If you guessed a new story to read, congratulations! You're right. Have a 🍪, you smart lil' thing.
Alright, alright, enough prattling from me. Here's the latest fic:
Cat Got Your Tongue?
Summary:
Mashita must have some kind of weird luck to end up cursed again. Good news: It's not dangerous. Bad News: It's really visible and embarrassing as hell.
He makes the curse Yashiki's problem as well, and things get a little hairy. Emotionally, anyway.
As mentioned before, Adrien's parents have distanced themselves from him for differing reasons. Emilie because she's ashamed of having not been able to stop what happened, sending her into a depression & Gabriel, because he's single-mindedly focused on finding the cure to his son's curse the same way he's single-mindedly focused on getting his wife back in canon.
Either way, both are unnerved at the sight of their son in cat form & have both even taken a certain disliking to cats in-general because of the trauma.
On the other side of the coin, both Nathalie & Gorilla have taken a shine to the boy in both forms, becoming his security net.
To be completely honest, those 2 downright spoil the boy at times. Even going so far as to get him a cat condo & plenty of kitty toys to play with.
(They even know about him being Chat Noir & become his silent supporters.)
Upon getting his Miraculous, Plagg sorta becomes his 'Cat-Dad' & it's actually really adorable. He's constantly trying to teach the kid how to be s real cat & he generally does well. Except, he doesn't really like to eat mice. Oh, he'll hunt & catch them, but he's more likely to make friends & play with them afterwards than kill & eat them. So, he's good at hunting, tracking, chasing, & catching, but not killing.
However, as it turns out, he's got a certain talent for fishing with his paws. Plus, fish are the 1 thing he craves almost as much as sweets.
You fuckers, take this and get out of my sight/Positive with as much love in my heart as I can possibly feel.
@dark-lord-of-awesomeness @artistredfox
You are both enablers xoxoxo
Driving through a small seaside town, it was hard for Stan not to notice the similarities to his childhood: a small pier by the docks, streets lined with little shops peddling knick-knacks to tourists. Even hundreds of miles away, it was funny how quickly a place could feel like home. He couldn't deny the pull he felt when he slowed to a stop outside a little antique store that reminded him of the pawnshop, unclipping Ashford from his worn car seat they'd decorated with various stickers and keychains.
He had only expected to take a look around, maybe pick up another trinket to add to Ford's growing toy collection, when he stepped inside. Impressed by the various oddities on display, the bright colours and smells caused a wriggling Ford to squeal as his hands reached towards a wind chime, leaving Stan to chuckle as he adjusted his grip to settle him on his hip, pointing out some of the more baby-friendly items he could make out to his son’s delight.
No doubt Sixer woulda loved this stuff. Stan thought with a bittersweet smile as he eyed a jar full of pickled newts, turning his attention back to his son when he heard a distinct babble. His smile grew warm and soft as he watched Ashford's eyes widen in awe, staring at the 'magical' items on display, casting a glow that seemed to light up the entire section. Stan let Ford look around while he went back to searching, scanning the shelves before settling on a few items he thought Ford might like, returning a wave from the kindly-looking man working the cashier.
Stanley was just about to make his way over and perhaps haggle with the man when a bright flash lit up the room, accompanied by a cacophony of smashing glass and popping. Stan barely had enough time to react, yelping as he adjusted to the sudden lighter weight in his arms before it could drop to the floor. A small, fluffy ball eventually cradled in his hands.
In front of Stan's very eyes, his Son disappeared, replaced by a little tortoiseshell kitten no bigger than his palm, the tiny, mewling thing wriggling against his gentle hold. The entire room seemed to freeze as Stan faltered, completely overwhelmed with shock whilst staring down at the young cat, eyes briefly trailing over the broken necklace shattered on the floor.
The man at the counter cursed, snapping Stan out of his dazed shock just long enough for the situation to sink in as he opened his mouth. "WHAT THE FUCK?"
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The man called out, rushing from behind the desk and sailing around the corner.
"What just happened? Where's my Son?!" Stan screamed, fumbling to keep hold of the kitten as it whined, its little claws catching in his sleeves, the man's footsteps stumbling as he finally turned round the corner, bringing a hand up to stop Stan in his tracks.
"Just-just stay right where you are, I should be able to-Oh Fuck."
