#and i wanted to write more for stan

[yan-randomfandom]

Beanie Stanley Pines x Reader

"Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?"

— Sailor Song by Gigi Perez

You kissed Stan.

Actually, it's more of he kissed you.

When you finally leaned away, his gaze at you felt so endearing, so warm, and so full of love. His eyes have always held in a heavy weight of tears, but for once, they're finally out of happiness.

He removed his red beanie, carrying it in his hands like it was fragile, before offering it to you. You tilted your head in curiosity, a never-ending smile on your face.

"What's this for?"

"...I just wanna see how you look wearing it."

[beetlbi]

Gravity falls httyd au, is that anything? Transcript under the cut, more thoughts in the tags

Texts says “red” “very protective of Stan, messes with him a lot” “doing much better than in canon bc he isn’t alone + has someone to take care of”

[inkyrainstorms]

A Good Day To Die (not anymore. Now it’s epic brawl+taco+fireworks day) (why do you ask)

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face *throws this at you and runs away*

They’re so ridiculous absolutely my favorite idiots. Total of one brain cell between them when they’re together. Ch. 4 for A Good Day to Die(Again) did something to my brain chemistry

[bbuzz28]

Memories

Old man Fiddlestan, my beloved-and what's this? It could be semi-canon compliant :O ?!?! Woof- this is one of the saddest things I have ever written. I know some of you gremlins (affectionate) love that sort of thing, but I don't. I like really really don't. This is my comfort ship, so I don't even know where this came from other than trying to figure out how they *could* work in canon. Truthfully though, I prefer my Fiddlestan heavy on the comfort when it comes to the "hurt/comfort" genre. This is my only “angsty” (i.e. no immediate happy ending) Notes-app fics, so don't get used to this level of sad from me lol.

“Stan?” an oddly familiar voice called. Mr. Mystery, Stan Pines, glanced up from the flyers he was organizing and found that Old Man McGucket stood in the doorway of his front door. The last tour of the day had just left, it was dinnertime, and he was exhausted. Stan rolled his eyes as he unfurled his tie, wishing Soos was still there to escort the crazy old man off his property. No matter what he did, the old hillbilly always managed to find his way back to the Shack. “Sweet Moses McSuckit, what are you doing in here? Shoo, scat, or whateva will get rid of ya.” Hearing no movement, he looked at the man again and found he was standing erect. His blue eyes were the clearest he had seen them in no less than a decade.

          Wait, what did he call- oh. Oh no.

“Stan…ley? Did I…did I do somethin’ wrong?” the other man asked, his hands twisted in knots in front of him. Memories flashed through Stan’s mind; Ford falling through the portal, Fiddleford finding him passed out in the lab, working together to bring Ford home again…being together. Being happy. They had been happy, if just for a little while, hadn’t they?

Then there was the cult, and his discovery of the damn memory gun that had finally ruined everything they ever built. He took a hesitant step forward, a thousand thoughts roaring in his mind at once. “Fidds? Wha-what do you remember?” A bandaged hand snaked up and rubbed over the faded scar on the side of his head “I…don’t rightly know. Did we…I think we had a fight? I just woke up in the…in the dump. N’ I don’t have any shoes. Do ya know why my arm is in a cast?” Fiddleford looked so lost.

Stan knew in his heart that all of this was fleeting- “clarity” would hit Fiddleford every few years after he had finally wiped his mind of himself. Almost like his brain was trying to jumpstart itself back together. The first time they thought it was a miracle but…it didn’t last. It just started a trend that would follow them both for the next almost thirty years. Fiddleford would seemingly “wake up” and be lucid for a few weeks in the beginning, then eventually only a matter of days. It had been so long since the last time that Stan would wager, they only had maybe a few hours together if he was lucky.

The last time Fiddleford was himself…they had fought. Stanley thought he had figured the only way Fiddleford could stay; he needed to remember. Remember everything he had ever forgotten. At the time, Fiddleford had been unwilling to try. He didn’t think he could handle it; he knew he had forgotten what he had for a reason.

Stanley had gotten as close to begging as he ever had in his life since surviving Tijuanna, and when it had no effect…Stanley had told Fiddleford to leave and never come back. He had left that night, and by the next day he had faded away again. After a while, Stan thought his last words had been the final nail in the coffin that was Fiddleford’s mind. He carried that weight along with every other mistake he had ever made. But here he was. Fiddleford. His Fiddleford.

He took a deep breath before he opened his arms up. “Hey, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. I’m right here.” Fiddleford rushed through the doorway, melting into Stanley’s open arms. “I went away again, didn’t I?” Stan could feel Fiddleford’s tears soaking into his chest, his own whispering at the edges of his eyes. Yes, and you will leave again. You will leave me and I will be alone all over again, you fucking asshole. “Hey cowboy, didn’t I just say not t’ worry about any a’ that? You’re here now, n' that’s what matters. You’re…you’re home.” A haggard laugh vibrated through the smaller man’s chest into Stanley’s own. “I know I keep tellin’ ya, tellin’ me not t’ worry is like” “…tellin’ a fish t’ stop swimmin’; I know Fidds, I know.” Fuck was really the only conscious thought that went through his head as he held his one-time lover. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, again.

