#virthiefictober

[fordanoia]

Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 6

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Scorched. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

______

It would have been better if he didn’t catch me in time.

Of course, he felt stupid afterwards for the thought. Of course, it was better Stan caught him. Even in the moment of when Stan had been fast enough to catch him before he floated far away, and strong enough to pull him back out of the pull of the portal too, he’d felt beyond relieved. 

His rough reunion with the ground, and safety, was enough to pull his mind back out of the panic it had set into when he’d initially started floating backwards. Now the two of them were slowly getting up from the ground, catching their breath from the dangerous experience that was gone just as suddenly as it had arrived. Really, it had been their own fault, fighting in the control room, but he had missed the portal activating and he could only guess Stan had as well. At the very least, even if he noticed it turning on, he didn’t think it was dangerous until Ford was floating midair.

Regardless, the only reason Ford had that thought now was because of the current awkward situation, set between the situation that had scared both of them and the argument that hadn’t been resolved. 

He could just as easily thank Stan as he could jump back into the bickering from before as if nothing had happened. Stan calling him the selfish one, blaming him for what happened to his life, ‘some brother you turned out to be...’ 

“What the Hell was that?!” Stan said, before gesturing back to where the dormant portal was now sitting, perfectly quiet.

“That’s-!” Ford snapped at him without thinking, but stopped as he could now see the glowing red outline scorched into Stan’s back, burnt completely through the hoodie and shirt he was wearing.

Stan had his other hand going over to hold onto his shoulder above the injury, and now he crossly looked back at him. “What?” He said, quickly getting upset. “No, come on, what is it, huh?”

“Your back, it’s-”

Stan cut him off dryly. “Yeah, I’m aware. Your point?”

Ford simmered, but did his best to let the tone agitate him. Ford had been the one to accidentally burn him, he wasn’t going to very well yell at Stan for his attitude on the no doubt intense burn.

“What were you going to say, cause I know that wasn’t it.” Stan’s voice jabbed through the air, on the brink of returning to yelling again. “Come on, I wanna know. I wanna hear it, Ford.” 

It was frustrating and Ford just wanted to yell it at him. Get it through his head why hiding the research was so important, why he’d needed Stan’s help, why-

Why this was all on the edge of disaster and on top of everything else the last thing he needed was another fight.

“What? Now, you’re going to clam up?” Stan scoffed derisively.

“That...” Ford started, quick to interrupt before Stan could say something that would no doubt have launched his last bit of patience into space, renewing the fight. He avoided looking at Stan to concentrate on his own words. “That’s why I wrote you for help.” 

“Ford, you know that’s not what I meant.”

He glanced back at him, “It’s an inter-dimensional gateway. I- I thought I told you that.” 

Stan visibly slouched. “Why’d that happen, Ford? I meant why’d that happen.”

“Oh, right.” Ford looked around briefly for the journal and went to pick it up as he explained, hiding it into his coat pocket for safe keeping. He didn’t know what to do about it right now, but he didn’t want Stan to immediately take it back only to resume trying to burn it again. “Well, we must have knocked enough controls around to activate it again. When it’s on, gravity reverses in close proximity to the portal.” He nodded to the caution line. “Anything past that gets caught in its pull.”

Stan glanced back to the portal. “... So you really would have got shot out into the middle of space.”

“Well, into a different dimension, but close enough.”His brother hadn’t quite pulled his gaze off of the portal yet, and Ford continued hoping he wouldn’t ask anything else about the destination. “That has to be a third degree burn on your shoulder.”

Stan’s shoulder stiffened slightly, as if mentioning it was enough to make it hurt more. “Yeah, what about it?”

Ford sighed. “Stanley, I’m sorry. Just... please let me patch it before the debris from down here can cause an infection or worse.”

“Wait. What do you mean ‘worse?’” He questioned, finally looking back at him again.

“Well, there is a lot of radioactive materials down here.”

“Jesus Christ, of course there is.” Stan laughed for a moment, running a hand over his face.

“Although, that wouldn’t really make much of a difference with or without a wound.” He continued reassuringly.

A crooked smile briefly flashed across Stan’s face. “Well... that sounds great.”

“I’m more worried about debris.” In regards to the burn, at the very least. “I should have a first aid kid upstairs.” He said, moving back towards the elevator.

“... Alright.” Stan conceded, following after him.

