THIS ALSO TOOK TOO LONG!!!! But I really wanted to post this and I think I should just go for it before I get busy with classes again so have a shitty version of this animatic paired with the fic!!!
*mixing good ending dad Stan and chronically ill Stan together in my brain* guac a mole guac guac amole 🎶
Srsly tho what if Stan got into a car accident with little Ford in the car (Ford was fine but it terrified Stan) and got the news he had like 2 years and wouldn't even get to see Ford go into kindergarten before his body gave up on him so he called his brother and said he needed something from him-- aaand he hung up. And he doesn't answer when Stan calls him back. So he hitchhikes to Oregon with money from selling his car (he's never getting behind the wheel again with Ford in the car anyway) and the worse his stuttering gets the more he considers just leaving Ford with a letter instead of facing his brother, and he doesn't want the last thing Stanford sees of him being him shivering and crying while he says goodbye to Ford. But he finally stumbles his way to Stanford's house, Ford in a sling because he can't trust his arms much, and he really does try to leave Ford there, he had a letter and everything, and all Ford's toys and blankets and baby food in the duffel bag he'd had since he was 17, but. He just couldn't put him down, Ford was crying too much and he couldn't fix his own face enough to make him stop, and Stanford hears the commotion and opens the door to Stanley looking exactly how he didn't want Stanford to see him looking and is. So so confused, and alarmed. He thought Stan called him because he wanted money or something, he was not expecting this, he didn't even know where Stan got a baby from. Stan has a lot easier time putting Ford down into Stanford's arms, then hands him the letter and the duffel back and tries to walk away - and immediately falls off the porch, giving Stanford enough time to read the note and then inform him very patiently and in a very normal tone that if he doesn't stumble his ass inside Now Stanford is going to call the gnomes to carry him in (because his own arms are full of baby) and he'll also let his hippy roommate give Ford the middle name Junebug or something new-age that Stan will hate. And Stan gives in
YOU
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?
WHY DO I DESERVE THIS????NGIDGSDGSIBIHIUPWIUPAABJG
Stan could barely feel his hands as they shook in the freezing winds, huddling Ashford close to his chest in his sling, bundled under the last blankets he owned, zipped beneath his maroon jacket.
He couldn't remember the desperation that had clawed through his chest after the crash or after his calls were left unanswered. He couldn't remember fighting back the tears as his home, the last piece of New Jersey he had left, was taken from him, sold for the last bus ticket he'd ever need, some baby formula and the rest shoved in an envelope along with his letter.
Now all he had left, down to his very core, was determination, fighting past his limits to reach his son's last resort. He didn't have it in him to be scared, not for himself, with the precious sleeping bundle held firm against his chest, even when the bus broke down and he was forced to stumble down snow-covered roads to their destination.
The truth was he always knew, deep down, that he would die young; he'd been dying since he was turned out on the street. Perhaps even before that. He never expected there would be any goodness left for him; his entire purpose was to lift the bright stars that always seemed to orbit him, feasting on whatever he had left to give until they broke free and danced across the sky in all their glory, leaving him to survive, buried in the cracks, barely a footnote in the pages of their accomplishments.
He was grateful to be given one last opportunity to let someone else shine, loving his son like a sunrise, never expecting anything other than to witness as he'd rise from the horizon. Stan, for the first time, hoped there was an afterlife, if only to be able to witness that first radiant light as it caught against the water swimming in his son's eyes.
He just needed to make it. One more step. One more act of selfless, undying love. Then he'd unburden them all before it was too late.
Still, when he finally reached the cabin, feeling the wind whip across his frost-bitten cheeks, his breath stuttered, only a mere metre away from the door, away from Stanford.
He was angry, sure, but no act of cruelty could ever break the love he held for his brother.
Stan didn't know how long he'd paused there, just staring at the wooden walls that towered over him, nor the way his breath came sharp and jagged, tearing through his chest.
When had he dropped his bag?
The last thought Stan had as he sank to his knees, his sons' rattling wail piercing through the howl of the wind, was to fall backwards, to shield that precious joy with the last dredges of his failing body. Missing the sweep of light that shone over them both as the door flew open and a voice called out in the night.