Fiddleford looked up, eyes wide and searching Stan’s face. “How long do ya think we have?” Stan shook his head, unwilling to lie even if it eventually wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t remember. You’ve always been the only person I couldn’t lie to. “I dunno, it’s been…a while. Probably not very long.” Fiddleford closed his eyes before he said “I need ya t’ know somethin’, Stanley.” Stan started to shake his head. “Fidds, you don’t have t-” The look on the other man’s face shut Stan right up-he had always had that ability. Stan wished he didn’t miss it as much as he did. “I need ya to know that even when I’m not here…I miss you. The part of me that’s somewhere in here-” A weathered hand tapped the side of his head to emphasize his point “ misses you. I’m just so sorry, Stanley. Sorry that I’m a coward. I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to be here all the time…but I’ll never stop tryin’. I’ll always try n’ come home to ya.”

Stan thought of the thousands of times he had chased Old Man McGucket, the neat little character that Stan had to compartmentalize his Fiddleford into when he wasn’t himself, out of the Shack. How many times he had found him curled up like a cat on the back porch. How every time they “met”, McGucket would say how nice Stan was or how good he felt to be around him “for some reason.” How many odds and ends McGucket would gift Stan from the dump for exhibits at the Mystery Shack with a large smile and nothing substantial behind his eyes.

It would be so much easier if he would stop trying to come back. Maybe the hole in Stan’s heart the size of the sweet, certifiably insane man would scab over. How many times had Stanley mourned him? How many times was he willing to hurt himself? They were now nearing their sixties, how long was he really willing to do this song and dance?

What’s one more time? he softly thought, his hand coming up to tenderly cup the grizzled face of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Mad scientist, friend, and unfortunately for them both…the love of his life.

“I miss you too, Fidds.”

[thefallenangel2008]

I'm sorry, but the fact that Stan could have become just like his father but he still ended up being supporting and encouraging towards Mabel, Dipper, Soos and Wendy despite everything... I'm- I'm sorry but I love that man so much YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.

[voltaridylla]

This is a mere observation and just a slight nitpick I have with how fanon portrays Randy Marsh.

!!!!! I am not a Randy apologist by the way !!!!! He’s not even a favourite character of mine. This is just my view on how he’s portrayed and my personal opinion on it. This is not an attack on anyone’s hcs and I respect everyone and their portrayals - this is just my view. I haven’t watched the specials really except the End of Obesity and Post-Covid so if there’s anything I missed please let me know!!

In South Park - it is shown many times that Randy is not a good parent but he’s not a bad person. This is a core aspect that people sometimes forget when writing him which can be slightly jarring. It is show in many episodes that he does indeed care about Stan and Shelley as well as Sharon, however, because he is selfish and is a manchild a lot of that creates so much tension. This is also added due to his alcoholism.

What grinds my gears sometimes is when fics make Randy a caricature of an alcoholic and a dead beat dad. When that isn’t the case. He is emotionally absent and negligent but he isn’t abusive. Alcoholism also has many forms and Randy falls under the functional spectrum.

This still does create a lot of hurt in families and it does heavily effect those around them. However when it is done distastefully - for example: used as a plot device and Randy is just vilainised I’m not a fan of it. It feels lazy and is very rarely dealt with care.

What I would love/wish to see more of is some nuance between the dynamic of Stan and Randy. A love-hate relationship between father and son. Randy doesn’t understand his son (shown many times) and often doesn’t understand his son’s needs. Which is why they argue a LOT, they just don’t see eye to eye. And for Stan, he loves his dad but because of Randy’s many flaws he often feels conflicted with his father - about who he is as a person and how his role as a father effected him.

Stan has to come to the realisation that his dad won’t change and the more he ponders on what his dad could be the more miserable he’ll be. It is indeed bittersweet but I think this is something that feels more effective and impactful I guess ??? The way fanon mischaracterises Randy and basically makes him a caricature of himself (the Peter Griffin effect if you will…) becomes redundant over time.

In saying that Randy has suffered from the Peter Griffin effect in some of the more later seasons but that’s another topic entirely. 😭

This show is South Park after all, so of course I’m probably taking this way too seriously but Randy is not a trope - he is a character and has shown many sides to his character!! He has MANY flaws but he also has good traits of the good father he can be at times - he does care about Stan (shows interest in his hobbies such as in guitar queero) and he’s always looking out for Shelley (in his own bizarre way..) !!! I just wish there was more understanding that characters are nuanced and aren’t one dimensional sometimes - even the ones that annoy us.

[thethespacecoyote]

I still feel like the craziest part of the book of bill is bill making ford stand on his roof in the freezing cold and ford realizing bill couldve made him jump but didn't. like. what the fuck

[coziestandhoziest]

Look at me, rising from the dead to drop off another fic for my AU where an older, unhinged Ford kind of kidnaps a 20 year old Stanley from another dimension. It's waaaaay longer than both of the previous parts.

If you're interested in the previous parts:

Part I - first meeting (has smut)

Part II - in which Ford has a vivid flashback and comforts himself by cuddling Stanley and having creepy, murdery thoughts <3 (no smut)

My god this part took forever to write. I stopped taking my meds months ago and my anxiety came back to fucking punch me in the face. It took 3 weeks for the meds to kick in (take your meds, peeps). This fic is not at all what i had planned when I started writing it almost a month ago and I struggled a lot with Stan's POV but i think i have a more solid grasp on his character and his relationship with Ford. that being said, i hope it doesn't feel disjointed because it definitely was written in tiny chunks over the whole month in between bouts of anxiety.

Anyways...this is basically just smut. I'm going to be super forward and tag @passthepittcola because i saw those tags you wrote for part II and the thought of Ford having a breeding kink would not leave me alone so i had to include a hint of it in this part, for both of us.

Onwards to Part III - in which the relationship is evolving, Stanley is the one that needs comfort this time, and we see that Ford is gaining some self awareness...

