prism-schemester

[prism-schemester]

YAYAYAYAY MORE FORD HERO DELUSIONS CW stancest CW tfpreg CW eggpreg CW unreliable narrator CW 1982 Stans (derogatory) CW slight trans-inclusive period typical misogyny CW probably ooc but who gives a fuck

Of course, when Ford finally had unicorn hair in his reach, it was because he was tied with it. The tensile strength of unicorn hair was - apparently - supernatural, and the gnomes must have a few pure of heart souls to have gotten so much. They wouldn't have missed the amount Ford was trying to take, and if that squirrel didn't alarm them, they wouldn't have noticed at all. But now, he was trapped, being carried deeper and deeper into the woods by dozens of tiny hands on his back while he tried again to pull his arms away from his sides. The unicorn hair was actually beginning to cut into the gabardine of his trench coat, which not even a griffin could do. He would note it down if he had his journal.

He turned his head to eye the gnomes holding him up. "Where are you even taking me?! I've spoken with schmebulock senior, I believe I have a right to a lawyer." He snipped.

The gnome doing most of the carrying of his right shoulder smirked. "That was before, when we only had a council. Now we have a queen, and she will judge you."

"You're a matriarchy now?" He asked, forgetting his situation for a moment. "Has your queen only recently come of age then? My informant said you were a democracy."

"We don't raise a queen." The gnome looked disgusted. "We find her. She rules until her death and then we become democratic until we find a new one."

Ford scrunched his nose. "Why would you willingly throw out a democracy?"

The gnome gave him an odd look. "For love..?" He said like it was obvious. Ford didn't quite understand that, but when he opened his mouth to ask, another gnome nudged the one he was speaking to.

"Horace, stop sharing with the human, the Queen hates a blabbermouth." The other gnome hissed.

"Blabbermouth? You mean your matriarch doesn't allow free speech?" He huffed. "Some government. I thought gnomes were more developed than this."

All the gnomes in unison snapped to look at him like he'd spit on their mother. "Don't insult our wife." The other gnome spat.

"... 'Our'?"

Then he was thrown out of their tiny hands and onto the ground. Luckily that wasn't a very far fall and he wasn't winded.

"Our Queen! We found this interloper trying to steal our unicorn hair! And then he kicked Larry!"

Ford shuffle-squirmed until he could see some sort of throne. It seemed to me made out of a large tree warped and braided possibly hundreds of years ago, cultivated for something much larger than a gnome. Two thick legs were crossed one over the other, thin white fabric draped over them. Ford couldn't see their face or torso behind a veil of dichondra, but they were large, confident in their seat. Was that what female gnomes looked like?

"We want to give him the death penalty, my lady!"

Thick fingers poked between the thin vines, and parted them gently. "Francis, you always want the death penalty." The queen of gnomes spoke, her voice low and gravelly with... A jersey accent? It took Ford a second to recognize that round nose, that square jaw, those broad shoulders.

"Stanley?!" Ford gaped. All the gnomes hissed.

Stanley looked down at him, sitting prim in this living artifact of gnome history, long white dress dripping off his shoulders and over a beer gut more impressive than their grandfather's. His eyes were wide. "Stanford..? What the hell are you doin' out here?"

Ford squirmed in his bindings. "I should be asking you that, Stanley! Did Ma tell you I moved here?! Are you trying to ruin my research grant too?!" He hollared from the dirt. The gnomes started grabbing him again, hissing and spitting senselessly.

Then Stanley stood, and the gnomes parted for him like the sea. Ford glared up at him and Stan glared right back. "You got a lot of nerve coming here, stealing from me and mine, and saying I'm the one not welcome."

Ford struggled harder against the unicorn hair. "You kidnapped me, Stanley!"

Stan sighed. "That's not my name anymore." He said firmly. "It's Constance."

Suddenly, a few facts snapped into place. A feminine new name, long hair, feminine clothing, complete loss of the Pines' man chicken legs but the backs of her hands had divots between the bones from muscle atrophy. "Oh." He said astutely. Then; "You kept Stan in your name..?" She used to go by Stan, Ford always hated it for himself but Stan would just smile and say she liked being part of a pair. Did she still? After all these years?

Stan smiled gently. "Yeah." She said simply.

"Did you become a transsexual when you were instated as queen of the gnomes?"

Her face soured. "Eight years and that's what you ask - no, Ford." She said shortly, putting a hand on her gut before turning her back to him. "Punishment is excommunication with gnome scholars for a week, and a price hike on buying unicorn hair, now where's Larry?" She said definitively, and all the gnomes started moving around her. One particularly bitey gnome from earlier scuttling up to her so she could pick him up and hold him to her breast. The gnome looked very smug about this.

Then he was picked up again, and he started squirming harder. "Constance! Wait! I have questions!"

She sat back in her veiled throne and Ford was carried away. "Stan! Wait, Stan!" But she didn't move.

He tried to note the way he came but he didn't know the forest this low to the ground and the fifty tiny hands on him were distracting. He looked back - the chatty gnome was holding up his shoulder again. "Horace! How on earth did my sister become a gnome queen? How long has she been here? Did she know I was here?"

Horace squinted at him. "Sister?"

"Yes, that's the more accurate term I presume."

"But you're so..." He trailed off.

"Ugly!" One of the others piped up.

"Smelly!" Another added.

"Kicky!"

"Scrawny!"

Ford huffed. "Well she is. We're identical - we were born as such anyhow."

Horace looked skeptical. "If you say so, scientist."

"You didn't answer my question."

Horace gave him an annoyed look. "She became our queen the same way anyone does. By marrying us and carrying our--" Another gnome elbowed him.

