loungelizard | Prisma ♦︎ Inbox

I never said it wasn't huge. That's part of why I like it.

[He sure does have a type, but even high and discombobulated he knows better than to go into that. Ford may not know much about relationships but he's pretty sure it's bad form to tell the man you've been fucking for months that he looks very much like another man you once fell in love with.

That was all carefully predestined too, wasn't it? Fiddleford finding a nice girl, settling down, making a life for himself?

Going insane?

Did he only forgive Ford so quickly because the story needed a neat ending?

It's not a nice train of thought. And sure, in some ways it removes some blame from Ford's shoulders, but in others it makes it worse because it means there's nothing he could have done differently. A lot of things don't look so great with that light shining on them.

He's been quiet too long. Probably. It feels like he has.]

My brother used to draw comics back when we were kids in Jersey. This looks a little like that.

[He doesn't smile, exactly, but one of the corners of his mouth twitches upward a little.]

Our dad hated them. If he found out about this it'd kill him again.

Oh -- in that case, thanks! Hehe.

[We knew the compliment would be found in there somewhere.]

I'd bet. Comics weren't "cool" back then.

[Larry takes his arms down from behind his head and roots around for his green pixie stick. Ah, there it is. He pinches a section of it and kicks back the free dust. He rolls the noxiously sweet substance around in his mouth, delighting in how it makes the back of his teeth hurt with just how sugary it is. Once he's got a mouth full of saliva, he swallows it down, then smacks his mouth.]

Mahh! Plenty of reasons to avoid letting people know. It seems like a bigger deal than it actually is. [He's only saying it this way because Ford isn't freaking out on the outside.] It's not like nonfictional people have any more control over their lives than we do, when you think about it!

[Yeah. The whole issue is that he's thinking about it. And now that Larry's said it he's got a starting point, doesn't he, and it's as good a place as any to dive in.]

That's true. But now I can't blame things on probability. None of my mistakes were random chance.

It's not being fictional that's the problem. I've met fictional people before you. [One tried to eat his brain. It was a whole thing.] It's that now I know for certain I was meant to be the worst Ford.

[This has basically brought all the self-hate he was learning to get over crashing down around his ears again! Great! Good work!]

Meh. Entropy is overrat--

[Wait. What? Larry glares up at Ford.]

The hell does that mean, "worst Ford?"

[Ford doesn't want to say 'it's a long story'. That's cliche. On the other hand, it's the most honest and succinct way of explaining exactly why he doesn't generally bring it up. You know, besides the fact that it paints him in an awful light and he always worries that once someone knows their opinion of him will change drastically. It's already so hard to form friendships. He doesn't want to shoot himself in the foot on purpose.

But it's relevant now, isn't it. Maybe not all of it. Maybe he can get out of telling the version that starts all the way back on Glass Shard Beach in 1950-something, but he has to tell some version of it if only to explain why it's making him feel the way it is.]

There are infinite universes out there, and that means infinite Earths and infinite Fords. I've been to some of those Earths. There's usually a key difference.

[He flips to a new page in his sketchbook. It might be easier to illustrate the concepts he wants to get across, especially because he's not feeling very eloquent.]

Do you remember that ex I mentioned to you? The one who had a bounty out on my head?

[It had been a joke then. It's not now.]

[Larry lifts his leg up and kicks the sketchbook out of Ford's hands. Okay, it's not a very aggressive kick, it's only as hard as it needs to be to knock it out of his grip.]

I don't need a lecture on Alternative Universe Theory, Ford.

[He knows what a fanfic is.]

But go on.

[Wow, okay. These are canon alternate universes but you do you, you little shit. Ford looks at Larry for a long moment.]

Alright. Fine.

[He tosses his pencil over the back of the couch. He can be petty too. Assholes who kick his belongings don't get visual aids.]

You asked, you know.

[Anyway.]

His name was Bill Cipher. He was a chaos demon who lived in the space between universes. Because of its unstable nature that space was going to collapse eventually. He needed a new universe to escape to but more importantly he needed someone to open the door. My chosen area of study made me the perfect patsy. He told me that he was a muse, that he'd give me the answers I was looking for, but really all he wanted was a way in and a body to use in the meantime.

I wasn't the first Ford he tried this on. I was the first one who fell for it.

Edited 2020-04-28 04:42 (UTC)

[He doesn't need a visual aid. He's probably better off without one, because if he finds out that Ford's tastes include A Whole Goddamn Equilateral Triangle, he's probably going to take a slight hit to that positive body image vibe he's got going on.

Larry rests that foot that kicked his sketchbook on Ford's inner thigh. There's a bit of an affectionate gesture to it.]

Keep going...