For how tiny the human population of Gravity Falls was, there was no shortage of unusual or supernatural creatures that made the town and its surrounding woods their home. It’d been months in this new dimension, and every day Ford had something new to show him. Most of it was fascinating, even if some of the technology from the new millennium still baffled Stan. Ford didn’t seem as well-versed in it as he let on, but he answered every one of Stan’s questions, and since Stan had no way of verifying if he was right, he let it slide.

This particular morning, Ford had woken Stan up bright and early. He also hadn’t caved when Stan had thrown him sleepy glares, grumbling for ten more minutes of sleep. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper; he’d had to train himself to wake at the slightest noise, but that didn’t mean he liked getting dragged out of bed in the mornings. As far as he was concerned, mornings were meant to be slow and lazy. He liked staying bundled up in the blankets for as long as he could get away with. Ford had at least had the decency to have a bagel and a cup of coffee (exactly the way he liked it) ready for him when he’d finally wandered into the kitchen.

It was midmorning by the time they left the house, and Ford had been tight-lipped about what he had planned. It wasn’t until they were standing overlooking the valley below that Ford dramatically revealed the existence of “Crash Site Omega.” He’d looked so excited… Stan hadn’t had the heart to tell him that after jumping through dimensions, aliens being real just didn’t pack the same punch anymore.

Now, standing inside the spaceship, he can admit it’s pretty impressive. Still, he’s glad the aliens are dead because they were fucking enormous. The technology looks amazing… and expensive. He wonders if Ford’s sold any of this stuff to fund his research. Ford’s definitely not strapped for cash since they’d arrived in this dimension. Every time Stan brings up the topic of working, Ford assures him he doesn’t need to worry about it, just kisses him breathless which always leads to way more interesting things.

But the idea of not having to do something to earn his keep makes anxiety swirl in his gut. Seeing all this fancy junk just laying around, like free money, makes the anxiety ease just a little bit.

He follows Ford deeper into the ship as he chatters on about the aliens and how long the ship’s been buried. Stan’s mostly just thinking about the stuff he’ll be able to sell if Ford ever lets him.

He’s just noticed that the air feels colder when he feels it — a warning tingle creeping up the back of his neck that he’s learned the hard way not to ignore.

A low grinding noise pierces the air, like something is waking up. He turns to glance at Ford but he’s already drawing his weapon.

“Lee,” he says, voice low and sharp, “get behind me.”

Stan doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s just ducking behind Ford when, sure enough, all hell breaks loose.

. . .

All things considered, they got away pretty much unscathed. The injuries are minor but when you’re up against fucking killer robots, it counts as a win. Ford’s pissed about the scrapes and bruises Stan picked up during the fight, though. Like every little bruise is some sort of personal insult. He checks Stan over quickly and then decides they need to head home.

Once the house comes into view, Ford wraps a gentle hand around Stan’s wrist and practically pulls him inside. He sets Stan up on the couch and goes for the first aid kit in the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s shed his trench coat and has the sleeves of his sweater pushed up his forearms. He approaches Stan with confident strides, eyes dark and focused right on him. This Ford moves with the lethal grace of a predator. So different from his own scrawny Ford that he remembers.

He watches silently as Ford sits beside him on the couch and gently begins to clean the split knuckles on his left hand. His eyes are sharp and his brow is furrowed with concentration. Stan knows he’s staring and his fingers start to twitch. The leftover adrenaline from the fight is still buzzing lightly through his body and it’s mixing with the heat beginning to stir low in his belly.

Because this latest adventure reminds him of the ones he and his Ford would dream about as kids. Back when they were inseparable and they were going to take on the world together. And it’s not quite what he’d pictured as a kid. There’s no Stan o’ War, it’s not the same Ford, and he hadn’t been able to play the hero and protect Ford the way he’d always done before. But there had been danger, and they’d faced it together. As Stan and Ford, invincible again.

And now Ford is so damn close, Stan feels the weight of his intense gaze pressing into his skin. It feeds the warmth in his belly until it turns into something needy. He shifts closer, leaning forwards into his brother’s space until he finds himself straddling his lap. A look of surprise flashes across Ford’s face but he leans back against the couch and gives Stan room to settle. Stan wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and brings his forehead to rest against Ford’s temple.

“Ford…” He feels dizzy, almost drunk with the force of his want.

“Sweet boy,” Ford murmurs, soft and curious. “What’s gotten into you?”

Stan just gives a quiet hum and tilts his head to the side in a silent invitation. Ford leans in and presses a soft kiss right on that spot behind Stan’s ear that always makes heat flare in his belly. Stan hadn’t even known that spot was a weakness of his at first, but Ford had found it immediately, like he already knew.

An insidious thought slithers through the pleasant haze beginning to settle over him. Had this Ford’s twin had the same weakness? Had he melted under Ford’s mouth the same way Stan is now? A flicker of something sharp twists in his gut, dark and unfamiliar.

He hates the thought. Doesn’t want to think about this dimension’s Stan touching Ford. Not when he’s the one in Ford’s lap right now. The one with those twelve fingers sliding up his thighs, with Ford’s warm breath against his skin. The heat growing in him takes on a possessive edge. Before the end of the night, he’s going to make sure Ford fucks him full, so that he goes to bed with his brother’s cum dripping down his thighs. He’ll fuck the memory of the other him out of Ford’s mind.

Stan rolls his hips down against Ford’s, biting back a moan at the sharp jolt of pleasure that races up his spine. He hears Ford grunt and his hands slide up from Stan’s thighs to settle at his waist. Not guiding, just holding, grounding.

