When You're Writing And You Suddenly Realize You Don't Know What Happens Next

When you're writing and you suddenly realize you don't know what happens next

The Days After Tomorrow

Finished February 27, 2023

2034 was when the war between androids and humans began. The war lasting decades killing both humans and androids alike, nearly wiping out the entire population of earth as a whole, leaving everything to chaos. Those who were smart enough left for safe grounds, making places like ‘Peace Bunkers’ to find some sort of order in all the chaos. Or, they leave to survive by themselves. However those who did not leave, fought valiantly or foolishly we may never know.

The war was destructive, leading buildings to collapse, towns to crumple, and even leaving whole sections of cities to level out. There was no chance of new growth in those areas with how damaged those places were at the time leading people to assume the worst of it all.

2058….

The years after the war were just as, if not more painful and dangerous than before, some wishing to be back to the years of the war because “at least they had rations and had plenty of food to go around…” The famine, the thing that killed most of the remaining first generation ‘survivors’, the second and third generations after, learning to make do with the things they had. Relearning to farm, cook, and much more.

A huge step from using androids.

Hope had run out long after everything started, and no one dared to go anywhere close to towns and more specifically cities, out of fear of androids or larger groups of humans to be there. Those fears however were one of many myths or folklore that were taken seriously by those communities, so very few people stay in places with a high density of buildings. Leaving those areas to flourish, areas growing trees inside toppled apartment buildings nearly reaching to apartment height. Flowers growing in between the cracks in the concrete along with weeds.

In one area of this specific city however is a place that has strangely been open the entire time this had all been going on, and that place is ‘Terry’s café’. Terry’s café is small compared to the other buildings in the area and beside, with two levels and the outside looking as if the person who had owned it first was originally a flower shop but was later turned into a café. The inside however had more of a late 80’s look to it with checkered flooring and parts of cars in different corners of the room. The androids that are there working, were cleaning or talking to imaginary customers and making them food. With the way they act it’s almost as if time has looped forever in this place. Acting as if the war and the famine never existed.

On this particular day someone enters the café, and not just anyone, a human….

A human boy.

This boy in particular has a name, his name is Aurthur Wymblur Jaycobs. A boy one would describe as both rowdy, obnoxious, an overall bright young boy and…. a cold killer, depending on how you meet him. With his bright orange hair seemingly unable to stay in one place the owner of said hair forgoing trying to brush it. With his round childlike features and his bright green eyes, one would think that he would be seen easily by other survivors and killed on site, however he’s quite clever when making traps and shooting unsuspecting victims. There are myths saying that he owns the cities, some even saying he was born in one of the toppled buildings. Most don’t believe he’s real, saying that he’s just one of a bunch of ghost stories to tell children at night to warrant them from going into the cities. Either way you put it though Aurthur… is not a kid to be reckoned with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arthur was racing around the block in section B-1C, a section he has been in and around to know the way in his sleep. He would usually do this twice a week in different sections, practising his parkour. On this particular day he was making his laps when he had noticed a new side street he'd never seen before. Being the curious little shit he was, he went to check it out. It just so happened to be the place the café was in, squished between two toppled buildings. It looked interesting since it looked to be the only thing open and in operation at least… from the outside. As he ran closer to said café he noticed that indeed it was open and androids were freely running around in there… interesting. Disregarding how many red flags there were just by this thing being opened in the first place he invited himself in….

And this… is where our story begins…

As Arthur entered the café the doorbell above the door chimed with timed rhythm letting every android in the building that a new person had entered the café. Arthur flabbergasted that the bell is still working given that everything outside of this store is broken, feeling like a deer caught in headlights stared owlishly.

No one said a thing in those few minutes, unsure whether it was a good idea to speak or not. The android manning the counter was the first to speak, asking in what seemed like a motherly tone “Hello young one, how can we help you on this perfect spring evening?” Arthur, unsure how to go about answering the question, stays silent.

The Counter android -Arthur’s now dubbed- realizing it won’t get an answer out of him anytime soon shouts to whoever is in the kitchen “Order up for one stack of waffles and a small coffee!” there was a muffled reply from in the kitchen, their answer seemed to have made the Counter Android upset with it replying back “Well he might as well have something while he’s here, he looks so thin a gust of wind could blow him over! So get him the things I asked for before I make you” before turning to Arthur to say quietly “No offence hunny, but you look like you haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been born.” Arthur, feeling the need to defend his honour, argued back saying “Hey! I’m not skinny, I’m pretty average for kids my age!” The counter android had an almost look of surprise before collecting itself and replying with a glint in its ‘eyes’ “Ooooh really~, when was the last time you ate then?”

….. Now that was a question.

The last he had remembered was a week ago, when he was looking through C-5E looking for if there were any lone survivors wandering around, when he had started to become hungry. It was the third time that week alone and it was becoming increasingly annoying. Sometimes Arthur wished he didn’t have a stomach, either way he needed food and he needed food right now. Arthur looked around to see where the closest deserted store was, which happened to be right beside him at the time, whoo hoo! That time he happened to get two cans of beans, so he heated them up with a makeshift fire He made all by himself.

“About a week ago why does that matter though, I’m the most well off by the world's standards, other kids my age barely get that! So BOOM! SUCK ON THAT!”

