(art by @stephreynaart)

"Look over here." you said.

You held a Polaroid camera in your hands, the twins had bought it for you. It was their way of apologizing for not bringing you on their last world wide trip. It was a dated method of taking pictures, but you treasured it nonetheless. From Mabel's suggestion, you had started your own scrapbook to record these newly made memories with the men you loved.

Right now the three of you were taking a moment to enjoy the cliff side view of the ocean. This environment wasn't exactly new, in fact you had seen no less than 10 on this trip so far. The twins even more so. Despite that, all three of you couldn't help being caught in the majesty of the deep blue sea. the vastness of the open sky, and the coolness of the wind. Everything came together to create a sight that was familiar and still felt new every time.

The twins had sat down before you arrived and were quietly enjoying a break from the action and adventures of their current life at sea. This was a brief moment of respite, and you couldn't stop yourself from wanting to capture the moment.

Responding to your cry, both twins turned their heads to look at you. Well used to your itchy camera finger, they each gave you a smile as you captured the moment. Another to add to your collection. Another memory to keep safe and look back on when you returned home.

@stephreynaart

I made a shitty little edit

bongo belly....

Big Kids Deserve Hugs too

My @forduary entry, covering the prompts of Sleep and Au's. I hope you enjoy! (A HUGE thank you to @snapback-gravity-falls for beta-reading and helping me improve this fic)

(also on ao3!)

There was a shuffling outside of Ford’s room. Followed by several hushed whispers. The old man rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blindly passed his hand over his night stand for his glasses. It took a few moments. But he was able to read the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. 2:03 am.

“Greg, please, let’s not bother him.” Ford could make out Wirt’s voice from the other side of his bedroom door.

“Don’t worry Wirt!” Greg replied. He made little effort to lower his voice. “Mr. Ford will know what to do to help.”

“I just need to go back to sleep-Greg wait,” Wirt said, raising his voice.

There was a firm knock on his door. Stanford pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs off the side of his bed. He took a moment to stretch before getting up and opening his door. Before him stood the two half-brothers he had taken into his care. Greg stood in front of the door, his stance confident, even if his drooping eyes showed that he was still a little tired. Behind him was Wirt, looking like he’d been fighting for his life. His eyes were bloodshot , he had hastily wiped away tear tracks along his cheeks and sweat along his brow. Worst of all were deep bags under his eyes.

“Good morning boys.” Stanford said.

“Good night Mr. Ford.” Greg said.

“Sorry.” Wirt’s gaze wouldn’t meet his, seemingly more invested in the floorboards.

“What seems to be the matter?” Stanford stepped forward and placed a hand on Wirt’s shoulder.

“It’s nothi-”

“Wirt had a bad dream.” Greg interrupted.

“Did he now?” Stanford raised an eyebrow. He pulled his hand back and placed it on his hip.

“Yeah, and he needs help getting a good sleep. But I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

“Greg, you’re making it sound worse than it is.” Wirt said quickly. He roughly pulled his brother back from Stanford. “I’m sorry, it isn’t anything to worry about. I’ll just take us back to our room.”

Greg squirmed against his brother’s hold. “But you need help sleeping.”

“No I don’t,” Wirt whispered harshly, tightening his grip.

“Wirt. Are you having trouble sleeping?” Stanford asked.

“It’s nothing serious, just some bad dreams.” Wirt reassured. He waves his hand, loosening his hold on Greg. “I think I'm just getting stressed from assignments.”

Stanford wasn’t convinced. He knelt down to Greg and whispered into his ear. The young’s sleepy eyes widened with excitement. He gave Stanford a salute before escaping Wirt’s grasp and running back to his bedroom. Ford stood up and walked over to Wirt.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s troubling you?’ he asked.

“It’s nothing.” Wirt muttered, staring at a spot in the carpet. Stanford gestured to Wirt’s face. “‘Nothing’ doesn’t give you bags that take up half your face.”

“Are they that bad?” Wirt asked, patting his face.

“No, but take it from someone who spent years staying up to dawn’s light for weeks at a time, you're not the best at hiding your sleep deprivation.” Stanford smirked.

Wirt sighed. “It feels dumb. I didn’t want to come crying to you over something like bad dreams.”

“Believe me, I know that dreams can be far from harmless.” Stanford glanced down the hall towards the balcony. “Let’s get some fresh air.” He nodded towards the balcony door.

Wirt followed as Ford took the first few steps into the cool air of the balcony. The cool tiles against his bare feet made a shiver run along his spine. A much needed shock to wake him from his sleepy demeanor. He watched as Ford took in several deep breaths of the cold night air. It was still as the pair looked out to the black night sky, listening to the rustle of the trees in the autumn breeze.

“I won’t force you to tell me anything. If you’re not comfortable speaking about it, that is.” Stanford leaned forward, resting both his arms against the railing.

“I- I don’t know.” Wirt sighed. “I’m in high school…getting nightmares and crying to an adult about it feels like something Greg would do.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with seeking comfort Wirt.” Ford assured.

“I guess. Wait...how many times did Mabel have to grill you to think that naturally.” Wirt raised an eyebrow wryly.

“Oh dear, it seems my secret’s out. I’m glad that you haven’t lost your wit after having your nerves rattled.” Ford chuckled. He tilted his head towards Wirt, smile falling from his face. “I may have considered it a sign of weakness when I was younger, but with some help from my family, I realized that being harsh on myself in such a way was not helpful to anyone.”

“Mm. I guess that makes sense.” Wirt rested his hands on the cold metal of the railing. The warmth in his hand was quickly sapped. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, it helped ground him a little more as he gathered his thoughts.

“If it’s about the Unknown, then it could be the beast trying to get a hold of you.” Ford hummed. He tapped his chin, eyes fixated on the trees that swayed in the light autumn breeze beneath them. “I should have some materials to make some charms to keep you and your brother safe.”

“I wasn’t dreaming about the Unknown.” Wirt crossed his arms, staring at the floor.

“Oh.”

Wirt’s nails dug into his arm. He turned to Ford, his throat tightened as he tried summoning the strength to speak. His words died on his tongue as he opened and closed his mouth several times. He was about to turn back into the apartment when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. Looking up Wirt found himself looking into Ford’s caring gaze, and for a brief moment the fear that felt colder than the cold autumn air disappeared.

Taking a deep breath Wirt started to recall his dream. “I was getting ready for a party with my friends from school. We were on our way back here, but instead of presents they helped me pack my bags. When I asked them what they were doing, you stepped into my room and said that I was old enough to be on my own…and…that I needed to move out. I tried to say something, ask why or convince you to not throw me out, but you would just laugh over me.

