Hello! I am a 23 year old female artist who is primarily using this blog for fandom art. Currently deep into GF.
My main blog where I'm more active is: @melodramaticwolf
Please DO NOT repost my art anywhere, nor tag anything as ship. All art unless specified otherwise is going to be platonic.
Reblogs, likes, comments, and notes are appreciated! Don't be afraid to reach out! (Please keep in mind I rarely am on this account, and if you do message me on my other, it might take a while for me to reply. College is dragging me through the WRINGER.)
"Stanley, I can support your weight easily, but I can't push you through a portal and catch you. Get up." Ford asserted, hefting his shoulders up, jostling his brother. The portal's blue glow made Stan squint his eyes, and he moved to only shove his face further into Ford's collar.
"I mean it. Move. We aren't going to camp when the boat is only a few miles away."
Stan moved slightly at that, leaning onto his own feet unsteadily, keeping an ankle off the ground. "Only a few miles, he says.." He grumbled, averting his eyes from the portal to the ground.
Ford didn't like the way Stanley's eyes squinted shut, the ever-creeping fear onto his face. Nor did he like the observation that his brother was clearly struggling to hold himself up. It made him feel helpless. Stanley shouldn't have to ever look that way. He should never be afraid in Ford's presence either. Ford dug his upper canine into the inside of his lip, trying to evade the incoming tsunami of self-deprecation.
"Ford? Can ya… stop starin at me..? Its spookin me a bit." Ford snapped out of it, his eyes refocusing and blinking onto that tired, scared face. "Apologies, Stanley. I'll go through and wait for you on the other side."
Stan shuffled a bit, and Ford couldn't puzzle out the expression's meaning on his brother's face. Was it anxiety? Well. Of course it was. He had just confessed to it personally. Not to mention the evidence that pointed to it. Panic attacks, accelerated heart rate, being unable to take in the body's proper oxygen levels…
Ford drew the conclusion slightly too late, before making an "Ah" sound with his mouth. He pushed Stanley in front of him, careful not to accidentally shove him through the portal. Wouldn't that be an ironic conclusion? His thoughts murmured, and he scowled at them in response, unconsciously tightening his grip on Stan.
"N-nevermind Ford. It's fine. I can... Do whatever you want. It doesn matter.."
Ford mentally smacked himself again. How was he so unable to communicate? How were THEY so unable to? His non-verbal reply and body language indicated annoyance, but not to Stan! Unfortunately, that's how it came off.
"No!" He quickly shouted, too loud. They both winced at the volume, and Ford moved to remedy the situation before it flared out of control again. (He didn't blame Stan for that. He never wanted to blame Stan for that. Not again.)
"No," He corrected more quietly. "I was merely thinking of my hypothesis on my abnormal behavior. And trying to come up with a way to ease your worries without making this more difficult or strenuous on you. I concluded that you'd feel safer with me waiting on the other side for you. But upon further re-evaluation I can see that was incorrect, as me going first put you in that situation to begin with.”
which is highly understandable, specific images, especially those that resemble heavily traumatic events can definitely become triggers to the body's panic response system. With how you-"
Ford couldn't stop his ramble, knowing that his brother wouldn't take comfort in the analysis of the situation like he did. However, speaking made his hesitancy stop. It made the thoughts bouncing in his head slow, as he focused on what he knew best. Data, observations, and repeated patterns that built the surroundings of his daily life.
He knew that wasn't how most people worked. Especially not his brother. Nor was it how life worked. Not realistically. Yet, as a man who spent his entire life studying Cryptozoology, Ford had never quite been in the field of "realism" to begin with.
Fortunately for them both, Stan interrupted.
"Ford. Please." Ford noticed a tightening around the shoulders as Stan looked to the ground again. Was there lingering pain in his back? He had laid on the ground for a while…
Ford shook his head, hair flopping about as he regained a grip on the inside. "Apologies.. again. If we just…"
Ford suddenly took Stanley's hand, ignoring the way he squawked at the sudden grip, and put his left leg through the portal, the weightless feeling momentarily pushing Ford into a split second of panic.
Relax. You've done this before. You're fine. He glanced back to Stan, before turning to face the exit of the flufftopia. You're both fine.
And with that, Ford dove, pulling Stan behind him. Both brothers felt the falling sensation, and the slight squeezing of the gravity influx. Stan made a choked sound, and Ford tried to transmit reassurance through his grip on each other's hands. It seemed to work, as Stan held on tighter.
The free-weight sensation was over too soon. Ford landed on his feet with ease, nearly losing his grip on Stan as both of their momentums came crashing to a halt. Stan buckled, but Ford righted him quickly, immediately putting Stan back against his side.
Stan shook, face pale, as his eyes stared unblinkingly towards the ground. He didn't speak, and Ford understood why. Portal jumping never became easier. Especially when you had to bandage yourself up as you went through, just in case wherever you landed was hostile.
Ford hefted Stan back up, ignoring the grunt of complaint at being shuffled, and began walking them out of the cave. Near the entrance, Ford sat Stan down on a boulder, after making sure it wasn't too sharp. "Stay here," he ordered.
Stan rolled his eyes, but did it all the same. "S'not like I'm going anywhere…."
Ford turned on his heel, sand kicking up as he walked briskly back into the cave. He located his backpack with his equipment just where he had hidden it, and turned to give a final look at the anomaly that had led the two of them there in the first place.
Ford felt ashamed. He was trying to be a better brother, but these moments made him falter. He should've put more thought into Stan's feelings about a possible portal. It was understandable that Stanley wouldn't want to be anywhere near one ever again. Yet Ford had done the opposite. He had assumed Stanley would be fine, excited, even. To go with Ford and experience an entirely new place.
Ford's mind replayed the expression on his brother's face at his snap. Why couldn't he ever keep his dumb mouth shut? The feeling of seeing Stanley's face crumple into heartbreak had torn him apart.
Once again, his assumptions about his brother's feelings had led them to this. His tooth found his lip again, and he worried away at it mindlessly, his thoughts becoming darker than the cave's deepest cracks. A spattering of sand grains against rock shook him, and he immediately flung his hand to his side, instinct honed to protect him, even if he wasn't presently there mentally.
His grip relaxed as he saw Stan, and then his annoyance returned. Couldn't his brother stay sitting down? He had injuries that prevented him from proper balance and walking for Moses' sake!
"Stanley! I thought I told you to stay sitting? You could've exacerbated your injuries!"
Stan made a face, whether it was from pain or frustration at being scolded, or possibly both, Ford couldn't tell. "Yeah.. well. You were gone for a while. Was checkin that you didn't, fall back in or somethin."
Ford eyed Stan, before letting out a sigh. "You would've known, the infinity belt would've begun to extend rapidly.”
Stan's face fell. Again. And he looked to the ground, shoulders slumped. "Forgot bout it."
Ford put his backpack on the ground, beginning to rummage through it for a pain sedative. "It's alright Stanley. I won't go anywhere without you knowing." He didn’t catch the flash of a memory on his brother’s face, too focused on finding the medication.
"You wouldn't have been able to tell me, if ya fell. I was just makin sure you didn't get kidnapped via vengeful gnome."
Ford made a small 'aha' sound as he pulled out a capsule. It looked to be a normal pill, except it pulsated with color every few seconds. He stood and offered it to Stan, along with his canteen. "Yes, well. I appreciate the concern. But let me handle it, alright? You don't need to worry."
Stan took the pill, but eyed Ford suspiciously as it laid in his hand. "I worry cuz its my job. And what the Hell is this? Some psychedelic alien meds?"
Ford didn't like how Stan declared it 'his job'. Stan didn't need to worry about anything. Especially not Ford. Ford should be worried about Stan! Ford could manage himself, and he didn't want Stan to spend energy on worrying over nothing. Choosing to mull that over later, Ford made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, indicating that Stan swallow it.
“I suppose we could call it that. In short, yes. Take it so we can continue, I don’t like that bruising on your ankle.”
Both brothers glanced at Stan's ankle, held slightly off the ground, his toe stuck firmly into the sand. The pants cuff was pulled up to try and help the pain. The skin was already turning a plum-like purple, looking angrier by the minute.
“How do we know m’ not allergic to this thing?” Stan questioned, flailing the fist that held the pill around.
“Because you’ve never been allergic to any type of medication.” Ford stated, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Stan’s reluctance.
“Could’a changed, I could be deathly allergic to whatever’s in this for all ya know,” Stan grumbled, casting his eyes to the side.
“Highly unlikely, just take it so we can get back quickly. I want ice on that ankle, and to get you into some warmer clothes, perhaps..” Ford trailed off, thinking about what Stanley would need when they returned. He didn’t notice Stan pocketing the pill, as he turned to repack the supply backpack. Once he stood, he held an arm out to Stan. Stan grimaced, but took it, as the two began to slowly trek back to their boat called home.
Sturdy, slow trodding, with mumbled curses and hisses of breath at a misstep, causing Stan to use his bad ankle all the way, they reached their home. Looking up at the deck, Ford gave a small smile at the thought.
Home.
He was able to call the boat home, without fear of suddenly moving from it with no goodbye to its occupants. It was a solid tether, an anchor in the roiling sea that had been his past.
The boat was familiar, built to each brothers’ tastes. Everywhere you looked within the architecture, to the decor, you could trade specific things back to either Ford or Stan.
A dog-eared book of The best sailor jokes to get your crewmates rolling!, was sat next to a charted map, dotted endlessly with little notes and descriptions of places they had been.
The table and its seating arrangement being tucked into a corner not only for convenience, but to allow for a quiet, tight nook to retire to whenever Ford needed that little extra space, and an open hallway, wider than usual, for a quick stride up-deck in case Stanley needed air that didn't hold the feeling of being smothered under the wooden planks above.
Everywhere Ford glanced, were signs of his brother, and he wouldn't have changed it for all the possible multiverses out there. (Theoretically, impossible. Thus, a good conclusion that showed he wouldn't trade it for anything, he thought.)
Ford hefted Stan up a bit higher, sending a murmur of sympathy from his throat as his brother's one hundredth curse word was spoken that day. The two awkwardly made it to their table, Ford depositing Stan onto the cushy bench. (A Stan thing. He wanted his “old man ass” as comfortable as possible. Ford agreed easily.)
Regardless of Ford's own mental exhaustion, and physical exertion, he promptly turned to their medicine cabinet, stocked chock full of Earthly and otherworldly medicines and healing items.
He zoned out a bit, searching amongst the endless inventory, before he remembered that talking to Stanley after such an experience would be good. It would show him Ford wasn't mad, or upset. Despite his self-hatred trying to gnaw out of the dark prison he crafted deep within his ribcage, he managed to congratulate himself for remembering something so small could help Stan so much.
“I'm looking for one of our instant ice packs, so I can get some of the swelling down. Since you already took the medicine, you should be feeling fine soon. I'm honestly a little surprised it hasn't come into effect yet. But as you mentioned earlier, your dosage might be different depending on your body and other attributes. Something I didn't consider in the moment.” Ford glanced over his shoulder, trying to give Stanley a reassuring smile. A smile that showed he was proud of his brother's foresight.
Stanley's eyes cast to the side, as he shifted his leg ever so slightly. “Yeah, well. Not all of us can be stupid every second of the day. Sometimes a thought knocks around in my head.” A dry snort followed.
Ford stood in silence for just a few seconds, trying to decipher exactly what he should respond with. A joke in return, agreeing with his outlook on his personal intelligence, or a reprimand. To tell Stanley that, in fact, he was quite intelligent. So intelligent, in many ways Ford had never even considered could be a possibility?
Ford went with a mix of the two. Trying to ease Stan and show that Ford didn't think he was stupid, as well as gently explain how hearing the self-deprecation come so freely from his brother troubled Ford.
“Yes, well. You keep things.. knocking around in there, as it were, and remember that you were right. You can be right, you know. Oh, and you're not stupid. Far from it.” Ford finished, turning back to Stanley fully, with an exhausted, but genuine smile.
Stan's looked incredibly forced, his fake teeth bared in just a too-tight grin. “Yeah. Haha. Thanks…”
Ford being none-the-wiser in the moment, nodded, before snapping the instant ice pack and applying it to Stanley's ankle, going slowly at Stan's hiss through his teeth. “Now, how's your pain? The Aldraic oximorphine should be fully into your system now. The ice is merely for the swelling. But I want to make completely sure you're as comfortable as you can be, given current circumstances.”
Stan shook his head, weary eyes drooping as he tried to get up on his own, forgetting the pack. “M'fine Ford. Just need ta rest for a bit.”
“Your pain level though? Is it manageable? I could get another dose, you'd be fine. I am certain with another, especially since it's been a bit since you took the pill. I know you've had worse,” Ford cut him off with a pointed look as he grabbed the pack from the floor. “But I don't want you to have to force ignorance of it, or lie and say everything is fine, when it is clearly not.”
Stan wobbled, but splayed his large palm on the surface of the table to steady himself. “Jus’ said I was Fine. I need sleep, not to hear your needy ramblin’.”
Ford thought he had been quite concise, personally. But he let it go, assuming Stan was talking out of exhaustion and pain, however slighted it may be from the medication. He went to gently guide Stan by his shoulder, slowly allowing Stan to lead them to their shared bedroom quarters, putting the tension in the shoulders down to the day's events once more.
Once Stan had flopped into the bed, rolling to face the wall with a mumbled “G'night, Ford,” did he finally let his thoughts boil over.
Ford turned, trenchcoat swishing as he strode to the kitchen area again, letting the facade drop. He dropped into the booth, slumping further down, letting his boot heels skid across the worn wood.