"She doesn't want us talking to you." The other gnome snipped, giving Horace stink-eye.

But Ford's mind caught on the verb. Carrying. Carrying. But Stan wasn't holding anything, what of theirs could she possibly be carrying?

They carried him all the way to his house, and put down on his rug. He stayed very, very still while tiny hands undid the knots of unicorn hair, noting every bind until he was freed.

Then he scrambled to his feet and sprinted back out the door. He needed answers. He retraced the steps of the gnomes, not hearing them following him but keeping up his pace anyway. It wasn't until he realized he had been running longer than the gnomes had been carrying him that he slowed, retraced his steps, found trees he recognized that only lead to trees he didn't. He found his own boot prints, the journal he had dropped, but not a single gnome. He sketched out a rough map that was somehow always wrong, found his own boot prints again, managed to circle back to his house and by the time the air started cooling he was no closer to finding that clearing he was brought to. He retraced his steps again and just by the last familiar tree he looked on and saw nothing, no break in the trees, no stray anomalies, nothing.

"Stan!" He called into the shades of orange the sky had become through the tree tops. "Stan! Where are you?!" He yelled but his words were carried off in the breeze and no response came.

He sighed, leaning and then sitting against a tree with a root he'd seen one of his gnome captors trip over. He should log the events, it wasn't every day one was captured by gnomes. But when he got out his journal and a pen, he started sketching Constance, instead.

He hadn't seen her in nearly a decade. She still had those broad, muscled shoulders, but she didn't slouch so much anymore. She seemed comfortable where she was, so easily confident the way she always had been, the way Ford always envied. Maybe she genuinely didn't know who Ford was, maybe she was drawn by the weirdness magnetism just like he was.

He drew her long, curly hair that was the same texture as their Ma's but just a bit lighter. That smile she'd given him, for just a moment. Her dress, that only emphasized her shoulders and biceps and made him wonder if she still boxed like she used to. Then her stomach, the one that protruded farther than usual, the one she had held strangely, almost protectively.

Carrying.

But that was just ridiculous. Sure, he didn't know the intricacies of gnome reproduction, and facts were relative in Gravity Falls, but his twin wouldn't just let anyone use her for a broodmare, she was a free spirit, always had been, nothing could tie her down that way, certainly not gnomes.

Even if it might have. Even if she still wanted to be a parent just like she had gushed about when they were teenagers watching Shermie and she wouldn't put him down for even a second. She wouldn't need gnomes for something like that.

He drew her protruded stomach anyway, the way her hands went over it, the way she held herself.

His sister. He wondered if Ma knew. She'd wanted Shermie to be a girl so badly, maybe she would be happy to finally have her daughter.

He wondered how his twin had changed. If maybe she was more mature, after their time apart. He sketched her out again, her sharp eyes down to her soft legs. He barely noticed how his pen loosened in his grasp and his blinks got longer until he leaned his head back against tree bark and didn't look back down at his pages again.

----

When he woke up, the air was warm, and light shone through his eyelids. Five fingers were gently combing through his hair but he couldn't feel any alarm through the warm fog his mind was steeped in. He blinked his eyes open.

"Stan?" He yawned.

The fingers stopped, and Ford frowned. "Yeah, Knucklehead. You passed out in the middle of the woods. Could have been chow for the hide-behinds doing that."

"Hide-behinds are carnivorous?" Ford slurred, before clearing his throat. "More importantly - where were you? What are you doing here? Why do you sell unicorn hair?"

Stan snorted. "Still always up for an interrogation, huh? Anybody tell you you'd make a shitty detective?"

Ford huffed, sitting up from what was apparently Stan's legs - which were softer than he remembered. Perhaps a consequence of estrogen. "I would never work for an institution that wasn't my own."

Stan cackled. "Damn straight. Is that why you got that creepy ass cabin? Avoiding the Geneva convention up there?"

Ford smiled. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Ha! And all our teachers thought you was an angel."

"Compared to you I was a Saint."

"Says the guy that built a bomb to get out of summer school gym." Stan bumped his shoulder.

"Sayeth I. At least I never used my babysitting job to make an information black market." He bumped Stan right back, but Stan went down cackling.

Ford took in his surroundings. He seemed to be on a giant bed of blankets and furs and clothing, a very obvious divot where one had slept consistently. The bed only ended at the trees surrounding it, and each tree had hanging plants veiling the space between like a canopy.

He looked back at Stan, who was still smiling and struggling to sit up. Like this, her stomach seemed even more prominent.

"What are you carrying...?" Ford muttered, and Stan froze like a startled deer.

"Heh - whaddaya mean, poindexter?"

Ford reached out. Stan's stomach was solid in a way that really made no sense. Warm, feverishly warm under the thin cloth, little touches of static barely registering to his fingertips.

Stan's breath hitched. "S' just part of the deal, you know. They take care of me and all I gotta do is--" Something, something shifted under his hand - two somethings in two different directions.

Ford's fingers knotted into her unnaturally white dress. "They take care of you?" He said faintly. "That's all it takes?"

Stan shifted away a little, her own hands coming up to her stomach protectively. "It's more complicated than that - and it's not like it was my first idea, it just kinda happened."

"Just happened. You just let yourself get impregnated? By gnomes? Were the gremloblins busy? Did the gnomes just get to you first? Or is there a line?"

Stan smacked his hands off of him. "You don't know the kinda shit I went through, Stanford! I've done a lot worse for a lot less, you don't get it living it up in a big fancy house where you can just chase gnomes all day instead of chasing your next meal! You think I'm a whore? I fucking am! At least a whore gets fed!" Stan had shuffled away on her massive bed, hands still over her stomach like Ford would hurt her. She still had that fire in her eyes, in her tone, but she was defensive.