[flourchildwrites]

While I still have to read Bound By(sooon) how about a fictober prompt? If you dont have anything planned yet, either "fight" or "trapped" for royai? Thanks! Im loving what Ive read so far!

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (13/31)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

For @dvltgr

Prompt:   “Fight” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types

Relationship/Pairing:  Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang

Genre:  Pre-Canon, Young!Royai

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  1,726 words

Read on AO3

Dinner at Hawkeye Manor was a pleasant affair for those who were accustomed to long stretches of loaded silence. After three years of dining in a conversation vacuum, Roy Mustang had gotten used to it.

Berthold Hawkeye took his meals with his nose pressed between the pages of the newspaper while his daughter balanced the checkbook. Clinking silverware and chiming glass accompanied the pungent smell of printer’s ink as the tip of Riza’s pencil scratched against the household’s ledger. The set of the fourteen-year old’s blonde brow spoke volumes about the solvency of the Hawkeye estate, and judging from recent observations, Roy braced himself for another hard winter. He wrote home to his Aunt Chris, asking for sweet treats, a thick pair of gloves and extra blankets to see him through, intending to put the letter to post the next morning before his lessons.

“What are you doing?”

Riza’s voice was not entirely jarring, but the sudden urgency of the question caught Roy off guard. He flinched, nearly jumped out of his skin and pivoted in his chair, staring back at the knock-kneed tomboy as if he had seen a ghost. Admittedly, she had been looking paler lately; the threadbare quality of her clothes emphasized that fact.

“Writing a letter to my Aunt. Why?”

“The one who lives in Central?”

“Yes.” Roy supposed he hadn’t quite explained that he only had one aunt, that he knew of at least, but wasn’t about to start now. “Why?” Roy’s voice carried an edge that he hadn’t quite anticipated.

“Sorry,” he added, apologetically, “I’ve got a lot to do here, and you startled me. Is there something you need, Riza?”

Reluctance was not an emotion that Riza wore all that often or all that well. She fiddled with the frayed end of her baby blue sweater, refusing to meet his eyes as she spoke. “You should go into town to mail that letter this evening so it’ll go out on the morning train,” she said. “I’ll set aside some dinner for you. I’ll even give you an extra slice of dessert. It’s peach cobbler.”

“That will take almost an hour, and I don’t want an extra slice of dessert,” Roy retorted. “I can just give the letter to the postman tomorrow morning. One day won’t make a difference.”

Still stroking the hem of her clothing, Riza’s tone became impassioned. She looked up to meet the gaze of her father’s apprentice. “It might freeze tomorrow night, and the mail to Central could be delayed for weeks. Could you please, Roy? I- I need to talk to my father, and I think it’d be best if you were out.”

Roy opened his mouth to argue but stopped as the puzzle pieces fit together, forming a more precise picture in his mind. Riza needed to speak with her father, which she never did. She’d made Professor Hawkeye’s favorite food, peach cobbler, which they rarely could afford. Riza was offering Roy an extra slice of dessert - possible her own - because it was the only bargaining chip she had to offer.

He’d be an ass to refuse her request at this point. Aunt Chris had taught him better than that.

“Fine,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Roy glanced out the window as the wind gusted through the trees, knocking burnish yellow, brown and orange leaves from the branches. He shivered at the thought of a long, lonely walk down the dusty country road.

…

Roy returned later than intended with frozen toes and cheeks red and raw from the cold. As he stepped into the entryway and stamped his boots against the mat, Roy heard raised voices coming from their small kitchen, the place he usually ate dinner.

“I give you food. I give you shelter. I provide for a first-rate education, and what has that school imposed on us! The clothes on your back are fine as they are, and I should write that school an impassioned letter to protest non-academic endeavors. End of discussion.” Berthold’s raised voice loomed through the wooden walls of the dilapidated country home.

“All the other girls enjoy the cotillion,” Riza stressed. Her tone was high and shrill. “I don’t want to ruin it for everyone, but the nice dress I have doesn’t fit. I asked my teacher if I could help prepare and serve the food again with the lower grades, but she said no. I’m to be judged on table etiquette this year and dancing next year. The cotillion is one-sixth of my overall grade, Father!”

“Table etiquette and dancing!” Berthold scoffed. “I’m not going to allow you to spend a quarter of our monthly budget on frivolities such as shoes and dresses that you’ll wear once. What you have is sufficient.”

