and then later, for me!”

“I did what ya asked me to!” Stan snapped. “You asked me to help you. I did it. And after thirty years of breakin’ my back to do what ya told me to do, we won’t even talk! Goddam- gosh dangit, Ford, I thought we were past this!”

“So did I!” Ford shouted. Dipper and Mabel exchanged a wide-eyed look. “So did I,” Ford said, in a more reasonable tone. He ran a hand through his hair. “Why do we keep having this argument, over and over again?”

“‘Cause whenever ya have problems, it always happens at the worst time,” Angie suggested.

“Ma, yer not allowed to contribute,” Emily said. Angie rolled her eyes.

“No, that- that sounds right,” Ford said. “Maybe we are emotionally stunted, unable to talk things out, until it builds and builds, and the only possible result is explosive.”

“Does that mean yer gonna thank me?” Stan asked.

“Only if you apologize to me,” Ford replied. Stan frowned thoughtfully.

“I’ll think about it. But no matter what, I ain’t apologizin’ in front of the kids. They’ll think I’m soft.”

“You already said sorry to Grauntie Angie about ten times,” Dipper said.

“Eh. That’s different.”

“Are we done?” Ford asked Emily. Emily nodded.

“Actually, yeah. Huh, and it took less time than me and Daisy did.”

“Stanford, what is the rift?” Angie asked suddenly.

“Essentially, it’s a rip in the fabric of the universe, a portal of sorts between our dimension and that of Bill’s. It was created by Stanley turning on the portal,” Ford explained.

“The big problem,” Dipper jumped in. He stopped and looked at Ford, who nodded. “The big problem is that Bill can come through it if it gets too big. So Great-Uncle Ford sealed it in a snow globe.”

“The containment device is more durable than a snow globe, but continue,” Ford said.

“But now, the containment device or snow globe or whatever it is, is cracking.”

“Which means that the rift isn’t actually contained,” Angie said slowly.

“Yes. Dipper and I went to the UFO site today, to find alien adhesive to seal the containment device shut,” Ford said.

“Seems like yer tryin’ to put a bandaid over a gunshot wound,” Angie said. “That ain’t goin’ to work in the long run!”

“I just needed to buy some time, until I find a better solution,” Ford said.

“Didn’t you meet anyone in other dimensions who might be able to help out?” Emily asked. Ford paused.

“Actually, yes. But Jheselbraum is busy, and I don’t have a way of visiting her dimension.”

“Does she have a cellphone?” Mabel asked. “You could call her.” Ford rubbed his chin.

��“No, she doesn’t have a cellphone…but you’re right. I could call her. Through other means, of course.”

“Great! And now that all the end of the world things are taken care of, we can finally start planning the birthday party!” Mabel said enthusiastically. Angie chuckled.

“You really have a one-track mind, don’t ya, darlin’?”

-----

September 2, 2012

Ford stood on the porch of his house, if it could be called that anymore, given the discussions that were going on about the Mystery Shack’s future.

“I can’t live here anymore,” Ford said abruptly, the night of the “intervention”. He, Stan, and Angie were enjoying some much needed alcoholic beverages.

“Why not?” Stan asked.

“It’s just changed so much. It’s not the same place I left. Even if I wanted to live in a house that also functions as a tourist trap, I can’t do that if it doesn’t feel like home.”

“Then where will ya go?” Angie asked, idly stirring her rum and coke.

“Not sure. Unless…maybe I could get the Stan O’War up and running.”

“What?” Stan said. “You- you wanna go on an ocean adventure?”

“Yes. I think it would be a nice break from all of the…”

“Drama,” Angie suggested.

“Bullshit,” Stan said.

“Well, yes, this summer has been full of both of those things.” Ford looked down at his glass tumbler. “But I don’t think I could crew her on my own.” Stan was silent. “I don’t want to take you from your family, Stan-”

“My kids are all grown up, Angie’s busy findin’ evolutionary missing links. All I do is sit around, bein’ old,” Stan said. He grinned. “Finally doin’ a trip on the Stan O’War sounds pretty great to me, Sixer.”