[Because he doesn't see how this makes him the 'worst' Ford yet.]

[Why does nobody else ever see how big of a deal this is? He was stupid enough to trust a demon, first of all, and stupid enough to almost give it a doorway into his world and his head and... and...

And that's not the real issue here. But the real issue is more personal and more difficult and maybe he's just high enough and angry enough at the whole situation to talk about it a little more freely than he might have otherwise.]

Well there's a lot to cover! Do you want to hear about how I was so enamored with him that I destroyed my relationship with the only friend I had ever managed to make? How about how I was dumb enough to make a deal with him that included unlimited possession of my body, so any time I so much as dozed off he'd take over and make me throw myself down the stairs? How about the thirty years I spent alone as an interdimensional outlaw trying to find a way to fix what I'd done, which didn't matter, because I missed the only chance I had to fire the fucking gun I got myself banned from half the multiverse stealing the parts to build!

[The longer he talks the more animated his hand gestures get. Should have let him keep the sketchbook, because now that his hands are free he's doing this. His voice is also reaching unprecedented levels of cracking.]

Oh! And then! When I actually managed to get back to my own universe, all I wound up doing was ushering in the apocalypse I was trying to prevent, and then I spent half that apocalypse as a gold statue in Bill's stupid crystal pyramid doing approximately nothing of value because I was too useless not to get myself taken hostage. I nearly got my twelve year old niece and nephew murdered and my brother erased from existence because I couldn't even fix the mess I made, so they had to do it for me!

[He takes a deep breath and slams both his hands down on his knees.]

I wonder why it might make me a little upset to find out all of that was engineered for someone else's entertainment!

[Ah. There it is. There's the reaction he was expecting in the first place. In retrospect, Larry should've known that it was just bubbling below the surface this whole time.

It's a lot to take in. It's a lot of nitty-gritty details that, ultimately, don't really matter towards the problem at large. They go too fast for Larry to take note of all of them. They're important to Ford, sure, but explaining the reason why behind every little thing isn't really what he needs or wants to hear.

Larry sits up.]

Ford.

[His voice is gentle, reassuring. I hear your pain. He scootches up to sit in front of him, and he takes him by the hands. He knows Ford is self-conscious about them, but Larry knows he needs a connection. He brings those hands up to cup Larry's cheeks as he talks and keeps his eyes cast downwards.]

You're right, but you're missing the nuance. Every trial and mistake you made wasn't because there's some sort of puppet master out there that just wanted to torture you for their own sick entertainment. You and I were created because of the human condition -- everything beautiful and horrible about it. Nonfictional people are driven by their desire to seek out the puzzle pieces to complete their soul. We're crafted to be just like them: flawed but robust, tested but living. When we laugh, so do they. When we cry, so do they.

We are created as muses, not pre-programmed robots to do whatever our creator's will is. We find our own words and the way we look at the world and our creators discover us as the story evolves. If that's not how we worked, we wouldn't resonate with them as much if we did. You fulfill just as much purpose as the rest of them.

I would never be able to tell you the number of the people who saw your story and felt their own heart healing. We've all been taken advantage by someone who didn't care about us. We've all made mistakes that hurt ourselves and our families and friends. You exist, and you tell everyone out there that it's okay to be sixty-nine years old and still not have everything figured out. What you went through was terrible, but you're not the worst Ford.

There's a Ford out there that doesn't have a brother that he loves so dearly.

There's a Ford out there that didn't get to explore the universe and discover its wonders with his own eyes.

There's a Ford out there that doesn't have a niece and nephew.

There's a Ford out there that didn't get to meet me.

[His eyes flick upwards and captures Ford's. Big, blue, blown-out 'cause he's high as a kite, but he means every word, maybe even moreso because he isn't sober. One scrawny ill-defined jaw framed by too-big hands to support six whole fingers, both as tangible and real as the air they breathe and the sun in the sky.]

Do you really think you're the worst Ford?

[It's downright embarrassing that a man from a series of adult softcore comedy games has his shit more together than Ford probably ever will. As much as he wants to jerk his hands away, keep being angry, hide behind the sense of martyrdom he hasn't yet completely unlearned, he doesn't. Larry is right. He knows that those Fords exist. He's seen at least one of the worlds that houses one, a world where he had the fame and recognition he always wanted but no brother and no niece or nephew to share it with. When he'd been there he'd been jealous, but then, he hadn't known what he was missing. Now he's less certain about who got the better deal.

He can't meet Larry's eyes. He holds them for all of a second before he looks away.]

... No.

[You hold a record of one man's folly and the kindness of a family that saved him from himself.

