foolishmortals

Oh for goodness' sake.

[Fiddleford reaches over and puts a hand on one of Ford's broad shoulders. One of his ears is very open for the sound of footsteps but the rest of him is focused on Ford and what a disaster this conversation has been thus-far. That's a problem. He should probably try to fix it.]

It wasn't thoughtless. It was just sudden, is all. It's somethin' I'd want time to think on and here...

[Here they never know how much more time they'll have. And even if they make it out, will they be able to stay together? Thirty years separate them on the timeline. There's no good workaround for that -- he knows, he's given it thought.]

[Ford makes himself take another deep breath, letting a little bit of the tension leave his shoulder so Fiddleford can't tell how uptight he's getting. It's stupid; he's a grown man. He can make his feelings known without expecting one hundred percent agreement. That's what adults do, right?]

All right, all right. I know what you mean.

[He shakes his head, glancing over at Fiddleford with a self-deprecating sort of smile.]

I'm just...very determined not to ruin a good thing.

[Before it has to be ruined, he means, but doesn't say. Because he's all too aware of how this will end. And maybe this whole fruit thing was just his way of securing a happy ending before everything goes pear-shaped.]

Well -- well the way I see it --

[It's not that the feelings aren't there. It's that it's hard to make them come out of his mouth as words. He's not like Ford that way; there are things he can and will rush blindly into, but this sort of thing isn't one of them. He only does that when he feels sure, when he's full of righteous energy, when he thinks he's fixing a problem. When it comes to being emotionally vulnerable he has a much more difficult time, particularly because he makes it a habit to never say things he doesn't mean.]

If everythin' that's happened between us, and everythin' that will happen between us in my future, has shown me anythin'... it's that you and I are already stuck on each other. [His mouth twitches in a small, hesitant smile.] No matter what happens we wind up back together.

[Ford lets himself look, finally, turn and look Fiddleford right in the face, because that's his favorite face in the whole multiverse, and damn it, he deserves that much. His expression fades slowly from melancholy to worried to something soft and warm and hopeful around the edges.

It's not exactly straightforward, but Ford catches the meaning just fine, and he leans in a little closer, still keeping one ear tuned toward the door, to bump his forehead against Fiddleford's for a second.]

It's true. One way or another, we end up in the same place. And I...

[He takes a deep, steadying breath.]

I will still love you just the same when you're as old as I am. That's the easiest thing I'll ever do.

[He lets their noses bump together, just briefly, the closest thing to kissing outside of their shared room that he's comfortable with. Though at this point they probably ought to give up trying to be discreet if even a little girl could tell, huh?

Even though I live in a shack in the dump? Even though I'm barely sane? Even though I look like a fright? He could ask. He doesn't. He still hates thinking about the future he knows he's resigning himself to, no matter how much Ford tries to soften the blow. He'd rather concentrate on how nice it feels to hear Ford say he loves him. It's hard to trust Ford Pines, it will always in some way be hard to trust Ford Pines, but right now it's a lot easier than it is normally.]

Well the fruit's not goin' to keep that long, is it.

Edited 2017-07-25 04:57 (UTC)

[Even if Fiddleford had voiced those questions, the answer would still be the same. Of course he'll still love him. Ford's waited a long damn time for Fiddleford McGucket to love him back. There's very little that could deter him after nearly fifty years.

He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, relishing this rare moment of closeness outside of their locked door, and when he pulls back, it's with an expression that's almost starry-eyed in its eagerness.]

You—you want to—?

[Of course, he's already fumbling at his side for the Paopu fruit, still wrapped in his handkerchief, not wanting to look away unless he absolutely has to. Somehow, that expression on his face manages to take a couple of decades off.]

[Well, it's like Ford said, it's not like it's a ring. It's a metaphor.]

If we're already bound to wind up together then I figure it's not like it could hurt, could it?

[At the start of all this he wouldn't have believed in a magical fruit. He still kind of doesn't but he knows Ford is the kind of man who would without question. It's worth it to indulge him when he looks so gosh-darn happy.

He still thinks it's a big step even if all it is is a metaphor but, well. If not now, when? He's having the same sort of thoughts as Ford. They don't know how long they have. They can't stay together even if they survive. This might be the only chance they have. He can deal with being a little scared, a little unsure, especially just to reinforce something they already agree on anyway. No matter what happens they will find their way back to each other.

It couldn't hurt to have a good luck charm to make doubly sure of it.]

[Ford huffs out a pleased laugh, and nods, his fingers unwrapping the sticky handkerchief from around the fruit. He shows it to Fiddleford: a small, yellow fruit in the shape of a star—or at least, it was until it was cut in half.]

I couldn't agree more.

[And even if the legend is just that—just a legend—it will still give them both a little peace of mind. It will give Fiddleford peace of mind while he's still able to remember it, a thought Ford has to quell hastily because it's inexorably sad. This is a happy moment. He needs to focus on that.

Now all that's left to do is to eat it. Except Ford wouldn't feel right doing that without saying something, at least. He clears his throat and looks earnestly at Fiddleford, turning his whole body to face him.]

Fiddleford, will you...share this fruit, and your life, with me? I'm not a great man, possibly not even a good one, but I promise to do everything I can to make you happy. And you...you would make me the happiest old man in the multiverse.

[Jeez, Ford, he was trying to smooth over his anxiety about what a monumental thing this is by trying to not think of it like a wedding. There's just no denying exactly how much like a proposal that sounded, or the way it makes him feel like his stomach's gone off on an adventure somewhere without him and might probably never come back. It's not like he expected anything less, of course. Ford Pines has always had a flair for the dramatic, the theatrical. He would say this wasn't a big deal and then in the next breath make it a very big deal indeed.