Ford couldn't take his eyes off her. "I could have taken care of you."

"Fuck off Stanford, don't think I forgot your first reaction to seeing me in almost a decade!" Her voice was raised, but she glanced to the side, and something made her quiet. "You're awake, it's morning, you can piss off now." She muttered.

"I was reactive from being kidnapped, Constance, it's unreasonable to blame me when you facilitated my kidnapping on top of knowing I lived here and never saying anything!"

"You were arrested for stealing, and the only gnome that knows your name is Schmebulock, so pardon me for not catching it, scientist." At the last word she made the same gesture he'd seen Schmebulock make when visiting - he thought it was just a gnomish hand-wave.

Ford blinked. "You're really living amongst them? What happened to your sales job?"

"They all fell through. At least this gig guarantees me another month out of my car." He ran his hand over his naval. "Maybe less." He muttered.

"You're coming back with me." Ford blurted.

Stan got defensive again. "Fat chance."

"This is a very unusual condition to be in, and I specialize in the unusual, so--"

"Nope - not talking about this. Not happening. You're lucky I told the guys to keep away because if they heard you talking like that they'd eat you." She said matter-of-factly.

"Gnomes are carnivorous?"

Stan paused, squinting at him. "If I give you something to geek out over will you give up on making me your lab rat until I've at least had breakfast?"

On one hand, Ford resented that notion, he just wanted to monitor her condition, and he had a right to ask questions. On the other hand, Stan never disappointed when it came to giving him new discoveries.

"... What kind of something."

"Something you gotta be really, really, really careful with." She responded, crawling to the centre of the bed, and that divot in the blankets. Her stomach distended nearly as far as her knees, touching the bed when she crawled. He wondered if he should help hold it up for her.

But then she reached the middle and started digging into the blankets. When she was elbow deep she gave him a very stern look. "No questions if I let you hold this, and if you drop it I'll kill you." She said, and Ford nodded dumbly.

She pulled out a large, oblong pink shape about the size of a cantaloupe. "You wanna know what I'm carrying, it's more of these." She said, and before Ford could say the first syllable of his many, many questions, she shot him a glare. His teeth clacked shut audibly. "Hold out your hands."

Ford held them out, and Stanley carefully put the egg in them. It was just as warm as her stomach, and put slightly stronger sparks into his fingertips. That would explain why his hands were shaking. "Stan, I--"

"Nope, no questions. I'm fucking starving, I'm getting breakfast, if you got questions ask Ford Jr." She grunted, crawling off the massive bed and leaving Ford in a daze.

He stared down at the soft pink calcium carbonate shell his sister had given him to watch. It felt alive in his hands the way the all the wilderness of Gravity Falls did, sparking things in his hind brain without any real direction. He looked at the life Stan had made (and given to him, trusted him with) and those aimless neurons seemed to all snap into place.

This was Stan's child. His nibling. His family. His legs curled, putting the egg in his lap and curling around it until it dug into his abdomen, safe. The ambient electricity of it buzzed with content and Ford hummed right back to it.

Stan was probably joking about naming it after him, but just the thought had his vision blurring. Stan had made the most miraculous little thing, and if she named it after him? His heart was in his throat.

He stared at that pink egg and hoped it hatched looking like its mother.

Then something solid wacked him on the head. He curled even tighter around his egg, but when he turned it was only Constance.

"Shit, I thought the hypnosis was a me thing. Not everything's a threat, Ford Jr. is a little ugly, also a gnome, and what always knocks me out of it is imagining the birth so I guess try that."

Ford blinked - it burned, had he been forgetting to blink? But he turned to properly face Stan, relaxing his hold on the egg. Stan looked beautiful, aetherial, heavy with life and glowing with it and--

Stan thunked him again on the head with what he now knew was a wooden bowl full of nuts and berries. "Imagine. That thing. Coming out of you."

Ford looked down at the egg again. It was larger than both his fists put together.

"See? Not as cute now, huh."

He didn't imagine himself, he imagined Stan, alone and in pain without him there, having to do everything herself, a normal human birth could be fatal, he didn't know the statistics of someone with an incorrectly shaped pelvis. He looked back at her, struggling to carry herself, heavy with more of these little wonders that she would have had to give life to alone if Ford hadn't found her.

"Do you need the bowl again?"

Ford shook his head. "If I were hypnotized I would know, Constance." He said simply. His sister rolled her eyes. "And beyond that, 8 really think you should--"

"I got you breakfast." Stan cut in, balancing the wooden bowl on his bent knees. "Gimme Egg Ford."

Ford handed over the egg like a dead man handed over his heart to Anubis, and Stan picked it up one-handed, tucking it into her elbow and against her breast like a mother would. "Did you really name it after me?" Ford asked, taking the bowl to pick at.

"Maybe. Maybe I just named him after the car."

Ford snorted. "And not after your old beater?"

"Hey. Put some respect on the Connie-mobile's name. I even got her a new license plate for it."

"Oh - not Stan?"

"You call me Stan, you get it, anyone else does I got some brass for em'." She grumbled, sitting herself down properly.

Ford smiled at her. She averted her eyes and grabbed a handful of Ford's breakfast. "I still think you should come home with me." He said with more surety behind it.

Stan sighed and put a hand on her stomach. "Not your lab?"

"Well, my lab is most of my home, but I do have a living area. Technically." He could still see her doubt, defensive of her young. "I can take take care of you - I will, I want to. I can do thousands of times better than those damn gnomes, I swear."