The once happy chattering of the café turns dead silent. All androids that were previously minding their business, now facing the only kid in the room in horror of what they had just heard.

Well off? This malnourished child is more well off than most kids?

Arthurs words shock the entire café. Them all realizing the gravity of the situation and how bad it really was out there. For years they were to never leave the building in fear of what their owner might do to them. But….

they don’t have to worry any more, their owner has been dead for probably as long as they’ve been working for.

They realize what their new objective is: ‘keep. this. boy. safe.’

“Hey! You guys good? Your fucking scaring me, which I don’t say often out loud, but I will hurt you if you fucks go crazy on me!” Arthur nearly yells, quick to brase his gun just in case. Arthurs’ almost worried threat seemed to have knocked them out of their stupor, with Counter android responding “Yes, we’re fine, RIGHT GUYS!” A collective ‘yeah’ was said amongst the androids as they went back to what they were originally doing.

“Anyhow, how ‘bout you go and sit down in one of the seats over here.” It said, pointing to the bar seats in front of the counter. Shrugging, Arthur takes his hand off his holster as he walks over to the seat closest to the cash register, looking forward into the window of the kitchen. Where, more androids are busy working on food in the back.

The seats themselves sigh in relief from not being sat on in a long time when he adjusts himself in his seat. The Counter Android -He really needs to figure out its name cause it’s getting reeal annoying calling them that- seemed pleased with this new development going as to say “So! What's your name kid? I gotta know the name to the face."

"Arthur Wymblur Jacobs, I came up with the name myself!" He proudly exclaimed.

“Oh did you really? Can you tell me where you got the idea?” The Counter Android questioned, seemingly excited to hear more, and for the next few hours the two of them chatted more while Arthur was enjoying his waffles and surprisingly delicious coffee. The two, taking turns asking meaningless questions. Eventually though Arthur had to leave, however this was not in vain as Arthur had promised to come back the next day excited to hangout more with the androids.

From then onwards it became their routine for Arthur to come into the café, have food and chat with the androids and would have to leave again a few hours later. Arthur soon found out the names of the androids, and more specifically the Counter Androids name which her name is Maria. Arthur had gotten to know her a lot more than the others going as to say now even friends, but you didn’t hear it from me. Lately he’s been somewhat of a regular. Well as far as regulars go in the apocalypse at least, it’s like when you give a stray animal food they always come back for more. Arthur hoped that maybe….maybe this time he’ll be able to have a somewhat normal life finally.

But things never stay like that forever…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a ‘normal’ tuesday evening….well as far as normal goes at least now with a new schedule; get up at noonish – according the position of the sun – parkour around from B-1C to Z-0A looking for new survivors foolishly wandering around His city and kill them, then afterwards head to the café. THAT'S IT! That's all that was supposed to happen on a NORMAL day. Except today while looking through section C-5D for survivors he finds a large group of androids, about ten to fifteen that seemed to be patrolling the area looking for… something Arthur couldn’t tell from where he was at the time.

The androids themselves looked as though they were made for either military or the police force of some kind Arthur didn’t care he just wanted these assholes off his turf. Their faces were that of white plastic not as shiny with wear and tear from over the years. The features were that of symmetrical perfection, uncanny valley to that of the norm. The androids all wore the same outfit; an indistinguishable uniform shirt with ruffed up dress pants and dress shoes that look like they’re on their last life. These types of androids are a hivemind. They only follow one ruler and they are told set instructions not all the same though, and most of all are not at all fond of humans. They believe that all humans should be extinct. Which is not great for Arthur at the moment.

From where Arthur was positioned behind a large piece of concrete, he shouldn’t be found unless one of the androids turns in his general area. So in theory if he just keeps to the side closest to the apartment complexes he should be able to leave scott free.

…But it’s never that easy…

Just as he was moving closer to the buildings mentioned before he slipped on a pile of crumbled apartment wall, which caused his gun to fall off his holster hitting other pieces of rock along the way. Which then in turn made one of the androids turn over in his direction.

No one moved or made a sound for a total of five seconds….

Before Arthur fumbled more trying to correct himself before finally running out into one of the alleyways. The androids, realizing that it was indeed a human over where Arthur was originally, go to chase after him. Going through houses and buildings to hopping fences and even secret passageways Arthur thought he only knew, the androids still were on Arthurs tail the entire time. Shooting Arthur to get him to slow down, it worked somewhat with nicking Arthur a few times in the legs and shoulders. But with so much adrenaline pumping in Arthur it didn’t keep him down for long. After what felt like hours they finally reached B-1C and from there he went into the side street to the café, as he finally got some distance on the androids. The only thought that Arthur could conjure up as he turned another corner and saw the lights of the café, was ‘sorry Maria looks like I’m bringing company this time.’

Arthur bursted into the happy café, frantically trying to find Maria who just so happened to be at the counter as always looking more concerned by the second. Running over to her he exclaims “Maria, please, you gatta help me they’resthseseguysandithinkthinktheywannakillme!”