That's part of his charm, admittedly. It makes Fiddleford's chest feel very warm to see him being so earnest, and it's that earnestness more than anything that calms him down about this instead of making him balk. It's just another thing on the long list of things that set this Ford apart from the one he tried to convince himself he didn't care about.

And anyway -- anyway it's still just fruit, and it's still just Ford, and it's fine. If anything it's a promise to himself that even with the future he has to live through, there will be something good waiting for him in thirty years. It's something to keep him optimistic, and he needs that.

So, with all that in mind, he says:]

Yes. Yes, Stanford, of course I will.

[Ford's fingers are just a little shaky as he waits for Fiddleford's answer, even though he already knows that this is what he wants, because, well, he did just sort of contradict himself and make it very much a big deal. But his smile only grows wider when the answer he'd been hoping for comes out, and even though someone could walk in any minute and see, he can't help but lean in for a kiss. He wants to remember this moment for a long time, in case something weird happens temporally-speaking and he ends up having to revisit a few decades, God forbid. Weirder things have happened.

When he pulls back, he holds up the fruit between them.]

Wonderful. Should we...take turns, or...?

[He could scold Ford for that kiss. He has half a mind to, honestly, but decides against it. People clearly already know. Maybe not everyone, but enough of them that maybe it's stupid to keep pretending they aren't anything more than friends. It might help to normalize the whole thing, and he would like to think of this as normal instead of something new and frightening. It's something he would, in all honesty, like to get used to.

Ford's question does give him pause, though.]

Oh, ah -- well I wouldn't know, it's not as though I'm familiar with -- she didn't say?

[Mmm boi. Falling apart in the home stretch huh.]

[Let's be honest. Scolding him wouldn't do much at this point. Ford's pretty sure that if Naminé of all people figured them out, that everybody else probably has an inkling, too. Mike, for sure. Maui probably knows. They might as well go public while they have the chance.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.]

No, she didn't. All she said was to share it.

[He holds it out for Fiddleford to take.]

After you, I suppose.

Right.

[Sure, Ford, make him go first. What if he fucks it up? He is absolutely capable of fucking up something as simple as eating fruit. Watch him. He's going to fuck it up. He's going to. Just watch --

He does not fuck it up. He manages to take a reasonably-sized bite and not get juice everywhere, even. He chews, swallows, and then holds the fruit back out to Ford.

All the time he thought about getting remarried, a scenario like this never crossed his mind. Mainly because all the times he thought about getting remarried prior to showing up in this house he immediately dismissed the idea. It felt disrespectful to how much he still cared for his wife, then. It doesn't now. Not because he doesn't care about her -- he will always love her, more than likely -- but because he's put that care in a little box and put that box on a shelf in his heart and it's fine. There's room for her and Ford both in there. He used to think there wasn't, but he's revised a lot of his views on interpersonal relationships recently. It's amazing the kind of perspective a place like this gives you.]

[Listen, he was trying for once in his life to have good manners. He watches Fiddleford take the first bite, and then accepts it when it's his turn, taking an experiment sniff of it before he bites into it. It tastes good; almost like starfruit, funnily enough.

Ford's brow furrows, and he looks down at his lap almost in self-examination. He doesn't feel any different, but then again—why would he? He's always felt this way. Always wanted to do this, or at least something like it. He looks back up, and chuckles.]

I guess that's that, then. [Paaaaause.] ...Does this mean we don't have to sneak around anymore?

I... I suppose it does. 'Specially since most folks seem to already have us figured out.

[By contrast, he feels very different. He's the kind of person who ties his sense of self to his accomplishments, to his relationships with other people, and Ford Pines' husband is a big descriptor to add in terms of both. Because that's what this is, really, no matter how much he tries to tell himself it's not that big of a deal, and it's still how his brain is going to parse it. Maybe if -- when -- they get out they can do it properly. Maybe thirty years from now he'll get remarried for keeps. Maybe thirty years from his time that's a thing you can legally do.]

Just, y'know. You still don't need to shout it from any rooftops.

[Ford Pines is absolutely going to climb onto the roof at the first opportunity.]

It does seem that way, doesn't it?

[He'd really thought they were being quite subtle, aside from the fact that they've been sleeping in the same room for about two weeks now. Even then, they'd been cautious. It's puzzling.

Still, it'll be a relief not to have to worry about it anymore.

He chuckles, setting the last bit of Paopu fruit back down on his handkerchief, and stretches his arms out like he's making himself comfortable—it just so happens that his one arm ends up settled around Fiddleford's shoulders.]

Luckily for you, I still haven't figured out how to get up there.

[He pauses, pondering something for a moment.]

...McGucket-Pines? Pines-McGucket?

Edited (fuck html) 2017-07-27 04:01 (UTC)

Pines-McGucket sounds better. Rolls off the tongue nicer.

[He can't believe Ford just pulled the casual stretch-and-hug, like they're teenagers at a drive-in movie, and so he doesn't comment on it.]

Though I honestly hadn't thought -- I guess it's harder to figure who takes what name with, ah. With two men.

Is that somethin' done in your time? Men gettin' married?

I agree. It sounds...nice. Homey.

[It makes him miss his cabin. Makes him long for the day when the two of them can settle down in a new place of their own in between him and Stan's seafaring adventures.

Ford lets out a thoughtful hum.]

It's starting to be. In a few states, anyway. I believe Washington just legalized it in the year I came from, from what I managed to glean in between fixing catastrophes.

WEEK 7

no subject

no subject

engage turbo gay

no subject

no subject

no subject

that fucking icon is giving me life

him blush

what the fuck this is so gAY

idk what you mean it's very hetero

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

REMARRIED FOR KEEPS end me

no subject

no subject