The darkness came up to swallow him once more, and he welcomed it, a single hand still placed over Ashford's back protectively.
When Stan woke back up, swaddled under heavy quilts next to a space heater, he shot up with a gasp, catching in his throat with a rough cough, breaking from his throat before he could silence the wheezed breath.
Footsteps rushed towards him as he pushed back on shaking limbs, falling when his hands failed to hold his weight, fear pulsing through every struggling gasp of air. Where was he? Where was Ford?! He continued to struggle, cursing the numbness weighing on his limbs, helpless against the unknown threat.
Stan could have cried when, instead of the bite, a blade shoved in his face, a familiar bespeckled nerd rounded the corner, carrying a crying Ashford in tow as he reached out with a hesitant hand.
"Stanley! Oh, thank Moses, you're awake. Fiddleford and I weren't sure how long you'd sleep. When I found you- Shit, you're shivering, are you still cold?"
Regarding the outstretched hand incredulously, Stan slowly reached out, letting himself be half-dragged back onto his trembling legs before collapsing back on the sofa behind him.
Choking out a last cough, Stan licked his cracked lips, the sound of his voice rough and crackling as he stared up at the two Fords with watery eyes.
"I made it?"
"Wha- Stanley, of course you made it, do-do you not remember? What were you thinking?!" The rising wail cut off as Stanford stuttered, gently rocking Ashford in a desperate effort to hush the sobbing child.
"You're terrible at this. Come on, hand him over."
"A-are you sure you can hold him, you're awfully weak," Ford replied, still handing the baby over despite his concerns. Much to Stan's amusement, he forgot how terrible Stanford was with children, always floundering when their young nephew came to visit. He must be, what? 11-12 now?
Shaking off the sad thought, Stan allowed himself to relax. Ashford returned to his arms once more, settling as he cooed, gently smoothing out his son's hair. Even in the awkward silence that followed, Stan swallowed the rising guilt and pain when his plan came back to mind.
"I read your note." Ford started, breaking the silence suddenly, causing Stan to look up, swallowing back his fears as he let out a non-commital hum.
"I-I'm so sorry."
"What?" Stan asked, head shooting up to stare at Stanford with wide, startled eyes, careful not to disturb his grasp on his son.
"I can't believe I just... left you. Oh god, I'm so sorry, Stanley, about the car crash, about your diagnosis. I should have been there, but I couldn't even hear you out. I didn't even know you had a child! I just- fuck, you knucklehead, how dare you try to leave?"
"Stanfor-" A cough rocked out before he could finish, going unnoticed as Ford continued his rant, pacing the room in front of them whilst Stan rocked Ashford, lulling him to sleep.
"Of all the utterly stupid, thoughtless plans, you just what? Expected me to look after a child? And let you go off to die?! No, no, I won't let you take the coward's way out, dammit."
"Ford-"
"I'm going to do something about it, ok?! I won't allow it. I still need you; your son still needs you. We- I can't-"
"SIXER!" Stan finally yelled, finally breaking Stanford from his spiral, hands still grasping the curls, both surprised by the silent tears slipping from his eyes.
"Ford. I promise, I'll- dammit- I'll stick around for as long as I can, till you get the hang of things. But even a braniac like you can't just fix this-"
"You're wrong. I'll find a way, and when you're better, I'll- I'll spoil him rotten, if you even think about leaving... I'll let my lab partner name him. Something cheesy and stupid. Ok?"
"Ford."
"What?!"
"He's already got a name. Ford, short for Ashford."
"... You-you fucking imbecile." Unprepared for the sudden attack, Stan found himself adjusting in the nick of time to shield Ashford as Stanford launched at him, burying his head in his shoulder as tears sprang from their eyes, a breathless, laughter-filled moment held in the air.
"I reckon he looks like a junebug to me, " a sudden voice called out, laughing at Stanley and Stanford's joint scowl.
"No way in hell is my kid gonna go by Junebug."
"I concur, Fiddleford, that is indeed a terrible name."