Stan sighed like she was carrying the world - and she might be - and looked down at his namesake. "Maybe. A little help with the next two would be good, at least. Gnomes have shitty bedside manner." Ford nodded. "... So after this, you'll let me sleep on your couch or something? You know I can't pay rent, and it'll take a few days after these two are born to work and--"

"You'll sleep in my bed."

Stan's eyebrows shot right up. "Oh. Like..." Her head lowered, looking for any eavesdroppers. "Like highschool kind of sleep or middle school kind of sleep?"

"Whichever you'd like." Ford said. "But, ah, I did appreciate our highschool sleeping arrangements."

Stan's cheeks were pink and she had a smile on her face. "Damn, Sixer, way to romance em'." She mocked, averting her eyes again.

Ford cupped her face. "I could always take you out - I suppose it's my responsibility as the man."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, such a gentleman." She commented, but pushed her face into his six-fingered hand.

"I'm serious. I want to get to know my sister." He said very seriously.

Her face got redder. "Whatever you say, Casanova. Now finish your breakfast, the gnomes worked hard to get all those."

Ford put his bowl to the side. "Breakfast can wait." He said sternly, cupping her other cheek and kissing her.

She sighed like she was home, leaning into him. Ford held her easily.

[prism-schemester]

Trying to get my ass out of artblock with some lazy doodles inspired by both my friends @mirrorworldangel with their amazing prompts and @andromachearts with their tags because "the extra fingers just mean more of him to love" and holy shit man

Also yeah it's 2Fords bc someone said "brotherwife" and you know what hell yeah

Also a bit of suggestive writing under the cut, nothing serious but just in case

[prism-schemester]

*taps on mic*... Fem soostan...

[prism-schemester]

I love Ford being weird about Fem!Stans boobs

Me too.

Poor nerd loser hasn't seen her boobs for 40 years 😔

[prism-schemester]

if (me.getMemory().isErasable()) {

you.addFeeling("despair"); }

- "If You Were Here" cover by Mr.Kitty

i was on my yearning playlist and i dunnoooooo

i just think it's so Stan-coded to think of childhood innocence and prioritize just one person to start over with. to treat love as a nuisance, a spiralling riddle and thus kept distant.

if Ford could just see it from his perspective, if he was truly there with Stan during those decades dedicated to getting him back, he would be able to Get It. get it and understand why that boat meant the entire universe to his soulmate, his true other half.

or something like that, im not very articulate :)

[prism-schemester]

They were forced to dress up nicely for the special occasion. Stanford didn't really notice the difference, but Stacy fucking HATES long skirts. She can tolerate medium and short skirts, wearing them, she doesn't keep tripping and falling, at least.

[prism-schemester]

"I heard once that dogs can't look up,"

"I believed it, because why would someone lie about that?"

"I never noticed that my dog was always looking up,"

"Because it was only ever looking up at me."

[prism-schemester]

Girl, calm down. They broke up forever ago.

[prism-schemester]

not yet!!

[prism-schemester]

Happy mothers day to Stan Pines

[prism-schemester]

Divine Taste

Stancest Age Gap (Kid Stan/Older Ford) Soul Eater inspired AU Vore ficlet

“You overexerted yourself again.” 

Ford holds the faint blue ball by its slug like tail. His expression is unimpressed behind his glasses. 

“I didn’t mean to!” A childish voice cries out, oddly layered and echoey. “It’s just - It’s been so long I forgot!” 

Ford doesn’t sigh but a quiet exhale slips past his lips. He gives the soul pinched between his fingers a punishing bounce. 

“What if that happened while we were fighting? You’re okay with leaving me completely defenseless? You’re okay with letting me die, Stanley?” 

The childish voice remains silent, guilty and pouting. Ford knows the boy wants to argue, at least on his comment about being defenseless, but is holding his tongue as to not be misinterpreted. 

He’s learning at least. 

Ford lifts the glowing sphere above his head. It’s fascinating how the boy’s soul shines just like the sun. “I depend on you. I’m trusting you, Stanley. You understand how important that is, don’t you?” 

“O-of course I do!” Stan sputters. His soul wiggles unhappily against Ford’s fingertips. The next part the boy grumbles out, obviously affected by the older man’s words and turned embarrassed and shy, “I trust you too, Sixer. It’s just…I get so excited when we’re movin’ in sync like that. It’s like - like a roller coaster!” 

The squeaky exclamation brings a flood of memories to the forefront of Ford’s mind. His Lee had clutched tight to his hand and dragged him all over the boardwalk, ecstatic to ride all the rides. Ford had followed behind, his fingers limp in his brother’s hold. Lee’s big bright smile fades into the pale opaqueness of Stanley’s soul dangling in front of him. 

“Thrills aside, you need to focus. This is why I haven’t taken you into the field.” 

“ ‘m sorry…” The morose response comes from the boy. The squirming dies down and he hangs despondently in the older man’s grasp. “I’ll do better, I promise.” 

Ford believes him. Stanley has taken exceptionally well to staying in his weapon form longer and longer. Ford should do something to reward him for that. Positive reinforcement makes the boy work like a well-oiled machine. Completely devoted to Ford’s steady six fingered hands. 

“Good. That’s all I ask of you, Stanley.” 

Ford brings the soul down to his lips and gives the glowing orb a tentative kiss. It makes his mouth tingle and buzz. Souls aren’t meant to have such exposure to the world. 

“Hng!” The soul against Ford’s face jolts almost violently. It spreads the tingle up the older man’s cheek. “Wha-What’re you doin’?” 

“Although you dropped your focus, you’ve been doing well holding your form as commanded. I think that deserves a reward, yes?” 

Ford doesn’t expect an answer. The boy folds under any kind of offered affection, this will be no different. However…looking at the soul resting between his fingertips lights a morbid curiosity Ford wants to chase. 