When Stan looks down, Ford’s eyes are warm with want, his mouth tilted in an amused little smile. Stan’s heart skips, the way it always does when he catches Ford looking at him with desire. Ford shifts beneath him, spreading his legs so Stan settles more closely against him. He can’t help grinding down again in slow, deliberate thrusts, shivers wracking his body. He wants Ford all over him, inside him, filling him, claiming every inch of him. Because Stan’s afraid that one day he’ll wake up and Ford will remember the Stanley he lost and realize this one isn’t enough.

He presses harder into Ford’s lap, desperate now, needy. He grinds down again and again, like he can fuck the thoughts out of his own head.

“Come on, love,” Ford whispers, the words low and coaxing. “Take what you want.” He shifts his hips slightly, giving just enough friction that Stan’s whole body jolts in response.

And it can’t possibly be enough stimulation to really feel good for Ford. But he does nothing but gaze up at Stan with a teasing smirk and give little encouragements.

“Just like that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, Stan finds that he can’t stand the distance between them. And it’s like his brother is reading his mind because he’s already leaning up to crash their mouths together in a deep, slick kiss. Stan’s breath stutters in his chest as Ford’s tongue slides against his, slow and filthy. He fists his hands in Ford’s hair, dragging him closer, gasping into his mouth as pleasure sparks down his back from the friction still building between their bodies.

The kiss turns feral. Ford catches Stan’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Stan whimpers, grinding down harder. His thighs are trembling now, breath hitching with every drag of pleasure that builds harder, sharper.

“Such a good boy,” Ford whispers, voice rough and adoring. “My good boy.”

That’s what does it. White hot pleasure slams through him and Stan falls apart in his brother’s arms.

-

Ford feels like he’s floating, euphoric. The only thing better than having his boy warm and spent in his arms is knowing that Stanley put himself there.

He’s still annoyed with himself for putting Stanley in danger. He and Fiddleford had been inside the spaceship so many times without incident that the security system hadn’t even registered as a real threat anymore. Obviously, he’d been wrong. But he’s grateful that he’d been able to neutralize it quickly and that their injuries had been minor. He’s not entirely sure what it is about the situation that’s made Stanley needy, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it when it’s led to this: his boy climbing into his lap like he belongs there. And he does. Ford’s touched him a thousand times, coaxed the prettiest sounds from his mouth, but Stanley’s never really taken the lead before now.

He cradles him close as he comes down. Stanley breathes against his neck, soft and ragged. Ford presses kisses along his jaw, down his neck, in between whispered praise. Stanley draws back just enough to look at Ford.

“C’mon, Sixer,” he breathes, throwing Ford a hungry look. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? I want you deep. So I can feel you here,” he grabs Ford’s hand and guides it to press just below his navel. “Please. Don’t you want that too?”

Ford sucks in a breath through his teeth. Oh, he knows what Stanley’s doing. That sweet, wide-eyed look, like he doesn’t know the effect those words have, like he’s not baiting Ford on purpose.

He’s proud of him, his clever, brave boy, who’s finally starting to realize the power he holds. The fact that he can tempt Ford with a look, a word. That he doesn’t have to beg, just offer, and Ford will fall to his knees.

His heart is pounding, cock hard and leaking, and all he can think about is how good it would feel to bury himself in his boy. He wants to split him open and fuck him until he cries, wants to hear him sob and still beg for more. He wants to ruin him. Leave him so thoroughly claimed that no version of Stanley in any reality could mistake who he belongs to.

Because he’s never known how to want Stanley gently. Not this precious boy that he’d reached across dimensions to claim and not his own twin. The Stanley he left behind. The one he abandoned when they were seventeen, who died without ever knowing how much Ford needed him. How much he loved him.

But this brave, perfect boy is his. When he first brought Stanley home, he thought of him as a reward he was owed, the universe’s way of repaying a debt. Now, he knows better. He’s a second chance. A living, breathing atonement for all the things Ford didn’t do and didn’t say. And Ford will never let him go. Never again.

Stanley is still panting in his arms, flushed and dazed and offering more, because of course he is. His sweet boy doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know how dangerous it is to be loved like this. And Ford is trying. Trying to be good, to be gentle. But every instinct in him howls for more.

When he lifts his gaze to meet Stanley’s, he freezes. Because his boy is already watching him, dazed eyes roaming across his face.

-

Ford goes quiet for a beat, and for a second, Stan wonders if he’s pushed it too far. But then Ford looks up at him and he sees the barely restrained hunger in his eyes, the way his jaw twitches, the way his pupils are blown wide with need. He’s trembling with the effort of holding back.

Stan feels a wave of relief flood through him. He can see it now, his own want mirrored in his brother’s eyes. He doesn’t understand why his Ford had been so cold and indifferent. He hadn’t wanted Stan the same way he’d wanted him, but Stan remembers being fifteen and having to beg for scraps of affection.

This Ford wants him just as badly as he’s always wanted Ford. And all Stan wants is for him to break. He wants to be wrecked like that first night when Ford had left him shaking and breathless, his body spent and slick and aching. Fucked so deep and so hard he could barely remember how to speak, just his brother’s name falling from his lips over and over.

Stan wants that again. Wants Ford to fuck him like he belongs to him. Like he’s not just some stray picked up from another dimension on a whim, but his.

Stan reaches up, threading shaky fingers through Ford’s hair. Guides him close until their mouths nearly brush. His voice is barely more than a whisper when he says, “You can ruin me.”

Then, softer still, “I want you to.”

-

Ford breaks.

He surges forward, one hand cupping the back of Stanley’s head, the other curling tight around his waist as he crashes their mouths together. Stanley melts against him, lets him lick into his mouth again and again, slick and breathless.