Fiddleford stepped forward, eyes glowing a warm amber in the yellow lights strung around, a playful smirk pulling at his mouth.
"Better stick around then, Stanley, was it? Don't want me getting any funny ideas."
The last chapter of my long Billstan fanfic, Fireproof, is now out! I hope you all enjoy this short and sweet epilogue as this story finally finishes! Thank you all so much for your support over these past couple of months :))
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
LORD HELP ME I JUST GRADUATED FROM BEGINNER IN PHIGHTING
IM SO FUCKED BRO IM GOING TO GET MY ASS HANDED TO ME ON A SILVER PLATTER I HAVE HEARD THE STORIES OF BEING DESTROYED BY LEVEL 100 IM NOT READY FOR THIS SHIT LET ME GO BACK TO BEGINNER PLS IM BEGGING I CANT AIM TO SAVE MY LIFE AND YOU WANT ME TO GO AGAINST SOMEONE WHO COULD HEADSHOT ME FROM ACROSS THE MAP NAHHHHH I AIN'T READY FOR THIS FUCK MEEEEEE IM ABOUT TO BE A WALKING TARGET CALL ME A PROSTITUTE WITH THE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE THATS GOING TO BE ON MY ASS ABOUT TO BE TAKING HITS LIKE A GOOD BOY BECAUSE I DONT KNOW HOW TO DODGE IM ABOUT TO BE CALLED EVERY KIND OF SLURS FUCKKKKKKKK
LORD HELP ME I JUST GRADUATED FROM BEGINNER IN PHIGHTING
IM SO FUCKED BRO IM GOING TO GET MY ASS HANDED TO ME ON A SILVER PLATTER I HAVE HEARD THE STORIES OF BEING DESTROYED BY LEVEL 100 IM NOT READY FOR THIS SHIT LET ME GO BACK TO BEGINNER PLS IM BEGGING I CANT AIM TO SAVE MY LIFE AND YOU WANT ME TO GO AGAINST SOMEONE WHO COULD HEADSHOT ME FROM ACROSS THE MAP NAHHHHH I AIN'T READY FOR THIS FUCK MEEEEEE IM ABOUT TO BE A WALKING TARGET CALL ME A PROSTITUTE WITH THE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE THATS GOING TO BE ON MY ASS ABOUT TO BE TAKING HITS LIKE A GOOD BOY BECAUSE I DONT KNOW HOW TO DODGE IM ABOUT TO BE CALLED EVERY KIND OF SLURS FUCKKKKKKKK
Picrew tag game!- Create yourself now vs how you looked when you were a kid
Link
I was tagged by @cutebisexualmess for this but the chain was too long so I'm restarting!
If only that little girl could see me now (she'd probably think I was cool tbh)
uhm tagging: @b3achfagz (ik you dont do tag games so u can just ignore this but i though u might find it cool) @cassiecryptic @viktheviking1 @depressedgremlinbitch @ramencat12 @inkyslimee @the-horrifying-digital-circus @patipati @cute--thing @musicalsiphonophore @tastetherainbow290 @disenchantedwarlock @bookishcatcafe and anyone else who sees this and thinks it looks cool!!
i wasn’t tagged but it looked awesome so i had to do it… i tag: @uglyduckling339 @sapphicshart @needlekind @oya-oya-okay @three-green-waterbottles @heymrspatel @bionicle-ramblings @stvnszlr @wasyago and @r0ttingsystem (no pressure tho obvs — i’m not even mutuals with some of u, hope this isn’t a bother!) plus ANYONE else who wants in! (i love seeing ppl’s picrews on my notifs :))
Thank you for the taggg i loved this picrew sm 😭 even tho my hair colour isnt here again oops
I dont know how to compare my past self to my present self tbh. Hairstyle? I have short hair all the time for 4 years now or something, though i had short hair for a while when i was in elementary school too, so
Braids though! I liked braiding my hair so so much.
this doesn’t look too much like me (no aspen is complete without freckles) but it looks enough like me :3 this is like me now and me in like…. 4th grade? so i was 9.