He continues his ministrations, giving the warm ball fluttering kisses and relishing in each twitch and muted thrash. The tail end of Stanley’s soul, where Ford is keeping it pinched, curls around his thumb. Anchoring itself and cutting a soft sting of heat across the scarred knuckle. 

“Stanley,” Ford says huskily against the shimmering warmth, momentarily touched at the sign of trust. He parts his lips and tentatively brushes his tongue against the boy’s soul. 

Stanley cries out, high-pitched and surprised. His soul pulses against Ford’s face. “Ah, ah. Ford, that feels weird!” 

“Souls are sensitive things. They aren’t meant to be so…exposed.” 

Ford blows a puff of air across the surface of the orb on the last word. Stanley squirms, soul rippling with the created breeze. 

“Don’t you feel how dangerous this is? How easily something could crush you?” Ford brings his other hand up to cup the boy with his palm. “You needn’t worry, Stanley. Just as you protect me, I will protect you.” 

Stanley keens, obviously trying to stifle it. Ford smiles and closes his eyes to lean fully into his charge’s embrace. “I’ll take care of you. Take as much time as you need to regain your strength.” 

The soul shivers in his hands before relaxing. Warmth coats Ford’s palm like a lover’s caress. He hums, pleased Stanley is listening and coinciding so quickly. 

Usually, it’s a battle to get the boy to calm, to pause and take care of himself, to accept the fact that he needs to do self-care at all. 

Ford gives the glowing orb another lick. His tongue practically vibrates with how much it tingles. Soft static floods across his lips. Stanley’s soul tastes sun bleached and sweet. 

“Stanf-ford,” The boy whines. His soul pulsates again, reaching out for connection. Ford rotates his soul slowly, making sure to coat as much of it in his saliva as he can. “Mmh-! Ha, I don’t - I don’t -“

“Shh. I know, baby boy. I know. Give me a moment. I’ll keep you safe.” 

Ford flattens his tongue and tips his head back. Stanley bumps against his nose and shivers when Ford removes one of his hands to let him dangle over Ford’s open mouth. 

He carefully lowers the boy’s soul into his waiting jaws, avoiding scrapping the ball against his teeth, hungry to deliver the solace he’s promised his charge. 

Stanley makes a series of sounds, choked off gasps, squeaky cries, and shaky moans as he descends and finally realizes Ford’s intentions. 

There is no frantic struggle. No instinctual urge to survive. Just complete and utter trust that Ford isn’t going to hurt him. 

He almost swallows, mouth flooding with saliva. His boy is so good. So obedient. Everything he wanted his own Stan to be. 

Ford closes his lips, sealing Stanley inside his mouth. His cheeks bulge trying to hold the orb without splitting his lips. The boy’s soul shivers and wiggles. It’s warm sides bump against the inside of Ford’s cheeks and his own moan punches out of him at the gentle burning sensation. 

Stanley goes stock-still. Ford breathes heavily though his nose. He slowly drags his tongue back and forth, rubbing the underside of Stanley's soul and having static buzz pleasantly down his throat. 

Everything is covered in a film of tickling burning softness. The roof of Ford’s mouth catches most of the heat. It quickly becomes itchy and overwhelming, crossing wires in the older man’s mind. The subtle pain lights up long dormant parts of his anatomy. 

His spit only serves to make his mouth even more full as it melts and puddles off Stanley. The boy pulses and sends a slight jolt through Ford’s teeth. Instinctively the older man bites down. 

Stanley yelps and something tacky and thick sprays off of him. It gets quickly lapped up by Ford’s tongue. He’s not sure if it’s soul blood or some kind of ejaculate. Either way it tastes divine. Almost minty. Warm and loving. Dependent. 

Ford sits down and just enjoys the weight of his charge resting in his mouth. Stanley is safe there, the safest he could ever be. 

They stay like that a long time. Stanley eventually relaxes, soul deflating just slightly and slumping down on Ford’s tongue. He curves the wet appendage to better cradle the boy, marinating in the silent show of trust. After several long moments of holding him like that does Ford realize the ever-present warmth as tampered down. 

Stanley fell asleep. Stanley is asleep in his mouth. 

Ford digs his fingers into his thigh harshly to stop himself from making any noise. It would surely wake the boy and ruin this quiet moment. He wants to keep Stanley in his mouth as long as he can. But the front of his pants is growing unbearably tight for the first time in ages. 

Surely his charge wouldn’t mind Ford taking care of himself as well. Self-care is important. He must lead by example. Even if Stanley isn’t conscious for it. Positive reinforcement. 

He unzips his pants and draws his erection out of the slit in his boxers. He’s wet enough the first few pulls hardly hurt at all. 

It doesn’t take much. The heady pressure of Stanley against his cheeks and tongue is enough to spur his hand into faster and faster drags. The extinguishing heat bubbles the roof of his mouth and feels like it’s wafting up to his brain, obscuring memories of his own twin with glimmering blue smoke, leaving an empty face with a huge haunting grin.

Ford’s throat spasms as he comes, desperate to swallow against the intrusion. Spit drips from the corner of his lips. Come paints his six fingered hand sticky and white. 

Since his tongue is otherwise occupied, Ford is forced to wipe himself off. Once cleaned up he settles against a tree trunk and waits patiently for his charge to wake, renewed and full of vigor. 

They still have a long way to go before Stanley is ready. Ford recommits himself for the foreseeable future. What a delight it will be to watch his boy grow into the perfect weapon, molded solely by his capable hands. 

It won’t be so bad. Especially if there’re more moments like this in store for them. 