“Please, Father. I already tried letting out the seams. See? The hem is too far above my knees, and my chest-”

Roy crept close to the doorframe. He walked softly to muffle the sound of his footsteps against the hardwood and pressed his back against the wall. The apprentice stilled his breath to hear his master’s low, cruel utterance.

“Maybe you should eat less. It fit your mother fine when she was your age.”

There was a beat of silence as the weight of his words settled and wreaked their havoc. Roy’s fists tightened. His teeth clenched, and he heard the soft shuffling of fabric and shoes against the kitchen’s checkerboard floor as Riza darted into the hall.

He caught sight of her as she passed and was surprised to find Riza wearing a lacey white dress gone yellow with age. The delicate layers sat too high on her hips, and the button-up back was taut.  The effect strained the natural curves of her figure in places where the garment should have comfortably fallen. In the split-second their eyes met, she turned away and darted up the stairs toward her room.

As Roy followed in Riza’s footsteps, he stopped off at the small apprentice dormitory to discard his jacket, boots and scarf but caught sight of the dinner on his desk before he could peel the layers from his skin. As promised, there sat an extra serving a peach cobbler and a note thanking him for his discretion. The sight hurt Roy’s heart just as much as the soft sobs coming from the other side of the hallway.

He sat down to write another letter to his Aunt Chris and told himself that he didn’t mind two brisk walks through the bitter cold on the same evening.

…

If the crates stacked in the entryway of Hawkeye Manor bothered Berthold, he paid them little mind. The postman begrudgingly lugged them in from his wagon with sideways remarks about the size and weight that Roy pretended not to hear. It took the young man four trips to carry the wooden boxes to his second-story dormitory and twenty minutes more to recover from his exertions. But the content of crates far surpassed any expectations he might have had when he asked his Aunt if his sisters had a nice dress to spare.

Chris Mustang’s note was, as she, straightforward and to the point.

Roy-boy,

A dress is useless without shoes, coats and accessories. Your sisters have no need of these as they are from last year. See that they find a good home.

Aunt Chris

All that was left was to wait for Riza to return home from school.

…

“Oh, Riza,” Roy called out, pleased as a preening peacock, “could you come here a moment. I have a favor to ask.”

Roy waited with growing impatience for her to turn the corner and smiled like the Cheshire cat when her indignant scowl fell, quickly replaced by a look of wonder. At least a dozen dresses and coats of all colors and styles were laid over the two vacant beds in the dormitory. An entire jewelry box of ornate rings, bejeweled earnings and long strands of pearls sat casually on Roy’s nightstand. And in the corner of the room, a large crate of purses and high-heeled shoes sat, still waiting to be unpacked.

“My silly sisters thought you might be interested in some of their old dresses,” he started. “And I told them that, of course, you wouldn’t want last year’s styles, but they insisted, and here we are. Might you consider taking these off my hands? I’d hate to send them back.”

Riza approached the dresses with equal parts hesitation and fascination, running the back of her hand along the frilly sleeve of a shimmering, soft pink dress and burying her fingers in a fur-lined coat that, Roy realized, once belonged to his own Aunt. Then, suddenly, her awe turned sour as she shook her head to rid her eyes of the marvels before them.

“I can’t accept these, Roy,” she said sadly. “We can’t afford-”

“Oh, please,” Roy interrupted. He’d prepared himself for this particular argument. “No one would be caught dead in these clothes in Central City. And I realize it will be a hassle to take them in, but I’d hate to have to haul these to the post office. It’s so far away, and the weather is absolutely terrible this time of year.”

Roy hoped against hope that, just this once, she wouldn’t be so stubborn, and he was rewarded by a teary-eyes gaze that caught the reflection of the many metallic bobbles glinting in her new jewelry box. Riza gathered the clothing in her arms and looked at Roy with a heartbreaking grin that stretched the corners of her heart-shaped face.

“Thank you,” was all she said in reply.

Through the lump in his throat, Roy grumbled his own response. “Don’t mention it.”

He couldn’t go to the dance with her and probably would not spend another winter under Berthold’s tutelage. Neither could Roy change his master’s mind once it had been made up nor lessen the burden of her lonely life. But if he could play some small part in a brief moment of happiness, the young man decided he would take that chance, if not for altruistic reasons then selfish ones. If only so that when Riza would smile, all decked out in her finery as she departed for the cotillion, Roy would know he was responsible for it.