“Woe woe woe! Calm down what are yo-” just then the sounds of multiple footsteps could be heard with rapid succession coming towards the café. Right then Maria had to make a decision and fast, “Ok, Arthur you get behind the counter!” Maria explains to Arthur as he does so, she didn’t have to tell the others what to do as they were already pretending as if there was nothing wrong when she turned to them.

The counter that Arthur was in was…. Not that interesting all in all. It has a hidden compartment, usually used to store extra bottles of alcohol, now used to store a panicking Arthur at the moment. A loud bang is what sets Arthur further on edge because that can mean only one thing.

There here…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just up above the counter, in the doorway bursts in the androids from before. They start looking in places around the café with intent, not caring if they're shoving other androids out of the way. “OKAY, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Maria shouted over all the ruckus, getting sick of the blatant disrespect. Surprisingly, she was able to get them to stop, them all standing straight up and forward staring at her. “What I want to know is why you’re making a mess of my store.” Maria was starting to get angry fast if no one here explains themselves. Their captain –from the fact that one else dared to speak– is the one to speak “We are A1-T3CH from Astech Corporation. We were sent to this city with the instruction to bring back a life form that seems to inhabit here regularly. We encountered it once and are searching for it for it has run off. Do you have any knowledge of its whereabouts?” It spoke with indifference as if it was reciting from a stripted.

These guys are here to hurt him, they're here to hurt Arthur, they're here to hurt your son! Maria could hear over the silence almost unable to think with how loud the system was being but she pushed through.

“See? Now isn’t that easier than wrecking my shit?” Maria closes her eyes and takes an unneeded breath before she speaks “Anyways I can’t help you with that one since we’ve never seen this ‘life from’ come into our café, Hell! We’ve never left this building for that matter, so if you could be so kind, please leave.” Maria then opens her eyes, and if looks could kill, they all would be a pile of dust sitting at the bottom of a six feet deep hole, “Before I am force to take you out myself” The cameras in the android's eyes shifted, seemingly surprised that one of its kind is being aggressive with its words.

“Are you threatening our team?” the android said, cocking its head slightly like would a confused dog. Eyes watching Maria like a hawk looking at its next meal.

“So what if I am?” they’re both inches away from each other, if they were human they would be able to feel their breath on each other. Maria just wanted them away from her boy.

“Then by proxy I would have to kill you too” and with that it took out a gun and started to fire it, as well Maria ducked under the counter to grab her guns from her holster, “let’s get this over with”.

From inside the hidden compartment Arthur finally, having calmed down some, could hear loud muffling from up above. When sudden banging and popping started out of nowhere, making Arthur slightly annoyed that he couldn’t see what was going on, because if he did he would be dead. Arthur shifted in his spot, as he did this a shot of white hot pain came from his right shoulder and his left calf, Arthur realised that in his panicked state he forgot about his injuries. After coming to this reaization his injuries were starting to become unbearable, ‘Oh I really hope Maria finishes up what she's doing because I have nothing to wrap these wounds up.’

Luckily for Arthur he didn’t have to wait long for as soon as the banging started it soon ended and he was let out. When Maria opened the door, Arthur could see the damage the other androids did. She had a slash with blue ooze trailing down her face and wires sticking out of her arms. “Well it t’k you long ‘nough ‘m in SO much pain I think ‘m going to faint fr’m just the pain” Arthur slurs his words before promptly passing out. Maria, now super concerned with the amount of blood on Arthur and that he just passed out, picks Arthur up carefully and briskly walks upstairs to the second floor of the café and into a small room on the right of the stairs.

The small room had a slanted roof with baby blue walls, with the room itself looking as if it was originally a baby room but instead of a crib in the corner it’s a twin sized bed, with the dusty covers still on there from years before. The room was otherwise vacant compared to the rest of the café. Maria places Arthur’s sleeping body on the bed and gets to work on fixing his wounds the best she can….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Arthur finally wakes up the first few things he notes is that one, there are hands on his head slowly carding through his head, two, there is a light coming from somewhere and it’s getting annoying, but whining seemed to get it to leave, and three, whatever he’s on right now is SO comfy at the moment. He could hear quiet laughter above and to the right of him as he shifts more, only to have pain give Arthur a reminder of what happened in the last…. What time is it?

As Arthur shifts, he opens his eyes and blinks before looking up to see who exactly is touching his hair. When he looks up he can see Maria staring at him, like a mother looking at their baby. She no longer had blue running down her face, now a scar to replace it. It looks like she fixed herself up if the halfass patching is anything to go by.

“Hey mornin’ sleepy, hope you had an at least somewhat decent sleep.” Maria spoke softly to Arthur as she continued to card her hands through his hair. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth he assumed was part of the technology in her, he just grunted in response “five more minutes please?” She humed back in return as she removed her hand “okay, just don’t move to much you are still recovering, I’ll just be down stairs then.” She got up from her chair beside the bed and started to walk out, She was about half way to the door when she heard a mumble from the bed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that, can you repeat yourself?” Maria asked as she made her way back to the bedside. When she got to the bedside Arthur’s hand lazily shot out to grab her and asked quietly “Can you stay…mom?” Arthur’s face warmed so much a rose would be jealous. Arthur, clearly embarrassed hides his face to only show his bright green eyes. Maria, unable to resist the cuteness, sits back in her seat and removes Arthur's hand so that she can go back to carding her hand through his head.