Guilt had been worming around his entire body like a never ending trickle of water. A steady drip, drip, drip, of Your fault.
For all the education Ford had ever received, he had never been the best with learning how to control his mouth before he spoke. Especially with a temper as high as his. Especially when Stanley knew how to push him to that limit.
But it wasn't his fault. Not really. Not this time. Nor the others, if you really remember the reasoning behind each incident.
He shook his head, his hair flopping against his forehead as he took a deep breath, trying to punish those thoughts back into the bunker of his mind.
Ford chastised himself yet again, as thoughts of a bunker only reminded him of his other grievances against his few friends. He forced himself up, and began unpacking the backpack, returning most items to their rightful places. The methodical work tamed the beast for now, but Ford knew the distraction wouldn't last forever.
Once the backpack was settled again, Ford turned to the current journal nestled inside his pocket. He placed it open on the table, flipping to the entries surrounding the island. Mindlessly, he began to doodle the portal from memory, taking time to get the details right.
The kids had shown him how to take photos on his phone, but drawing his observations were a safe habit. One that let him see the item in a new light later at home. Paper and pen were secure, as he visually described anything he wanted. Bound wonderfully in glue and a cover that would protect from the harshest elements. (Ford had done rigorous testing to get this one right. It might have also been a distraction to stay away from Stanley, at the time. But that was before the whole.. World-ending event.)
The pen's ink carved out the portal's shadows, how they had rebounded off the rocks. Soon, the page was filled with various sketches, plenty of the Puffballs, as well as the terrain that they had accompanied.
Ford had a more professional page on the other side, so he wasn't bothered with perfecting the way everything looked. The only thing that had the most polish was that damn portal.
Ford slammed his cover shut, bits of ink splatting to the table. He drug his hands down his face, the feeling of grease and a day's sweat failing to distract him from his stupor.
He got to his feet, boots thunking heavily onto the wood, as he forced himself to the counter of the kitchen.
He dug through the cabinet for coffee grounds, making a bit of a mess as he did. The faulty search proved unfruitful, and Ford let out a deep sigh.
With nothing left to distract him, he forced himself to the sleeping quarters, suddenly remembering Stan. With that he switched to his quiet pace, feet barely making a sound. The only thing heard was the faint whisper of his coattails as he turned, checking on Stan.
Stan seemed fitful. But, neither brother slept the best. It was rare to be still, or quiet. He trembled, and upon closer inspection, he looked quite flushed as well.
Ford tried to relax his thoughts, but it was near impossible.
His discomfort is entirely your responsibility. No matter how much you try, you're destined to hurt your brother.
Ford shook his head physically, trying to dislodge the words from his skull. But the self-deprecation ran deep, almost as his own type of blood. Streaming, daily through his veins, into every root and fiber of his being.
He reached out a hand, hesitating mere inches above his brother's forehead. He pushed through, and gently placed his palm over it, after moving his hair away from his face.
Stanley stirred, but didn't awaken. Instead, he turned his head very slightly to the side, letting Ford's hand run more into his hair on the side.
The slight shift made Ford tense. But as soon as his brother settled once more, he relaxed. The heat emanating from Stanley made him falter.
Has he managed to get sick as well? It wouldn't be a surprise. Not considering today's events. But what if it is something more dire?
While Ford wrestled with himself, he absent-mindedly began to run his fingers through the hair. Physical affection wasn't something very common between the two, no matter how badly either wanted it.
You aren't even certain that is preferable for him. He loves it from the children, but that's because they're children, surely. Not to mention all the times you've physically fought against him. No wonder he doesn't seek you out.
Quiet moments like this allowed Ford to try and offer affection in a way that had been lost to him for so long. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind it. No, he actually liked it. When it was with his family, anyways. A touch usually warranted bad intentions, or a pain. That nature still lived within him, as many other habits would, probably for the rest of his life. The same was known for his brother, but Ford wasn't sure how deep his ran.
However, Ford's trust had become more fortified against the paranoia, and he had grown accustomed to leg hugs from his dear niece, or happy floppings onto his lap from his nephew. How could be not?
His brother was a different novel though. Healing took a long time. And even their 30 years apart hadn't managed to scar over the fact that there was some things they didn't do.
Such being physical affection.
Ford wanted that to change. He wanted to be able to offer comfort to his brother, without the fear of judgment, or awkwardness. To be able to communicate in a way when words couldn't.
That alone made him realize just how much he had changed. And with that sliver of proof, he could continue to be better. The very basis of logic followed, evidence proving to him that change was possible.
Lost in thoughts, Ford didn't notice that Stanley's rough snores had dissipated.
“H.. Hey? Hands off the merchandise!”
Ford snapped his hand away as if he'd been burned, blinking in shock at a disgruntled Stan leering up at him, his hair slightly mussed.
“Th’ Hell Ford? Do ya usually watch me sleep and pet me like, some. Some dog?”
Stan grunted, shifting so he sat up, landed away from Ford.
“Ah.. No, apologies Stanley. I was simply.. checking on your health..” He trailed off, nervously moving his fingers back and forth between his knuckles. Embarrassment made him falter, and he inwardly cursed himself for making Stan so uncomfortable yet again.
It's your best talent. All the smarts in this dimension and the next and you can't even remember your brother's boundaries.
Stan's eyes squinted, flicking across his face, then finally to his hands. He fumbled a bit in the dark, but managed to pry Ford's hands apart. Ford hadn't even realized he was worrying at his skin, the little white lines of scars becoming slightly inflamed at his picking.
He nervously coughed, looking away from Stan. “Th Hell were you actually doin?”
The question caught him off guard slightly. He didn't understand why Stan was even asking.
“I don't- isn't using the palm of your hand to check a body temperature still acceptable?”
There was a tired sigh, laced with more than physical exhaustion. “Yeah, sure. But why are ya doin that? M’ fine.”
“You're hot.” Ford immediately interjected, wondering if Stan didn't notice his condition. Did he not feel the sweat along his forehead?
There was a silence, as Stan blinked a few times. “Been a while since I heard that one.”
Ford sighed and rolled his eyes harder than necessary, shaking his head. “Don't be gross, Stanley. I merely meant that your body temperature is abnormal, your heightened stress might have made your body more susceptible to a virus.”
Stan snorted, a dry sound that seemed more rough than usual around the edges. “If high-end stress makes me sick, I'd be dead by now. Yer habits make me wonder how you survived so long without me.”
He seemed to say this without thinking, his jaw clacking shut. They didn't talk so casually about Ford's stranding, nor did they about Stan's sever from their family.
Ford didn't let it bother him. He wanted Stanley to know his health took more premise than a scar of his past. A raw, pulsating scar, that would beat in tandem with his heart when paranoia struck at the worst of times. But a scar nonetheless. Ford was healing, ever so slowly. He hoped Stanley knew that.
“I'd be more uncoordinated than a bird without its mental compass in winter, if I didn't have you Stanley.”
At his brother's blank look, Ford began to explain. “A bird uses it to track Earth's magnetic fields, thus allowing them to navigate South safely. I thought that using the hyperbole, you would be able to convey my emotion without me having to ramble.” He smiled a bit, proud of himself. He'd kept that one short.
“Ya couldn't have said without its wings? You had to jump straight to the science malarky?”
“It is not ‘malarkey,’ it's a fact! Regardless, I don’t understand why your body is producing a fever. The pill I had you take should be negating any pain, as well as preventing any type of illness or fever. Maybe I should…”
Ford trailed off, eyebrows sloping over his glasses’ frames. His thoughts fighting to come to the forefront of his consciousness. Stan shifted, sheets making a small swrsh sound, as he moved to sit up. Ford instinctively pushed him down gently, palm splayed on Stanley’s chest. Stan gave a slight grunt, but didn’t fight as Ford let him back down.
“Ford..” Stanley spoke, startling Ford from his reverie. He drew his hand back, not noticing he had even moved. “Yes, Stanley? Do you need anything? I can get you another dose, though perhaps the medication will prevent me from noticing anything else abnormal. Perhaps-”
Stanley’s hand opened, the rainbow pill lying innocently in his palm. Ford absentmindedly noted that he didn’t see Stanley move again. His mouth dropped a bit, not taking in what he saw right in front of him.
He took the pill, scrutinizing it, staring as if it would speak. “M.. sorry Ford. I jus’.. didn’ want you to use your stuff on me. Not cuz I don’ trust you. I jus.. know this stuff isn’t Earthly. Didn’ want it to go to waste on somethin as stupid as me.. Or my damn ankle.”
Ford blinked a few times, trying to force his struggling brain around the information. Of course the pill wasn’t from this dimension, but Ford could easily engineer more. Hell, with enough time and patience, he could have probably made a better variant! Why hadn’t Stanley wanted to take it?
“Pardon?”
“Ford, cmon. Don’t make me say it again.”
“Say what? I don’t understand-”
“Say that I’m STUPID and your fucking medicine won’t be wasted on ME!! Alright?!”
Stan shouted, making Ford lean back to avoid colliding heads. Ford couldn't respond, blinking multiple times in the dim light, trying to understand what had been flung at him.
He understood some. He knew Stanley was afraid, insecure in their standing, afraid that Ford would draw away-
Ford stopped those thoughts. He couldn't let himself think of that right this second, not when Stanley was in front of him, in pain. More than physical.
“It would not. And is not- a waste. Not on you. Never on you.” Ford fought to speak the words. He couldn't properly communicate through the turmoil of his emotions, guilt clawing his throat.
Your fault he feels this way. your fault you can't even HELP YOUR BROTHER-
Ford pushed Stan's palm back towards him, giving him a look that he hoped communicated concern.
“Do not say you're stupid. You are not. Do you remember when I said we had to talk when we returned? We will, but not until you're feeling in a better state of mind!”
Stan snarled, scrubbing at his face. “What good is talkin gonna do? It's just gonna be you yellin at me and me feelin even more like shit! Jus-!”
Ford took Stan's shoulders and gripped them tightly. Stan reacted on instinct once thought lost to him, and he prepared himself for a fight, but soon remembered it was simply his brother. His face betrayed his pain, a darkness overtaking his features.
Ford stepped back quickly, dropping his hands from Stan's shoulders, the guilt rising like bile within his throat. It threatened to choke him, and he tried to clear it, but failed. Coughing harshly, he turned away from Stan, a hand covering his mouth.
After a few seconds of heaving, Ford's mouth opened without his permission, regret a sharp taste on his tongue. “I don't want to yell at you, Stanley. I just want to help.”
Stan's face was a mix of worry and anxiety as he watched Ford cough, a hand hesitating just before it could grip Ford's coat lapels. His hand retracted once Ford turned.
“I don't need-”
“Yes. Yes, you DO Stanley!” Ford cut in, wincing at the volume he spoke. So much for not yelling.
Stan flinched back, eyes wide as Ford continued.
“You do! And I just wish I could be the one to give it to you! But I can't! And I understand why I can't. I've done nothing but hurt you, and allow you to be hurt, when I should've been the one making the hurt stop!”
Stan reached out again, his hand barely gracing Ford's coat as he began to pace, words escaping his carefully crafted cage of restraint. Every thud of his boots on the wood made the room reverberate, a beat for every statement.
“Ford, you-”
“No, Stanley! I'm right. You KNOW I'm right about this! And I understand why this isn't easy, or, Moses, probably even possible for me to help you. Of course it isn't. Trauma doesn't go away overnight!”
Ford let out a little laugh, feeling the furthest thing from amused at that moment. He raked his hand through his hair, tugging insistently as he gave another humorless laugh. “What did I expect? Of course you don't want my help.”
He stopped suddenly, his body colliding with the edge of Stan's bunk. He slid, landing on the floor with the final drumbeat of his vocal self depreciation, burying his face into his hands. His fingers found his eyebrows, and he dug them in, the pain becoming a distraction from the ceaseless mantra of just how thoroughly he'd fucked up.
The only sounds within the room were his haggard breaths, fighting to calm down from his outburst. After the anger for himself faded, guilt came back full force. Boiling over, as he realized what he'd just said.
He hadn't meant to snap like that. For the second time that damned day, he'd yelled at Stan. He gave a small hiccup at the realization, only digging his fingers into his face harder.
He startled at a sudden grip on his shoulder, head whirling around. Stan's hand was gentle, fingers barely curled into the fabric of his coat. Ford realized he was sweating, due to his coat and emotions no doubt. But he didn't move to shrug it off.
“Thought ya didn't wanna yell at me..?” Stan's voice barely heard over the burst dam of self hatred and anxiety, roaring throughout Ford's entire body. At his comment, Ford only sunk into himself further, a low sound escaping him.
“Kiddin! I'm.. I'm kiddin…” Stan tried to remedy, giving an awkward pat to Ford. After another minute of silence, he tried again.
“Ford, cmon.. get off the floor. You'll just feel worse down there.”
“I deserve it.” Ford sniffled, a pathetic sound ripped from him. Stan's hand tightened, and Ford fought the urge to lean into it, not knowing if Stan would want him any closer.
Ford didn't enjoy having his back touched, nor anything behind him. He knew it was a habit born out of fighting for his life one too many times, and hard to tamp down, even after all this time.
But with Stan… it was different. The instinct was still there, honed to perfection. Yet, Stan never gave Ford pause whenever his back was touched. Ford trusted Stan, and that simple notion soothed the anxious beast that lurked under Ford's skin.
He remembered earlier that day, the little prick of panic he'd felt when Stan had moved from behind him. His vision told him Stan was nearby, but the sudden absence of his brother behind him made him falter. One second, his blind spot was protected by the solid mass that was his brother. The next, it was open, like a gaping wound, as Stan had left his side.