“I wanted to cry, but something in me made me scream out that you were being unfair. After that, the world around me shattered, like glass, and I was left standing in this inky darkness. I tried to run for help and find someone, but my feet were stuck to the ground. I looked down and saw that I was turning into a tree. I could feel the stiffness crawling up my legs. I reached out, trying to run away from my own feet. But I just ended up turning into an edgewood tree.” Wirt’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on his arm. Wirt was drawn from his thoughts for a moment as he felt the warmth of Ford’s arm wrapping around his shoulders.

“It felt like an eternity had passed as I stared out to nothing in my wooden prison. But then, like the wind that blows through the branches of trees in the forest, I heard the same sadistic laughter from earlier. Then a hand holding an axe before it swung at my neck. I woke up just as the blade was about to… get me.” Wirt let out a shaky breath that turned into a weak chuckle. “Real dumb right?”

“As dreams go, I wouldn’t call it the most enjoyable. Unless you are a particularly sadistic lumberjack.” Stanford laughed softly. He glanced over in concern. “However, you were clearly shaken by this.”

“I don’t know why.” Wirt threw his hands up in the air. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me or Greg. You’ve helped us so many times…so why do I still feel like I’m always one mistake from being thrown to the streets?”

Those last words hit Stanford particularly hard. Images of a young man, hardly younger than Wirt staring up at him from the cold street one unfortunate night. Biting back the guilt, Stanford pushed away the image of angrily closing the curtains on his distraught twin’s distraught face to focus on the matter at hand.

“When someone is forced into a stressful situation, their body and mind adjust in order to survive. When exposed to that sort of stress for extended periods of time, your body will grow used to that level of stress and anxiety. Just because I say I won’t abandon you… that doesn’t mean your subconscious mind has adjusted to this situation. It will take you a while before you will properly adjust.” Stanford said slowly.

“How long will it take? I hate living like this.” Wirt scowled.

“There isn’t a real measurement for this sort of issue.” Stanford looked up towards the sky above, his gaze lost in the countless stars and the possibilities they held. “From my own experience, it took me the better part of three years to grow out of the habit of sleeping with my ray-gun on my person.”

“What kind of trouble left you needing to get used to that?” Wirt asked tentatively.

“The Stuck-traveling-through-the-multiverse-for-30-years-with-no-set-place-of-safety kind.” Stanford grinned.

“Oh.” Wirt looked ashamed at asking.

“Don’t worry, I’m home and I’m here to stay.” Stanford assured. “And if you need any advice on how I adapted, I’d be more than happy to offer some advice.”

“Mr. Dr. Ford! My mission is complete!” Greg burst out onto the balcony and gave Stanford a serious salute.

“Good job young man.” Stanford returned the gesture with a wide grin.

“What are you two planning?” Wirt looked between the pair with suspicion.

“You aren’t the first person in history to suffer from bad dreams. When I was a young boy-”

“Back with the dinosaurs?” Greg interrupted.

“Those were a little before my time,” Ford ruffled Greg’s hair. “As I was saying, my brother and I would sometimes be helped back to sleep by our mother. She would have us in one bed, rather than in our separate bunks. She’d read us stories, and keep us in arms reach for plenty of hugs. Some nights she would join us in bed.”

“But I’m not a kid,” Wirt whined.

“You’re never too old for hugs, Wirt.” Greg crossed his arms.

“Well said, Greggory.” Stanford smiled. He led the way back into the house towards his bedroom. “Come on now, we need to get as much sleep as we can or we’ll all be late for school tomorrow.”

“Can we have waffles for breakfast?” Greg asked. He grabbed a hold of Wirt’s hand and dragged him into the apartment.

“If we sleep quickly I’ll make hot chocolate to go with them.” Ford promised with an indulgent smile.

The old man opened the door to reveal a pillow fort on his bed, designed and built by the one and only Greg. The boy babbled happily about how he had listened to Wirt’s talks about buildings and that he used the couch cushions to make it ‘stable’ and that he brought their blankets from his and Wirt’s room for extra warmth since Ford’s blankets were the roof of the fort. Greg sat comfortably, sandwiched between his brother and Ford, talking excitedly about how much fun this sleepover was going to be.

Unfortunately there wasn’t much excitement in the other two. Wirt and Ford listened intently, or at least tried to. However, the change from the cold outside, to the warmth in the expertly made pillow fort, had both of them feel their sleepiness returning.

Despite his initial excitement, Greg was the first among them to fall asleep. Ford followed suit not long after.

Last was Wirt.

He sat in the warm bundle of blankets and cushions that his brother had set up for him. The room was quiet, save for the gentle breathing of his brother and the soft snores from Ford. His heart wasn’t beating loudly, his breath wasn’t short, nothing about the situation made him feel like needed to panic.

‘It’s okay.’ He thought. ‘Ford won’t kick you out. I have a home here.’

The words felt foreign on his tongue. He looked to Ford, carefully he reached out. Wirt was half afraid that the old man would break into pieces, like everything that had just happened was another dream. Instead he was met with the sensation of warm wool against his finger tips. Ford was real. His nerves still felt on edge, as they always did, but for a brief moment Wirt felt relaxed.

He may not be perfectly fine, but he had family who were here to help him improve. And with that thought he drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Author's note: I have an Au that's been sitting on the back burner, which is based off of @reaganwarren's College Drop out Dipper fic (TW: self harm). however this one is based on Dipper being a drop out in high school. The Au i devised had a series of unfortunate events that resulted in Ford taking custody of Wirt and Greg from their parents. This follows a possible situation with Ford taking care of the brothers.

The Crying Figurehead

Inspired by this HAUNTING art posted by @gobblewanker

(also on ao3!)

"Looks like a storm brewing. Oh! I've got a fun idea! Why don't we tie him to the prow? I was getting sick of the old figurehead anyway."

Those were the last words Stanford heard before being dragged off by the rough hands of the crew. Some were laughing hysterically at the idea. Saying that he would look better than the boring old mermaid. While others nudged each other, making bets behind their hands about if Stanford would survive. None seemed to care for his wellbeing, but as he tried to dig his heels into the wooden boards of the deck, Stanford knew he shouldn’t have expected something as kind as sympathy.

The wind was knocked out of his lungs as he was slung over the prow of the boat. His arms tied back with thick rope; turning Stanford, much to Bill’s delight, into a human figurehead.

“Careful you don’t make the mermaids jealous.” Bill mocked. “I hear they get bitey this time of year.” He poked him with his cane.

The rope was tied uncomfortably tight to his elbows, making escape impossible. The cane prodded between his ribs harshly. Stanford tried to lean out of the way, but his bindings kept him in place, subjected to more cruel jabs from Bill Cipher and his cane.