He wrote those words. He wrote those words and then threw his journal into a bottomless pit in the hopes that it might find someone who would learn from it. And if there are people out there reading that journal and learning from his stupid mistakes, then what does it matter if to them it's just a story?

It still sucks. It still sucks and he's still not entirely at peace with the idea. But he could maybe find peace with it, thinking of it like that.

He did always want to be well-known, didn't he? Always wanted his journals to be widely-read?]

I think every Ford is a fool who's incredibly lucky to have the people in his life that he does.

[He smiles.]

Hehehe-- we're all fools to some degree.

[Larry keeps Ford's hands on his face as he leans in for a short kiss.]

You can still define what is real to you. Sometimes things out of your control will happen. And that's okay too!

[He goes in for a second, longer one.]

[The kisses help. The closeness helps. He's still probably going to be puzzling through how he feels about this for a good long while, but it's hard to stay angry when someone is kissing you. Part of him wants to point out that it's not things happening that are out of his control that he's upset about, but rather the realization that his own autonomy is artificial. Sure, he's great at dealing with unexpected bullshit, but now there's the question of whether his 'improv' in those situations is really just him taking the one available pre-ordained path.

He decides not to push it. Not right now. He just managed to pull himself back from an honest to goodness freakout, he doesn't need to work himself up into another. He's tired. That was a whole lot of sharing he just did. Clunky, inelegant and explosive, sure, but something is better than nothing. Ford Pines has no idea how to take care of himself and that includes his mental health, so it shouldn't be surprising that that was the first time he's said some of those things so plainly to someone other than his diary. That's more than enough progress for one stick of moon dust.

He removes one hand from Larry's cheek, but only so he can wrap that arm around his skinny shoulders.]

Will you stay here tonight?

[They hadn't actually discussed whether that was part of the plan, probably because it was assumed. Ford would kind of like a confirmation, now. Just to hear it.]

[There are a lot of different elements that contribute to the existential crisis of first acquiring self-awareness and Larry is only taking stabs in the dark at which ones he thinks are rubbing Ford the worst way. At the very least it seems like he's not making any errantly wrong stabs?]

Of course, hehe!

[Larry pushes himself up and thwoops himself right into Ford's lap. Cuddles? Can it be cuddles time now?]

Although--to be fair--I figured going home wasn't in the cards once I took my clothes off. Aaaand considering what's going on outside right now...

[Those narrow shoulders shrug. Just an average day in Lunatia: two old men idling time away with each other while the city goes apeshit outside.]

[Ford likes this better than being out in the thick of the chaos. Not that he doesn't still enjoy a healthy adventure, but boy band mania isn't his department. And, you know, realizing the mania was messing with his head made him draw the line a lot sooner than he might have otherwise.]

Mm. I don't mind the fighting but I don't like having my free will messed with.

[His face makes a rueful expression that's just a shadow away from a smile.]

Though now it feels a little pointless to get hung up on questions of agency.

[He wasn't going to push it and then his brain got ahead of him and now he's here. He doesn't sound upset, necessarily. That was almost an attempt at a joke, because when Ford doesn't know what else to do he defaults to making light of things that would otherwise be deeply troubling.]

[Larry giggles and leans forward, draping his upper arms on Ford's shoulders and resting his elbows on the edge of the couch seats. His hands just kinda hang out limply in the air as Larry nuzzles into his stubble-laden neck.]

Don't think so hard! I know that's a lot to ask of you, but you'll find happiness if you learn to live in the moment. I promise!

[For now?

Enjoy the high and the touch of another human being.]

[Well that's easy for Larry to say: he knows exactly whose hands he's in! And the impression Ford gets is that he trusts the Germans, or at least isn't all that displeased with what they've been doing. Ford has no idea what kind of person holds his fate in their hands, only that they were kind enough to give him what could be termed a happy ending up until Lunatia happened.

Still.]

We shouldn't have got me all goofy, then, because that's the fastest way to get me thinking too much about things.

[The drugs were squarely his idea, but y'know, details. Larry is present so it's halfway his fault.]

The last time I took this stuff I completely forgot to use one of my toys in favor of spending three hours on speculative biological diagrams of what the creature it belonged to might have looked like.

[The joke is he had the same amount of fun, ultimately.]

[Ford would be entirely correct. And even if that wasn't the case, he'd still find something about the moment to enjoy.

If Larry is present it is default to be his fault. Even if it's sprung on him with no warning. That's how the brand works.]

I can help you with that!

[Errr...

Larry pulls back enough to actually look at Ford, giving him a self-conscious smirk.]

Helping you to remember to use your toys, I mean. Not the biological diagrams.

[Maybe also the biological diagrams, but it's not his priority.]

I think you might have an ulterior motive.