Now, however, his anxiety was making it hard to let himself relax into the touch. He didn’t want to push Stan. Not again.
“No ya don't. Get up. You're the smart one, aintcha? You know damn well this… isn't helping.” At the word “this”, Stan's other hand motioned around them vaguely, hoping it conveyed what he meant.
“..Apologies.” Ford finally mumbled, his face flush with his emotions. He slowly stood, achingly missing the warmth that Stan's hand had provided him. He finally faced Stan head on, his face becoming a mask. Turning, he strode out of the bedroom, his mission in mind the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.
Stan needed his help, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And regardless of how, well. Everything had gone, Ford was going to do his damn best to atleast try. Try to be a better brother.
Grabbing the first plastic cup he found within the cupboards, he swiftly filled it with water from their tap. He made a mental note to check their water tanks, not knowing how low they were. Walking back, he forced Stan to hold the cup, hoping he had communicated far enough.
Stan's eyes were trained on the cup, a look Ford couldn't quite puzzle out on his face. The silence was beginning to get to Ford once more, and he began to worry away at his fingers, eyes becoming distant as he began to recede into his thoughts.
Stan broke him free with a grunt, turning away from the pill still lying innocently on the bed. Ford's ribcage felt constricted, before he remembered the need to breathe. Quickly correcting his breathing, he finally spoke.
“Please, Stanley. Take the medication.” His voice was quiet, a bit harsher than usual due to his heightened emotions. He didn't know how to make Stan understand…
His eyes widened once he realized. He couldn't help Stanley understand if he didn't speak. Hell, miscommunication was what had gotten them both into the current situation. With that, he slowly sat next to Stan on his bed, shoulders nearly touching.
“I.. want you to take it so you won't be in pain. I don't like seeing you-.. in pain.” He awkwardly spoke, staring intently at his boots. His eyes roved over every scuff and scrape, the familiarity of it beginning to allow his throat to relax enough to allow for speech.
That scuff mark was from their first day on board. he had slipped on the wet deck, boot barely managing to catch him.
“I want to help you because I know. How it feels. To.. not, have someone to help you.”
That scrape was from skidding to a stop on gravel, barely able to stop himself from plummeting over a cliff. He had been too focused on the Tessoterra, shouting fleeting questions as it retreated. Stan had scolded him hard-core for that one.. and it had been deserved. The memory made his lips lift for a brief moment, before he remembered what he had been speaking about.
“I hated that feeling. Feeling so.. helpless. And- hurt. And I know you hate it too. So please Stanley. Take the medication. I hate seeing you in pain even more.”
That last scuff was simply from tripping over himself, unable to focus on the ground beneath him when the promise of coffee had been more tempting that morning.
Ford looked over to Stan, eyebrows slightly raised at the sound of a gulp. The pill was gone, and the cup was now half empty. Stan didn't speak, simply slurping the water. Probably to fill the silence, Ford assumed.
His smile lasted longer this time, face easing into one of tired reassurance. Stan caught it, and rolled his eyes, trying to act annoyed. But Ford saw through it.
“Don't think ya can guilt me into everythin now.” His rough voice finally cracked the endless crashing of emotional damage within Ford's head.
“Guilt you? That would imply that you do it so as not to worry me. Which means that you care about me. So, in conclusion.. is that your way of saying I love you?” Ford tried to joke, hoping Stan would hear it.
They never quite spoke those words out loud. Even though they both desperately wanted to hear it. Needed to hear it, in fact. The scars and memories got too loud sometimes. And all that worked were simple words of assurance.
The words weren't spoken, usually. But the actions were. Little habits and tidbits of information each brother reserved for the other, something to fall back onto when the other was low. A bag of inconspicuous jellybeans laid on Ford's desk when his guilt ravaged him enough to the point it was visible.
Or a sticky note with an unbearable pun, put somewhere Stan would undoubtedly see, when his memories got a little too fuzzy.
Ford thought the actions had been enough. But maybe they weren't? Maybe he needed to say it. Actually say it. Even if it was hard to do so.
Stan's tired face eventually broke into a faded grin, the medication finally seeming to ease his pain enough to allow him to understand Ford's tone. “What if I do? Didn't spend 30 years buildin science shit, and punching a triangle for nothin.”
Ford paused, then audibly laughed, clapping a hand onto Stan's shoulder. “I suppose that is true. Yes.”
He let his palm linger, using his thumb to gently rub back and forth, attempting a small bit of comfort. If he wanted to be more physically affectionate, he'd have to start small.
He kept a careful eye on Stan's reaction to it, trying to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable with being touched.
Stan didn't seem to notice it right away. Was Ford's touch too light? He didn't really want to press down, he wasn't sure if Stan would like that-
Finally, Stan glanced down, seeming to just now notice there was an attempt at being comforting happening right underneath his nose, near literally.
“Ah.. um. Ford? I can't.. really.. feel anything there.”
Ford blinked, stopping his minute movements. “Why not? The medication might make touch feel a little muted, but you should be able to-”
Stan's earlier smile was turning strained with every word, nearly looking like he was gritting his teeth. Finally, he just shrugged his sleeve down enough to expose his shoulder.
Ford stopped short as he saw what was underneath the fabric. Stark, raised lines, unable to be worn away. Even after all this time.
The brand.
Ford faltered, leaning away and awkwardly retracting his hand, eyes glancing all around the room, to Stan's eyes, to the shoulder, on and on.
He knew it was there of course. He'd seen it before. Quite a few times, in reality. Ford had just never put enough thought into it. That the burn had been so severe, it may have dulled the nerves present there. Or obliterated them entirely.
Another thing Ford has just utterly ruined for his brother. He couldn't imagine how painful it must be, even if the nerves were destroyed.
Before he could even attempt to stutter an apology, Stan beat him to it with a shake of his head. “Don't apologize, Ford. We've talked. We're good. Yeah? I think its best if we just.. go to bed.”
Ford hesitated once more. They hadn't talked. Ever. About it. Come to think of it, they hadn't even discussed much of their life before their reunion. The one that began with a punch, and the other that began after the children had gone to bed, memories restored by their wonderful grand niece.
Inept as he was, even Ford could recognize now wasn't the time to even try to begin untangling their more than complicated emotions.
Besides.. Ford needed to think about it. He didn't wish to repeat today, or any other time he'd spoken without thinking.
“...Yes, of course. Goodnight, Stanley.”
He stood, unable to turn and face his brother. He was embarrassed he hadn't even put thought into his comfort. Well.. he had. Just not the right kind.
“Wake me if you need anything. And.. and I do mean anything. If you need more medication, some water..”
Stan tugged on Ford's coat lapel, forcing him to turn, a surprised face barely seen in the dim light. Ford hadn't wanted to wake Stanley when he came to check on him, so he'd left them off.
“I gotcha. Thanks. And.. come to bed soon? Okay? No stayin’ up all night.”
Staying up and thinking was precisely what Ford needed, really. He wanted to prepare possible explanations for his actions, wanted to come up with starters for the conversation they needed to have.
“Alright, Stan.. I won't.” He would. Both knew it.
“Promise me. Cuz I can't just get up and go getcha. Yanno. My ankle.”
Ford inwardly groaned, knowing that Stan was being a little manipulative, even if it was for his own good.
“....Fine. I promise.” He sighed, giving Stan his most unimpressed look possible. Even in the dim light, he could see Stan's cheeky smirk. Goodness, he loved his brother.
“Alright. Goodnight.”
Stan hesitated, before reaching a bit further out to give Ford his own comforting pat on his arm. And before he could comment on that, Stan rolled over, back facing the room once again. A few seconds later, Ford began his own bedtime routine. He lay on the top bunk, pulling up the guardrail and locking it into place, so he wouldn’t tumble out while asleep.
He laid on his back, replaying the day’s events in his head. He could still feel the brief warmth that had graced him from Stan’s comfort, and forgiveness. He did not deserve his brother.
Before he could begin tearing himself down all over again, he rolled over, letting his exhausted eyes shut.
Hi hello! I've had this lying around for nearly 2 years now, and I just now had the time to tweak it and post it. Fic below the cut!
AO3 Link:
Chapter 2
"Don't forget, there's no taking payment back!" The gnome called behind his stubby shoulder, quickly retreating into the brush. He smirked as he felt in his pockets for the sacks of fairy dust, and a small jar of tiny butterflies, who fluttered angrily against their glass confines.
The gnome hummed a small tune as he wandered deeper into the glade, periodically checking to see if he was being followed. Deeming it safe, he strutted to a clearing, an inconspicuous tree sitting in the middle. The gnome knocked on the bark in a specific pattern, and a small door swung open, revealing a compartment filled with various trinkets. To an unaided eye, or, an innocent mind not concerned with tiny gnome people, the items would be boring. If not a little odd this far out in the woods.
The gnome quickly piled the fairy dust sacks into the hole, keeping the butterfly jar on him. While fairy dust was rare and hard to come by, butterflies were more important to the gnomes. For nefarious reasoning. He stood back with his hands on his hips, chuckling at his collection.
"Fine collection you have there."
The gnome let out an unholy shriek, flailing around, before whipping to look behind him.
Two men towered over him, their faces obscured by the sun behind them. Both of similar stature. and when the gnome squinted, of similar physical appearance as well.
He backed up quickly, slamming the door shut, before squinting harder, trying to discern what the towering giants wanted from him. They wore matching scowls, one bearing a fist, with gold glinting from the knuckles. The other, the gnome realized with a jolt, was aiming a very scary object at him.
"HAH! AH! What- What could I help you gentlemen with?" The gnome stuttered out, pressing firmly against the tree trunk.
The former, the one who spoke, cleared his throat before speaking. "We heard, praytell. about a.. portal. That only you know the whereabouts of. We require its location."
The gnome broke into a sweat. Were these freaks from the Nature Law Enforcement Ministry? He thought he had ditched the feds months ago with his faked death! Regardless, they needed to be shaken off his tail. His stash was a lost cause by this point, but that was fine. He could always pick up more later.
The other man seemed to notice the train of thought the gnome was having, because he pressed closer to the exposed side, blocking the gnome against the tree. His expression told the gnome all he needed to know about his escape ideas. Try it and you'll regret it.
Next best plan then. Swindling. He was good at that. He could handle this. But before he could open his mouth, a thicker voice of deep gravel stopped him once again. "Try lyin and yer gonna lose that hat of yours."
With a gasp of indignation the gnome gripped his hat, and scowled at the men. "What do you two want from me?! So what if there's a portal. I don't know nothing about no portal! And if I DID, I'd need to be paid for it!"
The first man flicked something on his object, and the nozzle of it glowed a bright blue, accompanied by a Shhhrring sound.
"You'll tell us. And if you must have payment, it will end up being your life."
The gnome broke, sweat pouring down his back. "FINE! The stupid portal is down by the beach hidden in a cove! Don't think you can win any prizes by telling anyone though! I've already scammed this island for what it's worth!"
The object was shoved into his face, tip pressed against his nose. "We do not run amuck stealing from people." The second man made a noise inside his throat, suspiciously sounding like a snort. The first man sighed. "Not often. And not for monetary gain like you have been aiming for."
With that the first stepped back, quickly sliding the object into a casing around his waist. The gnome made his break then. Hissing, he sprinted away on all fours, leaving his stash behind for good.
There was a bit of silence, before the second man sighed. "Geez, Ford. Pay with your life? Cmon, it was just a gnome."
The first man, Ford, rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, Stanley. I am well aware of what creature he was. The size, hat and beard, and the temper were clear enough indicators. Not to mention the-"
Stanley snorted and punched Ford on the shoulder. "Yeah, okay. I get it, you're sooo educated in the world of gnomes."
Ford scowled, but his expression softened once he realized Stan's tone carried only laughter, not the mirth he was once used to. He gave a quick smile, one side of his face lifting before it fell as he looked to the tree. He repeated the knock effortlessly, and observed the contents. They were typical for a gnome stash, but he pocketed fairy dust sacks anyway. Fairies were particular in who they gave dust to. And they weren't known for being generous to humans.
Stan watched from behind Ford, not super interested in the plundering of the stash. While treasure almost always interested him, it was overshadowed by the feeling of anxiety. It loomed behind him, as he ran what the gnome said through his mind.
So what if there's a portal!
A portal. Stan and Ford had no good experience with portals of any kind. The thought of even seeing one again made Stan itchy, but on the inside of his skin. He knew Ford felt it too. Or, in a similar fashion. But Ford had insisted on finding the portal, explaining it could be a rift from Weirdmageddon, yet to be sealed. Or an evil wizard had found a way to tear into the universe. Ford had ignored Stanley's theory in turn of rolling his eyes and sighing. But it was a fond sigh. Stan liked to hope it was anyways.
"It's detrimental that we find out if this portal leads anywhere, or to another universe entirely." He had explained, walking with Stan through the forest village of so many cute critters it made his eyes water. If Mabel were here, he knew she'd be screaming enough to make Stan need another hearing aid.
They had dodged through a crowd of sentient squirrels happily chatting away while doing their day chores. Whatever day chores a squirrel could possibly have, Stan wasn't sure.
"If it is, we need to find a way to seal it. I wouldn't mind sending some sort of probe through it first.. Only for science of course. It's also critical to know what's on the other side-"
Ford navigated easily, not looking up from his journal as he rambled. His coat flailed around him as he stepped. Stan had a harder time avoiding the animals, pinning it to his incoming feeling of anxiety. A squirrel was nearly trampled as he side-stepped to avoid a raccoon with its paws full. Hands? Paw hands? Stan lost the thought as the squirrel had chattered at him, scolding him for his murder attempt no doubt.