“Good job keeping him sturdy!” he called back to his crew. He knelt down to whisper in Stanford’s ear. “Maybe this will jog your memory to find the treasure you promised in Port Cascada.”

Bill turned, cackling, his shrill voice rang out over the raucous laughter of the crew as they made their way below deck. Preparing for the oncoming storm.

Stanford, ever the determined man, struggled against his bindings with all his might. But all he was rewarded with were terrible burns in his elbows as the rope cut into his skin. The sky overhead began to darken with many heavy clouds. The wind whistled and blew in Stanford’s face, whipping his hair to and fro, getting it in his eyes and itching all over his forehead. He turned around trying to focus his gaze on something, or anything. However, with his spectacles locked in Bill’s quarters, Stanford had little hope of finding anything to help him escape. He pressed his feet against the prow, trying to keep himself from getting soaked by the ever violent waves beneath.

In a few minutes, he felt the first drops of rain. Their soft falls tickled his skin. This was not to last, as before Stanford could hope for the storm to be much lighter than Bill and his crew anticipated, large heavy drops of rain began beating down on him. He tried to keep his footing, but under the weight of the pelting rain, and the slickness of the prow; Stanford lost his hold and felt what was the first of many ice cold waves that slammed him against the ship. Knocking the wind from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air.

On and on his torture continued, The water knocking him back, the ropes keeping him in place, his arms holding the weight of his body. The cold of the rain and wind did little to soothe the burns that grew on Stanford’s arms as he was whipped around like a ragdoll. He screamed in pain when a frayed piece of rope stabbed into his arm, still firm, despite the gallons upon gallons of water that were being thrown his way from every direction.

Lightning struck, lighting up the stormy sky. Stanford lifted his head squinting through the rain, hoping to catch a glimpse of a ship, an island, or even some sharp rocks to crash this damned ship and every heartless bastard upon it. He had no such luck. Even with the water in his eye acting as a small lens he could not see anything apart from even more open sea. Thunder boomed, it’s sound echoing across the ocean before Stanford. But for this tired sailor its sound was lost amongst the noise of the crashing waves and the intense pain in his arms.

It had been multiple hours since Stanford had been tied to the prow. He could feel the cold in his very bones as he struggled to keep himself conscious. His legs were numb and he could hardly feel the boots on his feet. His arms were bleeding, but under the heavy rain, Stanford could not notice. It was when another wave cruelly knocked his ankles against the ship in a painful angle when Stanford heard something that woke him from the trance of pain he'd been suffering through.

It was the sound of revelry, cheer, songs sung off key and stories of bold adventures being told in loud voices. The crew were making a ruckus loud enough that it almost rivaled the deafening sound of the crashing waves that Stanford was fighting against. Their volume itself wasn’t what made them loud, it was their revelry itself.

They had thrown him out here, and now it was almost as though they planned to make him listen to them enjoying the warmth and comfort of the ship while he froze to death outside. He was never of value to them, an object to be used for their amusement. He knew that he didn’t matter to them, it had been an underlying thought of his. But to have it forced into the forefront of his mind made Stanford’s blood boil with vigor he had lost many waves ago.

“That bastard did this on purpose.” Stanford said under his breath. “He wants to tempt me with warmth.” The words were like venom on his tongue. His nostrils flared, blood now running with a warmth only possible from a deep hatred. The numbness that once stiffened his body began to melt away as anger flooded its way through his veins. But under the pelting rain, and the many cold waves beneath, Stanford knew his new found warmth would not last.

Warm tears fell down his cheeks as the hopelessness of his situation began to cement itself in his mind. Rather than give into despair, Stanford chose to curse. His parents had forbidden him from partaking in such an unbecoming habit in his youth. However, he had learnt enough from his peers through his many years of sailing that he did not need any guide to teach him how to release his emotions.

After several minutes Stanford’s throat had grown sore, cursing everything and everyone on the damned ship on which he was held prisoner. Gathering the last of his strength, Stanford gathered all of his rage, all of his hate, every last morsel of emotion he could feel into a scream. It was primal, it was undignified, and if any of the crew could hear him against the sound of booming thunder, crashing waves and heavy rain they would have mocked him. But in that moment, Stanford felt himself grow lighter.

The weight of his emotions left him with a new vigor. Bill wanted him to fall into despair, to become weak and beg for mercy. To become like clay in Cipher’s detestable hand. That would be the last thing he would give him. Stanford just needed to hold on for a little longer. Bill and his men would make a mistake, they may have been notorious pirates but Stanford still had his wits. All he needed was one opportunity and he’d be able to break his way to freedom.

With a newfound strength, Stanford pulled against his bindings. It hurt, the burns had made his skin raw and his left arm had many cuts from where the rope had started to frey. Despite this, Stanford soldiered on, with the rain pelting down on his head, the waves beating against his legs; he tugged and pulled against the ropes. Hoping against hope, cursing under his breath, praying to anyone who’d listen for the slightest give in the rope.

He worked for what felt like hours. The storm had lightened enough that he could hear the crew leaving for their quarters, their night of revelry coming to an end. Despite all of this Stanford still worked against the rope. It was then that Stanford felt exactly what he needed. The burning pain in his arm had lessened ever so slightly. All of his tugging and turning had loosened the rope just enough for him to pull his left arm through the loops of the rope. His wrist had difficulty making it through, but with the slickness of the water that had been raining down upon him and splashed up from below, he was able to free one arm.

Initially Stanford had planned to use his free arm to untie his second arm then pull himself aboard, sneak into one of the lifeboats and row as far away from Cipher and his crew as possible. There was one minor hiccup in that plan. That was he was now hanging precariously from the prow of the ship by one arm. All of his weight which was once equally spread between both arms was now being held in place by one.

The pain was sudden and flared through his entire arm, the pressure added onto his sensitive skin only increasing his suffering. Stanford let out a pained scream. He reached for the loosened ropes to balance himself. He needed to work fast. The wind was picking up again and he knew he did not have the strength to weather another storm with one arm. He took a deep breath and tried his best to reach for the knot that had held him in place. Alas it was out of his reach. With little other choice Stanford dug his nails under the rope. He bit his lip as the sensitive skin of his arm flared with pain once more.

“Any kind of give. Even the smallest inch.” He thought desperately. “If i can get that then I can-”

A wave slammed against the ship, knocking Stanford against the prow. His back hit the sharp edge of the wood in a painful way. He cried out, hardly able to keep his eyes open as the pain of his arm being twisted against the tight rope flooded his mind.

‘Was this really it? Am I truly doomed to become Bill Cipher’s plaything until my body is broken and blue?’ Stanford thought. Hot tears fell down his cheeks as he hung from one arm.