"What?!" Stan yelped, his head snapping up to the cashier's teary face, feeling his heart sink like a stone when he caught the wide-eyed fear painted across the man's eyes. The feeling only sank lower as Stanley watched him crouch, examining the broken gem scattered across the floor, bringing a shaking hand to lift a piece of the greying material, all whilst Stan struggled to catch his breath, holding the kitten closer to his chest as if it would disappear as well.
"This is bad, this is really, really bad." The man muttered under his breath, bringing a hand to cover his mouth as his head shook in disbelief, leaving Stan reeling as he struggled to piece together what the fuck just happened.
"Listen here, I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not funny. Give my Son back right now," Stanley growled lowly, eliciting a sharp flinch from the man as he straightened up, eyes darting from Stan's face to the squeaking bundle held to his chest. The panic ebbing as white-hot anger came rushing up to replace it, masking the fear hammering in his chest.
"I-I'm s-so sorry." The man stuttered, "I-I never leave t-things out usually. I-it was only meant to be a security thing! I would never-"
"What did you do?" Stan cut him off, voice growing dark as he tried desperately to rein himself in, if only for Ford's sake. He could lose his mind later, when he had Ford safely back in his sight.
"The cat." Was all the man could say, trembling as he pointed towards the bundle, which was struggling against Stan's chest, its little peeps curling out of its mouth from where it pushed itself up.
Stan's head spun as he looked down at the tiny little thing, still mewling as it buried its face in his jacket, pawing at the red fabric with each heartbreaking cry. The little patterns dotted in its fur, now slowly standing out as Stanley traced the star and moon designs etched, impossibly, across the hair. The very same as the one printed on Ford's onesie.
"This isn't funny." Stan spluttered, face dropping as the man's expression remained deadly serious, grief and regret impossible to fake, no trace of laughter or humour to be seen.
"You mean- This is really- Fuck, FUCK. Fix it, dammit, why are you just lookin' at me, fucking, turn him back." The man shook as Stan advanced, each step sending him further until his back hit the glass case behind him, cornered in as Stan glowered above him.
"I CAN'T!" He yelled, scrambling to keep his footing as tears began to stream down his cheeks. "The amulet broke, it had the incantation imbued in it to reverse it, I-I made it so if you touched it again you'd turn back, b-but I-it completely shattered and I don't have a way to make another one."
Cursing, Stan leant back, his anger curdling in his gut until it felt like he couldn't breathe, zapping all the strength from his limbs as he sank to his knees, eventually pressing his lips into the soft fluff of his son's head, trying to stifle the sudden sob threatening to escape.
"I- Oh god, I'm so sorry, I don't know what to do. I don't- fuck." The man broke down, hunching to place a hand on Stan's shoulder as silent sobs wracked through him.
Stanley didn't have any ideas; the thought of Ford staying like this was paralysing, his heart thundering in his ears and washing out the world around him, until nothing but his son's squirming body remained. It was rushing through him, clawing at him desperately, pressing down on him like a weight.
How am I meant to fix this? He pleaded, soundlessly. Will it wear off? Will he be stuck like this forever? Will he still be himself? Each thought crashed over him like a wave, sending him deeper under. Until a single, brilliant idea struck him like a bolt of lightning, pushing him to his feet to stumble out the door before the cashier could stop him.
If there was anyone who could help them, it would be Stanford.
Stan didn't stop until his feet hit the pedals of the Stanleymobile, dragging the gear into reverse as he ignored the cashier's panicked cries begging him to slow down. He didn't stop as he settled Ford in his lap, cocooned in a soft blanket to ensure he'd stay safe and protected whilst he drove.
He went until late evening, halfway out of the state, barely remembering to feed Ford in his mad rush to make it into Oregon, the address scrounged up from a previous call with his Ma. A place called Gravity Falls, if Stan could recall. The brief panic at a pet store, over what his son could eat, was thankfully silenced when he came across some sort of kitten formula.
Stan drove through the night, worry pounding fiercely in his chest as he kept glancing from his Son, curled up asleep in his lap, to the road, whatever sleep he may have been able to manage, drowned out by the stabbing shards of terror punctuated with every breath he took.
When he finally arrived, 2 days later, haggard and worn, following the kind diner’s directions, Stan was so wound up he couldn’t help the tears beginning to stream down his face, cooled by the wind as he scooped up his son’s tiny body feeling the rumblings of a purr begin, something new his son had learnt after a particularly rough feeding the night before. At least it confirmed that he could still recognize Stan, when those brilliant blue eyes finally locked on to his face and his mewls became a soft rumble, pushing his face into Stan’s as he cried.