He would fight for her well-being, even after she herself had surrendered.

A/N:  Thank you so much for the prompt. I hope you like it even though I took royai and made it young!royai.  Today, I woke up thinking about my grandmother and a particular conversation she had with my father about a prom dress.  So, I guess this one it a little for her as well.  Feel free to send me pairing requests for particular prompts (Fictober or original) via my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day!

[elventhief]

Fictober Day 19: Death

A/N:  Okay so I really wanted to write this scene since I have since changed my plans for the later fics so this is 10000000% au where Cara is the high queen of skyrim (its a long story come bug me about it in my ask box if you'd like) but i enjoyed this idea so much i figured i'd put it here!

Cara placed the Jagged Crown on her brow, the weight of it, making what was about to happen seem that much more permanent. She felt Miraak at her side.

“You do not have to do this, I know you do not want to.”

“I know your thoughts on the matter.”

“That does not mean that you have to do this.”

“He tried to kill me, if I let him live, who am I? Certainly not a queen. Not one that can lead her people anyway.”

Miraak gently grabbed her jaw to have her look at him, his eyes worried. “You have a gentle heart, dii lovaas. We all know this, no one can fault you for staying your hand.”

“It’s because I have a gentle heart they don’t take me seriously. It will break my heart, but,” she paused, stepping away from him, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin. “This is something that must be done.”

She left the tent without another word, and Miraak followed.

The wind whipped at their robes, the camp silent as Cara, Miraak, and their honor guard walked through the cliffside camp.

A large crowd had gathered, some of the Jarls that had ridden south with them to fight the Thalmor, some lords and knights of the Empire.

Cara’s gaze snapped to that of her mother, her sister, and two brothers.

“Carawen, please I’m begging you, please pardon him.” Her mother implored, fighting the grip of two of the honor guards that were holding her back.

“Please, escort them out of here,” she adverted her gaze from her family. “They don’t need to see this.”

“You traitorous bitch.” Her older brother, Koredil swore, spitting on the ground at her feet.

“King Voriiel will put your head on a pike for this.” Nelaril added.

Cara stared at her brothers, sadness in her eyes. “I know you will never forgive me, but I’m sorry.”

Her sister was crying into their mother’s shoulder, but the guards took them away as she had asked.

Cara brought her gaze to the man kneeling in the center of the circle that had formed.

“Lord Falnar Direnni. You stand accused of attempted murder, and attempted assassination of the High Queen of Skyrim. How do you plead?”

The Altmer in front of her stared at her, venom in his blue-purple eyes. “I only regret that I didn’t throw you to the sea when you were a child, graxifalas hulkynd. You’ve been a disgrace since your mother birthed you.”

“Before I sentence you, father, I would speak for myself for once, not as Queen, but as your daughter.”

“You are no daughter of mine.”

Cara smiled. “You have said that all my life, but my imperfection comes from you, your bloodline. For years I thought, like a stupid child perhaps one day we could reconcile. But now I know that would never be the case.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “You are right, though. You are not my father, not really. I share your blood, but you do not share mine. Auri-El gave me my soul, Mara blessed it. I am the Last Dragonborn, I am of the Dragonblood, and that still doesn’t matter. All that matters is, I became the very thing you didn’t want me to be. And that is enough for me.”

The elf shook his head. “I pray for the day you die, even if it is not by my hand.”

Cara let out a deep breath. “Lord Falnar Direnni, I, Carawen Direnni, Arch Mage of the College of Winterhold, Stormcrown, Laat Dovahkiin, and High Queen of Skyrim, sentence you to die for your crimes against Skyrim and her people.”

“You won’t do it. You’re weak.”

“May the gods have mercy on you, father.”

“MUL QAH DIIV!”

Cara’s spectral dragon form settled over her shoulders, a blanket of black, gold and violet shimmering against her robes. Regal horns formed and fanned out from her brow, great transparent black wings settling on her back.

A realization settled over the old elf’s features as she took several steps towards him. “It wasn’t a lie, you really are-“

“Dovahkiin, geh, bormah.” Her Voice made the sky rumble.

Cara saw the fear in his eyes .“I’m sorry it has to end this way.” she murmured, no one but perhaps Miraak understanding her through the rumble of the sky.

“KRII LUN AUS!”

Her Voice rang out into the night, and Falnar slumped over into the dirt without a sound.