Another wave crashed into Stanford. The harsh wave slammed his head against the hard wood of the prow. The last thing he felt before his mind faded to black was an even greater weight on his body, as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around him, followed by a loud splash.

---

Stanford awoke with a start. His six fingered hands scraped against a jagged rock.

“Where am I?” He muttered.

He looked around, hoping to catch his bearings. Unfortunately, without his spectacles, he was as blind as a bat. All he knew was that he was somewhere dark and rocky. Had he been thrown into some hidden chamber in the ship? That was unlikely. Bill took pleasure in keeping him close enough to torture and mock. This place did not sway the way the ship did. The sound of crashing waves was still present, but distant. That combined with the rocks on the floor, Stanford surmised that this was likely a cave. Turning his gaze, Stanford was able to see a figure sitting near the mouth of the cave, under the moonlight.

“Is someone there?” Stanford called out. He tried to walk, but his legs buckled under his own weight. He felt weak from the ordeal he had endured on the ship. “Please, where am I?”

Stanford’s heart beat loudly in his chest. He tried to reach out. This could be one elaborate trick by Cipher. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for that madman to drop him off on an island purely to make him think he had a chance at escape. But something inside of Stanford pushed him towards the blurry figure.

“Are you awake?” The voice had an accent that Stanford was not familiar with. “You were out for a while and I was worried that you were a goner.”

“How long has it been?” Stanford asked slowly.

“Oh, about a sun or so.” the other person said. Stanford slowly crawled over to the other person. Following his voice, he could make out the sight of the round moon, shining in the night sky.

“Did you rescue me?”

“I did, yes. I caught sight of you hanging from a ship and thought you were a poor lady caught by some cruel humans.”

“How did you free me?”

“Them ropes were no big deal for me.” The other person said. There was a twinge of pride in his words.

“I don’t understand how. But thank you for rescuing me-er. I’m terribly sorry, I haven’t asked for your name.” Stanford said.

“You did just wake up from a terrible ordeal, I wouldn't blame you.” the person said. “My Name is Fiddleford.”

“My name is Stanford.”

“Well well aren’t we similar.” Fiddleford snickered.

“Yes, that is quite the coincidence, however I must ask you, what happened to the ship. Where is Bill Cipher?” Stanford asked urgently.

“Don’t worry about them.” Fiddleford said. “Humans haven’t been able to track us down for years. Sure they may be able to capture the occasional reckless youth, but this little oasis has been safe from them for generations.”

“What do you mean?” Stanford asked. “Are you not human?”

“Are you not a merman?” Fiddleford replied.

“A merman?” Stanford’s voice jumped an octave as excitement took over his mind. “Good heavens, I thought you were just stories told to children.”

“You’re a human?” Fiddleford asked in disbelief.

“I’m sorry to disappoint.” Stanford said.

“But they hanged you from the front of their boat. Why would your crew do that?”

“They aren’t my crew.” Stanford said bitterly. “They’re pirates. They were going to kill my crew and all my friends. But I was able to bargain with them. I offered to guide them to an island full of treasure in exchange for releasing my crew.”

“Goodness.” Fiddleford said. He rested a hand on Stanford’s shoulder. “I’ve heard of humans mistreating merfolk they encounter. But I never knew they could be so cruel to one of their own.”

There was a beat. The cool night air blew through the cave.

“If I may ask, how did you not know I was a merman? I felt it was rather obvious.” Fiddleford spoke as something fleshy slapped against the rock floor of the cave.

“I’m unable to see normally.” Stanford said. “I must wear spectacles in order to see as well as others.”

“Oh that’s rather uncanny.” Fiddleford said.

“Why is that?”

Stanford heard Fiddleford rustle through something. “That is just another way in which we are similar Mr. Stanford.”

Something metal and thin tapped against stanford’s hand. Reaching out carefully, Stanford wrapped his fingers around a pair of spectacles. They felt rusted and age older than he. There was no doubt in his mind that Fiddleford had come across this from a sunken ship. However, Stanford was not one to question a gift and placed the spectacles on his nose. The lenses were not exactly to his grading, but they provided greater visibility than his naked eyes did.

For the first time that evening Stanford could see his companion. He had dirty blond hair that was tied back with some plant Stanford couldn't recognise. At the end of his long nose were a pair of spectacles that had a couple of barnacles along the handles and bridge between the lenses. There was a warm smile on his face. Fiddleford wore a brown vest that seemed to be made of tightly woven seaweed. His arms were thin and had fins along the forearm. His hands seemed normal however the ends of his fingers had webbing between them and each finger ended with a sharp claw.

‘Those must be how he cut my ropes.’ Stanford thought.

Looking at just his top half Stanford would have thought Fiddleford was an attractive man, perhaps one he would see working at a shipyard or at a port town. However a single glance at where his legs should have been revealed a beautifully scaled tail that shimmered in the moonlight.

“You’re beautiful.” Stanford said without thinking.

“Well thank you kindly.” Fiddleford blushed.

“Now isn’t the time to be talking jovially.” Stanford jumped to his feet. He ignored the growing redness in his own cheeks. “Bill Cipher could be anywhere. No doubt he’d be sending out his crew to locate me as we speak.

Fiddleford rested a hand on Stanford’s shoulder. “I would not worry about that if I were you. Where I’ve taken you, there is no chance in this world that someone rotten like that will ever find you.”

“What do you mean?” Stanford asked.

“Well, there’s a reason that merfolk like myself have been able to stay hidden for so many generations, Stanford.” Fiddleford said. “That’s because where we hide is kept secret by a powerful spell. However, when sailors catch glimpses of us, they get curious, and that curiosity creates ideas which then turn to rumors. Some think our home is full of beautiful women who reward any perilessmen who venture out to find them. Others think it is full of treasures of the like that none have ever seen.”

“You don’t mean-”

“Welcome Stanford, to Port Cascada.”

Walking on Stardust

inspired by this WONDERFUL art by @siro-cyll. So i hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed their art.

(also on ao3!)

"How did I get here?" You thought to yourself as you walked across the stars. And not in some metaphorical sense, you could feel the planet destroying heat through the sole of your sneakers. Luckily for you, this was a dimension where everything was nearly microscopic compared to where you came from.

Of course you wouldn't normally dive face first into the act of running across a smaller but no less infinite universe. You would much rather be home curled up with a good book or scrolling through your phone, maybe even learning how to play guitar. Instead the multiverse had other ideas for you. As if getting stuck in time wasn't bad enough.