And they sit like that for the first part of the morning, and later Maria will make sure Arthur’s wounds are healing nicely. Then they would go downstairs to eat and chat, later Arthur would ask to stay in the café and they would stay like that for the years to come like a little weird makeshift family.

However for now they stay like this with Maria carding her hand through Arthur’s now sleeping body.

And isn’t that enough?

Martian Stan AU - Aftermath & Discovery

The Beginning (1), Aftermath (2) (here), next

Extra! (The Apology)

Ford didn’t know how long it took for him to pry himself off the floor, but it felt like hours later when he managed to trudge his way upstairs, eyes burning and throat raw. There was new blood on his knuckles, and Ford couldn’t remember if it was Stan’s or his own. He’d tried to scrub the blood off of the portal, but most of it had been too high and Ford was so tired.

He couldn’t fall asleep in the basement, he chanted to himself, again and again and again and it only occurred to him once he stood swaying at the top the of the stairs, that is didn’t actually… matter, anymore.

It didn’t matter what Bill did, or didn’t do.

The portal was broken beyond repair. His brother was dead.

The journal is gone. his mind whispered insidiously, and he couldn’t remember if he’d always been so cruel to himself, or if it was a byproduct of Bill. You got what you wanted, Sixer. How does it feel?

Ford hobbled to the bathroom as fast as he could manage, and hurled his guts out into the toilet. When all that came up was acrid bile, though, and Ford wondered idly when we he last ate. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered, Ford decided firmly, hands clenched on either side of the porcelain bowl so hard that they looked bloodless in the harsh white light. It didn’t matter what he felt, or didn’t feel.

Not anymore.

The journal was gone. That was a good thing, it meant that the portal could never be rebuilt again. Stanley made an honorable… he. He’d made an honorable sacrifi—

Ford hunched over the toilet and heaved again. Nothing came out.

Impossibly, time kept moving.

Ford was left drifting in the current, from room to room, machine to first aid kit to paper to specimen to paper to circling the door of his lab again and again like an anxious sentry. He didn’t process any of it, and eventually, the door was the only thing left in the house that felt truly real. It was the only mystery left that Ford could pay any real mind to, and most of the time he wanted nothing more than burn the whole thing to the ground.

Sitting against the door, head leaned back and staring at the ceiling, Ford searched his mind for something. Anything.

A plan, a goal, fuck, he’d take the will to actually get out of the house and get groceries despite the constant chance of being watched at this rate. There was near nothing left to eat in the cabinets that wasn’t rank with age, and Ford knew he was wasting away like this.

But there was nothing. No part of him cared.

He knew he’d always had the wildest aspirations as a kid and as a young man, that he’d never stop reaching for bigger and better heights, but the light had blinded him with its promise, and now he’d fallen. He’d fallen so far.

He’d said Icarus didn’t flap hard enough, when Fiddleford tried to warn him of his own hubris all those weeks ago. Now he was just glad he wasn’t an English major, because it had taken him all of this just to realize that Icarus had found the sun, been embraced by the promise of warmth, and burned for it.

Trust no one.

Ford traced an idle finger against the freshly bandaged burn on the underside of his hand.

And no one should ever trust you.

…

The worst part, Ford thought to himself as he brewed another pot of coffee and searched for a clean mug, was the uncertainty of it all. There was a grief in loss, of course, but not knowing could be so much worse.

Stanley could still be alive out there, among the creatures of the Nightmare Realm, all alone. He could be dying. He could be dead. He could be sitting on the other side, waiting, hoping Ford could open the portal and bring him home—

Ford slammed down the sole clean coffee cup he had left hard enough to startle himself, and then sighed.

He’d have to go clean up the remains of the portal, eventually. Before he fell asleep and Bill…

Ford poured out the coffee and leaned heavily against the counter as he took a sharp swig. It burned the whole way down.

What did he have left that Bill wanted? What reason did Bill have to keep him around if his research was beyond saving, if he couldn’t be threatened or tortured into complying anymore?

The next time he fell asleep…

Ford didn’t know what’d happen to him, and despite everything, damnit, Ford didn’t want to die. He couldn’t let Bill win, couldn’t become another footnote in the history of the world because he was just another one of the poor schmucks who fell for Bill Cipher’s lies.

Taking another gulp of liquid courage, Ford pulled his coat tight around himself and marched to the door of his lab before he could talk himself out of it.

Forget not sleeping in the lab. Ford couldn’t sleep at all until he found a way to sever Bill from his mind for good. Project Mentem had been a bust last he’d checked, but it was worth another shot. What else hadn’t he tried? There was something… a protection spell? A charm?

Ford contemplated his options all the way down the stairs, one hand keeping him steady on the wall while the other held his mug.

He still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted yet, or what his next step was, but Ford could do this. He just had to secure his mind, like he’d planned, and then get rid of the blasted portal once and for all. Nothing had changed.

Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed. Nothing, nothing, except that Ford felt hollow where there must’ve once been something warm and vital in his chest. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel warm again. He didn’t deserve to.

