So yeah.. about that whole studying for finals thing… I’ve currently fallen into a bottomless pit and can’t seem to stop drawing things from @doodledrawsthings ‘s lovely human Bill au and @videogamelover99 ‘s amazing fics.
Just a reminder.
Just because I like a character who does or has done something awful or shitty to any extent does not mean I forgive them for the things or wants to come up with excuses or think what they did was “cute”
I know the fandom’s gone over how the probabilitypart of this issue before, but long story short… it would be pretty odd and out of the norm for Stan to- in canon- not have shared his brother’s polydactyly, as identical twins. (As them being identical twins IS what canon seems to suggest.)
While it’d be rare but not impossible for Stan to have only five fingers when his brother’s identical genes gave him six, I give you an alternate concept to consider:
What if Stanley Pines was originally born with six fingers as well?
And their parents wanted to do something about their twin boys. Ma worried about the scorn they might potentially receive from their peers once they ere older, Filbrick more worried about the potential embarrassment it might place on the family… So they decided to have the extra digits on their twin sons surgically removed.
But once learning how much that surgery would cost, they realized they only had enough money for one to undergo the procedure. They picked one son at random, and that son ended up being Stanley. The doctors removed his extra digits with barely even a trace… leaving only a small crease that perfectly blended into the natural ridges of his hands.
They planned to do the same for Stanford a few months later when they earned enough money, but by that point the doctors warned them that his nerves developed enough that preceding with the procedure would likely leave him with nerve damage that would hinder his motor skills for the rest of his life.
So Ford kept his extra digits.
And past then, when you have one child with the normal five fingers and one with six, how are you supposed to explain that you had Stanley’s extra fingers removed when he was a baby, like having six is wrong? Unnatural? Unwanted? Ma dreaded the thought of ever having that conversation, and so she never did. She, nor Filbrick, ever told Stanley the truth.
And Stanley never asked about it. Never once considered. To him, some people were born with five, and others with six. Just like him and his bro. He never had any reason to suspect his parents were hiding anything from him.
Stanford, however… began to suspect in college, after going through a genetics course and conducting his own research on the topic. At some point he called Ma and asked about it. Asked her, pointedly, to not keep the truth from him. Reluctantly, Ma admitted what they did some twenty years ago… admitted that they only had enough money to put one through the surgery.
Years pass. Ford was thrown through the portal… into the thickets of the multiverse. Every once and a while he stumbles upon an alternate version of Stan who had fallen through instead of him. Some of these Stans have six fingers. Some of the Fords he meets on his journeys don’t.
Some thirty odd years later, Stan and Ford are at sea, peacefully reminiscing about their happier memories together. After a while, recollection of their past turns to confession, and Ford imparts Stanley with the knowledge he learned from their mother years ago… That Stan was born with polydactyly too. The pair search across the side of Stan’s palm, eventually discovering an aged crease that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them upon close observation… one that Stanley never thought to look at with much scrutiny before. Tears built up in his eyes, and he laughed, the sound both joyous and melancholy, somehow at once.
“Guess we were both Sixer, then,” he says, holding up his hand against his twin’s and imagining a world in which the number of fingers on their hands matched.
Hey there you guys. So something a little weird happened this morning, and I’ve been aching to tell someone.
So I wait at the bus stop with my sister every morning. Everything’s been normal up until around last week, when the weather started getting warmer. I started to notice that at 7 AM, every morning, I would look down the street and a cat would make its way quickly from behind a house, trot across the street and keep on going into another yard. Same path every time.
So I lean over to my sister and I say all hushed, “Same cat every morning. Same time. Isn’t that weird?” And I look back over to the Cat.
It has halted its daily regiment to stop dead and turn its head towards me.
The Cat does not move.
I cannot see its face.
I’m not sure if it was just the light. I’m not sure if it was turned the other way. I knew I could feel it looking at me though I could see no eyes.
I turn to my sister, getting kind of nervous, and I say, “Is it looking at me?” My sister shrugs. I look back and The Cat is crossing my lawn. It’s crossing my neighbor’s lawn.
I think something’s going on. Was It drawn out because of the heat? Where is It going? Can It hear me? For reference, I drew out what I saw.
I think something’s going on in my little town. I think I’m gonna call this series “Cryptids of Coalition County”. I’ll report any new findings to you as soon as I can. We can call The Cat specimen number one.
Thank you for reading, my dear friend. I’ll hope you’ll join me in my journey. That is, if I have much time left. Do I already know too much?
Told ya’ll I was gonna do Sailor Mouth so here’s this fucking pile of shit
I actually posted this last night when no one was awake so I just decided to repost it for the sake of it actually getting some notes so…. Yeah I joined the GF/Spongebob bandwagon, because how could I not? Its too glorious to stay away from. THough I feel like instead of forcing the kids to paint the shack for being little potty mouths, Stan would probably just faint from hearing his darling little innocent nibblings say such dirty ass fucking words (don’t be a potty mouth like Jen everyone, its a bad idea), leaving Ford to awkwardly dole out punishment (even though I’m pretty sure those two say a lot worse than that when the younger twins aren’t around. Anyway, enjoy!
Sometimes, after a particularly dangerous mission, Keith is unable to calm down. The excess adrenaline continues to course throughout his body, and he just… can’t stop moving. It’s not in huge, obvious ways, but more in the sense that his fingers keep twitching unless he taps them against his thighs; in the sense that he can’t stand still and has to continuously shift his position.