Now you were, who knows how far away from home, at least you were with someone familiar. Stanford Pines. Well he wasn't the same Stanford Pines that you had gotten to know. His hair was much greyer, his skin filled with more wrinkles, his eyes were more wild, his glasses cracked. Yet his hands were just as gentle in yours. His voice still filled with excitement as he spoke to you about his adventures. His smile was just as broad when his eyes were focused on you.

It seemed that no matter where you went, there was a Ford not far behind. and while the thought was endearing you pushed it aside for now. Below you the expanse of space danced under the light of countless stars, pinks, purple, blues and greens gave it a mystifying beauty that you always admired. If given the chance you feel that you could have enjoyed sitting here with Ford for hours, counting the stars, seeing how the space dust rose and fell. Watching stars grow and collapse and enjoying the beauty in the decay of a universe that ran much faster than your own.

However wonderful that thought might have been, now was not the time to think about maybes. Now was the time to run from the inter-dimensional authorities because despite the similarities this Ford seemed to have with your own; this Ford had gotten rather busy during his travels throughout the multiverse. He did not seem disturbed by the danger this presented to him. In fact his mischievous grin only seemed to grow wider, as your heartbeat began to rise.

You wanted to convince yourself that the reason your heart was beating hard enough to be felt through your neck was because you were so close to Ford. However you knew that the truth was you were anxious already from being dimensionally displaced, having the police chasing you on top of that was not helpful.

"Don't worry, I know a shortcut." Stanford had said with a devious smile. He offered you his hand, gentle yet firm, as he always was. Ready to lead you to adventure and danger.

With little choice you took his hand and ran through a tear in space. Soon the two of you were running through the stars, it felt like a dream, the danger that was pursuing you moments ago felt lights years away. And somehow it was.

“Just stretch your legs out, and one foot in front of the other.” He said, holding each of your hands.

It took some practice to get it right, not helped by your rattled nerves. However after several attempts you found yourself keeping in step with his broad strides.

“That’s it Orion. You’re a Natural.” He smiled.

The pair of you walked through the stars together. Many colours you did not know splashed the world around you. All at once you felt larger than life as you passed planets with rings and many galaxies that could fit in the palm of your hand; and yet you felt small as can be, lost in the infinity that is the universe. Despite all of these muddled feelings, your mind was stopped from wandering as you felt six fingers holding onto your own tightly. As though you were simply a dream and would break into smoke if Ford let go of you.

You both slowed down and took a seat on an extra large galaxy that sat under a particularly inky place in space. It felt like sand against your skin, but still held the warmth of life upon it. Stanford offered you his canteen of water. You accepted the drink, grateful to hydrate your throat after the ordeal you just escaped. Stanford took the canteen after you were finished, taking a swig himself, but his lips lingered on the neck of the bottle, almost as though it wasn’t the water he was trying to taste.

"You're a victim of a rare dimensional displacement particle." Stanford said. “When two or more dimensions pass by close enough to one another, and align just correctly, some particles that hold the dimension together might fall from one dimension border and right into another.”

He spoke with the same infectious enthusiasm he had back in gravity falls. His years running from the law did not seem to dull him in the slightest. Especially as you catch a glimpse of him smiling with pride as he explained your situation to you.

“And it seems that one struck you during the crossover between your dimension and then one we just escaped from.” He pokes at a tiny burn in your shirt. You hadn't noticed it at first and thought it was a small stain. “The good news is that the connection between a border particle and the border is near indestructible. You’ll be pulled back to where you came from soon.”

“What’s the bad news?” You asked. Trying to push the vastness of space and potential of falling for eternity out of your mind.

“None.” Stanford said. “I get another brief moment with you. I could not have better news after being lost here for so many years.”

“Why are you here?” You asked.

“I’m afraid I was rather impulsive in my youth and made mistakes I grew to regret.” Stanford said forlornly. “It wasn’t because of me was it?” You asked.

“Don’t worry, I was lost in my research. You, well I better not say. We may be from different dimensions but time is ever fickle.” Stanford said. “Rest assured that I found a way to fix things. But you were in no way the cause of me being in my current predicament.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through with that.” You said after a beat.

“Don’t waste your time crying for the stupid.” Stanford sighed. “You’d be crying all day.”

“It doesn’t feel like a waste if it’s over you.”

“You are just like them. Caring to a fault.” Stanford said. He wore a forlorn smile.

“Who are they?”

“We better hurry along, don’t want you getting stuck with me in the multiverse. Your own Stanford probably misses you right now.” Stanford jumped to his feet and offered you his hand once more. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You said, taking his six-fingered hand once more.

Once again the pair of you stepped through the stars, feeling lighter than air. The sea of stars, planets and nebulae. You’d be leaving it all behind, so you decided to take in as many of the sights around you as possible. Deep down you wished you had your phone to take pictures of this moment or perhaps even record yourself running through space like this. But you knew your own clumsiness would result in your phone falling from your grasp into the beautiful abyss below.

“We’re almost there.” Stanford whispered into your ear. He pointed at a tear that stood out from the sea of stars around it. It was a deep purple colour, separating it from the brightly coloured space dust and deep black void of space itself. “That’s your ticket home.”

“Why don’t you come with me?” You said quickly. “It’s not your home, but when I get to the future you’d be around this age won’t you? You could live in the future with me.” You said. The gravity of everything that Stanford had told you suddenly pressing down in your mind.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be that easy,” Stanford shook his head. “From what you’ve told me, You haven’t figured out a way back to your time yet, and being in close proximity with myself is dangerous.”

“We can keep things as safe as we can-”

“Orion, I will share with you one secret I've learnt from my travels. If two different versions of one person come in contact with one another then they will destroy the dimension they are inhabiting.” Stanford said.

“So there’s no way I can help you?”

“You’ve helped me so much already. Back in my home dimension and with this little trek.” Stanford placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “You do more than you give yourself credit for.”

“Thank you.” you said in a small voice; your cheeks burning red.

“You’re welcome. Safe travels Orion, and I hope to see you again soon.” Stanford said.

And before you could reply to him, he released his grip on your hand and shoulder and took his long steps in another direction. Leaving you to continue your wide strides towards the tear in space.

“Wait Ford, where are you going?” you cried out. “I don’t know if I can do this on my own.”

“Try saying ‘hup!’ it helps!” Ford cheered as he disappeared behind a horse headed nebula.

“That isn’t helpful!” You shouted to him as you tumbled through the tear in dimensions.

You continued running as the weight beneath your feet changed from heated stars to soft grass. Unfortunately in your hurry to escape the stars you forgot how to stop and ran face first into a tree.

“I really hope no one saw that.” you muttered to yourself. Rubbing your forehead.

“Orion are you okay? I saw you run out of a strange portal and smack into that tree.” Stanford called.