The entire island made Stan feel weird. The sentient woodland animals he could grasp. Gnomes too. Living in Gravity Falls for 30 years makes you adjust pretty quickly to the strange. But the feel of the island was off. Ford hadn't detected anything strange. Bad, strange. The entire island set off his radars and "Weird-o-meters", due to how much anomalous activity pulsed here. Stan had insisted on a rescan, and Ford obliged, if only to ease his brother's unnecessary concern.
Regardless, standing in the clearing staring at Ford's back, Stan felt another spike in anxiety at the thought of the portal. He didn't want to be anywhere near another portal for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his brother seemed to attract these types of things. And wherever Ford went, Stan would follow. Even if it terrified him to do so.
Not that he would admit that! He was a street toughened crime lord, with no soft spots whatsoever. (His mind betrayed him with flashes of memory, of cuddling his nibbling after a storm, or taking care of Ford when he ate that stupidly absurd fish. "It's for science, Stanley!" Yeah. Right.)
He was happy to have them though. His memories, older and new. He could do without some of the worst ones. But the soft ones he kept under lock and key were more precious than any treasure he or Ford had plundered. Letting himself be lost in thought, he didn't notice Ford waving his hand in front of his face. His movement becoming a little quicker once he realized Stan wasn't looking at it.
"Stan? Stanley? Are you here?"
Stan hated how Ford worded it. He knew Ford meant well, but "here" implied that he left. He never did. (He never tried to anyway.) It wasn't like he could control when his mind wandered. (Not that he blamed Ford either. He never would.)
"Yeah.. Yeah. Quit wavin' your hand in front of my face, you'll.. mess up my features." A weak comeback, and they both knew it. However Stan wasn't going to let Ford pry into it. He didn't want to drag his emotions out into the light.
Ford squinted, just slightly, before seeming to accept his answer at face value. He turned, gesturing to the hoard. "It's unlike you to not be all over these things. You're practically like a corvid, always wanting the shiniest piece you can dig up."
Stan came closer behind Ford, looking over his shoulder down into the ground. Ford turned his head slightly, his peripheral vision focused on Stan. To anyone else, this would be nothing. Stan didn't ignore how Ford's shoulders hunched inward, before slowly reclining, as his body realized it was only his brother. However, Ford kept a quick glance on Stan at all times. And Stan didn't blame him.
It made him angry, upset. But not at Ford. Never at his brother. More so on himself. If I hadn't shoved him into the stupid portal to begin with, he wouldn't be this way. So scared all the time. His thoughts muttered, and Stan felt a quick slice of hot shame race down his spine, leaving him to side step Ford completely, not noticing the way Ford's face subtly twitched, a twinge of fear flashing across it.
If Stan had put thought into it, he would've thought it weird, that Ford seemed so afraid for a split second. He continued forward to the tree, not paying much attention to his brother anymore at all. He was too lost in his own thoughts, swirling around in a twisted merry-go-round of anxiety and self-hatred. The shiny trinkets didn't slow the grate of his mental gears, turning overtime to further dig the trench of dread.
His eyes trailed over the various items; lost coins and gems, but not really seeing it. Now you're going to see another portal. What if the same thing happens again?
Stan bit the inside of his cheek, a palm clenching involuntarily. I'd get him back. Plus he wouldn't be lost. He'd come back. He'd want to this time.
Ford cleared his throat, turning towards the beach once more. Stan followed, not even caring to pocket the treasures. "We'll head straight there, in case we need to get the other creatures of the forest away from it. There might be gravitational anomalies near it as well. We must approach cautiously. Perhaps with a rope tied around a tree nearby-"
Stan knew Ford was rambling to fill the physical silence. He was off put, maybe more than Stan had assumed. If Stan pushed, they might not have to go near it at all.
But Stan shook that thought right off. Ford had seemed so excited, genuinely ready to approach the mystery of the island. And Stan wasn't going to deny him that happiness, even if it made Stan feel sick, and his eyes prickled at the onslaught of memories.
Besides; They were here to solve mysteries, weren't they? What adventurer would be scared of some dumb portal? He was a grown man, who had fought endless fights, even with the supernatural. Those zombies didn't beat themselves. And if he didn't go through with this..?
What would the kids think? Would they think he wasn't able to handle himself? And Ford…
What would Ford think? Would Ford realize Stan couldn't handle the sailing if he was too scared of one of the first major mysteries?
Would Ford want to kick him off their boat? Would Ford leave? If he did, would he come back?
As they continued walking, Ford rushing to put words out, One thought on loop repeated in Stan's head. One question that kept striking him over and over, making his steps falter.
Would he?
》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》
The beach hit the shore with vigorous waves, filling the air with its salt and sound. Farther along the coast was a small inlet. Surrounded by rocks, the ocean couldn't quite reach there. Approaching slowly, Stan stayed behind Ford, ready to grab him in case anything went awry, however he was careful to stay in Ford's peripheral so he wouldn't get jumpy.
The beach seemed normal, but as they drew closer to the inlet, a shimmer of energy seemed to fill the air. Upon arrival, Ford had nodded, an excited glint to his eyes. "Yes. This is a portal for certain. In my multidimensional travels, other rips in the fabric of time and space hold the same flare. The same energy courses through the air, or what is similar."
"Uh huh," Stan mumbled, eyeing the rocks nervously. The sound of the waves crashing into the rocks behind them wasn't loud enough to drown out the dread Stan felt.
"Stanley? Are you feeling alright?" Ford had turned to look at him fully, a frown on his face.
Stan quickly corrected his slouch, attempting to shrug off the shadows of doubt. "Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be? After all, I'm here, with you!" He gave a grin, worried it wasn't wide enough.
It seemed to ease Ford enough however, because after he looked Stan up and down, his frown quirked into a smile. "Yes yes, I like spending time with you too, Stanley."
Stan heaved an inward sigh. Ford had taken it as a compliment, which worked out, he supposed. And he did mean it. Stan would never lie to Ford about things like that.
But you'd lie to him about how you feel if it's negative? His inner thoughts whispered.
Yeah. He would. It's only to protect him. Plus being so emotional could make Ford view him as clingy. And Stan did NOT want to be clingy.
(Even if he was flighty when Ford was out of his sight for just too long. Even if, sometimes, after a nightmare, Stan would come close to waking Ford up, just to convince himself it was all still real.)
"I'd say we're ready to explore within!"
And just like that, all the thoughts stopped. Stan sputtered, blinking and realizing Ford had already tied his weird, sci-fi "infinity belt" to a boulder nearby, and had an expectant smile on his face.
"Wha? Aren't we just- Goin to, you know. Poke at it with your weird-magigs? We're going IN IT??"
Ford tilted his head, his smile falling slightly. "Stanley, I already did all that. I know my educational ramblings can be a bit much for you at times, but weren't you paying attention at all? Are you sure you're alright? You're not having an episode are you?" Ford reached a hand out to Stan, attempting to feel his forehead.
Stan couldn't handle the worried glint in his brother's eyes, and smacked Ford's hand away from his face. (Even if he wanted to accept the caring touch.)
"Yeesh! I'm fine. Memories all there, n' whatever. I just, thought we would be.. I dunno. Seeing it?"
His brother pursed his lips, before turning back to the rocks. "Alright… Well. We have seen it. The entrance of it. It would be far more detrimental to also investigate inside of it, where it leads to. My.. weirdmagigs as you call it detect nothing malicious of the sort. And taking into account the portal has been open for a good while, I'd say it is steady. Meaning it won't close suddenly! This is the perfect opportunity for us. And for science!"
In a final attempt to seem unbothered, Stan took up the belt and tied it around his waist. "Fine! Fine. But if we get, abducted or somethin I'm blaming you."
Ford snorted, rolling his eyes fondly. "I assure you, Stanley. Almost all matter of alien lifeforms are actually quite friendly! There are a few species of course that aren't, but if we did happen to come across some, I'd say we're well prepared."
His coat caught in the wind, showcasing his holster. If Stan believed in a higher power, he'd have assumed they were trying to prove a point.
Ford brought them closer to the rocks, and the energy thrummed harder. Stan put that down as the reason he was struggling to breathe correctly. Within a small alcove between all the rocks, laid a shimmering circle of blue. Oh, it just HAD to be blue, didn't it? That higher power must've been having a big laugh.
"Now I'll go through first, obviously, and when I give a tug, you can come on through with me. I'll be on the other side waiting."
Stan looked up from the portal, glancing to Ford. Ford was illuminated by the light, with the sea's breeze ruffling his hair. He had a cheery expression, but that couldn't be farther from what Stan saw.
"STANLEY! DO SOMETHING! STANLEY!"
Ford wasn't standing in front of him anymore. He was being ripped away, all over again. The wild look in his eyes turning into pure fear, as he cried out to his brother, who was helpless to do anything but watch.
The shout reverberated through Stan's head, making him stumble. He remembered how tired he had been that day. How hungry, and how much his body had ached. But nothing. Nothing had hurt more than seeing Ford disappear, screaming for him.
"STANLEY! STANLEY! STANLE-"
"-ly! Stanley! Are you- Why are you hyperventilating? What's wrong?"
Ford. The real, present day Ford was standing in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. Stan took a sudden gulp of air, breaking free of the horrific flashback. He couldn't ignore the sudden wetness in his eyes. Neither could Ford.
"Stan.. are you crying..?"
"Psh. Hah.. N-no- Seawater got in my eyes! Now let's do your stupid portal thing so we can leave!" Stan tried to worm out of Ford's grasp, but having an extra finger seemed to make it stronger. "Stanley, I really think we should talk about what's bothering yo-"
"Nothin’s bothering me! Can we please just- get this done so we can leave this freak island? All the cuteness is getting to me, okay? The uh. Animals. They're freaky."
Ford narrowed his eyes, but let a breath out through his nose before letting Stan's shoulders go. "Very well. I'm- Frustrated, not at you! Just, I thought we'd communicate better. However I, guess I'll trust your word. We can investigate, then leave promptly. And if you say you're fine, I'll believe it."
The shame and guilt of lying to his brother made the heat stuck under his skin burn even fiercer. Yet he couldn't take it back now, as Ford quickly turned, cloak swishing. "Remember. One tug, you're alright to come in. Anything else means I'm coming back through." And with that, Ford stepped upon a rock, and easily jumped into the portal. It enveloped him readily, his entire body disappearing within a second.
Stan's heart beat against his ribcage as he stared at the whirling mass. The waiting for that tug felt like years. He was so focused on the portal that he nearly missed the feeling of the belt tugging around his waist. Stepping forward, he slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to see himself falling into nothingness. As he fell through, the humming grew louder, pounding his skull from the inside. His skin felt pulled, taut across his body, and his breathing-
He landed with a hard thud, momentarily losing his already short breath. The sound of the shore was gone, but the humming remained. Gentle now, like a purr, instead of a thundering pulse. His back was pressed into what felt like grass, and he cracked an eye open.
Surrounding him was a field of white, with hundreds of bouncing objects. They looked like.. cotton balls, drifting in the wind. They were the size of a baseball, each varying in color. Stan assumed they were some type of bug, based on their body stature. But he wasn't the scientist, or the cryptozoologist here. The puffballs occasionally drifted off on a breeze, into the lavender colored sky. Everything seemed calm, if not a little different. Straight out of a nature documentary right before some lion attacks and intense music blares through the speakers.
The only sound that was really blaring, was Ford's hyperactive rambling. "Stanley! Look at this! I've never seen anything quite like this place! These little creatures are an entirely new species! Never documented by humans! Look at how docile they are!" He shoved his hands into Stan's face, and Stan blearily tried to focus on what he held in front of him.
Within the cup of Ford's palms sat three of the puffball creatures. He was right about them being docile at least, as they didn't seem nervous at all. Each creature possessed a set of fly-like wings, and four eyes on the front of their faces. They fluttered, observing Stan right back. "This reminds me of a dimension I visited in my first year of falling into the portal! It was similar, but the creatures that inhabited it weren't this fluffy, or this cute!"
Stan barely heard him past the pounding inside his head, and within his chest. Breaths didn't seem to be coming correctly. "A-ah. Uh. Ford? Are ya sure we can yanno. Breathe here?"
There had to be a reason that he couldn't breathe. It must've been the stupid planet or, wherever this was. He couldn't be that anxious-
"Oh, of course! I don't have much evidence to draw a study conclusion from, but based on the similarities between here and the dimension I mentioned earlier, both have substantial amounts of O2 in the atmosphere. I didn't know that when I appeared in Cal-q34 though! I was quite afraid myself." Ford admits, his gaze seeming to focus on something in the horizon.
"I could barely control my panic! And thinking I was running out of oxygen made it worse!" Then he chuckled. He laughed like it was funny. Like it had amused him.
Stan's mind hitched on horrifying images of the scenario Ford's words had painted.
Young, paranoid, how many scars did he have at that point? Had he been injured? The picture of Ford's face in a panic as he fought for his life, breaths heavy and wheezing.. And here, he was thinking it was something to laugh over. Like a childhood mishap story-
Luckily a puffball chose that moment to make a shrill sound, before a few of the surrounding ones quickly darted into the breeze. The sound knocked Stan out of his reverie, and Ford seemed a little surprised as well.
"Fascinating! An alarm call? Or maybe a call to the time? I wonder if they use the call to signal when it's time to feed, or-"
Fast scribbling filled the silence, and Stan could barely see Ford's figure as he tromped after some puffballs, happily chattering away. Like nothing was wrong.
The atmosphere had to be thin. There was no other explanation for his short breaths. But if Ford said they were okay-
He hasn't run any proper tests. He's just assuming. he told you so.