Ford remembered a detail about sleep deprivation, as the elevator neared the basement level again and his heart dropped in time with the doors hissing open. Hallucinations were a common byproduct of the resulting sensory overload and exhaustion. They could take auditory or visual form, though visual hallucinations were a more common symptom by over 52%.

That was the only explanation he could conjure for the faint singing that echoed through the dark, cavernous sub-level before him.

“It’s not real,” Ford whispered to himself, hands a vice around the coffee mug. He felt cold. “Auditory hallucinations are an expected and well documented symptom to experience in conditions less dire than these. Focus on your intellect, Stanford. Focus, focus, it is not real.”

For a long stretch of time, seconds, or perhaps minutes, Fords feet were glued to the floor of the elevator. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he said or did, the singing, or the static, remained steady and quiet.

It wouldn’t go away unless Ford made it.

Finally, Ford forced himself to creep into the basement, and then the control room to set his mug down on the desk. The music was louder now, more distinct here than it had been before. Had Ford left a radio on down here? Was that it?

Holding his breath, Ford crept around the trashed room, checking behind spare sheets of metal that had been propped up against the walls, kneeling to look under the control panels, and then behind them too. All the while, the music droned on, buzzing and humming and settling under his skin like an itch.

-any- wind blows—

It got louder as he neared the very back of the room, the words filtering through the humming static and becoming clear. Ford couldn’t deny it anymore. That was a voice. He shivered hard, jolting like ice had been pressed to the back of his neck, and hurried forward.

-really matter to me… To me.

There was a pile of debris, in the back of the control room, farthest from the door where he’d entered. Stanley must’ve crashed into it, when Ford and him had been… when he’d…

-just killed a man —a gun against his head…

Ford slowed his pace, staring down at the dented metal plates and machinery that had fallen loose in a heap on the floor, the stray wires and screws jutting out of the mess every which way. Slowly, Ford sank to his knees and pressed his aching palms onto the cool floor beneath him.

He could hear the singing now. Warbling, staticky. Familiar.

-Life had just begun, and now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.

Ford choked on his next inhale, thin and trembly as it was, and searched through the wreckage with wide eyes.

There. Nestled between a dented panel with half its screws undone, and a jumble of wires and smaller panels of sheet metal, was the source of the sound.

For a long, long moment, all Ford did was stare.

Oh mama… oh ohh oh. Didn’t mean to make you cry.

If I’m not back again this time tomorrow…

Ford’s hands trembled as he reached out, carefully prying the radio out of the scrap heap and holding it up in the dim light.

Carry on, carry on…

As if nothing really matters…

The voice faded out. Static.

Ford set the radio down on his lap, gently, as it would shatter into a million pieces otherwise, and pressed a trembling hand to his mouth.

“Stanley?” Ford choked out, and it was like trying to breathe glass. But he had to know, he had to, because— because…

He sat there, dully staring down at the radio Fiddleford had cobbled together months ago, when they’d still been in the implementations stage of the data and blueprints they’d collected, when the preliminary tests had begun. A device to send and collect waves and other information from beyond this dimension without actually opening a rift.

And here it was. In Fords hands, dented and scratched and still whole despite everything. Ford had turned his sights completely to the portal before the it’s completion, since Bill had deemed the entire endeavor a waste of time and energy and an ineffective outlet for his genius.

Fiddleford must’ve completed it, back when he was still just as enthralled in the project as Ford was. He missed his old friend, but Fiddleford was likely back home by now, in California to try and reconnect with his wife and child. As bitter as Ford was, he hoped Fiddleford was successful. His old friend deserved as much and more.

There was no reply to Ford’s question, except, Ford brought the radio to his ear and strained to listen through the faint static. Was that… humming?

Doo- doo doo, yeah, no poindexter, I‘m done, man. That’s the last song of the evening, I’m not paid for overtime.

Moses, wish I were getting paid for this.

Ford jumped, wincing at the sudden burst of noise loud enough to make his ears ring, then processed what Stanley, because that had to be Stanley, had said.

“Stanley! Where are you? Are you in the Nightmare Realm? You must be… what sort of method did you find to transmit your signal? Are you al—“

But Stanley continued speaking as though he hadn’t heard him. A thrill of irritation went through him. Was Stanley ignoring him? Was this some kind of petty revenge tactic?

When’d that song come out anyway? ‘75?

He hummed.

Sounds about right.

Ford shook the radio and bit back a growl, before he remembered that the technology in his hands was damaged and sorely in need of a repair and upgrade, and loosened his grip again. He set it down in his lap.

“Stanley, I need you to take this seriously, please, for once.”

Wow, that song was everywhere back then, wasn’t it? I remember thinkin’ Ford probably liked it when it came out, wherever he was. The nerd was probably in college.

“Stanley?” he tried again, but he wasn’t expecting a reply anymore. Stanley soldiered on, rambling about everything and nothing and Ford could almost hear the smile in his voice if it didn’t sound so tired.

Hell, where’d I first hear it? Must’ve been over at a gas station in… eh, Kansas? Somewhere over there, the big ol’ middle states.

We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore.

Ahh, those were the times. Me, the open sky, and so, so much dirt in my hair. Seriously, where did the dirt come from. I roll around in one haystack and suddenly i’m fishing filth out of my hair a month later.