His fingers tighten in that thick brown hair. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls against Stanley’s lips. “No clue how far I’ll go to keep you, Stanley.”

Stanley shivers against him, makes a soft, wrecked sound, and Ford swallows it, kisses him slowly. He wants to kiss him forever, tear his clothes off and bury himself inside him right here and now. But he wants to give him everything and he wants to do it right. So he gives him one last kiss and pulls back fully, guiding his boy to lie back on the couch.

He strips them both quickly, only breaking eye contact when he reaches into the drawer beside the couch for the lube. He settles between Stanley’s spread thighs, then leans down to graze his teeth along his throat. His good boy tilts his head back with a low groan, and Ford rewards him by sucking a mark just behind his ear, right where he knows it will make him shiver.

He moves down to his chest, trailing kisses and sharp little bites along the way. He lingers at one nipple, takes it gently between his lips and sucks, just to feel Stanley twitch and gasp. Then he moves to the other, tonguing it before sinking in harder, just enough to sting.

He continues kissing down and pauses when he gets to his soft belly. Ford glances up at Stanley’s face, pressing a kiss just below his navel where he’d touched before.

“Here?” he asks, voice dark and tender. “You want to feel me here, sweetheart?”

Stanley whimpers, nodding fast and breathless. “Yeah, please…need it, Sixer.”

Ford hums low in his throat, pleased, and leans in to kiss that soft spot again. “That’s my good boy,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel me there by the time I’m done with you.”

He leans down to suck one last mark on Stanley’s inner thigh, but then he sees his pretty cock twitching, and he can’t help himself. He wants a taste, so he lets his mouth brush over the head of Stanley’s cock. Just a warm breath, a teasing flick of his tongue over the slit. He moans low in his throat and Stanley gasps, legs twitching.

“Ford, don’t tease!”

But Ford pulls back, looking at him with dark eyes. “Shh. Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He slicks his fingers with the lube quickly, breath hitching when he takes in the pretty sight of Stanley, flushed and trembling, cock hard and leaking. Ford spreads Stanley’s legs wider and finally brings his fingers to his soft hole, pressing in gently. He’s still so tight around him. Ford has to close his eyes for a moment, just to keep from losing it then and there.

Stanley whines, shifting his hips, trying to grind down on Ford’s fingers.

“Easy,” Ford breathes, but his restraint starts fraying. He adds a second finger and thrusts deep, fingers curling. Searching. Then Stanley jolts with a choked moan.

“There. Right there,” Ford growls. “That spot right there? That’s mine, sweetheart.”

“Y-yours” Stanley gasps, back arching off the couch. “Fuck! Sixer… just like that-“

Ford can feel him tightening around his fingers already. He should slow down, but his control is slipping and Stanley asked to be ruined. So he adds a third finger and starts a slow, mean grind right against his boy’s sweet spot.

Stanley goes wild.

His eyes roll back and he lets out high-pitched little whines that Ford knows he’ll deny making until the end of his days. He loves bringing him to this point. Stanley’s hips buck, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation, but Ford holds him down.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Ford growls. “You’re going to come for me.”

Stanley sobs and Ford can feel his body fighting it, trying to hold back. His muscles clench, slick and fluttering around Ford’s fingers. It just makes Ford hungrier.

“Come on, love,” Ford whispers as he keeps up that torturous, grinding rhythm. “Be a good boy for me and come.”

Ford feels it the second it happens, Stanley’s body giving in. He lets out a helpless whine, legs kicking weakly, and Ford feels the sudden tightening around his fingers. He works his precious boy through his second orgasm, untouched cock spilling across his belly, until he’s wailing from the intensity.

“F-F’rd! Can’t… ahh!… too much!”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Ford murmurs, finally stilling his hand and withdrawing his fingers. “I’ve got you.”

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Stanley’s mouth. His eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Ford, dazed but Ford sees the hunger still there. His heart clenches. He knows he should give Stanley time to recover. But he can’t hold back anymore.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?”

Stanley wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and tilts his hips up in response. Ford groans, grinding his hips against Stanley’s for a moment before lining himself up. He slides in halfway, and they both moan.

“I can feel you fluttering around me,” Ford mutters, breath ragged. His eyes meet Stanley’s, and a smirk curls on his lips. “Are you trying to pull me deeper, baby?”

His boy looks right at him and nods. “Where I need you,” he breathes, hips bucking slightly, trying to get Ford deeper.

Ford breaks on a low groan, thrusting forward in one smooth stroke until he’s buried to the hilt. Stanley gasps, fingers digging into Ford’s shoulders. Then he starts to move, pulling out just enough to thrust back in, slow and deep.

“Fuck,” he breathes against Stanley’s skin. “You’re perfect, Stanley. You were made for this. Made to be fucked by me.”

Stanley’s eyes are unfocused, dazed, and he’s breathless when he says, “Just… just for you.”

Something inside Ford unravels at the words. He lets out a low growl and tightens his grip on Stanley’s hips, then fucks into him hard enough to punch a gasp from his throat.

“Mine,” he groans out against Stanley’s throat. “You’re mine.”

His poor boy’s fingers claw weakly at his back. His thighs twitch, whole body trembling. “F’rd… I can’t-” His voice breaks around a moan. “Can’t come again…”

“Yes, you can,” Ford growls. “You will.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, aiming right for the spot that makes Stanley keen. “You don’t know what your body can do, my love,” he pants. “But I do. I’ll show you.”

Another thrust, brutal and deep, and Ford feels Stanley seize around him.

“You asked to feel me there,” he snarls, not slowing down. “So take it. Feel me, sweet boy. Let me make you come on my cock like you were meant to.”