Yet despite the thought, Stan's age-old instinct of trusting his twin won out, and he knew Ford had to be right. So he had to admit to himself, the only cause for the panic he felt rising like the tide within him, was the anxiety he was trying to deny existed.
He tried to stand, but fell on his knees, hands curling into the strange white grass. His knuckles were fading in and out of his sight, as he fought for another breath. This wasn't right. They shouldn't have ever entered this stupid place. And now Ford was reliving his worst possible days. Laughing it off as a joke-
Creatures bonked into him aimlessly, unbothered at the obstacle blocking their way. Haggard breathing filled the air, as Stan struggled to take any in. His eyes focused on nothing, his mind feeding him an endless stream of dark thoughts and horrifying images of his brother, hurt, struggling, almost dying-
He barely registered the touch on his shoulder, collapsing into the ground, not hearing the panicked voice from Ford. Unhearing everything except the final screams of his brother on repeat as he got sucked into Hell again and AGAIN-
"Stanley! You need to breathe! You can't keep panicking! You're going to pass out! Stan? Stan!"
He was pushed onto his back, Ford leaning over him. In any other circumstance, this would've made it worse. However, seeing Ford so close helped him regain some awareness. He took a singular shuddering breath, his lungs aching for relief.
"Okay. That's it. C'mon. You're okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Okay? Did you get bit by one of the fluffs? Are you having an allergic reaction to it? are-"
Stan shook his head at the questioning, his mouth open in an attempt to speak. Ford stopped asking questions once he realized Stan couldn't speak. "Alright alright alright… Just… Breathe. I can fix it whatever it is, okay?"
Stan wasn't so sure of that, but he appreciated Ford trying. He was trying, and it was such a difference from before. The thought let him take another breath, trying to mimic Ford's deeper ones. He closed his eyes, trying to soothe the pounding in his head, but Ford annoyingly tapped his cheek. "Apologies, but I can't let you retreat back into yourself, you need to ease your heart rate before you send yourself into cardiac arrest.”
Stan thought this was a sore attempt at humor, but re-opening his eyes showed Ford meant it. Regardless, he tried again, breathing slowly beginning to normal.
They sat in relative silence in the field, Ford not saying a word as he observed his brother. His face was unreadable to Stan in that moment, he was too focused on trying to force his lungs to inflate. Eventually the puffballs had all vanished from around them. The only sound was the whooshing sound of grass, the wind playing with their hair.
It had to have been at least 10 minutes later before Stan felt enough air in his lungs to speak. "Sorry."
He hoped Ford would understand what he meant.
Ford's face morphed from concern to tired relief at Stan's voice.
"Don't apologize. You haven't done anything wrong. Can you tell me what happened? I turned to ask you something and- You were gone." He gave a quick side glance at this, emotion flickering across his face that Stan couldn't decipher right now. He let his head fall back to the ground, feeling the dredges of adrenaline slowly peter out.
"I.. just.. can't stand it. This. You." Plowing through Ford's little eep of pain Stan elaborated. "Not- Not You you. Just.. Hearing about the other side and how it almost killed you so many times." He broke off, not wanting to continue.
"You're meaning my retelling of dimension Cal-q34, correct?" Ford questioned, carefully sitting back on his heels, looking down at Stan for confirmation. At his jerky nod he sighed. "That was one of my better times, I didn't think you would be so bothered about it."
Stan grit his teeth, a surge of frustration washing over him now that he had been seen so vulnerable over something so stupid. "Yeah? Well, surprise. Turns out hearin about all the awful ways you almost died or were scared wouldn't be somethin to laugh off!"
Ford's eyebrows raised before his face turned into a scowl, a familiar sight to Stan, yet the tiny ball of anxiety still inside him grew at the anger he exhibited.
Stop it. Stop fighting, just tell him what's actually wrong. You snapping won't help.
"Actually, I believe I'd know what reaction is warranted, as it was My experience!" Ford returned. "I didn't believe you would react in such a manner-"
"Manner? What the fuck is that supposed ta mean?
Stop pushing him. Stop lashing out because you're afraid.
Unfortunately, that was the only thing both brothers knew how to do. They hadn't quite learnt how to communicate otherwise.
"What it means is you're being immature! Honestly Stanley, I would have thought that you would be able to communicate and not resort to childish squabbling whenever you hear something you might not like!"
Ford's retort came out in a huff, him standing up swiftly, glaring down at Stan.
The feeling of Ford looming over him, anger coming in waves, made the little ball of anxiety bloom into a full bouquet of Freak-the-fuck-OUT-flowers. Stan scrambled up, nearly falling once again as his ankle buckled. Ford's expression wavered, worry flitting across it, which quickly changed back to irritation at Stan's reply.
"M not childish! No one would want to hear about how their twin got mutilated! Or beaten, or-"
A scoff ended his rebuke. "Oh I've been mutilated have I? Last I observed, I'm not the one with an abundance of fake or missing parts. Regardless of that, I knew I shouldn't have told you anything. You always react like this.”
Stan felt his jaw drop at the mention of his body's issues. It wasn't the fact that he was missing them so much, more due to the reason why he was missing them. All his teeth, some organs he couldn't even remember at the moment, and countless nights of no sleep due to the nightmares. That didn't hurt nearly as bad as hearing the next part of what Ford spat at him.
When Stanley got hurt, he reacted without thinking. It had saved his hide so many times, he never could quite get rid of the habit. He felt it rising, but couldn't hold back. This habit laced his words with venom, aimed to redirect the attention from him, to his brother.
"I don't want ta hear about how much you suffered! How awful it was for you every day! Yanno, the mental image of you gasping for breath doesn't really inspire the giggles in me!"
Ford glowered, tightening his shoulders around his ears.
"It was not awful every day! As a matter of fact, I quite enjoyed much of my time there! It had so many unimaginable possibilities, things you could not possibly begin to grasp! And you know what? I loved it in many of those places! There was always something new to do or see. People that actually liked me there! Until you had to bring me back at the worst time! There was so much for me out there, and nothing here. and I-
I WISH I'D NEVER COME BACK AT ALL!"
The air fell silent, not even fluffballs and their chattering.
Ford panted, his outburst taking more out of him than he realized. Stan's world had stopped, the only thing moving in color and sound were Ford's blazing eyes, and his shouts reverberated in his ears.
He never wanted to come back.
He said there was nothing for him on Earth.
You ruined his happiness all over again.
He never wanted to come Back.
It took a few seconds for Ford to calm, seemingly just then seeing the weight of what he had said, looking at the expression on his brother's face.
His anger drained quickly, regret filling his face. But Stan saw none of it. He drew backwards, his steps faltering, before he turned completely and ran, sprinting away from the suffocating air.
His breaths came ragged, his lungs screaming at the abuse. He didn't hear Ford's shouts, nor his apologies on the wind. He was deaf to everything except the looping thought.
He didn't want to come back.
Stan ran, somehow dodging every fluffball in the way. They scattered around him as he blew past, unbothered by his stampede.
Finally, Stan's lungs gave in, and he tripped at their lurch. He slammed into the ground for the third time that day. He didn't try to calm down, instead curling into himself, his choppy breaths becoming sobs. He felt disconnected from his body, unfeeling. The blades of grass didn't poke into him. His joints didn't stretch in protest. His eyes didn't burn. Everything faded into a black static, with Stan caught in the very middle of it.
Due to the prior attack, his lungs barely handled his next one. His survival instinct kicked in, making Stan calm his breathing against his will. He uncurled slowly, the feeling of the cold ground seeping in through his clothing. He didn't react to Ford's heavy footfalls, his running apparent. He didn't have any energy left to fight Ford, let alone face him at all.
"STANLEY! Stanley?! Oh, stars. Stanley. I'm…" Ford didn't finish, finally appearing in Stan's little hidden clearing, panting. However, not from the physical activity. Stan knew his brother wasn't winded from such a short jog.
Stan simply stayed facing away from Ford, hoping he didn't look as pathetic as he felt. There was shuffling, and he felt a thump on the ground. Ford sat behind him, close enough to reach out a hand. But he didn't. Stan sighed inwardly, he didn't think he could handle being touched right now. Especially not from Ford.
"What I said, it's not…. quite the truth."
With no reaction from Stan, Ford continued, shifting his eyes to the side.
"I, well. Of course there was much I loved on the other side of the portal. I did spend the better half of my life there."
At a hitch of Stan's breath Ford reiterated. "And that isn't a bad thing! It's good I found things to enjoy, otherwise I would've been unhappy. Unhappier than I already was of course-"
Stan curled in tighter, his face to his chest, trying to physically block out the hurt the words were bringing him. Ford sighed, going silent. It was a good few minutes before he spoke again, slowly.
"Stanley.. There was much I liked, and that is a good thing. But, you know you're right. There was plenty that scared me. Every day felt like a gamble for my life. And, I was never the gambler out of the two of us.. "
A weak chuckle, the joke not quite landing with Stan. He was too tired to even manage a scoff. At the silence, Ford cleared his throat before continuing.
"I truly didn't wish to come back, at the time. My focus was on survival, and finally killing Bill. I had no one, or anything to return to. Fiddleford would have moved on, our family would have been long deceased. You… You would've finally left me behind to face my own consequences. For once."
A very gentle grace of a touch on his shoulder, and Stan felt his body lean into the touch. Traitor.
The palm was grounding, and warm, letting Stan comprehend Ford a little easier.
At not being shoved away, Ford splayed his palm, his large hand encompassing Stan's shoulder easily. His skin was cold to the touch, and Ford made a small sound of discontent.
"You proved me wrong. You seem to have a very good habit of doing so. I was wrong. I- I am wrong, Stan. I wish I hadn't come back before, well.. everything. But not because of you. Because I was too absorbed in my own reality. I thought my life's purpose was to defeat Bill, be the hero.. And I didn't feel I could do it from our home dimension. Not to mention the sudden mortal fear of endangering my family. Endangering you all over again."
Ford shifted closer, his voice laced with raw emotion. He was being truthful, despite how hard the pill was to swallow. Stan let his body lean against Ford's legs, unable to keep himself propped on his side any longer.
"I wish I hadn't come back because coming back meant hurting you, and possibly being the reason for your fate, and it.. most likely being a negative one. I didn't think hearing of the portal would scare you so badly.."
"It didn't." Stan's voice cut through them, faltering before he kept going.
"Not.. really. It was... Hearin how you jus shrugged it all off. How you acted like it wasn't terrifying, or… So deadly."
"Oh, Stanley.. I'm- Sorry. I didn't know you were so fearful. Although in hindsight I can definitely see why you were.. why you are."
Stan didn’t blink for a few moments, the memory that had tarnished the day once again flashing before his eyes. He opened his jaw a bit, doing his best to make his mouth moist once more to speak. His anxiety had made him terribly thirsty. Or the tears. It was probably both, at this point. Finally, he spoke once more.
"M.. not really. Scared of hearing about the bad times. Not too much anymore. ‘M more scared that.. you seemed so excited to go through another portal, after everything. And I.."
Stan's abused lungs hitched once again, the ever-present image burned into more than his eyes. His brother's six fingered hand stretched so wide the portal's light was shining through the webbing of his fingers. The weight of that stupid journal in his hands, the only thing he was able to grab. The scent of burnt hair, of burnt skin-
"All I could see was you falling, and all I could hear was your screams for help-"
At Stan's voice breaking Ford bit the bullet and hefted him up, resting Stan against his legs on his back, his head in his lap. "I'm so sorry Stan.. I didn't know…"
"For bein a genius there sure isn't a lot you know at all." Stan whispered, rubbing at his eyes. Silence laid thick on the brothers as they contemplated their next words. Ford spoke first.
"I wasn't afraid this time because you were here."
Stan stopped his rubbing, blinking up at his brother's face. Ford looked away, both men avoiding each other’s eyes. At the silence Ford glanced back, before sighing again. "You would be correct in assuming I do not handle portals entirely the best. Passing through them is somewhat a second nature, but it never quite got rid of the uncertainty, and paranoia of death being quite literally the next step forward.”
“But, well. I didn't feel that way this time because I had you, Stanley. I wasn't going to be alone this time. And yes, I had what you could call… friends. But I never could place myself entirely in their hands. Even now, with our bond slowly mending, I can fully trust you. You've proved yourself to me, so many times. Even before the fearamid. I just didn't see it before then.."
"S'kay. You weren't outta yer asshole arc yet." Ford gave a tired if not small smirk, raising an eyebrow at Stan's reply. "Once again, you're right. Don't let it go to your head however." Stan felt a gentle flick on the side of his temple, and he gave an exhausted huff of amusement.
"I knew you'd be with me, and that we'd be safe together. Because we have each other now. Back then, I didn't have you to watch my back. Now that I do, I can safely say I charge into new situations a little unprepared. Especially when it comes to knowing your emotional thresholds. I shouldn't have brought you here with me before I considered just how a portal would make you feel. I'm sorry. Again."
Stan sat up, barely avoiding knocking into Ford's chin. He turned quickly though, grabbing Ford into a hug. Startled, but quickly accepting it, Ford recuperated. He wrapped his arms fully around Stan's shoulders, trying to transmit warmth and comfort. There was a few seconds of awkward fumbling, Ford unsure of where to place his hands. They settled on Stan’s shoulder blades, splayed out once more to transmit warmth.
They sat on the ground a few seconds more, before Ford spoke. He took his head away from Stan’s temple, turning so he could be heard unmuffled. "I'm assuming I'm forgiven..?"
A thunk of a sound was heard then, as Stan flicked Ford's head, the metal plate making his finger smart. "Ow! Shit, Ford. S'not fair you have that thing in there. How am I supposed to keep that big head of yours in check if I can't correct it with flicks?"