I like to think she'd be proud of me, my anxietys better and I finally got rid of that toxic friend after 7 years!!! I used to read so much, I always had a book, a new one every other day lol, I read soo damn fast. Now I just read fanfic instead of physical books lol
@kutie106 @theblueshark @cosyfroggo @historyfan9784 @losairr @chocolate-chexburger @leaderofthechildrenofthecreature @sam-yow @noelgallagh3r @silly-activites and open tags so anyone who wants to :)
@pal-the-professional-fool @acebbirdandbean @somuchspringg @p3anut47 @clean-towels anyone else who wants to join this can, i just tagged whoever i could think of off the top of my head
Looking through everyone’s is making me tear up we’re all out here being ourselves and it’s beautiful
Mini me would be excited about my big dog, the fact I’m buying legos regularly, and curious about the fact we like girls too apparently. She was always confused by that (shout out to my crush on my friends older sister, she’s still somehow hot)
I think she would be amazed by my art skill but I'm not sure it would be a good idea that she sees me like that, she could be worried about the future and stuff
Anyway uhh tag time ! @calicocat-official @maridrawss @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @dark-lord-of-awesomeness (if you don't wanna be tagged /you want to be and I forgot you, tell me !)
Hair holds memories, younger me likes it as short as possible, I want to grow it out.
@walkingwindbreakr215
(HEY YOU 🫵 if you feel like everyday you're just going to the motion, things doesn't matter anymore including bonding with people, how you're always in your mind and paying less and less attention to the people around you, how some morning you felt like you're not in your body instead you're in a white void where it's silent and there is nobody but you. That is NOT you getting better, that is you getting WORSE actually. hopes this helps! 🤗)/silly
Either "with great power comes great need to take a nap" or "grief isn’t holding onto loss, it’s holding onto love" (i don’t remember the exact quote for the last one but i love it so muchhhh, if you know what it’s from I LOVE YOU)
@bookishnonsence @dauntlessink @obsess-over-ink-on-dead-trees @demigodmagician @reader-offical @raynilikescats @tayrn-everwood @biggestqiblifan @im-in-a-crisis + open tags (wow i tagged a lot of people)
"I would come for you. And if I could walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting." yes, I have it memorized teehee 🤭
can you tell that Six of Crows is my favourite duology
tagging: @shimmerytimbers @whataspectaclebear @thecatbehindyou @amkicn @omnipitant-duck and anyone else that I forgot to tag or who wants to join in<3
Emma-May saw it first. Perhaps that's how it had always been and always would be. Some part of her would always, unfailingly, look for something to hold on to. Stan followed her a beat later.
Emma saw her friend's shoulder go slack, like a marionette with its strings abruptly cut. “Wh…?”
A helicopter was hovering over them, overseeing the situation, waiting for the perfect time. At the sight of Stan's running form, it came closer.
And before she could even think, she ran.
One move. That's all it would take.
Northwest’s hand curled around the trident. With all the remaining energy he had, the man aimed for the running man.
And struck
Fiddleford. Fiddleford and his ally were there, flying in the helicopter among the field and the years fell away like smoke, and she was back at home again. There was no explosion, no war. Just people.
Emma-May felt a manic relief bubble in her as she ran along Stan. There was everything. There was confusion, there was grief, there was disbelief, there was relief, there was joy—
“Stanley!” Ford shouted, reaching for his brother. So close, just a bit more.
—and then there was pain, as the point of the trident found its mark on Stan’s back.
Emma-May watched Stan stagger and fall, impossibly slow. It took a moment for reality to sink in, and by then, Stanford was screaming, screaming so loud it drowned out everything else.
“Stanley!” Fiddleford shouted, running towards Stan’s unmoving body, but Ford was already there, cradling his brother to his chest. Emma could only watch, utterly numb, utterly cold, utterly lost inside her own head.
No, no, no, no, no—This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening. It was over. The war was over. He’d done everything he could to protect them. Why was this still how it ended?