He reaches between them, and wraps a hand around Stanley’s softening cock. He’s not hard, not really, but Ford strokes him anyway. Gentle, just enough to drag him closer to the edge.

Stanley sobs, sweet and broken, clenching around him like he’s trying to drag him deeper. His cock twitches weakly in Ford’s hand, spilling just a few pitiful drops between them. Ford hisses through his teeth and drives in harder, slamming in deep. For an absurd second, he feels like he’s not deep enough. He wants more. And it’s ridiculous because he can’t possibly go any deeper but… he wants to breed his little brother. Claim him in an impossible, irrefutable way.

It’s that thought that tips him over the edge. He comes as deep inside of his boy as he can. He’s not surprised that his cock stays hard, twitching inside that sweet, ruined hole. Stanley is boneless beneath him, and he gives a soft "ah!" when Ford shifts his hips, hands twitching where they lie above his head.

“Shh, my love,” Ford pants, still trembling from his orgasm. “You don’t have to give me anything else. Just let me come inside you one last time…”

Ford isn’t going to admit to the thoughts of breeding his sweet boy. Not yet. But the hunger lingers and he can’t help himself. “Keep it nice and warm for me,” he murmurs, and then leans down to mouth the rest into Stanley’s throat: Watch it take.

And his perfect, oblivious boy wraps his arms around him and slurs out, “Uh-huh… wanna… keep y’in me.”

Ford breathes a soft laugh, feeling a surge of heat in his gut. He lets himself bask in the fantasy for a moment then gathers Stanley up again, strong hands guiding his trembling thighs around his waist. He sinks back into the couch, and slides back into his boy with a slow thrust.

-

Stan whines, body jolting, but he doesn’t protest. He just melts, wraps one shaking arm around Ford’s neck, the other curling weakly against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of Ford’s neck, and trembles, breaths coming in small, hitching gasps. Ford’s hands grip his hips, holding him up while he thrusts upward, because Stan has no strength left in his thighs, can only tremble against his brother and take what he’s given. He feels floaty and dazed, like time is slipping away. Everything’s soft around the edges except for Ford’s voice and the steady, claiming feel of his hands.

“Stanley… Stanley, baby, look at me.”

Stan gives a little whimper but obeys, pulling back with the last of his strength, only to toss his head back with a cry as Ford slams his hips down, grinding up against his abused prostate.

It hurts. It feels so fucking good.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Stan’s teary eyes flutter open, and he looks at Ford, shivering when he sees that Ford looks just as wrecked as he feels.

“There you are, my good boy. Listen to me carefully,” Ford’s voice is low, rough, eyes intense and locked on his. “You’re mine, Stanley. There’s not an inch of you I haven’t claimed. But,” Stan freezes, holding his breath, hanging on to every word. “I belong to you too, my love. You own every bit of me.”

The words land like a physical blow. And his overstimulated body reacts before he can even catch his breath. One last wave of pain-pleasure crashes over him and he clenches down on Ford’s cock. He hears Ford grunt, feels the rush of warmth as he spills inside of him. But Stan’s thoughts are still locked on Ford’s words.

Ford is his. His. His.

It’s too much. It’s perfect. Stan blacks out.

. . .

He comes to slowly, in flashes. He blinks and Ford is holding him close, soothing his trembling body, murmuring soft words he can’t make out.

He blinks again and Ford is carrying him up the stairs, shushing him gently when he whines.

Another blink and he’s in their bed, sheets cool against his overheated body. Ford is gently wiping off the sweat and cum from his aching body. Still murmuring sweet words to him. Sweet boy. Did so well for me. My good boy. Stan blinks up at him slowly and Ford smiles when their eyes meet.

“Are you back with me, sweetheart?”

His voice is soft, tender. And Stan’s heart clenches. Ford feels too far away. He wants him close, needs his arms wrapped around him. He whines softly, reaches out for him with a weak hand.

“F’rd…c’mere…”

“Shh love, I’m right here. I need you to sit up and drink some water for me. Can you do that for me?”

Stan pouts because he doesn’t really want to move but he’ll do whatever Ford asks if it will get him in bed faster. Ford helps him sit up, and as soon as the water hits his lips, he realizes just how thirsty he is. He gulps the water down quickly, then immediately reaches for his brother.

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, sets the empty glass on the nightstand and then finally, finally, wraps Stan up in his arms. Stan melts against his chest.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“Sore,” Stan mumbles. “But ’s good. ’m yours… an’ you’re mine. Mine.”

“Yes,” he hears Ford whisper, and feels him press a soft kiss into his hair. “Always.”

Stan’s heart soars. This is everything he’s ever wanted. And the relief of finally being wanted is almost enough to erase the emptiness left by the twin who never did.

[synodicsoma]

Chapter one is up!! It's not super long, but it's certainly a start so feel free to give it a read!!

[shanklin]

Five years ago, you write a fic and you never post it. You’re stuck. You hate it. Ford is too mean, you keep repeating yourself and nothing makes sense anymore, especially your English.

You decide to take a break from editing. Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself. It’s fine.

You’re a liar.

To escape your fic you change fandoms. You tell yourself  “If I ever obsess over Gravity Falls again, future me will deal with it.”

You pretend you’re not haunted by this fic sitting in your documents every time you hear the song that inspired it all.

Years pass, you make a mistake. Gravity Falls is trending and you open the tag to figure out what’s going on. It’s over. There he is. The sad, gross old man you love so much. Uh oh.

Your past self is laughing at you.

You don't want to post the fic but you have to. It’s the longest thing you’ve ever written.

You make it your New Year's resolution. It's hard, but you decide to push through. You turn on the song you avoided along with your fic and start reading.