A/N: translations

graxifalas hulkynd- Aldmeri for 'Disgraceful Broken Child'

[andyfire122]

Writetober day 28: Ruins

(Seems Claire snuck in this time. Claire belongs to @captainthane)

Claire was impressed with this town she stumbled upon. It wasn't anywhere on the map but that didn't stop people from greeting her. It was refreshing to find human beings just genuinely being kind to each other.

It's almost like it's just contagious here.

She turned around when someone tugged on her shirt. The woman looked down to find a little girl in a brown dress just smiling at her. What was shocking was the fact it looked like she had a pair of tiny white wings.

The little girl grinned. “Your really pretty miss.”

Claire could only smile at that. The child just radiated joy. “That's very kind of you. Do you live here in this town?”

The little girl nodded almost as if she was just excited to even talk to someone new. “Yeah, I live here with daddy. My name is Sarah, what's your name miss?”

She smiled. "You may call me Claire, young one. Is your daddy nearby?"

This town has the safest feel but I don't see any parent letting a child this young alone in a village.

Sarah grins. "Daddy is working on new clothes he can sell in the city. I can play as long as I come home before it's dark."

Did those wings on her back move?

She grabbed Claire's hand and tried to tug her along. “Come on miss Claire. There is so much you can see in the village. Your gonna love it!”

Claire just laughed and let her be led by this young child.

000000

As the sun had begun to set, she at least walked Sarah home. The little girl's enthusiasm was almost contagious but she had a good time being showed around this little town.

Sarah paused and looked back. “So did you have fun miss Claire?”

Claire nodded. “You make a lovely tour guide.”

She looked down for a moment. "I have to say sorry. When I first saw you, it felt like a part of you was scary. That wasn't nice of me, because you're nice."

Wait, did she sense Fona somehow?

The woman dismisses the thought. Many things are still a mystery in the world, this child was no threat.

She knelt and patted Sarah on the head. "It's alright, I am new in town. It just means you were very brave to be so kind to me."

The child giggled before looking at the house on the hill. “That's my house.”

Sarah paused before running back. She handed Claire a small object while smiling. It was a small pretty stone.

“That's my favorite. I'm letting you borrow it so you better come back to town to give it back."

I honestly can't say no to that face.

Claire nodded and pocketed the rock. “Very well, I will return this to you next time little one. Now you better get going. Your father is waiting for you.”

Sarah waved as she ran over to her house. It was a pleasant experience for Claire. No demons, or even human cruelty. It was what she hoped life could be.

000000

It was almost a year since that first meeting as Claire stood in the ruins of little Sarah's home. Most of the village had repaired itself after what they called the great fire. Though they left this house untouched.

Many lives were lost including Sarah and her father.

“I'm so sorry little one. It seems I came back too late.”

She took out the stone and looked at it for a moment. There was a part of her wanted to leave it here in the girl's house. She decided to keep it instead.

I did promise to take good care of it. This shall serve as a good reminder. I won't make that mistake again.

The village itself just seemed to lose its charm. It's like all the joy seemed to leave it when that girl left the area. A lot of them just seemed to now call it a curse. All because they couldn't protect their little angel.

Claire sighed. “Well, there's nothing left for me here anymore. Time to move on.”

[hearttok]

Writetober 14: Scars.

Everyone has scars in some way.

Some physical, some mental or emotional. A scar is a scar. 

Faye is no exception, of course. There was a reason she had always worn jean overalls, back when she was human. Her legs still had some leftover burn scars from her attempted sacrifice. She had a faint scar over her mouth as well, from a breakdown once while she was writing. 

Her other scars, however, are mental and emotional. 

Trauma, of course, from her past experiences with fire. Paranoia from her time looking for answers she should never have looked for, and from always being watched. Less trusting as well, from being manipulated by who was now her boss. 

She was also less... truthful herself, keeping many many secrets. She has to, for other people’s safety. It hurts, though, to keep things from others, so she decided to keep a distance, for her own good.

The scars remain, no matter what, and they still give her pain from time to time, but she gets through it. She has to.

[fordanoia]

Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 7

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Moon. “No, and that’s final.”

______(~1k words) ______

Bandaging Stanley’s wound went relatively well, though perhaps only because neither one of them talked beyond basic exchanges. ‘This is going to sting.’ ‘You done?’ ‘So how many limbs am i losing?’ 