By the time Emma turned towards the man, ready to rip him limb from fucking limb, he was running. Fuck you, she thought furiously, fuck you fuck you fuck you—
“Emma!” Fiddleford called, Ford’s scream brought her violently back into her body, with the force of a comet crashing into earth. “Help me!”
Emma staggered towards them, her blood as heavy as lead, her vision hazy. But she could see the one thing that mattered. Stanley, lying so still in his brother’s arms. Stanley, who flirted with no real heat and made things lighter and easier to bear. Stanley, who was quick to anger but quicker to laugh. Stanley.
The sun was setting over the valley.
There was a terrible, terrible silence—the kind of silence that came before something devastating, the calm before the storm. Stanley had always hated silence. It gave his mind too many spaces to fill with darkness. So he brought light, instead. Noises and laughter and jokes, anything to keep the quiet at bay.
Stanford helped with the weight, like he promised, but now it was back, stinging the gash on his back, crushing him under its burden. There was pain. There was so much pain. He thought he had already known pain, but what did he know? He was only seventeen.
Stanley felt himself lifted into someone's arms. The arms of the man who came down from that helicopter with only one goal in mind. Stan wanted to push him away, to run away and keep up, but he was too tired to do either. He could only lie there, staring up at his brother's face, twisted with anguish. His mouth was moving, speaking words Stan could barely hear.
Let me go, Stan wanted to say.
But then Ford started humming. It was a song. The song. The song Stan had been humming before this. Lifetimes ago.
“What…?” Stan breathed, the rest of the question dying on his lips. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He should, otherwise he’d be—
“It’s a piece,” Ford sobbed, his tears hitting Stan’s cheek. “It’s a classical piece I used to practice on the piano when we were younger.” And just like that, everything that came before had been forgiven and forgotten and
—gone. But was that such a bad thing? Rest would be nice if it meant his lungs would stop hurting. If it meant his back would stop aching. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was—
“I miss you, Sixer.”
He could feel someone stroking back his hair. “Keep your eyes open, Stan.” Emma. “Keep your goddamn eyes open.”
—bad. He needed to keep awake. Emma-May was telling him to, and she had consistently taken them both to a better scenario. “This is…” Stanley paused, slowly taking in a painted breath. “Such a terrible way for you two to meet.”
Ford’s hold on him tightened. Somewhere far away, someone was screaming for a medic, and Stan knew. Stan knew it was—
“I’ll play for you again,” Ford vowed. “When we get home, I’ll play for you as much as you want. I’ll let you cheat with my homework. I’ll work on the boat with you, I'll even sail away with you like we planned. Just keep your eyes open.”
Stan hissed at the sharp pain. He still wanted to do so much. He still wanted to scream at Ford and then embrace him. He still wanted to find treasure and money to prove to his pa. He still wanted to go home. He still wanted to live.
But darkness was quickly gathering.
“Stanley?” Stan had no idea who had called his name. It all sounded so far away.
“Don't leave me,” Stan pleaded. “Please.”
“We're here, Stanley.” Someone was holding his hand. Arms around him. Ford, humming a familiar tune. Warmth, even in the dark. “We’ll always be here.”
—too late.
“Thanks,” Stan breathed. “I’m sorry, I…” He had so much left to say, so much left to offer. Love. Forgiveness. Respite. But he would leave it there until he woke up again.
Stanley’s eyes drifted shut.
The sound of a younger girl chastising him had never sounded clearer.
Jerk Ford and Watchdog Ford babysitting Lee's kids while he's taking a well deserved break.
Watchdog is smiling and shaking a rattle at an infant who Jerk Ford is holding, but while the infant is excitedly reaching for it, Jerk Ford appers to be disasociating.
Watchdog, grabbing Jerk Ford's shoulder to get his attention: ...What's wrong?
Jerk Ford is staring down at the infant in his arms. Sammy, the infant, notices Jerk Ford staring at him and reaches for his hand.
Jerk Ford: *tears up when Sammy grasps his finger*
Watchdog: *slowly puts an arm around him*
Jerk Ford, hugging Sammy close to his chest: I miss him.
pixelskylines
areudirty
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romaincrisis