For some reason the only part that's remotely coherent is the one single paragraph near the end that establishes the Mystery Shack as sentient. You stare out of the window for a long time.

Does it have anything to do with the actual plot of the story? Hell no. 

But was it extremely important that everyone knows it’s sentient and loves Stan? I GUESS?!

You throw your hands up in the air and give up. Fuck it. We ball.

Chapter 1

[stansthemans]

Your fem!Stan is so precious to me 🥺 sometimes I wonder what it would be like if she did have a sorta happy ending, like her getting impregnated by her brother while he’s attending college classes in the 70s.

I actually really like how you say it would be a sort of happy ending, anon, bc omg you’re so right. These two are not making it to high school graduation with no problems and then sailing off into the sunset with hearts fluttering around their heads. For how much they love each other, there’s so much baggage. Ford’s desperate need to be unique and special but it’s really hard to do that when you share a face with someone and that someone is always right there in your space and you can’t escape. And Stan, god the way that Stan loves and orbits around ford to such a degree that he’s completely blind to the fact that Ford wants independence and has moved on from those old childhood dreams. They make me sick ❤️

But when it comes to fem Stan, ooof. I typically like to keep things really close to canon when I do genderswap aus, but for this, for Ford to be willing to have Stan at college with him, I think the science fair would have to happen at least slightly differently. Option 1: Stan still busts the machine, but she manages to tell Ford about it before the judges arrive. Now, hang on, you might be thinking, does this mean communication between the Stans? Absolutely not. Not in any meaningful way. Sure, she tells him, but she doesn’t tell him why. She doesn’t tell him that she’s been blindsided by this entire college thing, that she really still believed that he wanted to go adventuring on the seas with her, that she’s scared to death of Ford waking up and realizing that she doesn’t deserve him and that he’ll leave her. And so ford sees it as a tantrum, as Stanley acting out childishly and selfishly adn holding him back (just like everyone always says she does). He fixes it. He impresses the judges. He gets his spot. But the trust is broken, and Stanley needs to make it up to him. He holds it over her head and never lets her forget it.

Option 2: I like this one more. It all goes down like it does in canon. The machine breaks. Stan stays silent. Ford misses his chance. Filbrick kicks Stan out. But wait. That’s not what Ford wants. Sure, he’s furious. He can’t believe that Stanley of all people would betray him like this, but that’s his sister. That’s his love. She belongs to him. Filbrick can’t take her away from him. That’s not his place. So Ford goes to the boat bc he knows that’ll be where Stan will go to try to get herself together to plan out (ha, plan, like Stanley could come up with a plan) how she’s going to handle this. and Ford is right. Stan is there, absolutely sobbing and panicking in the little cabin. Ford refuses to feel bad. She brought this on herself. She can’t come back home, but he has a plan. She’s his, and he’ll take care of her. Never mind Filbrick’s ultimatum. Never mind making millions. She ruined his chances for the college he’s dreamt of, but she’ll make it up to him. She’ll stay in the boat, and Ford will bring her things to make it liveable, and she’ll get whatever jobs she can to help him with his college fund. Stan takes the deal. Of course she does. It keeps her with Ford, and that’s all that matters. They have sex, but it’s not good (emotionally. For Stan, it’s all shame and guilt and she’s also really hurt that no one stood up for her. For Ford, it’s anger and betrayal and possessiveness)

Both options end with Ford bringing Stan to college with him. And both options have Stan playing the little house (dorm?) wife role that she always was so desperate to avoid. She cooks and cleans and opens up her legs whenever Ford wants. When she does what he wants, he tells her that she’s good and sweet, so much sweeter than she was before, not so childish and selfish. When she doesn’t, he tells her that she should remember what she did, that he didn’t have to forgive her, didn’t have to save her. And so more and more often, Stan does whatever ford wants, because what’s the alternative? Not being with him? If we’re in option 2, she had a taste of that for about an hour and it felt like it was enough to kill her. And it’s not that Stan doesn’t want to be good and sweet for Ford, she loves him so much, it’s just, she didn’t think it would be like this. And Ford, Ford has everything he wants. He’s accelerating through his programs at a phenomenal pace, he has the respect of his academic peers and professors (people look at his hands funny but for the first time, no one comments), he’s on the path he’s dreamed of for himself, and every night he comes home to the love of his life. And sure, she needs reminders sometimes that he saved her, maybe a firm hand so that she doesn’t forget that it was her who betrayed him and almost cost them everything, but otherwise, she’s there and she’s his and she’s perfect, especially when her stomach starts to swell up with the little life that he always imagined they would one day create.

They are happy. Sort of. This is what they wanted. Sort of.

Bc i don’t think these two can truly be happy until they’ve first been thru hell and actually learn how much they mean to each other, what all they would sacrifice for each other. And also, like imagine the horror show of bill fucking with ford when his sister and kid are targets as well.

[inkyrainstorms]

Where the Real Road Lies - the AtLP Sequel!

Summary:

"Stanley," he started quietly, and he studied the stains that lined the inside of the mug like tree rings. "I suppose I simply want to understand. Who you are." Ford looked up, studied the tightness of Stanley's shoulders, and sighed. "I suppose… I feel that I do know you. Do I really need a reason to get coffee and sit with my friend in the scrappy little diner of a backwater town and watch the sunset?"

