stanleyknucklespines

[stanleyknucklespines]

What’s happening in the US is serious. It’s an attempt from our government to push us out of existence. Please don’t take this lightly.

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Did th is ever continue?

EMPTY NEST

A fic for @subwaystanwich celebrating Stancest Secret Santa 2017; art by @toastybumblebee​, text by redbeardbluesky.

Rating: T (language, sexual references); 2190 words.

At summer’s end, the bus rolls away from the station and Stan worries that his knees might go out from under him.  He watches the bus move farther away, growing blurry in his vision as hot tears roll down his cheeks.

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FOLSOM STREET GRUNKLES

Line art by anonymous1, coloring by anonymous2 for @stanowarb2; Day 80 of STANCESTIVAL.  

I like going to the Folsom Street Fair every September in San Francisco, and I bet the Grunkles would too.

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WERE!STAN

Art by @mistrel-fox for @stanowarb2.

Click KEEP READING to see WereStan reclining on a chesterfield…

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LATE BLOOMER

Art by @toastybumblebee for @stanowarb2; Day 90 of STANCESTIVAL

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Closer, Closer

Touch-starved Ford tries to keep his composure.

Stancest, R, 850 words. Just some UST and fluff.

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Stan rests his arm on the railing, just close enough that his fingers graze Ford’s elbow. It’s nothing.

It’s nothing, but Ford forgets the sea, the deck, the mission. He holds his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he counts Stan’s fingers, and studies the perfectly human shape of them, the knobbly knuckles, the faint hair on the back of them, the wrinkles where his hand meets his wrist.

It’s nothing.

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And the next moment he was gone.

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A Case of Mistaken Identity

So, uh, I was inspired by the art (by @typona) and post (by @jheselbraum) going around about a “Time Traveler’s Pig” AU, where Ford finds Dipper and Mabel during their trip though different times, when they end up in front of the shack while he’s still doing research there.  So here’s my spin on it.

               Voices carried through the snowstorm.

               “What did you do?!” Dipper shouted, chasing after his twin sister.

               “I don’t know!  I- oof!”  Mabel’s sneaker caught on a rock buried under the snow.  She tripped, the time travel device flying from her hands.  There was a hiss as the superheated tape measure melted the snow around it.  

               “Mabel!”  Dipper rushed to Mabel’s side.  “Are- are you all right?”

               “Yeah, I’m fine.  The snow’s pretty soft,” Mabel said, sitting up.  “She looked around.  “Where’d the time thingy go?”

               “Over here.”  Dipper got up and walked over to the tape measure, now sitting in a puddle of water. He picked it up.  “Uh.  It looks like it shrunk.”

               “What?”

               “The- you said it was getting hot, right?  When it hit the snow, the temperature change must’ve messed with it.” Dipper attempted to pry it open.  “Oh, no.  No, no, no.”

               “What’s wrong?”

               “I can’t open it!”

               “What?!”  Mabel jumped up.  Dipper trudged back to her through the snow.  “That’s not good,” Mabel said in a low voice, looking at the tape measure, which was now about half the size it had been before.

               “We’re stuck in the past!  We- we don’t even know what year it is!” Dipper said, starting to panic.  Mabel put a calming hand on his shoulder.

               “Bro-bro, chillax.  We’ll figure it out.  There’s gotta be somethin’ around Gravity Falls we can use to get back,” she said. She sighed.  “Whatever ‘back’ we go to,” she mumbled, her hand dropping from Dipper’s shoulder.

               “Oh yeah, we’re fighting, aren’t we?”

               “Yeah.”  They stared at each other for a moment.

               “I…don’t really wanna fight anymore,” Dipper said.  “We’ve got other things to worry about, for one thing.”

               “Yup.”  Mabel stuffed her hands in her skirt pockets.  She looked around with interest.  “At least we’re still at the shack.”  Her eyes widened.  “Maybe Grunkle Stan can help us out!”

               “He might not be our grunkle yet,” Dipper reminded her.  There were footsteps behind the twins.  Mabel and Dipper froze.  Someone cleared their throat.

               “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing on my property?” a deep voice asked.  Mabel and Dipper slowly turned around.  They gaped. The man standing before them was late-twenties, in a black T-shirt, looking down at them with a suspicious air they recognized well.

               “Look, uh, Gr- Mr. Pines-” Dipper started, wincing at the oddity of calling his grunkle “Mr.”  

               “Dr. Pines,” Stan corrected.  Dipper’s jaw dropped.  

               “Really?” Mabel asked.  “Like, really really?”  Stan furrowed his brow.

               “I’m not sure what you mean,” Stan said slowly.  He eyed the twins with a discerning gaze.  After a moment, he cleared his throat.  “Well, you’re clearly not the hooligans I usually chase away from my house, and you’re ill-prepared for this weather.  Uh, come inside.  I have a phone.  You can call your parents, ask them to pick you up.”

               “But-” Mabel started.  Stan was already walking back to the shack.  When he reached the door, he looked back at Dipper and Mabel, standing in the snow.

               “Come along, children,” Stan said shortly.  He walked inside.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look, but followed him.  Just before they went in, Mabel grabbed Dipper’s shoulder.

               “What is going on?” she hissed.  

               “I don’t know.  I mean, that’s Grunkle Stan, but he doesn’t seem like it.”

               “Yeah, we’ve got a lot of new information, and I’m not sure what to do with it,” Mabel said with a firm nod.

               “…What kind of information?”

               “Dipper, our grunkle used to be a H-O-T-T-I-E,” Mabel spelled out, crisply enunciating each letter.  “What happened to him?!”

               “All right, that’s enough,” Stan said gruffly, coming back outside and physically bringing the twins in.  “I can’t allow two children to freeze to death on my doorstep,” Stan muttered.  He glanced at Dipper and Mabel.  “What are your names, by the way?”

               “I’m Mabel, and this is my twin brother, Dipper!” Mabel said cheerfully.

               “Twins…” Stan said softly.  A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes.  “Ah.  I see.”

               “Did ya figure out what made the noise, Stanford?” a voice called from the living room.  

               “Yes.  Two children were outside.  I’ve invited them in to warm up and call their parents.”  Stan nudged Dipper and Mabel forward.  They walked into the living room, where another young man was sitting at the table Stan used for poker, poring over blueprints.  The man looked up.  He beamed at Dipper and Mabel.

               “Howdy there, kidlets.”

               “Uh, howdy?” Dipper said hesitantly.

               “This is my research partner, Fiddleford McGucket,” Stan said.  Mabel caught Dipper’s eye.

               “McGucket?” she mouthed silently. Dipper shrugged.  He had difficulty matching this kind-looking, clean person with the hillbilly called Old Man McGucket.  

               “As Fiddleford said,” Stan continued, not noticing Dipper and Mabel’s confusion, “my name is Stanford.  Dr. Stanford Pines.”

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I can agree with most people that the live-action Grinch is far from a great movie, but this scene always kills me.

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that’s gay babe!

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cutie stans

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boop!

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sleep~

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Stan&Ford

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more teen!stancest

gosh i love these boys

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OH MY GOD WHY HAVEN’T I SEEN THIS I LOVE IT AND YOU ;.;

college-age stan getting tutored by a young rick sanchez, his brother’s asshole classmate and all around prodigy

they get along like a house on fire >:D

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stanley avoiding the kissin part