You turned towards the source of the voice. A wave of relief washed over you when you saw the familiar face of Ford with hazelnut-hair. His hands still soft against your skin as he helps you stand up. You stepped closer to him and realized his glasses were still intact. You wrapped your arms around him in a warm embrace.

“Are you okay?” Stanford asked. He wrapped his own arms around you. “Nothing hurt right?”

“I’m okay, I just-just want to enjoy the time we have together.” You said, squeezing him a little tighter.

“I heard that there was a new movie coming out soon. Perhaps we can postpone today’s research and indulge in that?” Stanford offered.

“That sounds nice. Thank you.” You said in a small voice.

For the third time that day, Stanford offered his hand to you. Soon the pair of you were leaving the forest. Hand-in-hand, ready to face whatever the future had in store for you.

Krakens are Hard to Hear Underwater

This is my follow up for my previous entry for @stanuary after seeing a comment on my 3D work by @eregyrn-falls so i hope you guys enjoy it, because I enjoyed writing this. A big thank you to @bluestuffeh for beta reading this for me!

(also on ao3!)

The ocean was quiet, the water was placid. The waves hardly rocked a small row boat that sat alone in the middle of the clear water. It’s bright white paint job made it stand out easily amongst the bright blue of the water around it. It oars stood in their holders, untouched for multiple hours. A fishing rod lay in the boat, it’s hook still in the water, the red and white bobber riding the gentle waves as they came and went. A pair of tan fishing hats, with names lovingly stitched into them lay unworn in the boat.

Had it not been for the hats, anyone passing by would assume that the boat had been abandoned or was lost. However, the truth, as it often is, was much stranger than fiction. No matter how obvious that fiction ended up being.

Several thousand feet below the calm surface, an epic battle was taking place between two old men and a rather vicious kraken. It had many long dark and thick tentacles that swung through the water with little difficulty. It had eyes the size of wrecking balls, its mantle was as tall as an aerial tower; and the beak that lay between its many highway-length tentacles was the size of the very rowboat that floated so far above it.

my @stanuary for Weeks 1 + 3. Covering Ocean and Brothers.

This was great fun to do. revising 3D techniques as well as learning new ones in order to make this was a blast. I hope you guys enjoy this piece!

Stanford McGucket Chapter 4: Visitors From the Woods - Part 1, Upside Down

The leaves rustled in the breeze as sunlight shone through the gaps between them, creating a shifting shadow on the ground. To Stanford it looked as though some sort creature towering over him shifting about trying to find the perfect opportunity to strike.

‘If it were thin enough to have light seep through it in small spots then it’s either severely injured or paper thin. In the first case it’d probably favour distancing itself from any potential danger or try to devour me for last minute sustenance but that’s highly doubtful. The latter case wou-’

“Ow,” Stanford tripped forward. The ladder he had been carrying clattering to the ground.

Stanford McGucket (3/?)  Fitting in

“And after Bessie comes Buttercup, Bertha, Bob, Billy, Bethany, and Bella.” Angie said.  She pointed out each cow as she spoke. She had an arm draped on Bessie’s neck, the other held the fence of the pasture. Her legs kicked as she sat from her perch on top of the fence.

“I feel like there’s a story behind those names,” Stanford yawned. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and leaned against the fence.

“It’s nothing too amazing,” Angie said. “Ma just named her first heifer Bluebell and the first-er- darn it.”

“What’s the matter?” Stanford asked. He looked away from the grazing cows to face Angie.

“I forgot the word for like a boy cow, but like Brandon wasn’t a bull, ‘cause he was castrated, there’s a word for a cow when they’re like that,” Angie said. She snapped her fingers as she thought. “It’s like-the only thing that’s comin’ to my mind is that it’s close to the word for like guiding something.”

“Er-lead?” Stanford offered.

“Nah-they weren’t dogs,” she said. Her fingers lightly drummed on Bessie’s neck.

“Um-hmm herd-no that doesn’t sound right.”

“No it like starts with-oh that’s it!” Angie said excitedly. “It was Steer! Brandon was her first steer! The first two cows were named Brandon and Bluebell.”

“Brandon and Bluebell?” Stanford asked, “and ever since then your family signed a secret pact to name every cow you come to own from then to the end of time a name beginning with ‘B’?”

“Wouldn’t call it a pact, but we do find it funny,” Angie replied. She lightly patted Bessie’s snout. “You could say it’s an inside joke.”

“Yes that would be a more reasonable description,” Stanford agreed.

“So as I was saying, when you get used to waking up earlier. We’ll start getting you to help with milking the beautiful dames of this pasture.” Angie said. “Now let’s go see the horses.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll get used to waking up early soon enough.” Stanford assured. He tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “If I’m going to be a farm hand worth his salt I’ll need to get used to early mornings in any case.”

“Worth your salt?” Angie asked. She hopped off her perch and stood next to Stanford.

“In the days before currency was measured in metal and paper, it was often measured in spices. And salt was considered very-uh-pricey? No um-it was considered to have a lot of worth. So soldiers that were paid in salt had to work very hard so that they could be considered ‘worth their salt.’” Stanford explained.

“Wow really? I didn’t know that. I thought money was always a thing that people used, just changing like. Shiny rocks for us, less shiny rocks for the people before us, and so on.” Angie said. She led the way to the barn.

“You aren’t wrong, it’s just that-well you know how when someone does a job they’re paid in money?” Stanford said, rolling his hands as he spoke.

“Yes. That’s how jobs normally work.” Angie replied.

“And how you can exchange the money you earn for good and services?” Stanford asked.

“Services?” Angie asked.

“Getting your hair cut and visiting the carnival,” Ford explained. “Well sometimes people skip the middleman of the money and give their employees the food and services directly.”

“Like when Ma and Pa let me and my sibs have as many apples as we want after we help with harvest?” Angie asked.

“Yes exactly.” Stanford said happily. “And other times, with that salt example I gave earlier, they add another step to collecting the money. A more modern equivalent would be paying someone with a cheque.”

“’Cause those have to be traded in at the bank?”

“You catch on fast.” Stanford said.

“I wouldn’t be in junior year if I couldn’t.” Angie grinned back.

“Juni-but you’re two years younger than Lute. That wouldn’t make sense unless-you skipped a grade?”  

“Yep!” Angie said grinning proudly.

“That’s impressive” Stanford said. He ignored the twist in his stomach. “You must have done a lot of studying.”

“It wasn’t too much trouble, the fact that I had had so many siblings that went through the same curriculum before me is what gave me the boost to get so far ahead.” Angie said. “I’d sometimes sit with Fidds and Lute to help them their work.”

“Really?” Stanford said. He could feel his jaw loosen, ready to slam into his toes.

