Ghost: Alright, so today I wanted to do something with you-- Soap: --I like when you think of things to do with me. It makes me feel honored, loved, and apart of your life. Ghost: Shut up. Soap: Thank you. Ghost: Ghost, continues what he was talking about: Back to what I was saying…

okay i need stanlon with the first time mike takes stan to visit the farm. ♥

alyy!!!!!!! i love this!!!!!  ALSO, this is a continuation of my pining!stanlon hc!

Whenever Mike and Stan meet up, it’s usually on their usual bird-watching bench in the park, the barrens, or Stanley’s finished basement, where they sit on the old sofa and listen to records while talking about absolutely anything that comes to mind. This is where they are when Mike suddenly asks if Stan would like to visit the farm on Saturday.

Stan is knelt over the turntable, in the middle of changing the Bob Seger album for Billy Joel. He hesitates for a moment, the arm of the record player poised between two fingers. He had never been to Mike’s farm before, and frankly, he had never really had any interest in going. From his understanding, farms were dirty and smelled like manure- conditions in which Stan never really imagined himself spending his Saturday afternoon in. But still, he could tell how important the farm was to Mike by the way he’d talk animatedly about his weekends in the pasture or sewing seeds in the vegetable patch. Really, the farm was an extension of Mike, and so denying the invitation would be like denying Mike himself. So of course, Stan agrees.

On Saturday morning, Stan dresses in his usual smart collared shirt and ironed khaki shorts. He suspects that this isn’t the most appropriate attire for a day on the farm, but he doesn’t own any overalls and his mom won’t let him dirty the expensive blue jeans they bought him for his birthday. He bikes down the winding dirt road that leads to the Hanlons’ farm, feeling both anxious and excited. Mike is waiting for him by the tin mailbox that has Hanlon stenciled onto the side. There’s a border collie wagging its tail fervently beside him, and it immediately jumps up to greet Stan with a plethora of slobbery kisses. Mike is almost excited as the dog, and he calls Maggie off with a hearty laugh. “I think she likes you,” Mike grins, and Stan can’t help but smile back as he wipes slobber from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

Mike takes Stan’s hand and leads him into the farmyard, pointing out various buildings to Stan happily. Maggie the dog romps alongside them, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Maybe it’s just the infectious cheeriness that is exuded by Mike’s voice, but Stan finds himself thinking that the farm isn’t that bad so far. The aroma of sheep manure is undeniable, but it’s diluted by the smell of canola and freshly cut grass and Mike. Stan actually finds it to be a pleasant smell once he’s become habituated to the more unsavoury aromatics.

Crab apple trees grow in a cluster near the quaint farmhouse, and this is their first stop. Mike explains that this is his favourite place to read, and Stan can understand why. The trees provide a reprieve from the summer heat of Maine, and the grass around grows thick and green. When Stan closes his eyes, he can envision afternoons here, his head in Mike’s lap as they each read their own paperback. The two pick apples for a while, placing their trophies in five-gallon buckets that Mike finds by one of the sheds. Every so often, Mike will throw one off into the field that borders the yard for Maggie to fetch, and Stan can’t help but giggle at just how pleased she is when drops it at Mike’s feet a few moments later.

Eventually, they make their way into the barn. It’s empty right now, the sheep out enjoying the warm summer day in the carrel. Admittedly, the smell is sharp enough in here that it causes Stan’s nose to twist in disgust, but Mike insists that you get used to it after a while. 

Stan watches from an old wooden chair as Mike tosses dirty hay from the stalls with a pitchfork. Mike’s biceps ripple each time he raises the pitchfork over his shoulder, and Stan can’t believe he didn’t realize before just how strong Mike was. 

Once Mike is finished with his chores, he beckons Stan up an old, rickety ladder into the hayloft. The hay up here is cleaner, and the air is warm and comfortable. They sit with their backs resting against a bale, and Mike wraps an arm around Stan’s shoulder. They talk in hushed tones, not wanting to disturb the serene quiet of the loft. The way the afternoon sun filters through the slats of the roof and falls upon Stan’s soft features makes Mike’s heart skip an extra beat, and he can’t help but lean over and kiss him every so often.