"You could try actually communicating with me?" Came the dry response over his shoulder as Ford snorted.
"Nah, doesn't work the same. Plus, you don't listen."
Ford pulled back, holding Stan by his shoulders. "I mean it though. You need to communicate with me. And not by way of long speeches. A simple 'Ford we need to go' would do, then you can tell me why you feel the way you do-"
Stan rolled his eyes, but knew Ford was right. "Yeah, yeah okay. But, that means you too! If we're gonna force me to be a sappy old man who exposes his feelin’s and junk you're comin’ down with me!"
Ford gave a heavy sigh, before pulling them both to their feet, keeping a hand on Stan's shoulder to steady him. Now fully empty of adrenaline and panic, Stan's body succumbed to feeling cold and exhausted, and Stan secretly thanked Ford for helping him stand. He didn't think he could do it otherwise.
And then Stan thought about what Ford had said, and then did thank him. "Thanks, Ford… Mean it too."
"Yes, well. I've learned from someone that being a good brother has its perks. Such as you cooking, handing me new pens when mine runs out of ink…"
At the slightly dejected look on Stan's face Ford fondly rolled his eyes, and squeezed his shoulder. "Oh, yes. And you being happy. That's at the top of the list."
His face lifted slightly at this, and Stan let himself lean on Ford as they slowly retraced their steps back, the infinity belt making it easy.
"I agree as well. To your…. request." Ford pointedly avoided the word deal, and Stan didn't mind at all. "I will try to be more open, and think of my word choice before spitting them out. If I don't, I run the risk of hurting you. And… I don't want to hurt you."
Stan nodded sleepily, his body slowing down as a soft blue light grew on the horizon. "Don't wanna hurt you either." He mumbled, shuffling after Ford's easier steps.
"Then we have an understanding." Ford smiled, as they finally reached the portal once more. "Ready to go home?"
This looks rough. Partially because I started this 2 years ago now and just now finished it, because I wasn't happy with it. But its sweet so I shall share it.
Sorry Mabel you look kinda scuffed my bad
Please do not repost to any other website. Reblogs/notes are fine!
Had an idea today that I just couldn't let escape. The basic premise is platonic A/B/O. (Could also just be werewolves, I don't really put much emphasis on the "dynamics" here.) Stan and Ford were separated somehow, like in the show. Stan's been gone for a while, but has finally returned home to see things have changed.
WIP under the cut! May polish it and try to build more off of it. May not. Who knows.
--
Stan stiffened, raising his head an inch higher to scent the air. It made him ache, sending something dull down his throat to his chest. It smelled like home. It looked like home. But, fuck. It just couldn’t be. Stan knew better than to let himself hope, especially around something he wanted so desperately.
He was a pack creature at heart, literally! He needed his pack, his home. Having gone without it for so long had.. Made him different. He knew that. Hell, some of his scars were just proof of that. His senses had been worn away as he lived without the societal needs his kind demanded. Sight was always shit, that hadn’t really changed. He hadn’t ever managed to get that properly checked. His hearing could be better, sure. But atleast he could hear.
The slow loss of his scenting ability had been what crushed him the most. Scent was so integral, so interwoven into every single aspect of daily life. Greeting people on the street, to welcoming your pack mates home after a hunt. Every single thing hinged on being able to smell. And Stan? Couldn’t smell well.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it hurt him all the same. It was like learning to walk without a leg. Painful. Difficult. Not impossible, no.. but.. Sometimes he felt lame. What was the point if he couldn't scent danger on the wind? If he couldn't tell what the weather was about to do, just with a flare of his nostrils? (If he couldn't search for his brother's scent amongst the endless dimensions that mirrored his own?)
So here and now, standing stiffly, trying to force as much air through his lungs as possible, he detected the usual. Pine tree sap, melting in the heat as it was exposed to the air via cracks in the bark. The sweet-baked scent of drying grass beneath his scuffed boots, as the summer continued its endless march across the Earth. (Was this Earth? He couldn't tell.)
Distant deer, was that a gnome? Or was it wistful thinking? Stan never thought he'd want to scent a gnome on the air. He quit his furious breaths, giving his head a quick shake to displace the dizziness from all the oxygen.
He did his best to not claw at his matted hair, wanting nothing more than to chop it all off. It itched like nothing else, and constantly felt like things were crawling amongst his scalp. He hoped it was just his imagination.
Stan's hand stopped it's slow travel up to his scalp, as he caught something else. Finally, finally, something else. Beyond the nature swarming his senses, and making his already poor scenting ability clogged, there was a hint of something. Not animal.
With a twinge, Stan's eyes widened as he recognized a part of it. it smelled like milk, most likely a baby, soft and sweet. Yet, beneath it all, there sat a small tang of pine and salt.
It had been years. Decades since he'd been separated from his twin. But his very heart would never forget that smell. The smell of his brother. His one and only pack mate.
Stan was moving before he even registered the brush smacking against his body, various branches catching his hair and skin as he ran by. He didn't feel the sting of any of it. Only the aching in his heart as his very soul seemed to scream for his pack. Family. Brother. Pack brother! FORD!-
Stan dug his heels into the dirt, skidding to a sudden stop as he crashed into a clearing, the dried soil causing him to nearly barrel over. Before him wasn't his brother, but a child. Atleast he'd scented that right.
It was a pup for sure, not very old at all. Far too young to be out and about by himself. Stan tried to ignore the ache in his heart becoming claws, digging deep at the sheer resemblance the child had to his brother as a child. Moses, he even had the Pines cowlick!
The child turned on his feet, eyes wide and bright, and those claws just got deeper. They were the same shade of Ford’s: Warm brown, lit with a curiosity for the world that had never gone away, even with age. Brown flyaway hair sticking up every which way, with various twigs and leaves adorning it like a garnish.
Stan was… frozen. He hadn't been able to take a breath since landing eyes on the child, weird little stuttering sounds escaping his mouth. Nothing seemed to be right, his head struggling to catch up with his heart.
All of that stopped the moment the pup chirped at him, walking forward as if Stan was someone he knew. (Someone worth knowing.)
He let out a choked gasp at the chirp, his own instincts flaring. He fought the very urge to kneel and protect. Greet and provide. Keep safe. Because this wasn't his kid. Hell, the kid was practically ripped from his own childhood, but it wasn't his. Stan knew better than to let his scent, dull as it was, get anywhere near a pup that wasn't his pack.
He took a shaking step backward, hands out as if that could prevent the child from his sudden mission. However, it seemed to have the opposite affect. The boy only smiled wider, calling out with a squeaky voice: “Daddy!”
Stan swore right then and there if this kid was abandoned, he was adopting them. He'd never quite wanted pups of his own, but how could he resist this? The boy calling for him like Stan belonged. Like he was wanted here. (This couldn't be home. And since it wasnt, Stan couldn't just up and leave with someone's kid. Unless they were abandoned.)
“H-hah, nooo, nonono. Not yer daddy bud.” Stan wheezed out, taking a few steps back to avoid contact with the child. This didn't even seem to deter the boy. Stan hesitated far too long, the child clinging to his legs with an urgency that didn't match his face.
Stan went stiff, unable to move as the boy babbled at his feet, utterly ecstatic to finally be reunited with “Daddy.” Stan suddenly felt dirty, hyperaware of every scar, nick, and old wound on his skin. Of the dirt and grime and whatever else coated to his clothes. On the way he probably smelled. Strange, unwashed, and faded, like an old newspaper sat in the sun.
“Uhh.. now.. c-cmon kiddo.. let go. We can go find yer actual daddy.. yeah?”
Stan did his best to appease the child, trying to shake his leg free of the iron-clad grip. He never thought children could be so.. strong. Especially one as young as this one!
When the shaking didn't work, he sighed, deciding he'd have to accept being clung to like a barnacle on a whale. Stan went to speak again, when his nose finally caught what had brought him to the clearing in the first place. That faint, pine-salt-family-pack, drifting from the boy.
Stan didn't notice his knees had folded in until the boy was in his lap, digging grubby hands into his equally grubby shirt. Stan knew if the parent of this pup found him here, he'd be deemed a threat for sure. But..
He gently held the kid back, trying to absorb as much of that echo from his past as possible. He didn't scent mark the boy, trying his very best to be as distant as possible. (Impossible now, with the darn beast using him as a pillow.)
“Y-you.. where's.. your family huh?”
Stan choked out, forcing his tight throat to speak past the onslaught of memories, of two twin pups racing in the sunshine and sand, decades ago.
The child in his lap seemed to look at Stan like he was insane, letting out a squeak in reply, giggling as he only squirmed further.
“Daddy here!”
Stan wasn't sure how he hadn't exploded yet. Was his heart still there? A quick check of his palm against his chest said so. But, how could something be so cute? Stan reminded himself, again, this child was not his! Wasn't even in his pack!
Yet.. oh, yet, those shining eyes and happy cheeps as the boy nuzzled into Stan's front nearly had him convinced that he was his kid. Really, he couldn't be blamed for it. How could anyone resist such adorable-ness?
Before Stan could even blink, he heard the sound of rushing footsteps, his own newly kickstarted instincts pushing Stan up to his feet, having the boy hide behind his legs. He wasn't sure what was running at him, but he wasn't going to let it harm the kid!
His nostrils flared as he did his best to see what was coming at such a fast speed, frustration bubbling within him as the scent of the pup and the surrounding forest blocked it out. He tried to search harder, fists clenching as he prepared for a confrontation.
“STANLEY!”
That all went out the window. That shout. That voice. Was it possible? Was it truly, truly, his brother at last? Stan's ragged breathing stopped once again as he saw the shape burst through the tree-line, running at a fast pace. The speed of his movement made it hard to discern many details, but Stan was able to recognize Ford's hair, his six fingers clenched into fists as he ran, eyes blazing.
Stan felt emotions well up inside him, so many to name. One was primarily relief. Relief at being home. At finally, finally seeing Ford again. And, And! Ford would know what to do with the kid! Ford would help him find his parents, (Or if there weren't any, help him raise the kid) and they could be pack again! Ford could fix his smelling issues, would fix everything!
Stan began to smile, his teeth glinting in the light from a full-blown grin, tears beginning to wind down his face as he moved forward to meet his brother.
His brother's scent hit him as he was a few feet away. Yes. This was his Ford. And then, everything seemed to shatter when Ford's fists hit him as well. --
I love the miscommunication brothers.
If it isn't clear, Stan finds Ford's kid, Stanley, and as soon as he realizes Ford is coming, Stan thinks they can figure out what to do with him together.
Poor Ford thinks his kid got lost in the woods, and is now hugging some random guy, so he goes into protective overdrive.
A little sfw platonic, agere fic, where Stan doesn't feel the best. But he has his big brother to care for him!
HUGELY inspired by @the-universal-sun and their most recent sfw platonic agere fic. The scene where Ford reads to Stan really implanted itself into my head, so I hope its okay I included something similar here!
With the first rays of light shining upon his face, Stan could tell today was going to be a bad one. With the first stirrings of consciousness, he also felt the first stirrings of nausea and stomach cramps. He ended up rolled onto his side, curling into himself with a whimper. Luckily, he'd been able to sleep his with big brother last night. Not that Sixer ever prevented him from it. But he was grateful he could reach a few inches over, and find the solid mass of his brother.
Little fingers (To him anyway) curled into his brother's sleep shirt, tugging gently with an insistent whine. It was all he could manage, the idea of opening his mouth nearly sending him spiraling into throwing up then and there. It took a few tugs, but his Sixer always woke up quickly. Especially when he sensed his baby brother was in turmoil, emotional or physical.
"Mm? Whassit? Lee, issat you? What's-" Ford's jaw cracked open in a huge yawn, one that would make old man Stan jealous at the distinct lack of pain it seemed to give his brother. "Whas Goin on?"
Stan shifted on their bed until he could collide with his brother's side, squirming until his brother took the hint. Ford rolled smoothly, bringing Stan to his chest in a motion that was evidently practiced.
He whimpered again, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed a hand over his tummy. Gosh, he'd never felt quite so icky before! Atleast, he thought so.. Ford's hand took the place of Stan's, his palm gentle, callouses occasionally snagging on the flannel fabric of his jammies. But it wasn't uncomfortable, the very slight tugging motion of the cloth providing a distraction from the roiling in his tummy.
"Oh, my dear little Lee. Are you feeling ill?" Ford's voice came out hushed, the deep timbre immediately chasing away some of the pain. Stan nodded, careful not to nod too fast. He pressed his cheek into Ford's bicep, causing his face to look adorably squished as he looked to his big brother to fix it.
"Come here, sweet boy. Let's get you some hydration, hm?" Ford pried himself free from Stan's clinging, shushing the whining complaints with a soft smile. His sturdy 6 fingered hands came down to heft his brother up, careful to go slow, minimizing the threat of Stan throwing up in the bed.
Despite knowing he'd probably feel better with a drink, Stan didn't want to get up. Thankfully, Stan's wish was granted quickly. Ford had only sat him up against the headboard, ensuring Stan wouldn't get sick on his side.
"I'll be back momentarily, I must go get you some supplies. Sit tight, dear." Ford responded smoothly, his wide palm encasing Stan's cheek with a fondness that Stan never got tired of. With a quick peck to his forehead, he watched his big brother canter out of the bedroom, presumably to the kitchen.
Stan sat patiently, doing his best to ignore the swirly feelings within his gut. It felt like when he spun around too fast, making himself dizzy. His fingers curled into the blanket at his lap, doing his very best to not think about anything related to food, or opening his mouth, or- Finally, his big brother returned with a myriad of supplies. A sippy cup of water, medicine, a mini can of ginger ale, bucket, and a few of Stan's favorite storybooks.