On these days, Keith burns off the adrenaline by heading straight for the Training Room and fighting with the bots. Lance catches him once; he scoffs and says that Keith needs to take a break (and mutters something about how “this is why I can never beat him”). Keith agrees with this sentiment; fighting after such a harsh mission is hardly the way to recuperate, and he knows resting is important. But he also knows that he won’t be able to sleep, that he’ll be restless, turning and twisting in bed. There’s no point in staying up and doing nothing, so he may as well get some training in.
On another day, Shiro catches him. Keith doesn’t notice until his simulation is done because unlike Lance, Shiro watches him until the end.
“It’s late,” Shiro says.
Keith nods. “Yeah.”
Shiro approaches him and takes his hand (as Keith drops his weapon), running his thumb across Keith’s knuckles. Until then, Keith hadn’t realized that his hand had still been twitching. But in Shiro’s grasp, it stills for a moment, and Keith no longer feels the irresistible need to move around.
// harry and y/n take a pink bath together after a long day
Some things never fall out of routine. For example, the world never stops turning, the clocks never stop ticking, and Harry never runs out of pink baths to treat Y/N and himself with. The porcelain tub has been filled with two fizzing bath bombs, releasing the smell of a thousand roses to complement the pink hued petals Harry picked up at the store. The flicker of a few candles provide the little light needed for harry and Y/N’s evening. He finishes lighting the last one when y/n peers her head into the bathroom. A small smile rests on her face, feeling joy in her heart, and Harry’s lips on hers. He tastes like the strawberry champagne he bought earlier and Y/N thinks it’s delightful. Harry shrugs off Y/N’s tan peacoat that she wears almost everyday in the winter months. Her blouse is shed immediately after the heavy wool of her coat meets the floor. The mesh of their lips don’t waiver despite the challenges it brings to ridding themselves of their remaining clothes. Luckily, Harry had on a button down that Y/N so easily undid for him. Harry draws his lips away slowly, still brushing his bottom lip with Y/N’s. “Bath’s ready,” he mumbles. He leads Y/N to the bath, their fingertips loosely locked together. “Got some petals to put in here as well,” he informs her.
Y/N nods, slowly dipping herself into the water that has cooled just enough to make the heat tolerable. “They’re lovely, H,” she whispers. Harry hands her a glass of champagne before getting in himself. He rests his back at the opposite end of the tub, adoring Y/N as she puts her hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get all soapy. “Where did you get them from?”
“Farmer’s market,” Harry answers. “Had some real pretty daisies, too. Left those in the kitchen fo’ yeh.” He reaches a hand out for Y/N to take. Gracefully, she’s pulled to his side of the tub, her back against his chest and his arms resting over her tummy. He places a gentle kiss to her temple as she rests her arms over Harry’s, finding his hands once again hold in her own. Her fingers slot themselves in between his. The water settles from all the movement but the softest waves continue to reach up the sides, the petals floating in different directions, feeling free from the stems that once held them together.
Bathtime is always very mellow for the two of them. Words seem unnecessary, too much of an effort to mutter out when the two of them talk to strangers for a living. The soft hum of their favorite bathtime playlist and the low crackle of the wood wicks from their candles are just enough. Occasionally, Harry would tell Y/N everything she already knows like how beautiful she is or how much Harry loves her. He doesn’t mind when she doesn’t say it back because he knows how sleepy she gets while taking a bath, and when Y/N’s sleepy, words take too much energy. She just nods and kisses Harry wherever she can. She mostly kisses his collarbone or the swallows that she loves so much.
The only thing determining when it’s time to get out is when the water gets too cold and their fingers and toes resemble the raisins in the trail mix Y/N buys from Costco. Harry and Y/N live very hectic lives, often feeling like everything around them moves faster than the speed of light. it’s hard to keep up with the demands of their jobs, however it’s easy to forget the small moments that make them feel like time is on their side.
Pink water twirls down the drain, leaving the wilted petals at the bottom of the tub. Harry and Y/N have already made their way to bed, her head rising and falling on Harry’s chest as he breathes. “Ever think about what life would be like if we never met?” Y/N ponders a 1 A.M. thought.
Harry shakes his head even though Y/N can’t see his action. “No, too painful to imagine what it would be like without you.” His fingers are in their usual spot, combing through Y/N’s ridiculously soft hair. Her brows crease at Harry’s answer, she pushes her weight on him to sit up. He follows suit, leaning his weight on an elbow. “What?” He chuckles curiously, gingerly tucking strands of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. Y/N shakes her head, not sure of what to say. She always seems to come up with these existential like questions after midnight. “Do you not know how important you are to me?”
Y/N shakes her head again, “No, no of course I do. I just wonder what-”
“Hey,” Harry stops her. He kisses her lips sweetly, his nose brushing her cheek before he pulls away. “I need you like the moon needs the sun. The moon doesn’t shine if weren’t for the sun and I wouldn’t be able to do half the things I’m doing if it weren’t for you.” Y/N closes her eyes when she feels Harry’s lips on hers. “Love you, so much,” he mumbles. He lays them back down, Y/N in Harry’s arms, where she belongs. He’s strong and warm and never hold on too tightly, fearing he’ll suffocate her. Y/N wouldn’t mind, though. She’s been drowning in his love for so long, not being able to breathe from his contact wouldn’t be so bad. Sleeping without contact feels weird, anyways. It’s lonely. Especially since Harry and Y/N spend so much time apart. Sharing the bed isn’t enough. Having a king mattress is a waste, they’d be perfectly fine in a twin. Harry sets one last kiss on Y/N’s temple before letting his head drop to the pillow. Little hums vibrate against his lips as he sends him and Y/N off to a much needed slumber.