“More like be a wall for them to bounce ideas off of,” Angie admitted. She skipped to the barn door. “You shoulda seen the way their eyes light up when they figure out the solution to whatever math problem had been holding them back.”

“Oh-still, that’s a rather useful thing to do. I’d imagine having someone to talk to about a problem would help straighten out one’s thoughts.” Stanford followed her to the barn door.

“Yeah ‘cause they’d have to explain what the problem was in the first place, so I’d be getting tutoring for things I was going to learn later down the road real early. And by the time they explained the whole thing they’d either have already figured out a solution or would be halfway there.”

“Sounds like you’re a natural helper. Which brother would chase you out of the room for annoying him?” Stanford said. His mouth quirked up into a mischievous grin.

“Stanford how could you possibly imply such a thing?” Angie gasped in mock offence. “I’m renowned as the family angel, why would I do such a thing to my beloved brothers?”

“Laying it on a little thick aren’t you?”

“The skit’s still a work-in-progress. And to answer your question, both. Fidds more than Lute, but that was because he gets stressed real easy like. Anyway-”Angie said. She stood straight and deepened her voice like a showman presenting a prize on a quiz show and pointed her arm towards the horse stables. “Allow me to introduce you to the most beautiful gals on the farm.”

Stanford followed her hand and caught sight of a couple of long brown faces standing in the stalls that lined the wall of the barn. “Horses?”

“Not just any horses! Top of the line equines bred on this here farm.” Angie grinned walking along the stalls, five long heads poked out as she spoke. “First we have our one and only stallion, Jesse. He and Tuesday over here are our chestnuts.” she pointed her hand in a presenting manner towards a pair of horses with reddish brown coats and manes.

“Nexgz-bleh wait-lemme start over.” she said quickly, clearing her throat, “Next we have Carla and her little foal Cinnamon.” The smaller horse neighed at the mention of her name, trying her best the reach over the stall door. The effort earned her a pet along her short black mane from

Angie.

“Isn’t she adorable?” Angie asked before walking along. “And last, and most certainly not least, we have the award winning Daisy!” Angie said, shaking her hands in the direction of the cream coated horse. Cocking her head to the side, Daisy whinnied while shaking her head, showing off her light coloured man and spotless coat. “Ma an’ Pa got her for me for my birthday when I was real small. I’ve been taking her to shows and winning ever since I could ride,” Angie added proudly.

“She does have a rather well kept coat.” Stanford said, adjusting his glasses to get a better look. He noticed several different coloured ribbons that adorned Daisy’s stall. Blue first place ribbons were displayed proudly near the top of the stall, with the lower ranked ribbons placed beneath them, making an interestingly pair of colour trails that lead down the stall front. The ribbon trails met together at one ribbon that Stanford didn’t recognize. It had cream as its main colour, with white, blue and red highlights. Like the other ribbons, it had a circle of reflective fabric as its centrepiece, with the actual ribbon being woven around it like a flower, ending in two tails beneath. Taking a closer look, Stanford noticed that the central fabric had ‘Best little sister’ stitched in rather crudely; as though the sewer was still learning the ways of using a needle and thread.

“Lute an’ Fidds made that one for me” Angie said, following Ford’s line of sight. “I came home feelin’ a bit sour after my first horse riding comp. I didn’t win, obviously. “She said, now leaning against the side of Daisy’s stall. “Hard to come out on top for something you’re doing for the first time. My family were supportive, but I still took it kind of badly.”

“It’s an understandable reaction,” Stanford said. “You were rather young at the time, if this ribbon’s appearance is any indication.”

“I’m still young!” Angie shot back.

“I meant younger,” Stanford replied. “I wear glasses but I’m not blind.”

“They’d be kinda pointless if you were,” Angie said. “Anyway, where was I? Right, I ended up bawling my eyes out into my pillow that night. But then I heard a knock at my door. But no one was there when I went to answer it,” Angie said. “Instead I found two of that ribbon on the floor. Turned my mood right on its head right then, believe you me. I wore that ribbon for a week straight before finally hanging it from my bed frame.”

“That makes it match with Daisy’s,” Stanford observed.

“Yep!” Angie said happily.

“Your brothers really do love you don’t that?” he said, looking to the tattered ribbon.

“It’s what family does best.” Angie replied.

In that moment, Stanford could have sworn he had heard the sound of someone squealing in pain, ever so faintly. But before he could address his observation he felt something furry rub against his leg. Stanford let go of what he heard ‘probably one of the horses’ he thought as he looked down to his new companion. “And who might you be?” he asked.

“That’s Salmon.” Angie said. She bent down to pet the orange tabby. “Aren’t you a little darling?” she cooed. “We have another cat, Tuna, he shouldn’t be too far away, and I think I saw him earlier.”

Standing up, Angie walked around the barn calling out for the other cat. It took a few minutes before the grey cat trotted into the barn, the fur around his mouth red and slightly damp. “There you are. Back fresh from the hunt?” Angie asked, walking up to the cat. Tuna lightly head butted her leg before rubbing the side of his head and eventually the rest of his body against her.

“Hunt?” Ford asked.

“Yes, these little beasts help keep the mice from getting into our crops,” Angie replied, giving Tuna a scratch behind the ears.

“I-” Stanford stared at Salmon, who had flopped onto his foot as though it were a bed. “Don’t get me wrong, I know the whole cat and mouse tale. But I find it hard to believe that Er-Salmon?”- Angie nodded- “Salmon is the type to strike fear into the hearts of mice.”

“He’s just trying to act all cutesy to ya so that he can weasel treats outta you later on.” Angie grinned, walking over. “You want to hold him?”

“I-is it alright if I did? Wouldn’t I get my clothes dir-” Stanford blushed, realising himself.

“We keep ‘em clean, don’t worry. The worst you’ll get is some fur on your shirt.” Angie said, scooping up the orange puddle that was Salmon, “unless you’re allergic to cats or fur, you’ll be fine,” she smiled.

“I-I don’t remember having any allergies, feline, fur based or otherwise,” Stanford said. He watched as Angie picked up Salmon from below its front legs. The cat’s body hanged lazily; his tail curling up between his hind legs.

“Perfect.”  Angie grinned, offering the cat to Ford.

Hesitating for a moment, Stanford recalled the way his aunts had taught him how to hold his infant cousins. With a careful hand, he reached forward and placed a hand under the cat’s behind and the other behind its shoulders. Interested at his technique, Angie let go of that cat, allowing Stanford to hold that cat against his chest as though it were a baby. Salmon stared up at him, taking in his features, before blinking slowly.

“Aw he likes you,” Angie cooed.

“You think so?” He asked, wearing an ear-to-ear grin.