The last one, admittedly, made Ford smile a little, although there was a part of him worried about the wound still. Even if he had picked up the magic of the sigil, as the orange glow indicated, it was a protective one so if it did anything it should be to help him. 

After they went downstairs and Ford handed him a painkiller medicine, he expected them to break out of the silence immediately. They didn’t. Though it was only a matter of time.

Ford realized why Stan avoided talking for just a few moments, probably stalling on time for the stinging pain from the medicine on his shoulder to die down before another fight potentially flared up with more injuries or going out into the cold that could feel good, but most likely would be an unpleasant minute until his car warmed up.

Why Ford himself didn’t just get it out of the way though, especially when he didn’t have the time? ... What was he doing? Maybe it was some belated hope that Stan might change his mind about taking his research to hide it, except nothing had changed so there was no reason for him to think that might happen.

He heard a distant hum like the portal that he was sure he was imagining again, because it couldn’t be active and it was just his mind replaying what had happened downstairs. That could have done something. He should be checking on that instead of just sitting idly by-

Light flashed and Ford’s eyes shot open, first recognizing that they had been slipping closed which was always a bad sign, then noticing the kitchen lit up with dim yellowing light from above the kitchen sink then dark with a triangular shape of moonlight from the small window falling onto the floor in front of him. 

Finally, he noticed Stan, who was beside the light switch flicking it back and forth, leaving it on when Ford looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at him and let his hand fall back down again.

Ford quickly felt his breathing returning to normal. “Why did you do that?” He asked tiredly.

“Well, saying hey wasn’t waking you up and I was already over here.” He said with an unbalanced shrug. 

“...I was asleep?”

“Looked like you were getting there.” Stan answered nonchalantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Ford straightened up, and ran his hands through his hair, harsher than necessary for some painful stimulation to confirm that he was really awake right now. Everything since Stan had arrived had left him with far less mental energy than normal to manage any nightmare scenarios, which was really saying something considering his average mental energy these days.

The words came out of Ford’s mouth as soon as he thought them. “You need to go.” 

Stan stopped breathing for a moment, and after a beat his breath came out with a word. “What?”

Ford tried to think of a million explanations and his thoughts crumbled onto one another uselessly. “I have to work and you don’t want to be here.” 

“Who said-” but as soon as Stan started, he just as quickly stopped himself and shifted, his stance widening as he pointed at Ford. “You know what, you’re the one that asked me to come here and one minute later you ask me to leave. You didn’t want me here, I don’t care. I don’t-” He took a step forward, and harshly repeated himself. “I don’t care, Ford! Hell, I couldn’t care less even, but you don’t call me here then send me away because you suddenly don’t even want me here at all!”

“How could you-” Ford grumbled before matching Stan’s level of noise. “I didn’t change my mind! I needed you here to take the journal and hide it! How is that- How-?” He laughed in disbelief at Stan, at this entire situation, at how he was having this argument in a series of events that shouldn’t have ever happened. “Why are you-?”

“Because I came all the way out here, and now all you want is to never see me again!!”

“I didn’t say that!!”

“You told me to go as far away as possible!”

“I wanted you to take my RESEARCH as far away as possible!”

“Then hire a fucking mailman!!” Stan shouted, swinging his arms out wide, a restrained cringe in his expression.

Ford put his hands against his head that was mere seconds from bursting and his surroundings swinging back and forth, glaring down at the floor.

Stan audibly sighed, taking quick steps to his left then back again to his right back in front of Ford, breaking where the moonlight fell onto the ground. 

Ford couldn’t help but notice how Stan was faced towards the hall though, ready to walk away, ready to leave, ready to- “You don’t want to help me, that’s fine.” He should have known. He should have- Ford continued, refusing to look up. “I don’t need you to take the journal.” 

“Just let me...” Stan’s hand started to lift from his side, and Ford saw it- Stan taking the journal and burning it, just to get back at him, burning away years of his life, the only years worth anything.

Ford interrupted before he could finish the sentence, finally looking up with a venomous glare. “No, and that’s final.”

Stan withdrew his hand, eyes wide, and took a short step back. A brief silence before he would no doubt snap at him about his ‘dumb mysteries’ again. 

Except that never came because within that short second the glow off of Stan’s shoulder shined bright enough that Ford could see the orange light mingling with the moonlight, and Stan’s legs apparently giving out underneath him as gravity suddenly pulled him straight down.