Stanley went quiet again, before he laughed.

Aw man, I actually like this story. Buckle in folks, and I’m taking us back to that weirdly cold summer day in Kansas, where I had to steal 5 prized chickens. For some reason.

Look man, when someone pays you a hundred bucks and tells you he wants chickens, you don’t ask questions.

Anyways, I’d been-“

For the past few… well, it had to have been days since Stanley fell through the portal by this point, if Fords state was anything to go off of, Ford’s mind had been eerily blank. He’d been a hollowed out shell of his former self, a ghost in his home and life that held onto the living plane by only the barest threads and pure spite.

It was like a switch had flipped. Ford’s fingers drummed on the outside of the radio as he forced himself to his feet, mind whirling at a hundred miles per hour and making calculations and theories and discarding some and contemplating others, and he was nearly jittering as he walked out of the control room entirely. He’d need to find a way to secure this side of the portal from Bills influence, recollect his journals, and then, he was bringing his brother home.

He stopped just before he got into the elevator and turned around to stare down the wrecked portal that loomed overhead. The once perfect inverted triangle, now ruined and warped nearly beyond recognition.

He grinned in a way that was more just like baring his teeth.

“You may be a god, Cipher, and you may think you can control me, but never forget. I am a scientist.”

The portal stood dead as it had been, but Ford didn’t care. He whirled around and stalked into the elevator. He felt more awake than he had in days. And he had research to collect and a demon to banish.

Stanley was still talking, as the elevator began to shudder and rise, and Ford’s adrenaline shot began to ever-so-slightly wane. Something about… attack pigeons?

-And when I finally think I’m in the clear, I duck around one of the hay bales and come face to face with, and I’m not kidding here, a cow wearing heavy duty armor, like a helmet and shit the guy in ‘Nam would wear. It even had holes for the ears!

There was a strange sound then, and Ford realized with a start that it was coming from him. He was laughing. It wasn’t even than funny, really, but something about Stan delivery made Ford wheeze.

When was the last time he’d laughed? It must’ve been before this whole thing started, when he’d been with Fiddleford or B—

The laughter died in his throat. Oblivious to Fords inner turmoil, Stan kept on jabbering.

And there I was, 5 chickens smuggled into my coat and in my bag —and if you’ve never tried to carry 5 chickens, never do, it’s hard as hell and not worth it at all— staring down ol’ Bessie.

And then, because this fucking farm couldn’t get any weirder, the cow started moo-ing like it was setting off a tornado siren, and all the other cows in the whole place started mooing in sync too. It was fucking terrifying man.

They must’ve been calling the attack pigeons, because those suckers came back, and they started dive-bombing my sorry ass, and really, that was when I reached my limit.

I dove into the hay bale like a damn football player going for the end line, and even though it was by far the itchiest thing to ever happen to me, it saved me from death-by pecking so I’ll take take it.

The itchiest, of course, save for my stint in Albuquerque.

Ford could almost imagine Stan shaking his head as he paused again. With a start, he realized he was still smiling.

Just. Don’t try selling pillows in Albuquerque is all I’ll say.

Stan gave an audible shudder.

So many feathers… And itch powder. The itch powder didn’t help.

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out of him at that.

Tags! (I’m sure I’m forgetting someone, pls tell me if you want to be on the list! Or just follow the tag that also works) @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @littlelilliana15 @empressofsamoyeds @pinesfamilycatsau

Super Epic Secret Surprise! (Will link when posted)

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lizz-the-box

1 month ago

Hey so i got brain worms for a bit with this prompt and started working on it....... but unfortunately the worms have left the station and so i have this sorry for it being unfinished :(

hope you like it anyways :D

Pain

A pain that was progressively getting more noticeable and this all encompassing pressure along his neck, mouth, hands, legs and shoulders were the first things Stan notices when he finally becomes aware of himself after being knocked out. The second thing he notices is that it’s starting to feel quite hot…or it's always hot, he doesn’t know; but what he does know is that opening his eyes does jack shit for helping him get his bearings in order. Though after shifting (read: flailing) around a bit Stan comes to the conclusion that he’s in the trunk of either one of Rico’s cars or some random car. Speaking of the fact that Stan left his car in an alleyway in some backwater town before Rico’s men found him.

You should of just skipped town instead of staying for an extra day you knew Rico was still after you yet you stayed for what, a few hours of sentimental wallowing at the beach thinking about hi–

Stan shifted about some more; rubbing the rope that was around his wrists and ankles a lot in the process, trying to find where the trunk latch was. After a bit more shimmying and trying desperately to control his breathing he found where the latch was.

The thing was though it was locked and unfortunately kicking it like stan had been doing for however many minutes… or has it been hours or days or wee– had done nothing but make his already ear splitting headache even worse as stan now starts to panic.

brea–

Fuckshitfuck Im fucking stuck in here they fucking locked me in here to die! Theyleftmetodieinhere to die in here either from starvation, dehydration or from boiling alive inthisfuckingcar

Breath–

He’s shifting more wildly now. Trying to yell, scream anything but it’s all muffled behind the cloth wrapped around his mouth digging into his cheeks.