Stan stumbled up the path, noticing the curtains flap shut as a silhouette moved from the room, hope alighting in his chest with every step. The door flung open suddenly, right as Stan made it to the porch, Stanford’s face twisted into a furious grimace, but whatever he might have said, in his anger, died on his tongue as Stan couldn’t hold back a sob, the force of it shaking his chest as he struggled to catch his breath between each broken crackle.
Holding out the kitten in his trembling arms, Stan couldn’t get the words out, vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. Stanford’s face flashed through so many emotions, crumbling as Stanley only sobbed harder, confusion over the small animal held in his brother’s arms only furthering the tight painful pressure squeezing around his heart.
“Wha- Stanley?!” Stanford finally managed, rushing forwards just as Stan tilted, catching him as he stumbled into his brother’s arms. “What are you doing here? What happened?” Stan could only cry harder, feeling a six-fingered hand press again his back to stabilize him, all too familiar and distant at the same time.
“Ford- h-hhe n-needs” Stan tried, only for his voice to lose its strength as he broke down, pressing his face into his brother’s shoulder, hanging on to the little kitten like a crutch.
Stanford was so caught off guard, so disturbed by the sudden appearance of his brother, there was little more he could do but bundle him closer and drag them both towards the door, Fiddleford’s stricken face peering out as he took in the sight before him.
“Christ Stanford, he alrigh’?” Fiddleford tried, brows furrowing further as Stanford brought Stanley closer, hearing the cries only deepen the closer they got.
“I have no idea, he just showed up like this, I- I’m not sure what’s going on.” Stanford replied, eyes alight with worry as he managed to wrangle Stan through the door, towards the kitchen. His fears only growing as his twin desperately tried to catch his breath, only to start once again as he brought the kitten closer.
“Alrigh’, alrigh’, let’s get ya settled now.” Fiddleford pushed on, leading the two brother’s to their chairs. Settling down across from them once they were sat, Stan’s muffled cries twisting his heart.
“Lee? Stanley, please, we need to know what’s wrong before we can help. That’s why you’re here right? So we can help you.” Stan tried to reply voice breaking before he could manage a single word, instead holding out his hands until Ford got the hint and took the kitten into his grasp.
“Oh, who’s this?” Fiddleford asked softly, trying to distract Stan enough but only making the man shake harder, eyes red and puffy from the constant stream of tears.
“I-it’s F-f-ord.” Stanley’s croaky voice finally spoke, breaking with each syllable as it startled another whimper from his throat.
Stanford and Fiddleford shared a glance, brows furrowing as he leant in, rubbing Stanley’s back with his free hand. “What?! No, Stanley, I’m right here, I assure you.”
“N-no, t-thats Ash-f-ford. M-my Son.” Stan choked out, sniffles filling the air as Fiddleford offered him a tissue.
“Lee, I’m sorry but this is a cat. Are you feeling ok?” Stanford said, ignoring the concerned glances from Fiddleford to instead face his brother.
“C-cursed”
At Stan’s stuttered admittance, Stanford straightened, eyes landing on the squealing kitten in his hand, finally making out the unnatural markings patterned in it’s fur. The bright blue eyes, locked on Stan as it mewled, paws outstretch swimming in the air towards him… like a child would.
“Sweet Mary and Joseph, thats a real baby?!” Fidds exclaimed, moving to pick up the whimpering kitten as Stanford froze in place, heart stopping in his chest, Stan’s cries growing louder as he slumped in his chair, leaning into the kitchen table.
“You named him after me?” Ford finally got out, causing a sudden, hiccuping laugh to erupt between Stan’s tears, nodding as he wiped at his eyes.
“H-heh yeah, course I did.” Stan mumbled, taking a few deep breaths before continuing “He broke t-this amulet thingy a-and the guy s-said he couldn’t-” he cut himself off, taking another deep breath, stronger, more sure this time. “S-so I came to you, t-thought you might be able t-to f-fix him.”
“Oh, Stanley” Stanford spoke softly, curling a hand around his brother’s arm as Fiddleford shushed the mewling cat, no, his nephew. “I’ll see what I can do. It’s going to be ok.”