“Stanley?!” 

[fordanoia]

pffff okay so... this was going to be the next fic, but on the very last sentence I decided I didn’t like it so I’m just dumping it here.

Ficlet Scraps Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 8 Scraps (Again!! More Scraps!!)

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || wop wop stan is turned into a kid and ford’s trying to figure out what to do between him and the permanent threat of bill

______(~1500 words) ______

To be honest? Stan didn’t know who this even was. He looked too much like Pa though for him not to be related. Well if Pa didn’t wear suits and forgot to wash or shave. Stan’s best guess was that he was some older cousin or second cousin once removed twice joined, something like that. He didn’t remember seeing him before.

Except, he didn’t really remember much of anything around him right now. Not the messy kitchen, and he definitely should have remembered getting into clothes way bigger than him, or where he was at. He could see snow falling outside, which meant it definitely wasn’t Summer.

The guy took a deep breath, looking beyond tired which was all the more reason for Stan to not stick around him. “Stan? What’s the last thing you remember? Before you saw me.”

“I was making myself a sandwich, that’s all. I didn’t do nothin’.” Stan lied easily, well the last part might not have been, but he pretty sure it probably was. He tied the top of the pants into a knot so they’d stay up and rolled up the sleeves and pants legs before getting up.

“I didn’t- I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I’m just-” He stopped, grimacing like he was already fed up with Stan. 

There was something fishy about the way he avoided telling him where Ford was; like he knew, but didn’t want to tell him. If the guy had been a jerk he would have guessed it was because he locked Ford into a room or something like that, but it didn’t feel like that which gave him a bad feeling that Ford wasn’t okay and the guy just didn’t want to tell him outright. Or maybe Ford was somewhere else. Stan tried not to think about either of those options for too long though, all he had to worry about was finding Ford then everything would be alright.

Just as Stan was thinking about banging into every room in the house, the guy asked him another question.

“What year do you think it is?” He asked without looking at him, dead set on staring at the kitchen table behind him instead, one hand holding onto the side of his face like he was just barely keeping himself from an urge to cover his face entirely.

Stan stopped, thinking this was some precursor to some unjustified scolding, but the expression on his face wasn’t right. “Uhh...”

He seemed unwilling to look right at him, not even angry, but like there was something about Stan that made him not want to look at him. Instead of getting mad when Stan unanswered, he got visibly more tense and uncomfortable with Stan looking at him without saying.

“What year do you think it is?” Stan asked, turning the question back around on him.

“I know what year it is.”

“Great, so do I.” 

“Stanley, it’s 1982.” He said, getting it out quickly. “It’s not-” he briefly glanced at Stan’s face before glancing away again- “62 or- the early 60s.”

He’d time travelled into the future. He went from completely silent to bubbling with excitement within the span of a second. “Prove it.” Maybe he’d accidentally found an old relic on the beach that actually brought him to the future, or some mysterious artifact in the pawn shop. Or time ghosts-!

The guy let out a breath, looking around and finally standing up. “There’s- I don’t know, there’s-” he pushed his glasses up with a hand to rub at his eyes. “You can see the forest out that window, we’re not in New Jersey. I don’t have time to look for a calendar-”

“Wait! Where’s my brother?” He forcefully asked again, harshly cutting him off.

Stan caught the pained expression that crossed the guy’s face, and how he tensed up like he’d just been given a particularly hurtful insult. “He’s- fine, but you-” The guy said evasively as he quickly went to fold his arms behind his back in a gesture that Stan immediately recognized.

Stan tuned out whatever he was saying and grabbed onto one of his arms to stop it and see his hand. He let go again once he was able to count the six fingers. “Ha!” He grinned back up at him. “I knew it was you, Ford!”

Instead of returning his excitement though, Ford just looked uncomfortable. “There’s more than one person with polydactylism.” 

“Yeah, but what are the chances of more than one being as big of a nerd as you?”

Ford scoffed, with a hint of a smile. 

“Hey, so what’s going on anyways?” Stan asked. “You look like...,” he glanced him over, “you look like what people feel when they say they need a vacation.”

He shook his head, still avoiding looking at him. “I’m- I’m- what’s important right now is that this is dangerous,” he said pointing at the ground between them. “You...” he seemed to flounder a bit. “I do not know how to fix your current situation.” He said each word just a bit too carefully to sound normal.