[prism-schemester]

Do you think Ford slept in stans bunker after he got kicked out? Did he just bury his face in his brother’s pillow, the scent of him fading day by day and being replaced with the salty smell of Ford’s tears?

[prism-schemester]

30s stan and ford freaking it?

SORRY FOR TAKING TOO LONG let's say I made a whole shitty comic about this 🤧🤧

full is on twitter or bluesky 🤭🤭💖💖

[prism-schemester]

LOOK AT THIS IT TOOK ME 6 HOURS AND 7.5 MINUTES!!!!!

[prism-schemester]

Soostan abo with Stan as an old grumpy menopausal omega that has annoyingly intense heats and Soos is a soft alpha that takes care of him for them...

[prism-schemester]

For pinesot4month2025. Prompt '3v1'. Day 23.

Dipper & Mabel are older teens here. It's implied they all mix n match with each other, but for the 3v1 aspect, it just focuses on Mabel's antics. PG-13.

-

“I think you all know why I've called this family meeting," began Ford, casting a stern look around the table. 

Dipper frowned and gave a curt nod. 

Stan nodded his own confirmation, though he rolled his eyes as he did so.

Mabel, however, pursed her lips in confusion. 

Ford cleared his throat. "I want to preface that I am not here to specifically call any one person out, but to address this as a group." 

His gaze swept around the table again in a grand show of equality. It paused, however, to linger with significance on his niece. "The 'public displays of affection', we'll call them, need to be toned down. People are...starting to talk."

Mabel gaped like he'd announced holding hands was a crime now punishable by firing squad. "Wha - come on, seriously?! I can't show my own family I love and appreciate them?" 

"I am compelled to point out that performing fellatio in the grocery store parking lot, in the middle of a bright summer's day, is not an appropriate public show of familial appreciation," said Ford. He looked over pointedly at Stan. "Right, Stanley?" 

Stan threw his arms up. "Hey, it was her idea! Besides, I parked the car in the back of the lot, nobody saw!"

"Then how, exactly, do I know about it?"

Silence stretched for several long moments. 

Ford moved on. "Dipper, you mentioned an incident at the pool. Would you like to share with everyone?"

Dipper looked apologetically at his sister and began hesitantly, though his voice grew stronger as his story gained momentum. "Mabel, you put me in an awkward spot at the pool last week. When you asked if you could give me a kiss, I assumed you meant on the cheek. Not on the mouth. With tongue. In front of literally everyone! I like it when we do those things alone, not around people from town!"

Mabel huffed and crossed her arms. "It's Gravity Falls, no one cares! Tell them it's normal back home." 

"Uh, California is progressive, but its not that progressive," replied Dipper and Stan snorted. 

"So," said Ford, feeling good about the outcome of the discussion, "I think we've all learned that certain activities should stay more confidential. The enthusiasm is appreciated, but there is a time and a place. And that place is not in public. I think that about wraps things up. Thank you all for your attenti-"

"Hey, Grunkle Ford," Mabel cut in, arms still crossed but with a sly smile spreading over her face, "anything you'd like to confess to?"

Ford had been a lighthouse of self-righteousness up until that moment, and at Mabel's words, he visibly dimmed to more of a pocket flashlight of self-righteousness. He stood and began to edge away from the table. "Not at all. My conscience is quite clear. Unfortunately, I do need to check on an experiment down in the lab -"

Stan flung out an arm to block his exit. "Whoa, hang on! You singled Mabel out for all her PDA, It wouldn't be fair if you didn't own up to yours."

"Yeah, don't be shellfish! Give us the facts to tide us over," Mabel grinned, relishing the rare double opportunity to ruffle Ford's composed feathers and make terrible puns.

Dipper grimaced, then looked suspiciously between the two of them as pieces fell into place. "Wait, did something happen on our trip to the Aquarium last month? Is that why you guys disappeared for 40 minutes?"

"Perhaps," said Mabel, giving Ford a last chance to fess up.

"It wasn't in public, so there's nothing to tell. There was no chance of discovery," said Ford, indignant. He shot her a warning glance, which she promptly ignored. 

"We did unspeakable things in the bathroom behind the jellyfish exhibit," she announced. "The whale calls got us all hot and bothered."

"It was single occupancy with a very secure lock on the door!" Ford tossed out as a life saver for his sinking position of being right. Stan wasn't having it.

"It's literally called a public restroom, that's way worse than what I did! If that's where you guys went, then why'd she come back with that giant stuffed narwhal? The tag said 60 bucks!" Stan looked disturbed and scandalized for the first time since the meeting began. 

"I may have earned a trip to the gift shop," Mabel said, extremely pleased with herself.

Dipper was shaking his head. "Sorry, whale calls?"

"They're very romantic," Mabel said, and stared dreamily off into the distance.

"Indeed. Quite an impressive and alien beauty," agreed Ford seriously.

Stan had seemingly resigned himself to another afternoon of abnormality and sighed. "This is a weird fuckin' family."

-

[prism-schemester]

Pinesot4pril Prompt 25

Sharing

WARNING: Needles, (discussed/imminent) cannibalism

Stan should have known something was wrong the moment he woke up and felt no pain. He was no stranger to it, after all. Body aches were a constant companion of his, so constant that he'd long been able to compartmentalize them and push them to the back of his mind, where they simmered just beneath the surface in constant, dull pangs. At least, usually. Some days were better, some days were worse. But, laying like this, on his back and with no support, the ache was constant and almost impossible to ignore. Most nights, Stan either slammed back a mix of pain and sleeping meds or contorted himself into a position that was as close to comfortable as he could get.

But, there was no pain. No murmuring agony that pulled Stan from under the covers in hope that the pain of being upright would be less than the one in his spine. Blinking away the tiredness from his eyes, Stan looked around.