At a solid 16.5k, this was a monster of a oneshot. I'm so happy with how it turned out <3

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face @empressofsamoyeds @pleasantartisanhottea @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @babyblankyerror @sunnylolli and everyone else <3

[tiptoethewordsgo]

hello gravity falls tumblr, someone write a fanfic where the pines family have to break bill out of rehab to help defeat a greater evil and my life is yours

[qoldenskies]

@ the earlier questions if Leo isn’t a twink then explain why I can make “I want that twink obliterated” jokes about him with impunity

if leo werent a twink the fandom wouldnt be treating him like that. for that exact reason

[bright-hope-spot-19]

All right, so there's a little something I wanted to rant about. I like Sasuke a lot, too, but there's one small thing his fans seem to mostly agree on that I just can't. It's in regards to the Kage meeting arc when Sasuke showed up, and he had a little confrontation vs. The sand sibs. As we know, Gaara tried to convince him not to turn to the darkness, even shedding a few tears, while Kank and Tem gave arguments as to why, in their opinions, Sasuke was a lost cause.

Sasuke stans proceed to respond to that scene by pointing out the hypocrisy of the sand sibs accusing Sasuke of being a hopeless criminal cause they're also criminals! They attacked Konoha, played active roles in an invasion, and killed people too! It just makes me wanna pull my hair out cause, no? Did they even pay attention to the chunin exams arc, or are they just making sheez up?

First things first, the sand sibs were all kids in that arc. They thought they were following their dad's orders, not even knowing their dad had been killed and they were being manipulated by Orochimaru. So, making them responsible for the attack is a bit bonkers? The elder was Temari, and she was just 15. She even has a canon scene in the manga questioning the validity of their attack on Konoha cause she genuinely didn't want to do it. It was Baki their sensei in charge who gave them a whole spiel about the need for that attack, revealing the dire situation in Suna. Second, it's also funny how Sasuke's trauma is a valid excuse for him lashing out against everyone (I'm not holding it out against him or hating him for it. I also believe Sasuke was justified). But his stans will also turn around and consider the sand sibs' trauma as an invalid excuse for their behavior and the way they acted. Gaara literally had a bloodthirsty demon in his head whispering bloody hell to him 24/7, and Kankuro and Temari were put in charge of watching over a brother who constantly threatened to kill them. In addition to the canon fact, Suna is also stated to be way harsher than the Leaf, especially in their training. No wonder the sibs were such cruel bastards then! It's almost like they also had to grow up in an extremely merciless and unforgiving environment where their lives were at stake almost the entire time!

The sibs also don't kill anyone in that arc? I mean, Gaara certainly did, but not the other two? I mean, they tried, but none of their victims really died. As we all know, Tenten, Shikamaru, and Shino are all still alive. I guess there's Tsurugi, the guy who faced Kank in the pre-lims, but should he really count as a victim? We're never told he died, and he's just an irrelevant background character created to fill up Kabuto's team. He's literally never seen or brought up again after the pre-lims phase. The last detail worth mentioning here: Kankuro and Temari actually indirectly saved the Leaf from further destruction. It sounds crazy but makes sense when seen in retrospect. Once Gaara started losing control of Shukaku in the finals cause Sasuke was kicking his ass and was even the 1st person to make him bleed and the invasion was launched? Kankuro and Temari proceeded to go down to their unstable brother, picked him up, and ran towards the woods and AWAY FROM THE VILLAGE. When Gaara finally transformed into Shukaku and had his fight with Naruto, it was in the woods far away from civilization. If Tem and Kank hadn't done that, he would've transformed in the middle of the stadium, killing thousands in the process. People don't seem to realize if it weren't for Tem and Kank carrying Gaara to the woods and away from the village, then the series would've ended right there.

Do you know why they did that? Because they already had past experiences with Shukaku, Gaara had already gone full beast mode on Suna once, after Yashamaru's failed murder attempt. So, Kank and Tem already knew what it was like and intentionally carried him as far away as possible while he was unconscious, so he wouldn't do the same to Konoha. Because they were never on board with the invasion to begin with. So, it never quite made sense to me when Sasuke stans accused them of being criminals. I mean, yeah, they're shinobi. I'm pretty dang certain the sand sibs are amongst the teams with the highest body counts in the series. But making them fully responsible for the Konoha invasion when it's obvious it was all staged by Orochimaru is a bit much, in my opinion. That wasn't their fault, and I won't trust anyone who holds that against them.

The last point here is that the sand sibs should also not be made responsible for not feeling sympathy for Sasuke. They're from different nations and know very little bout him. We're not even told if these 3 know anything bout the Uchiha massacre. From what I remember, the only things Gaara and Co. know bout him are what they saw in the chunin exams, where Gaara has a canon scene stalking Sasuke's Chidori training with Kakashi and telling him he also has a darkness inside him. In addition to the Sasuke rescue arc. That's the sum of everything they know about Sask, so we can't blame them for not viewing him with the kindest eyes. After all, I really doubt Konoha would let the details of the massacre get out to other villages. And while yeah, that means the most they know bout his family situation is that they're all dead, that also won't mean much to them when half the children in this show are also orphans. So, blaming them cause they considered him a criminal, also doesn't make sense.

It's like, for a comparison, someone called you a hypocrite cause you won't sympathize with a friend of one of your acquaintances whom you're not friends with personally and you know near nothing bout this person, and what little you've seen of this person are negative things putting them in a negative light from your pov. So, when that friend does some bigger bad things, even if they're justified in any way, and you judge the friend for it, your acquaintance who is actually friends with the person will call you a hypocrite cause they actually had their reasons, even if you know nothing bout them.

Again, I'm not a Sasuke hater. I really like his actions, and I'm constantly defending him. I just can't side with half of his fandom hating on the sand sibs for stuff that was way out of their control and that they shouldn't be blamed for, lol.

[tomurakii]

My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?