“He hasn’t tried to run from you or scratch you,” Angie said. “So I’d say that that’s strong evidence to him likin’ you.”

Stanford’s smile was cut short by Salmon batting at his nose as though it were a toy. “How dare you,” he said flatly, staring the cat down.

Angie laughed hysterically as the cat reached for Ford’s nose again.

“You know, it never occurred to me that they’d use a truck to get mail out here,” Stanford said. He watched the mail van drive down the road from the window above the kitchen sink. He was elbow deep in soapy dishwater, hands working away at cleaning off the syrupy remains on the dishes.

“Well they sure as shine ain’t gonna walk all the way out here,” Sally joked. She leafed through a thick set of letters. Her eyes scanned the envelopes and fingers cycling through them quickly. The set until she had read the entire pile in less than a minute. Stanford tried his hardest to not stare as she sorted through the letters. Sally placed the letters into several piles on the kitchen table. ‘Probably to the addressee,’ Stanford thought before turning back to the dishes.

“I mean, they could in theory, but they’d probably have to dedicate a specific mailman for your mail,” Ford said after a cough.

“As nice as that sounds, I’d hate to be the poor son of a gun who’d have to walk out here during the summer scorchers we have comin’ up,” Sally smiled.

“But that’d be their job wouldn’t it? They wouldn’t complain because that’s their lot in life right?” Ford asked. He put the last dish onto the drying rack.

“I doubt that’d be a reason for someone to not be happy with their lot in life,” Sally said. She handed Stanford a dish towel.  “Grumblin’ about things seldom got anyone anywhere in life, but that doesn’t mean you won’t want to. If I had to walk here from town every morning I know I’d be grumbling about my feet hurting until the next morning. But I wouldn’t waste my time grumbling, you gotta keep working hard.”

“So, complaining is okay as long as it’s used to motivate instead of procrastinate?” Stanford asked. He dried his hands on the towel in his pocket before taking the one Sally offered him.

“I’d say that sums it up about right,” Sally grinned. She reached out to ruffle the young man’s hair, but stopped herself. Instead she walked over to the table and picked up the mail, arranging the piles into a perpendicular stack to keep them separate. “When you finish come round to the sewing room would you Stanford?”

“Uh sure-wait wasn’t I supposed to be working in the garden today?” Stanford asked, pausing midway through scrubbing one of the larger dishes.

“I already told Angie to cover your gardening chores for today, you’ll be feeding the animals in her place,” Sally informed him.

“I see—then I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” He quickly finished drying up the plates and put them back in their proper cupboards. ‘Plates to the left, bowls to the right. Tall glasses up above for the tallings,’ he muttered, remembering the not-quite-rhyme that Fiddleford had taught him.

Placing the towel from his pocket on a chair as he walked past, Stanford made his way down the hall. He followed the gentle sounds of a motor and found himself in the sewing room. The room wasn’t very large, hardly any larger than the guest room if Stanford were to guess. It had a large desk against the wall nearest to the door, an assortment of fabrics and enough spools of thread of so many colours that a rainbow would be jealous. The middle of the table had a sewing machine as well as a rather comfortable looking chair. The rest of the room seemed to be used as storage, multiple closets and cardboard boxes lined the walls. Stanford could see the odd faded coat sleeve poking out from the closet door.

“You wanted to see me?” He asked as he stood by the door. He watched Sally carefully move something back and forth under the needle of the sewing machine.

“Ah, ya came a bit earlier than I thought,” Sally said. She didn’t look up from her work. “I’ll be done in a couple minutes, have yourself a seat,” she nodded towards a pile of boxes nearby.

Stanford parked himself on specified stack, noting how the boxes slightly gave way to his weight. As though he was not the first person to use them as a makeshift chair; and considering the lack of another chair in the room, he’d probably not be the last. Stanford played with the loose string on his shirt as he waited the few minutes for Sally to finish whatever she was working on.

“And finished,” Sally said happily. She raised her work into the air before turning to face Stanford. She beamed at him while offering her creation, a pair of custom made six-fingered gloves. “I made them from an old pair of Mearl’s, quickly try them on, I want to make sure I got the size right.”

Stanford stared at the gloves in his hands and felt breath hitch as he felt the slightly matted fabric in his hands. The first five fingers were grey with a pair of green pinkie fingers sewed on to the end. There was a large stitch across the palm. Stanford pulled the gloves on and flexed his fingers.

“How are they?” Sally asked.

“They’re a little tight here but apart from that they’re perfect,” Stanford said. He pointed along his knuckles to show where he was talking about. “The fabric kind of digs into my knuckles.”

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” Sally smiled. Stanford handed her the gloves and she got back to work. “This’ll take a while so you're probably best to get to feedin’ the critters.”

“Er— Right,” Stanford said. He walked over to the door before stopping. “Sa—Mrs. McGucket, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it Stanford,” Sally smiled.

A/N: this is a shorter and more bonding based chapter. Things will get a bit more plot heavy next chapter. Today was Angie’s turn in the spot light giving Stanford a more in-depth tour than the one he had last chapter. 

I hope you guys enjoyed reading!

Dance Amongst the Stars

This is my painfully belated Secret cupid gift for @nerdstreak.

The theme was Stargazing, but I gave it my own twist. I hope you enjoy!

(also on ao3!)

A shiver ran down your spine as a stiff breeze blew over you. Picking an open space, such as the cliffs that overlooked Gravity falls, for your picnic was bound to have drawbacks. The lack of trees to block the cool night breeze was one such flaw. Another was the more often than you’d like Gnome trying to sneak into your picnic basket for the snacks you had brought with you.

Luckily, both flaws were easy to ignore, with great thanks to your partner Stanford Pines. He noticed you shiver and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. Holding you close without losing place in his explanation of the many various constellations amongst the stars. He spoke in great detail of the differing cultures that drew many different constellations, while you snuggled up to him, enjoying his warmth.

He casually kicked the fifth gnome, by your count at least, away; before turning to you.

Rekindling

I wrote this up based on the fic Farmer’s market and After the Farmer’s Market by @mythomagically-delicious​ and @thelastspeecher​ respectively. Enjoy a trip into Ma Pines’s side of the Super hero/villain au that Speecher came up with. also: super thank you shout out to @gosecretscribbles for being an amazing person and being an absolute joy to work with. Thank you for yoru help with this fic!

You were retired. You picked up your old job as a phone psychic as a way to fill in your free time. And for a good long while you hoped it would stay that way. However, when someone sends a small gang of goons to your front door, you tend to want to make sure that isn’t a repeat occurrence. This goes doubly so after a quick check of their minds informs you they were sent by your supposedly retired arch-nemesis and infamous villain, Sirocco.