“I only just got here, I don’t wanna go back right away anyways!” He objected. “Besides what’s so dangerous about this?”

“Being in this house is dangerous, in this city. Stanley, you have no idea what’s going on!”

“I asked you what was going on! Look, Sixer, just tell me-”

“Don’t!” Ford interrupted him with a venom that came out of nowhere, and finally looking at him again.

Stan glared up at him. All he’d been doing was just asking to know what was going on. He’d expect Pa to yell at him for stupid questions, but Ford shouldn’t have... 

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Ford said, once again glancing away again though now guility at least. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Well, you did anyway.” Stan grumbled, crossing his arms and not looking at him. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He said.

Being suddenly in the future with an older version of his brother should have been fun. “... Why do you keep avoiding looking at me?” He finally asked, pushing back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

There was a beat of silence... then another. Finally, he saw Ford getting down onto a knee and Stan looked over at him where Ford had put himself back to be at least close to his same eye level. 

This close, Stan could see the purple tint of the veins under his eyes. “Stan.” He said, looking straight at him. “It- It is terrifying that you’re here like this.” 

“What? Why?”

Ford paused. “Because... the longer you’re here the more likely something bad is going to happen to you. As an adult, you would be able to protect yourself, if you were on guard. Sometimes even then- even then you shouldn’t be here.” He cleared his throat, continuing. “As a child, without your usual strength, if you encounter...” He started hesitating.

“What? What is it?” Stan asked earnestly. “Hey, if you don’t tell me what it is then I’m not gonna know it when I see it. Is it like a monster?”

“... yes. Yes, it’s like a monster.” Ford looked down. “You were- I was going to ask you to take some of my research away, but then-” He looked back up, and gestured at him.

“Wait a second.” Stan said. “Okay, first off that doesn’t make any sense. Second off though, where am I?”

Ford blinked. “Oregon. We’re in Oregon.”

“No, no I mean the older me that’s here.”

“That is you. You are you. Wait-” Ford paused, confused. “I mean, there is no ‘older you’ because the older you turned into you right now.”

“That clears up nothing.”

“I am very tired, give me a moment.” Ford covered his eyes, then blinked hard. “Alright. Some magic sigil reacted with you and turned you into a child.” He finally said, gesturing at Stan at the end.

Stan glanced over at the boots that had been too big for him. “Oh.”

“Precisely.”

“Okay uh, how do I turn back then?” Stan asked, looking back at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck.”

Ford halfheartedly laughed, pushing on the floor to stand back up, and stumbled just slightly, grabbing onto the counter top for balance. 

Stan watched him for a second. “Are you okay...?” 

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” Ford said. “Listen, Stanley, I need to go check on some machinery downstairs. Can you stay?”

“Why can’t I just come down with you?” Stan asked.

“Because- because the magic sigil tis downstairs and I don’t know yet what would happen if you got near it again.” He said, lying badly.

“Uh-huh.”

Ford let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Just stay here, and whatever you do don’t go outside and if you hear anything or anyone outside then yell for me right away.” He told him, beginning to walk off, and abruptly stopping to turn back towards him again. “And- Just please, promise me if you even think you hear something you’ll get me.”

“Jeez, relax, I promise.” He waved him on.

Ford hesitated, but left quickly moving down the hallway.

He didn’t know how long he’d take, but hell this gave him time to look around to figure out what the monster was.

[fordanoia]

Fictober19 / Writetober: Day 3

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: Character Death || Loss. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

______

Filbrick had never been much good with talking, a man of few words, so she wasn’t surprised to see his Last Will and Testament was only one page long.

He’d written it when he’d become bedridden and sealed it into a cheap envelope for the sake of formality.

The past few days had been emotionally exhausting to put it lightly and now, more than anything, she just felt tired. For once, Filbrick’s bluntness that started the letter was a comfort for her. It was just business. What was to be done with certain things. Simple and straightforward instructions.

Until the very end.

A single sentence requesting she tell the boys he loved them... including Stan.

Caryn’s hands crumpled the cheap paper as they began to shake.

After years of her trying to get him to say anything to Stanley again, casually mentioning him every long now and then just in the hopes that Filbrick would say something. Tell her to even just tell Stanley he said hello. Only for him to remain in stony silence.

“Now? Now you listen to me?”

Not even at the end, but after it, did he budge.