It was dark and dim, but when was it not? Stan spent thirty years down here almost every night. He knew Ford's laboratory like the back of his hand. Even after all these years, it was left untouched, save for whatever experiments his twin performed whenever they returned to Oregon. The only true light source was a glowing teal from behind him, but it was enough for him to see. Well, barely. His glasses were missing and these damn cataracts hardly helped.

He turned his head to his left, almost jumping when he spotted another person lying on a table. A woman. She was completely naked. She appeared to be sleeping. A long, blob of brown hair hung off the side of the table.

Mabel?

Stan's breath hitched. His immediate instinct was to leap off the table and scoop Mabel into his arms. But, he couldn't. He was held back, something clasped firm around his wrists and ankles. His pulse sped up, breath stuttering and eyes darting around in a panic. Memories flashed in front of his vision, of being tied up and held down and of ropes and manacles and wire tight around him. 

His head swiveled in a panic, turning to his right. A near identical body lay beside him. Dipper. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Stan struggled against his binds impossibly. The table shook underneath him. He had to get out of here, he had to get them out of here and get them to safety.

“Kids!” He barked. “Mabel, Dipper, wake up! Now!”

Neither of them stirred.

“Kids!”

He strained his vision, whipping his head from side-to-side. Were their chests rising and falling? Were they still alive? God, please, please just let them be okay. 

“Stanley?!”

Ford. Oh, thank God, Ford was here, he'd let them free–

But, then again, who'd put them down here in the first place?

“Ford,” he called out. “Let us outta here!”

A blobby figure was immediately by his side, looking over him. Stan squinted, his brother's blurry face coming into view.

“You're not supposed to be awake yet,” Ford's voice was a breathless murmur.

Stan struggled against his binds. “What the hell is this?!”

“Are you in any pain? The solution I gave you should have negated any, but perhaps the dosage was off? It must've been off on the sleep serum. I should have known not to give you the same dosage as the twins.”

“What.”

“No matter, I'll put you back under shortly.”

“No, no! Don't!” Stan searched his mind for a way out, something to stall him. “I wanna- wanna see you.”

Ford stilled over him for a moment, before walking away and hurriedly returning. His glasses were put over his face, resting on the bridge of his nose.

And there Ford was, in all his glory. He looked like shit.

Deep, deep bags bung below his bloodshot eyes. His gray curls were wild and unruly. He looked even more pale than usual. A memory flashed into his mind, of the unkempt and manic version of his brother he'd encountered just before he lost him to the portal. Guilt stung at Stan, mentally kicking himself for not checking on Ford more often. 

Summer hadn't started well. First, Ford and Stan were both crushed when Dipper and Mabel gave them the bad news – that their parents had forbidden them from studying under their Great Uncle Ford while sailing abroad with them and insisted that they attend actual universities for a more traditional college experience. All four of them were heartbroken, but Stan was understanding. The kids still had a good relationship with both their parents and neither wanted to do anything to raise tensions any higher than they already were. He knew the feeling well. Just like he and Ford were for the longest time, they were slaves to their parents' whims. It seemed Ford had taken the news far worse than he had.

Secondly, and more importantly, they'd discovered that the statue of Bill was missing. The entire Shack was in a panic, bracing for the worst and waiting for the second coming of the Oddpocalypse. Hours were spent, waiting with bated breath, all of them either pacing or preparing or searching. Hours passed. Then, days. Weeks. And nothing came of it.

Stan and the twins allowed themselves to let their guards down. If something was going to happen, it already would have. Ford had said before that some teens thought worshipping Bill was cool in some sort of ironic way. Some shithead teenager probably made off with the thing as a dare or prank, probably had the triangular fucker on their wall or up a tree or in an outhouse somewhere. Hopefully. They all made attempts to breathe easier. If something did happen, they'd all make it through it together, like they always had. It reassured them. Everyone, except for Ford.

Ford had holed himself up in the basement doing God knows what. They made attempts to drag him outside or at least into the house proper, but those moments were few and far between. They all made sure to check in on him and bring him down meals, but his twin seemed to find comfort in his solitude. It was understandable. At least, that's what Stan assumed. Ford had the most experience with the guy. He brought up bad memories for all of them. Stan figured he was probably trying to find or make some way to defeat him in case Bill did end up reappearing. He assumed that the worst possible outcome of all of this was a lack of sleep and not making the most out of their time with their niblings. He certainly didn't expect whatever this was.

Vision now clear, or as clear as it was gonna get, Stan could see the weary, affectionate smile that spread over his twin's face. A six-fingered hand reached down, cupping his face gently. Ford seemed calm. Calmer, at least. Maybe he could snap him out of this. They could talk this out.

“Better?” Ford asked.

“Hey, listen. I get you're scared right now. But, whatever this is, some kinda freaky experiment, you don't need to do it.”

Ford did not seem to like that answer. He turned about, coat flourishing in the air, as he walked toward his beck behind Stan. There were some shuffling noises, the sound of metal being moved around. The younger twin craned his neck in an attempt to see.

“C'mon, Sixer, if you're trying to help us, you could at least let us know before ya do it!”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

A pause. Then, a heavy sigh. Ford walked back over and Stan spotted a syringe in one hand.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, no!” Stan exclaimed, eyes going wide. “Let's talk about this.”

“I'm sorry, Stanley, but there's nothing to discuss. I've made up my mind. This is for the best.”

“Shit, Ford, you've already got us trapped here. Could you at least tell me what's gonna happen?”

Ford's lips pulled into a grimace, looking him over with something unreadable in his eyes. The elder twin looked between the syringe and prone form of his brother. Then, he seemed to deflate. He sighed, body sagging and looking so much more tired.