Desperation in every movement as Stan trys and trys and trysandtrysandtrysandtrysan–

Breathe–

I gave them the fucking money i owed and it was stillnotENOUGH

The muscles in Stan’s legs grow more stiff the more he kicks.

I'm going to die here without those millions, i'm going to die proving pa right, that he was right that all i'm good for is ridding off of other people BETTER people’s coattails and bringing them down

BREATHE–

What would ma think?

BREATHE–

Would she care?

BREATHE–

What would Ford think?

BREATHE–

Would he be glad to not have the screw-up to think about when he’s DEAD

BREATHE–

Would he even care?

BREA–

THUMP

That’s when he hit something softer than the rest of this godforsaken car. Just behind where Stan hit his head in a blind panic was the backend of the backseat. It might be his only way out Stan thought numbly; his teeth already feeling phantom pain of what was about to come.

The next however long was spent in a fog of numbness and all encompassing determination as he wraps his teeth around the looser piece of fabric on the backseat and yanks; choking on his gag in the process, but that didn’t stop him as he keeps yanking and yanking. Stan starts to feel copper in his mouth as the fabric rips off. A small victory as Stan continued this rhythm the whole way through the backseat. Find the weak spot. Tear. Find the weak spot. Tear. As Stan goes along, the cloth around his jaw starts to cut more and more into his cheek, digging further and cutting the edges of his mouth. Fortunately wareing down the cloth more as his teeth grind against the fibers of both the cloth and the backseat and allows Stan to be free from the gag. Not that he notices as he keeps going little by little chewing his way through the backseat of the car. The copper taste gets increasingly more potent and the smell of sweat, grime, and flesh make itself more known as Stan continues his onslaught, feeling chunks of something fall with the fabric and cotton he’s tearing out.

There are no thoughts and no overwhelming feeling as Stan starts seeing more and more light while ripping through the seat. Just a need to keep going. To keep ripping and he’ll be free.

For now at least.

When the hole to the backseat is bigger than his head; Stan uses his upper body strength to force himself through the newly made hole. Not caring how he got out, just that he did; cramming his shoulder the metal bits inside the seat scraping down his shoulder blades possibly dislocating his right shoulder in the process, though Stan’s not entirely sure about it as he doesn't feel a thing; the numbness encircling his mind makes it quite hard to think or feel anything.

Once out, the first thing Stan does is wrap his tied hands to the headrest of the driver’s seat back as flush as he can get before thrusting his body away from the headrest snapping rope around his in a violent manner taking a bit of skin off his wrists with the rope. Next was rope around Stan’s legs, this being a lot easier to get done as his hands were now free from the rope. Once done freeing his legs, Stan climbed over the center console and over to the driver's seat; stumbling as he went, then shoving his entire body weight into the driver’s side door, the door swinging out as if its owner didn’t care whether or not it was open or shut. Unfortunately that meant that Stan went flying out the door onto the hard dry ground.

“Ah ‘uck” Stan groaned out as his face hit the ground.

Stan layed there for what felt like an eternity but was really only about 5 minutes; just lying there soaking up the feeling of the dirt beneath him. He needed to move, to figure out what was wrong, he needed to get help, there was so much blood he needed to move, but he couldn’t for the life of him get his body to listen. It was as if he was a guest to his own body barely feeling much, just an overwhelming feeling of numbness. Sure he felt that something was off with his body, the lack of teeth when he wrung his tongue against his gums and felt just that; gums, and his –what he’s pretty sure is very much dislocated– arm. He just can’t seem to get his body to operate the way he wants right now.

Get up dumbass you got this far now just get up and keep moving it’s not like anyone is going to come help you and if someone does come it definitely will not be anyone who would help you so. Get. Up.

Stan just couldn’t get himself to move even with his thoughts arguing about getting up he can’t seem to move.

Get up if you don’t know Rico’s buddies will most likely come back to see if their job was successful and if they see you out they will just shoot then and there GET. UP.

And by some outward force of will or just the thought of Rico’s men coming back at all seems to be the motivation his body apparently needed to start moving. Slowly, like an ancient mechanical robot Stan slowly got up from the ground, feeling a little–…or a lot Stan didn’t know– light headed he started moving in a direction not caring where he was going just that he was and maybe if he was lucky– like lucks been of his side so far –he would find a phone box to call someone to help him.

What was about and hour of hobbling in one direction, not including the times he took a break to go and spit out a wad of blood out of his mouth; he’s pretty sure he also spat out a few more teeth as well but that was neither his problem nor did he care right then and there. Stan found a small gas station, just a dingy looking thing not that Stan can complain at all given the life he lives or he guesses barely lives Ha.Ha. Anyways the gas station was nothing much just a two way pump spot for two cars use which was situated right next to the road and a corner store just a little ways away from the pump spots. Right next the corner store was the phone box he was looking for.

Huh guess my luck hasn’t run out yet… yippee..

Stan didn't even realize he even moved until he’s already at the phone box and the phone– now in his hand –was ringing.

*Hello this is 911 speaking what’s the emergency*

Stan takes a breath before he tries to explain that he needed help. It took a couple tries as he was stuttering so much. As he is trying to explain he gets interrupted

*Sorry what was that i couldn’t quite hear you*

Stan blinks at that.