“You two could use some bondin’ time,” Angie added. “So’s long as ya don’t disappear off the face of the earth, I think I can handle bein’ apart from Stan fer a few months. Done it before.” She looked at Stan. “But the two of ya wouldn’t be able to leave fer a bit, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah, there’s a thing. The whole fam’ly’s goin’. I can’t go until after it.”

“That’s fine. The extra time will be useful. I can put some affairs in order, adjust the ship to be suited for my research, et cetera,” Ford said.

“Or you could come to the party,” Angie suggested. Ford blinked.

“Um, I don’t know how wise that would be. I don’t even know what it’s for.”

“A birthday. Yer welcome to come,” Angie said. She picked up on his hesitation. “But you can think about it a bit ‘fore ya make up yer mind.”

“Geez, Angie, what do ya take us for? People who think before doin’ things?” Stan asked sarcastically.

“Clearly ya aren’t, since ya haven’t discussed what you’ll do with the Mystery Shack.”

“Shut it down, obviously,” Stan said. Angie stared at him, aghast.

“And break poor Jesus’s heart like that?”

“Why do ya call him by his full name?”

“Why do ya not realize how much this dumb ole place means to him?” Angie retorted. Stan sighed.

“Like always, you have a point. Soos is a good kid. He shouldn’t have to watch the Shack shut down.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Hmm. I bet the Mr. Mystery suit would look good on him.” Angie smiled.

“That’s more like it.”

Ford shook himself out of his memories and watched his twin load up the Stanleymobile. Emily tossed Stan a large duffel bag. Stan caught it, but stumbled slightly under the weight and force of the throw. Ford smiled as Emily laughed.

“Yer losin’ yer touch, old man,” Emily said teasingly. Stan rolled his eyes and stuffed the duffel bag into the trunk.

“I’m just goin’ easy on ya. What with you bein’ my daughter and all,” Stan said. Emily snorted.

“Sure, Dad.” Ford heard the front door open. Angie walked past with another bag of luggage.

“Geez, how much crap do you guys have?” Stan asked. Angie went over to her husband.

“This is yer stuff, darlin’. And it’s the last of it.” Stan took the bag from her and put it in the car, then closed the trunk. “All right, you two, we ain’t stoppin’ fer a while. Bathroom break now or hold it,” Angie said briskly. Emily shook her head.

“I’m good, Ma.”

“Then let’s load up,” Angie said. Stan opened the door of the Stanleymobile for her, eliciting a laugh. Angie kissed him on the cheek before getting into the back seat. Emily joined her mother. Stan closed the door.

“So, where are you headed, again?” Ford asked.

“We’re gonna stop by San Diego to pick up Emmett, and then go to the farm,” Stan replied. “The whole fam’ly’s gonna be there to celebrate the triplets’ birthday.” He looked at Ford. “Includin’ Fidds, Tate, and Tate’s kids. You made up yer mind about comin’?” Ford rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly. On the one hand, he was eager to see his son and grandchildren. On the other, it had been thirty years.

The McGuckets probably wouldn’t want to see me.

“You probably need the extra space for Fiddleford,” Ford said. Stan shook his head.

“Nah. Fidds headed out yesterday,” Stan said. Angie rolled down the car window.

“I didn’t sit in the back seat fer nothin’, Stanford!” she shouted teasingly. Ford cracked a small smile.

“I really don’t know if I should intrude…”

“Intrude? Ford, it’s pretty damn difficult to crash a fam’ly gatherin’ if yer fam’ly,” Stan said. “Seriously. Ya comin’?” Ford looked at his house.

I don’t think I can call it that anymore. He looked back at his twin, his sister-in-law, and his niece. His smile grew broader.

“…Yes.”

#it is so fucking long just an fyi #but it's done!!!!!!#stanley mcgucket au #gravity falls au #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #(technically he shows up so)#gravity falls oc #angie mcgucket #Emily Pines #stan pines farmhand #my writing #my stuff #speecher speaks #Stangie Family

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