“I have to protect you,” he muttered. 

“We can protect each other,” Stan assured.

“No,” Ford snapped, then wilted. “Not just protect you. I have to… I have to keep you. It's not just Bill. The idea of him making his return is terrifying, but there's more to it. Bill, the twins’ parents, potential suitors or suitresses,” Ford slowly shook his head, looking away. “I'm greedy, Stanley. I'm greedy and selfish. I want the three of you all to myself.”

A piece of Stan's heart snapped. “You think we don't want ya back, Sixer?”

“I can't take the risk. There can be no room for doubt. And it's not just you. I cannot allow any of you to be taken from me ever again.”

“Hey, we always come back to each other, don't we?”

“And look how long that took,” Ford turned back, a wild look in his eyes. “Never again. I can't risk it ever again.”

“So what?” Stan's eyes settled back on the needle. “Ya gonna–” A nervous laugh escaped him at the absurdity of the idea. “Y’gonna kill us or something? Some Fatal Attraction shit?”

“No… Well,” Ford slowly began to smile, a strange look in his eye. “You'll all live on through me.”

Stan's face dropped. His heart sank to his feet. His fearful expression must have been so obvious that it must have broken through to Ford in some way.

“I'll protect you,” Ford assured him. “All of you. I'll protect you, love you, cherish you, keep all of you with me,” he smiled even wider, placing a hand over his stomach. “Inside me. Forever.”

All that Stan could get out is a single, “Huh?”

“It's rather simple, Stanley. If I devour you, I'll be able to keep you inside of me. You all will live on through me and nothing will ever hurt you or take you away from me ever again. It's perfect.”

So, no, apparently, this wasn't some Fatal Attraction shit. This was some Silence of The Lambs shit.

“YOU'RE GONNA COOK US AND EAT US?”

Ford rolled his eyes with a playful smile, waving him off. “Of course not. Any cannibal worth their salt knows that the most intimate and loving means of eating another person is to eat them raw. Cooking the flesh not only takes away the natural flavors of an individual but also feels completely impersonal. This is special. You are all special. I'd never do that to you."

“Oh, so that makes it okay, then?”

Ford frowned. “I don't expect you to understand.”

“Because this is crazy!”

“Stanley, you– I, we–” He growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are my soulmates. All of you. Quite literally fated to be brought together by prophecy before any of us were even born. I've spent decades without you, decades waiting for them. I can't spend another second without you,” Ford's voice became strained, eyes wet and teary. “I can't risk anyone taking you from me again. I just can't stand the thought of having to share you with anyone anymore. I need you all to myself. I can't bear it anymore. I need your blood in my mouth. I need your flesh in between my teeth.”

“Ford, please,” Stan begged, heartstrings nearly wrenched out at the sight of his brother like this. “Think about this.”

With a heavy, shuddering sigh, the elder twin approached Stan, once again looming over him.

“I have thought about this. Long and hard. And no matter which angle I've looked at it, this is the only way. This is the only way I can keep you and the twins completely safe.”

“Safe?! We'll be dead!”

“As I said, you'll live on through me. I'll carry you with me wherever I go. We can still have a life, still have adventures. It's romantic, is it not?”

Stan rapidly lost control of his breathing. “Y– you really think no one's gonna catch ya?”

Eerily, Ford's grin returned. “Oh, not to worry. Soos and Melody have already been informed that we'll be taking a sailing excursion. Perhaps, for the rest of the Summer. And as for the twins’ parents, well, teenagers can be so flighty. Who knows where they fled to, and why? We'll all be long gone on the ship by then.”

“Kids!” Stan shouted suddenly, gaze spinning wildly between Dipper and Mabel. “Come on, wake up!”

“It's no use, Stan. They're dead to the world.”

The fear and panic that had built up in Stan's chest erupted into fiery anger. His lips curled back, baring his teeth. His breaths came out in shallows huffy through his flared nostrils. He glared up at Ford, pouring all of his rage into a single look.

“I'm sorry, Stanley,” Ford cupped his brother's cheek again. “I really am. I wish there was some other way, but there's not.”

Stan opened his mouth to argue, but he hadn't been expecting the kiss Ford planted on him. A choked, surprised sound hummed in his throat, momentarily too shocked to be angry. And then he was boiling with rage. He bit down harshly on Ford's lip. Ford groaned and his head reeled back, breaking the kiss. Stan felt some sense of satisfaction at that. A toothy sneer overtook his features. 

He expected Ford to be angry. What he didn't expect was a groan of pleasure not pain, or for his brother to begin tonguing at the wound, collecting his own blood on his tongue. And he didn't expect Ford to lunge down again, taking advantage of Stan's shock to push his tongue into his mouth, sharing the blood with him. The coppery taste of Ford’s blood hit Stan's tongue and both men groaned into each other's mouths. For the briefest moment, Stan understood his brother's desire. And then the moment was gone, and he bot down on Ford's tongue. Ford only moaned and deepened the kiss further. 

When he pulled back, Ford somehow seemed even more crazed and giddy. He looked… Hungry. He was practically salivating over his brother.

Ford disappeared one last time from view while Stan struggled uselessly on the examination table. When he came back, Ford was flicking the air bubbles from another syringe. He looked positively manic.

His voice was mad whisper. “This was supposed to wait until later, but you're too irresistible. I have to have you now.”

“Stanford, please, don't!”

“Don't worry, Stanley, I promise,” he held Stan's arm still, driving the needle into his skin. “This will ensure that being consumed by me is nothing short of euphoric. You'll be begging for me to eat you.”

And somehow, that made it all the more terrifying.