Of course they can’t hear you dumbass, you don’t have any teeth to help you speak properly

So instead of trying to talk again –because trying to talk the first time took a lot out of them just for the person on the other side to not understand was draining him– he tried tapping morse code. It was not one of the many skills he picked up on in his life as a ‘traveling salesman’ but one he picked up back when he was still someone to somebody even if it was just the lesser, dumber, version of them. Back when the better him; his brother even bothered to teach him stuff, though granted when they decided to learn it they mostly used it to cheat on tests, but it was the fun of it that mattered and honestly still helps him to this day like this call… which he should probably be paying attention to what they were saying shouldn’t he.

*Listen sir if you aren’t going to be taking this seriously then i will have to end this call*

Nonononononono was all stan thought as he frantically taped and scraped the mic portion of the phone trying pleading silently that they would know what he was desperately trying to say. He was so absorbed in trying to get this person to hear him, to understand him, to help that he didn’t notice the person on the other side of the phone disconnected until about two minutes later. Stan slumped, feeling ready to fall over at any moment but he had one other person to call. Stan fished into his threadbear hoodie looking to see if there was any change in it that Rico’s guys didn’t grab, to find just enough money left to call one other person.

Should he call ma? no..no he didn’t wanna give her anymore of a reason to think lowly of him or worse get worried….maybe sher–

Why don’t you stop being a pussy and call HIM you know he can help

No he can’t do that to him, besides who’s today he will call this time?

You know that’s a bullshit answer he always answers

Was he really sure of it or was it delirium talking, he has been losing a fair bit of blood

Just call him, what's the worst that can happen? He just confirms all your fears? Just. call.

It seems that Stan just loves making his own life worse as he begins to call a number he’s put in multiple times throughout his time as a grifter. He just hopes this time he’ll have the courage to talk this time.

It was a calm night in Gravity Falls. The sky was clear, the moon was at its fullest allowing moonlight to shine wonderfully down onto the foliage surrounding the sleepy little backwater town. Well mostly sleepy, as the lowly scientist was still sitting at his desk writing in his journal his seventh cup of coffee of the night, sitting getting cold as he absorbed himself in his work. For the past four ish years he’s been working as a field researcher trying to find why Gravity Falls is such a hot spot for the weird and unusual.

Which is what he was working on, he recently talked to some of the locals about anything that could lead him to the answer that he was looking for. One of the locals said that he was talking about a cave system that may or may not have ancient writings in them. Ford was writing down what they had told him when he got interrupted by his phone ringing.

He was half attempted to just ignore it.

If it’s important they will have to leave a message

He went back to writing thinking about possibly going to go check the cave out tomorrow if the weather was still nice tomorrow. But his mind kept going back to the phone and about halfway into the third ring Stanford picked up the phone.

“Hello this is Stanford pines.”

….

…..

He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone, just breathing and the low rustling of the wind in the background.

“Ok i’ve about had enough with your prank calls! If you don’t have anything to say then I firmly demand that you lose this number. I have important work that needs to be done and can’t be here wasting my time on someone who won’t even respond back. Good day or night in this case–”

It was then, when he was about to hang up that he heard it. Tapping. Tapping and scraping in a pattern that felt familiar to him. It’s morse code.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

The pattern was heard repeatedly through the phone as Ford scrambles to grab a piece of paper and starts writing down each letter to the corresponding rhythm.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

H-U-R-T

Okay okay so the person on the other side of the phone is injured in some way. How much Ford didn’t know, he also didn’t know why they didn’t just call the authorities but that was a question he could ask after he finds out first; where they were hurt, where they were so that he could get a hold of some who could potentially help. Hopefully.

Ford repositioned his phone so it was more comfortable for him as he wrote the person's answers to his questions.

“Okay, so you say you’re hurt, could you tell me where it hurts?”

….

There was a bit of shuffling that was picked up through the phone like the person on the other side was weighing something before an onslaught of tapping and scraping was heard.

Scrape scrape – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap

M-O-U-T-H

….

Tap tap tap – tap tap tap tap – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape –

S-H-O-U-

A pause, a hum before…

Tap – tap tap tap scrape – tap – tap scrape tap – scrape tap scrape scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap – tap tap – scrape tap – scrape scrape tap

E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G

GO MY PIGEONS, DELIVERY MY IDEAS

GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. OKAY.

What if, and stick with me, WHAT IF

Ford, in one of the many “prank” calls he gets, he hears something this time. Not just anything, tapping.

At first he’s like “bruh” and goes to hang up the phone, but his naturally curious mind stops him. This tapping feels too organized, too put together.

It’s Morse code.

Ford grabs a piece of paper and a pen and stars scribbling out letter after letter.

It’s just the word ‘hurt’ over and over again.

Ford gets a bit freaked out, but he starts talking, asking what happened, WHO this is. The who and what happened doesn’t get answered immediately, he finds out it’s Stanley of course.

This all just takes place after Stan chewed his way out of the trunk of a car and his mouth is fucked up seven ways to Sunday and can’t communicate besides tapping. The police hung up pretty much immediately, Stanford was the only one he knew of that would understand Morse code.

Blah, blah, blah, hurt/comfort for both my blorbos.