[One that isn't just 'make Ford Pines get out of his own head a little', though that's not unwelcome right now. He knows a distraction isn't a bad idea. He's used sex that way before, especially out in the multiversal boondocks. Very few things work quite so well at forcing him to be solely in the moment.

It's just... this is a lot to distract from. The sex is going to have to be really fucking good.]

Not that I mind.

[It's high sex, so it...probably won't be. At least compared to some of the wilder shit they've done before.]

Oops! Caught me red-handed. [Titter.] Or maybe white-handed?

[Larry sits back so that he can look Ford in the eyes, ever twinkling despite his blown-out pupils.]

What say you, baby?

[Listen. He is too high to realize that high sex is maybe not a fantastic idea. That's why high sex happens with such frequency despite never turning out how you want.]

I'm not gonna get any more drawing done with my pencil Moses knows where.

[And, y'know, he's got a naked man in his lap and all.

The real question is whether either of them cares enough to actually move this to the bedroom when there's pillows and blankets right there. Ford doesn't. He's more concerned with leaning in to close the distance between them again and planting a kiss on the jaw Larry doesn't have.]

Mm-hmm.

[Who could possibly help? Someone that would have decades of experience sussing out small details in large, busy scenes? Someone who knows how to pixel hunt with the best?

Someone...busier with much more important things.

Larry pulls his arms down from over Ford's shoulders as he gets kissed and takes fistfuls of his shirt. He giggles and leans backwards, pulling the shirt with him as he goes, in a bid to get Ford to lay down with him on those said pillows and blankets. Who needs a bedroom when this acts as a perfect and literal fuck-nest?]

[Ford, who has never heard the words 'pixel-hunting', is woefully uninformed about the level of skill he's dealing with. He'll learn eventually, probably, when they feel like getting around to it. For now he lets Larry pull him forward (and it really is letting Larry do it because if he wanted to he could probably just sit there while Larry pulled with about the same effect as a man trying to move a semi truck). He settles in to leaving a proper hickey on Larry's neck, something he hasn't done in quite a while but is attacking now with the same single-minded concentration as he was drawing earlier.

He's starting to consciously want simple physical closeness even when the Cordis moon isn't in the sky and it's probably a good thing he's high enough that he's not thinking too hard about that. Not because it's bad, exactly, but because it's too good. It means that he's starting to get comfortable in a way that's more dire than just redecorating his apartment. He's starting to find reasons to want to stay and those reasons are people and that's always dangerous when he knows very well that he could fall out of this reality with one wrong move. Is this part of his arc? Will he only get booted at an appropriately-dramatic moment? No, no. Don't think about that. He resolves to focus on Larry's pulse under his lips, on the warm skin beneath his fingers, on the way their legs tangle together a little awkwardly during the transition from sitting upright to laying down. This is the moment. He's supposed to be living in it. It's a nice moment, it can't be that hard.]

Lemme know if my fangs get you.

[Not that he's not using his teeth. It's just a fine line to walk between using your teeth well and not doing that.]

[The hickey is entirely unexpected!]

Ah!

[But he follows his yelp with a giggle. It's not unwanted, just a surprise. He stills under Ford's mouth, fearing to disturb his very important work -- unaware of the thoughts he's trying to fend off.]

Oh, don't worry. You'll know!

[On account of him not being afraid at all to cry out in pain by reflex. Meanwhile, his hands busy themselves in trying to undo Ford's trousers to get them pulled down. Free the ass!]

Good.

[Just because Ford prefers to bottom doesn't mean he doesn't like to take initiative. Sometimes you just want to leave a mark on someone. He gets the feeling Larry won't be upset about a sizable hickey, not after he was so quick to be proud of the much-more-dire twelve hour sex marathon.

Alternately the hickey could be an excuse to steal a boyfriend sweater to cover his neck, which casual perusal of local literature (magazines) has taught Ford is a coveted signal of romantic entanglement. Not that this is romantic entanglement. It's just physical entanglement. Haha.

Ha.

Anyway. Ford shifts his hips up so that there's a little more room between them for Larry's hands to work. Besides his ass (always good to have out and about), there's... not really much going on down there. He's still trying to capture the mood. Usually being high doesn't make that any more difficult for him, so it should be fine, right?]

I've been thinking -- [nip] -- of getting another bracelet -- [nibble] -- and making something else permanent. [He pulls back to check how much damage he's done.] Can't decide what though.

Prisma ♦︎ Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

local grandpa has never been to therapy so now he's Like This

no subject

but they're not dating, yknow

DEFINITELY not dating

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

NSFW, just a reminder to anyone reading this that may have forgotten who was involved

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

oops! all emotions

final destination, no items, feelings only

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

cw suicidal ideation

(no subject)

(no subject)