They almost fall asleep up here, but their names being called from the house stirs them from their dozy daydreams. Mike’s mom has prepared tomato and cheese sandwiches and lemonade for lunch, and she greets Stan with a sunny smile. She asks Stan about his family and school, and Stan replies politely, making sure to compliment Mrs. Hanlon’s meal every couple of bites. She laughs and waves a hand, insisting that it’s really nothing and it’s just a pleasure to have him over. Stan can tell that she genuinely means it, and he decides in that moment that he loves the Hanlons’ farm.

After lunch, the two boys do up the dishes, with Stan washing and Mike drying. Something about the warm, soapy water and Mike’s presence makes Stan’s heart feel so full.

The rest of the afternoon is spent climbing trees and puttering in the vegetable patch behind the crab apple orchard. Any of Stan’s remaining reservations about spending the day at the farm are chipped away with each easy laugh and stolen peck on the cheek. 

Most of the Saturdays that come after are spent at the Hanlon farm, and Stan decides he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life here with Mike if he could.

What. There was just a finger? An actual human finger? And no one knows which human it belonged to? Just sitting in the kitchen? What even are you.

Oh, and you also kind of imply that the kitchen was carpeted? Because you know that it depends on how much they removed from the carpet, and the finger was found in the kitchen. If that's the case, what kind of devil house did your fiance live in?

1. Yes, an actual human finger.  the police took it hoping to identify the owner by the prints, but no match came back.

2. The kitchen IS carpeted, but honestly with the need to posses a shopvac anyway (Landlord had a craftshop in the garage and lived in the basement), and four dogs living in the house at the time, it ended up being a nonissue? I had an auidence for cooking and if I accidentally dropped something it almost never made it to the floor.

Ok, to back up:  The Monroes owned the house until 2007.  They live in Alaska, and were holding onto the property for tax reasons or smth?  Anyway, they sold it to the man listed in my phone as “Leather Mike”.  

Fiance met Leather Mike when looking for more D&D players online, and managed to somehow have a five-week conversation full of jargon and missed innuendo, so when Leather Mike actually showed up at the D&D game in a Gimp mask and we had to explain to him that it was not that kind of Fantasy Roleplay.  He apologized then we sat him down he rolled up an Orc Paladin and we all had a great time.  Leather Mike turns out to be a great guy, and when he suddenly has the potential to rent a house as an on-site landlord, he offers to rent to Fiance.

Niether Leather Mike nor Fiance had actually SEEN the place before they walked in, found the back door busted open and blood in the hall and kitchen, and finger on the counter.  They called the police like sensible people, then Fiance called the Monroes to haggle that Leather Mike get paid more for handling this nonsense, and ends up getting a very good deal.  

Leather Mike owns a very elderly great Dane named Bosco, Shitty Roommate #1 owned a fat corgi named Ein, Shitty Roommate #2 owned a mixed bully breed named Zoe who is the second-dumbest dog I’ve ever met, and i was regularly bringing Cody, Gentleman Shepherd over to be an Old Man with Bosco.  So whenever I cooked, I had 4 dogs sitting in an arc around me, waiting for something to leap off a plate at them.  The floor never got dirty.

Shitty Roommates had done a great job of pretending to be responsible adults but #1 turned out to be unable to hold a job, smoked a ton of weed and was generally a huge bitch about everything, and #2 was also a jobless pothead and lil bitch, but ALSO had the charming habit of bringing a new ‘girlfriend’ home  for loud 2AM sex every week and not training his admittedly dumb but also very large and aggressive dog.  I felt really, really bad for Zoe.  After 6 months of them not paying the rent and Zoe snapping at him and having his stuff stolen by the ‘girlfriends’ Fiance moved out and in with me.

So, even though it’s a house with a history of anonymous maimings with a carpeted kitchen and a BDSM leatherworks shop in the garage, it ALSO has a fenced yard, AC and Mike’s a great guy so we’re seriously considering moving back after graduation.