Stan felt a small smile on his face at the sight of the book titles. Childhood classics, such as Goodnight Moon, Stella Luna, Goodnight Gorilla, and a very battered copy of a Sixer original. That was one of Stan's favorites. Sixer had illustrated and wrote it himself. A fun story of two brave sailors who explored the world, and fought epic battles! It was even cooler because his big brother had written it!
"Alright, I've gathered some stuff to keep us occupied while we wait out this nasty tummy bug of yours. I know you hated that previous medicine, so I engineered this one! It will taste good, I promise." Ford reassured Stan as he set his supplies down, careful to set the books far from the edge of the bed.
Ford turned to prepare a dose of the liquid medicine, trying not to chuckle at the expression Stan was no doubt making. Upon turning around... yup. Stan's tongue was poking out, eyebrows pinched in a pout of disgust. He adamantly shook his head, crossing his arms with a firm "Uh uh."
Ford sighed internally, knowing that getting his brother to take medicine was like convincing a pladipus to willingly give up its flannel. Read: impossible. These things just didn't come easy.
"Come on, Lee. You trust your big brother, don't you? I made it tasty, just for you. And after you take it, you can have a sippy from your cup." Stan's resolve wavered upon Ford's coaxing.
And he really did feel gross. If Sixer said he made it yummy.. then… He reluctantly opened his mouth, eyes trained to the side to avoid the pride shining in his brother's eyes, doing his best to hide how pleased it made him feel to know he'd made his brother proud.
"Good job, Lee. Such a brave boy." Ford encouraged Stan as the other quickly swallowed the medicine from the little cup, eyes widening as he realized he hadn't wanted to spit the medicine out.
Ford chuckled at the expression, a knowing smirk on his face. "See? Told you I'd made it yummy. Now come along, take a few sippies. Not too many, alright?" Ford spoke, handing his little brother a dark blue sippy cup. Stan held it in both hands, doing his best to follow his brother's directions, despite wanting to guzzle the water down as soon as it hit his tongue. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was until then.
Once he was finished, Ford set the cup onto the bedside table, immediately climbing back under the covers. He settled on his back, an arm extended so Stan could curl against him. His little brother did as expected, squirming into the provided space with a happy squeak. Stan's cheek was once again pressed against his brother's chest, one of his arms thrown across Ford to hold him like a child held a teddy. Ford's extended arm came up, curling around Stan's back, to keep him close.
When both were settled, Ford grabbed a book from the pile, opening one to its first page, entirely ready to read his little brother back to sleep. Before he could speak, Stan tugged his shirt again, whispering his request:
"Voices?" Ford smiled fondly, nodding before ruffling Stan's hair. "Of course, my boy. I'll do the voices. Now, there was once a little gorilla who lived in the zoo…"
Stan's eyes half lidded as his brother read, the mischievous gorilla taking the zookeeper keys never failing to make him smile. After a while, the medicine had begun to silence his tummy, making it easier to open his mouth without feeling like he was going to puke.
"Sixer?" Ford paused in his page turning, glancing down to his little brother with a raised eyebrow. "Hm?"
Stan yawned, shuffling impossibly closer, eyes drooping shut as he gave into sleep. "Love ya.."
Ford was silent for a moment, heart taken by absolute joy and love for his little brother. He chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his brother's forehead. "I love you too, my Little Lee."
I have tons of little ideas, drafts, and semi-written stuff lying around. And I thought I'd share some of them to drum up some interest, give myself some motivation, and just.. share these ideas. I want to share them all sooo bad, but they're not written.. yet.
AU ideas and synopsis under the cut! Gladly taking any name suggestions, since some are un-named LOL. Some of these fic ideas may sound familiar, and its because some GF fics out there have the same idea. These ideas are totally inspired by them! I just need to find their title and authors.
West of the Falls: Stan is deemed an outlaw to be killed on sight after he accidentally ruins his brother's chance to become a renown priest, after their father. He returns for his revenge, and his brother. (Inspired by "Hell's Coming With Me" by Poor Man's Poison.)
idk wtf to name this one: While fulfilling their lifelong dream, the Stan bros find themselves in a situation, where Stan becomes deaged. Now Ford must find a way to revert Stan back to his proper age, as well as navigating and sailing by himself, and navigating temporary parenthood. (Timestuck AU type shenanigans. Dad!Ford flavored. I'll gladly take any name ideas LOL)
Idk what to name this one either: Classic Stan bros adventures gone wrong! A shadow from Stan's past has come for them both, and they will have to use every trick in the book they know to escape alive. They might not make it out in one piece, however...
No fucking name mcgee: General fic where the Old Men are learning to be brothers again through various adventures and shit that happens to them. Rebuilding their bond, and learning to heal through their experiences. (Will include lots of hurt/comfort, stangst, and of course, platonic affection, caretaking, and platonic cuddling. Gotta have that in there.)
A divergence of the kid-Stan AU: Ford finds himself the last place he ever wanted to be again: Stranded in the multiverse. However, this time, there's a lot more at stake. Can he outwit and escape not only the multiverse, but the bounty hunters hot on his trail? Not to mention, keeping him, and his newly minted Little brother out alive.
One Big Happy Family: Dipper and Mabel's parents are falling apart at the seams, leaving both kids to fend for themselves as they're abandoned after the divorce. Thankfully, they have another family that will take them in, lead by two great uncles, a hairless gopher man, an ex-insane mechanic, and a lumberjack teenager.
You must never break the chain: Ford assumes the worst of Stanley when he returns. Really, what man with any self-respect wears a gaudy fake gold chain everywhere? However, Ford soon realizes that there's more to it than he'd thought.
Never written comfortober prompt of "Treasure": Stan is all too happy to let the kids go gallivanting with Ford in the woods. What he never expected was to be left with Dipper for the day, the two finding their own special treasure
I'm Back In The Fucking Building AGAIN: (Title pending) The Stan bros become stranded in the multiverse while sailing. This time, they're together. Attempting to find their way back home, they encounter a familiar face... (OR, Sea Grunkles enter the multiverse, and come across a Ford that hasn't made it home yet. Interesting conflict between a Ford that still misses his Stanley, but uses his anger as a shield, and a Sea Grunk Ford that's hugely protective of Stan. What could go wrong?)
Evil Ford AU Or Doomsday AU(Title pending.): A divergence of the usual Sea grunks adventures. A Ford has come across literal time and space just to hunt down 46'- Stanley. His main goal is unknown, but it ends up with Stanley's death. Unless 46'- Ford can prevent it.
Cipher revival cult: Ford's brother has gone missing, and Ford is set upon a warpath of rage, revenge, and protection. Stan is simply trying to stay alive, while preventing his very blood from falling into the wrong hands. OR: (A cult of people need Stan's blood as a sacrifice to revive Bill.)
kind of a/b/o or feral AU: where Ford is a dad he somehow gains access to a dimension where Stan was an only child and he was being horribly neglected and abused, so Ford just adopts him this would fix the possible timeline issue if I ever write Stan reuniting with that Ford. OR: (PLATONIC A/B/O Dad!Ford with his newly adopted pup, Stanley.)
Till I'm Naught But Skull and Bone: Stan disappeared after the entire science fair fiasco. Not that Ford cares! But when Ford ends up stranded in the ocean at the mercy of a pirate ship, he never expected to see a familiar face heading the crew. OR: (Ford goes on as canon, but the portal incident doesn't happen. Instead, he ends up on his brother's pirate ship, both learning to live together again. Inspired by "Skull and Bones" by Home Free)
Dipper can't stand his sister's sleepovers any longer, and goes off to find a new spot to sleep yet again. Until an idea strikes him, and he turns to his uncle.
A little conversation is had, comfort is given, and Dipper is able to feel just a bit closer to Stan as a result.
(Based during S1 E16 · Carpet Diem)
Fic link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49342357
Work under the cut.
This fic is a little older! But I figured since I'm posting writing here too, it can also hang out here. :)
Dipper trotted down the rickety staircase, age making them complain under his feet. Once more, Mabel's insistent partying had driven him from the room they shared. Even now he could hear the deep voice of Grenda replying to their, (in his opinion) stupid boy game.
The voices faded as he came into the living room, old furniture seeming to be the most inviting at the moment. He plopped down, squishing his pillow until he gained a resemblance of comfort. He shifted, turning multiple times. The chair wasn't comfortable but it would do for tonight.
"It's far better than that horrorshow of a room right now anyway," Dipper assured himself out loud, firmly shutting his eyes.
It wasn't far better, in the end of it. The fish tank's constant bubbling, the chair's strange lumps and old man smell from his Grunkle Stan, and the constant groan of old wood had him sitting up in eventual frustration. Nothing seemed to be working, and there wasn't anywhere else in the shack-
Unless.
He went to his Grunkle Stan.
Dipper made a face, already regretting that train of thought. What would he gain, really? But his exhausted mind led him down the tracks anyways.
His Grunkle Stan was a crass man, who seemed to harbor favoritism towards his sister. Indeed, over their feud for the newly found room, Mabel was leading by an intense amount of points. Simply for Mabel being who she was. Even still, maybe Stan would let him in, just for tonight. Heck, he could even blackmail his Grunkle. "Maybe he'd be proud of something I've done then.." Dipper mumbled, sitting up and making his decision.
Pillow and blanket in tow, he walked up the stairs, nerves becoming more evident as he approached the door. It loomed over him, covered in signs that were to ward him and his sister off. His eyes trailed to the bottom sign. Dipper specifically it seemed as well, eyeing the sign that had his face crossed out with the caption "THAT MEANS YOU."
Sweat increased the slick feeling along his back more, and he gulped, before tentatively knocking upon the door, signs rattling and causing more noise. He waited, the only sounds present being the distant preteen girly squealing that reminded Dipper why he was there in the first place. Maybe his uncle had already gone to bed? Resigned to sleeping outside again, Dipper turned on his heels, when the door clicked.
He spun, looking up at the figure before him. The man leaned further into the hallway light, eyes squinting until they took in the boy. "Dipper? Why ya back up? I sent you to bed hours ago." The gruff voice of his uncle breaking him from his stupor.
"W-well. Grunkle Stan. I was wondering if I could, um." He paused, suddenly feeling the weight of the idea. He was already preparing himself for the teasing no doubt coming, but something on his uncle's face spurred him forward.
"I was wondering if, I could. Sleep in your room tonight. Not the bed! Because Mabel and her friends are keeping me up, and I can't sleep in there. But I already tried the living room, and I don't want to sleep outside and get bit by a wolf again-"
"Woah! Woah, calm down kid. I can't understand a word you're sayin, you're rambling so fast." Stan interrupted, raising an eyebrow at his nephew. The boy trembled nervously, exhaustion and sweat becoming more prominent the longer he stood there. Fearing the scrutiny, Dipper just looked at his socked feet, nervously plucking at a spare thread of his blanket.
Stan sighed, opening the door wider, and stepping aside so the doorway was clear. "Run through that again will ya? What was that about.. what'd you say- a wolf?"
Dipper's eyes widened as he took in what was happening, and he hurried through the door into the darker room, pausing right inside so he didn't push his luck. "Uh- Well- I went to sleep outside last night, because I... Had no where else to go." He finished in a mumble, suddenly realizing how foolish it sounded.
Stan closed the door and plucked Dipper up by the scruff of his neck using his sleep shirt. Dipper let out a squawk, before he realized he was being plopped onto Stan's bed a few feet away. Before he could ask, Stan explained.
"Didn't want ya trippin all over the place. I have the Floorplan memorized. Also uh, didn't want you messin up my thumb shwey. Or whatever."
Dipper raised an eyebrow, looking up at the undefined shadow of his uncle. "Grunkle Stan.. Do you mean Feng shui?"
"That's what I said." Stan replied, sitting down on the mattress before flopping onto his back, making Dipper bounce slightly from the impact.
"Right." Dipper mumbled, returning to pick at the thread.
It was silent for a few moments, but Dipper knew Stan wasn't asleep. He wasn't snoring yet. Finally, it was broken again by his uncle.
"What are ya waitin for? An invite from The Pope?"
Dipper started, glancing to the dark blob that was his uncle's body on the bed. "No! No. I just, was thinking about some stuff."
"Well. enough thinkin, I don't need to hear you knockin about in that skull of yours. Get to sleep."
Dipper nodded, and went to lay his blanket down on the floor, hoping that he didn't settle down on something unpleasant. A hand gripped his arm gently, and he let out a startled yelp. "Wh! Grunkle Stan? What is it now?"
"Why are ya clutterin up my floor? Didn't I just tell you I had it organized the way I liked?"
Dipper didn't know if he would call the mess organized in any sort, but he couldn't understand what Stan meant.
"But, Grunkle Stan.. Where will I sleep?"
A heavy sigh, as if the question wasn't unwarranted, Dipper thought mutely. "Kid, this bed is big enough. You're like, the size of, I dunno, a small dog. We both fit."
Dipper gulped, feeling anxious. "You, you're gonna let me sleep here? With you? Doesn't that. I don't know, gross you out, or something?"
Stan let out a guffaw, sitting up on his elbow to look at the smaller shape of his nephew. "Dipper, stop bein ridiculous. You're not sleepin on the floor, or outside. You're gonna lie your butt down, and sleep, so I can sleep. And in the mornin, I'm lookin at that bite."
Dipper sputtered, before realizing what Stan said. "I thought you said you didn't know what I was talking about."
There was a pause, before Stan replied. "Arugh! Fine! Sleep outside or do whatever. Not like I care." and with that, he flopped back down, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders.
Dipper rolled his eyes, before grabbing his own blanket up from the floor. He hesitated, but tentatively laid down at the foot of the bed, trying very hard not to intrude on Stan's side. Eventually, he rolled over to face the wall, letting his eyes slip shut. Sleep refused to come, as he thought further about what his uncle had said.
Finally, he sat up, just barely being able to see the rise and fall of Stan's chest. His thoughts ran rampant, not understanding what was transpiring. What was Stan planning? Was he going to wake up outside tied to the porch or something equally as wild? Everyone else would find that hilarious. It wasn't out of reason, Dipper thought.
"What'd I say about thinkin? I can hear it from here. Also, starin’s creepy, kid."
"Sorry, Grunkle Stan. I just, can't figure out what you're trying to do." He admitted truthfully, ignoring the way the sheets scratched against his skin, making him hyper aware of how he felt.
"What I'm tryin to do is get your thick skull to bed. It ain't healthy for kids like you to be up this late. Why is that so hard to understand?"
"Because you're the- like.. Last person I'd expect to care about me being healthy. I mean, cmon Grunkle Stan. You let Mabel eat icecream for breakfast a week ago."
"That's irrelevant. I'm the adult, I know better. Why is it so hard for ya to understand that I'm tryin to take care of you?"
Dipper tucked his shoulders over his ears, shyly admitting, "Because I thought you didn't want to. Or that you cared really." The silence grew, and Dipper prepared himself for another insult. But all he got was a weary sounding sigh.
"Ah.. geez kid…" Even in the dark Dipper could see his uncle rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tick if there ever was one.
"Look.. Dipper. I know I'm not. Well. The best at anythin. Especially not the best caretaker ever. I know I'm rough on you two, and I know it seems like I don't care, but I…" His uncle trailed off, voice unusually quiet. "..course I do." And something that sounded suspiciously like "You're the only family I have left."
Dipper swallowed, wanting to believe the words, but feeling afraid to do so. His uncle was a liar. But yet, seeing Stan act so unlike his usual brash self gave Dipper pause. "D'you mean it?" Dipper quietly questioned, staring hard at the dark shapes that were his hands under the blanket.
Stan nodded, before quietly whispering back. "...Yeah kid. I do."
Dipper felt his eyes prickle, and his neck grow hot at the sudden burst of emotion within him. His anxieties and fears soothed by the balm of Stan's truth. He let out a shuddering breath, and managed a small "okay." in return.
There was another silence, before Stan lifted the corner of his own blanket, his arm staying raised. "Cmere, Kid."
And Dipper did. For once he went to his uncle without being on alert of ridicule, knowing he wasn't going to be judged for seeking comfort at this time. Especially not with Stan offering it so openly. He quickly shuffled under the blanket, and laid next to his uncle. He tried not to intrude in the space again, but that was quickly put to a stop as Stan lowered his arm and rested it behind Dipper's back, letting his arm be used as a pillow.
Dipper swallowed again, trying to curb his tears, lest he be told to man up. But he threw it to the wind in a sudden motion, quickly turning to his uncle and burying his face into his chest. His breath left in quick little gasps as tears finally came forth.
"Hey, hey.. Don't cry Dipper, its- it's alright." Stan murmured, trying to seem comforting but not knowing quite how, due to inexperience.
Dipper shook his head, his hands moving to grab the grubby sleep shirt of his uncle's. All Stan could make out was "Thought you hated me" in between hiccuping sobs, and his heart shattered.
"Oh, kid.. I don't hate you. I could never hate ya. Never." Stan assured him, pulling Dipper closer to him, and wrapping his arms around the boy, hugging gently.
Eventually, the sobs faded into quiet sniffles, as Dipper leaned slightly up, face blotchy and wet from his tears. He was spent emotionally, and limply flopped back down, trying to ease his breathing.
Stan sighed, tucking the blanket around Dipper, while wiping his cheeks with a thumb. Dipper cringed slightly at the rough thumbpad, worn from years of age and work, but eventually leaned into the touch, seeking the warmth and comfort he desperately wanted.
"Alright kid. No more yappin. We can talk in the mornin. Goodnight." Stan told him, once more tucking the blanket in close, trying to soothe Dipper.
Dipper yawned, and snuggled his head against his uncle's chest, cheek resting against the familiar fabric. He wound his arms around his uncle, and in turn, Stan laid an arm over Dipper's back. Dipper let out a small hum of contentment, the weight and warmth reassuring to him. He let his eyes slip shut as he focused on Stan's heartbeat, and the constant slow rise of breath beneath him.
Sleep claimed him quickly, and Stan sighed, looking up at the ceiling in the dark. He told himself then, that he'd try harder to let himself love these kids.
I did this piece as just like, general posing practice, but I think I manifested shit with it because halfway through it I got to practice hospital beds from visual memory :))) (I had kidney stones. Oh God. The pain. I'm fine now but jfdsigjdfg)
I hate non-organic backgrounds, so it may look a little rough. But I"m doing my best to get over that! So here you go. enjoy these old men.
As far as story behind the piece.. Ford probably got injured or somethin on the boat, but nothin serious. Or maybe, a checkup before sailing at all. Stan refused to have a gown. (Really, you make the story here. Just two bros snuggling in the hospital bed for comfort.)
Stan's hair is a little longer, just like Ford's. I hc that the more they spend time together as brothers again, the more they begin to look like each other again. Thus, Stan doesn't have a huge difference in facial hair.
Despite Stan's visual distaste for whatever show Ford could possibly be picking.. he'll let Ford pick, because he wants his brother happy and as comfortable as possible.
Do not repost anywhere else. Likes/reblogs are fine!
Reference under the cut :3 (and an extra friend closeup)
POV: You startle some random kid in the store on accident and are met with his threatening grandpa, holy shit is that a gun- (That is not his grandpa. But you don't know that. What are you, a cop?)
Some kind of anatomy/basic practice to get myself more into the groove of drawing stuff for my GF AUs and fics and whatever.
This particular scene is something from my AU with Ford having to take care of a deaged Stan, having to find a way to revert him, as well as take care of a heavily traumatized child. He comes to a lot of revelations about his childhood with Stan, and his own relationship with his parents before he fell into the portal.
All in all, just an excuse to make Ford the dad he never had, and to become the dad Stan never had. I just love seeing them be parents. (Not even just a parent, just taking care of their sibling. The platonic love fuels me.)
Please do not repost! Likes/reblogs are okay!
Art tidbits below the cut!
The shirt is pink because it is actually one of Ford's shirts! He hasn't had the chance to get properly fitting clothes until this very moment, so kiddo Stan runs around in Ford's much too large clothes. The shirt was originally white, with little grey fish, but Ford accidentally mixed his laundry with one of his Mabel sweaters. Oops. (Idk if yarn bleeds like that. I don't really mind the inaccuracy if it doesn't LOL)
As for the shoes? Eh I dunno. He found them. Or something. I honestly didn't think that far.
There are many smalls scars and old nicks on Ford's fingers from his many years of countless tinkering. As well as old scars on his arms. I didn't draw his knuckle scars from TBoB because I.. forgot tbh. I dunno if I'll add them to Ford ever tbh.
Kiddo Stan has blue eyes! I fought between different shades, then brown, then just forwent the iris entirely, until I just shrugged it all off and gave him colored eyes despite sticking somewhat to the GF style.
Kiddo Stan is not only pressing himself to Ford's leg, as well as gripping his jeans, but Ford is pushing him to his leg, ready to protect him from whatever has startled the child. Ford dropped their shopping to not only grab Stan, but to bring a hand to his hidden gun. (can it realistically fit into his pocket? Idk I didn't really care about that accuracy either.)
Page 2! I fuckin HATED how it looked before I fixed it. This looks different because I fought with the original drawing file in krita (I had atleast 60 un-named layers), then did the text in CSP. Which is where I do all my art now, so if things change, that's why!
As for the fic, I'm actually writing it! Hooray! I'll post a link to it when I upload it. It will be on AO3, prrrrobably not tumblr. But who knows.
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Rough basis is an AU where Stan gets deaged somehow, and Ford has to now man a ship on his own, and find a way to revert Stan. (Post-Weirdmagedon) This ends up with them going various places, having various experiences. Both angsty and comforting. This specific scene would be after a rough run-in with an anomaly, the two having to camp out, as they need an ingredient for the potion or smth to revert Stan still.
Stan is reminded of some unsavory memories, and the two have a short heart-to-heart, and Stan is comforted.
Fanart of the fic "My Own Two Hands" by thatisnotokay on AO3!
@/hopelesslydimwitted on tumblr!
Link!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59816422/chapters/152581276
This fic flung me against a wall multiple times. I rarely get emotional during fic readings, but this one was one of those that made me teary eyed. I think it may be because I love any AU with a kid Stan stuck with an adult Stan in one way or another.
Highly recommend this fic, even if that AU trope isn't your favorite. The emotions are so wonderfully written.
Close ups under the cut! Please do not repost anywhere. Reblogs and likes are okay!
Here it is, a comic page I made for fun to illustrate an idea I had. Rough basis is an AU where Stan gets deaged somehow, and Ford has to now man a ship on his own, and find a way to revert Stan. (Post-Weirdmagedon) This ends up with them going various places, having various experiences. Both angsty and comforting.
This specific scene would be after a rough run-in with an anomaly, the two having to camp out, as they need an ingredient for the potion or smth to revert Stan still.
Stan is reminded of some unsavory memories, and the two have a short heart-to-heart, and Stan is comforted.
I have no clue if I am going to finish this scene in a comic format. There is a page two, but I'm fighting myself whether to post it or not, considering how ugly it is to me LMFAO. (I did Ford so dirty in one panel I'm so sorry)
I do want to write the fanfic for the AU, but I just don't have much time to write. Perhaps someday!
Panel close-ups under the cut!
Cozy! They deserve to be cozy and love each other without an awful traumatizing event in the way!
(DO NOT TAG AS SHIP.)
Posted to my DA: https://www.deviantart.com/melodramaticwolf/art/1108711056
Drawing notes + closeups under the cut:
The pillowcases are part of a bed sheet set! I figured it would be fun to give them ocean related bed sheets and pillowcases. So the main pillows have seagulls, and the accent pillows have little waves.
Ford is paler and has darker eyebags because in my head, the little story I thought up was that he's recovering from an illness. Nothing paranormal (this time,) just a bad flu he thankfully had Stan to help him get through.
Stan has eyebags from having to consistently keep an eye on his brother, keeping him hydrated and taking care of him. Plus his own worry at seein Ford so exhausted and in pain.
Both are sporting some massive bedhead from lounging around all day. Ford for obvious reasons. Stan never strays far from his side, content to spend his day lying next to his brother, just in case he needs anything.
The pajamas! These were something I immediately had in mind when constructing the idea. I love the idea of the bros sharing clothes, whether it be a comfort item, or because one just doesn't have a clean shirt lying around. In this scenario, Stan just throws on whatever clean clothes he's able to find, since Ford is sweating through his own pretty quickly.
This is how they end up sharing a set, with Stan wearing the top, and Ford ending up with the bottoms.
The top of course, has the constellation Gemini. The constellation of twins. Because I saw the opportunity to give them a cute themed set and WENT with it. Mabel sent them maybe! Who knows!
The two crowd together on the bottom bunk, it being easier on Ford when he needs to get up, and easier on Stan to help him in and out of the bottom bunk as opposed to the top. (Stan also wants to stay nearby, in case Ford has any fever dreams that careen into nightmares. Can ya blame him? He has the chance to take care of his brother, he's gonna take it by golly.)
(He wants to make up for all the times he wasn't there to help Ford, whether it be from an injury, illness, or otherwise. Now that he has the chance to, he's going to.)
And of course, since its me, I gotta give them platonic affection. These two deserve it.
Here's my piece for the wonderful lyric comic that was done a bit ago!
And here it is at last! The Gravity Falls Multi-Artist Lyric Comic tribute to the Stan Twins, "Trouble"!
Stay tuned, as @stariousfalls is w
I was so ecstatic to be a part of this, and was absolutely loving every second of it. I made so many friends and had a lot of fun times while we did our parts. I'm still so thankful and incredibly happy to get to talk to them from time to time still!
A bit on the picture: My role was to draw a photograph that could have been feasibly taken by someone else. Whether it be past or future adventures! I based my Polaroid on a happy moment between the two after their turmoil, because I love drawing fluff and comfort. There's some bits I'm unhappy with but primarily, it looks great! I love how it came out. I am a big advocator for platonic cuddling and affection, so I made sure my piece had that presented.
WELL If I posted one old art piece I better post the others
I'm just gonna copy and paste the description I put on my former tumblr post, because I don't want to type it all out again
This art comes from a fanfiction/AU idea I've played with and am occasionally writing. I might do more art for it, and I do actually have a pmv for the AU planned, just want to actually write the fic before I go off on it. The short premise of the idea is that a Ford from an alternate timeline comes to theirs and tries to kill Stanley, not a new idea by any means but who CARES
DESIGN NOTES: I debated giving Ford his tattoo on his neck cuz I think its stupid. (LMAO) But I decided to overall,
they're wearing the same shirt cuz they wanted to do the twins wear same clothing joke as a way to bond and be twins again
The Evil Ford cuz I have no other name for him has no facial scars, while the present day twins have plenty. Good Ford has no jacket because in my fic I hope to eventually develop him to not want to cover himself up constantly. Stan isn't wearing glasses, because I based it off the last clip we see of them. Evil Ford isn't either because he can see without them due to. Magic I guess. I don't know yet LMFAO Both present day twins have blue eyes, I debated giving Stanley brown, and did for a bit. But eventually changed it.
