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legobiwan · 10 months ago

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Post-Weirdmageddon Stan & Ford

Trying to sort out their characters to get a better grasp of what I'm doing for some writing projects and, yes, I'm subjecting you all to it.

Ford makes a big, showy deal about burning his Bill paraphernalia, to the point he comes across as a bit manic the day of the bonfire, engaging in loud, rapid-fire conversation with Mabel and Dipper. Stan has a sneaking suspicion his brother may have palmed one or two items before he and the kids carted the frankly disturbing number of triangle artifacts up from the basement. Later on, Ford makes a production out of both throwing his journals in the Bottomless Pit and shooting Bill’s psycho diary into an interdimensional rift. His brother is every bit as dramatic as Stan is, which is why Stan can’t help but think Ford is using these events to “prove” he’s past the thirty-year obsession he had with a malevolent piece of geometry homework. This instinct is only strengthened by the times Stan caught Ford creeping out from his lab the nights following these events, trailed by the odor of cheap gin. (Stan very much tries not to think about the fact their father drank gin, too).

Stan and Ford approach genuine emotional conversation like two skittish alley cats. Half the time Ford’s emotional response is caught up in cerebral traffic and what he does feel he can’t put a proper label on until days, sometimes weeks (sometimes years) later. Stan has difficulty shedding the Mr. Mystery mask, thirty years of shoving every hurt feeling behind the flick of a cane and a colorful tall tale now so instinctual Stan sometimes feels he can’t separate the two, like he’s lost track of the narrative of his own life. They’ve been able to power through one excruciating session (with the help of an ample amount of bourbon) in regards to the night Stan was kicked out, their watery apologies heartfelt, if a bit slurred. But Stan’s afraid to push his brother too far, still feeling as if he has the Sword of Damocles swaying above him, and that at any point Ford’s going to snap out of his self-imposed sentence of contrition and bring down the blade on Stan’s neck himself.

Because of this, Stan gives himself little landmarks, little goals and dates to hang on to, to convince himself this is all real and that the rug won’t be pulled out from under him. Two weeks without the kids and Ford not kicking him out of the Shack. One month before they’re supposed to leave for the Arctic with them surviving their first real argument. He figures if they can get through three months at sea without Ford kicking him off the boat and leaving for good, there’s a chance Ford’s change of heart might be permanent. He has the date circled in a calendar they have hanging in their shared quarters. Ford’s asked about the importance of it, if there was a birthday or anniversary he was ignorant of, or if perhaps it was one of those new superfluous holidays Mabel has told him about, like National Waffle Day. Stan pretends he can’t remember why he circled the date at all, which, of course, prompts all kinds of intensive questioning from his brother regarding his mental acuity and the memory gun. Stan laughs it off - probably something to do with the taxes I’ve never paid, he says with a long, Cheshire grin.

Ford refuses to talk about Bill. He doesn’t even attempt plausible deniability when he grabs the steering wheel of the conversation and makes a squealing U-turn worthy of a bank heist escape if they stray too near Bill’s name. The times Stan has tried to initiate conversation, has waded near that radioactive topic, his brother has either outright ignored him or given Stan a look so cold it would probably register as a climate anomaly. It’s easier…and safer for both of them to avoid it. (This won't end well).

This isn’t to say they’re having a bad time prepping for their journey or on the boat. Overall, it’s the most relaxed Stan has felt in years (and best of all, the likelihood of the IRS having a maritime patrol is vanishingly small. Stan can’t help but think - with no small amount of smug satisfaction - that if Capone had taken to the sea, he might not have ended up in the federal clink). And despite the fact his brother can be a pretentious, argumentative, know-it-all pain in the ass, they’re getting along. Having fun. Even if Ford is an absolute cheater when it comes to card games.

#hello there #stanley pines #stanford pines #i am 100% convinced ford makes a spectacle of getting rid of his stuff as it would 'check the box' that he's over bill and recovered and #ready to leave behind that part of his life #which he is...maybe...but the man needs have a cathartic breakdown or two me thinks #anyway headcanons and such #also i've mentioned this before #but my theory as to why stan is terrified of the irs is because that's how they got capone and stan knows this #and probably stan's covered his tracks well enough but that threat looms over his thirty years in the mystery shack

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fartfacedfuck · 6 months ago

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Oh my fucking God I have so many AU ideas in my head and I don't know which one to actually make! Like there's the one I have th most set up, and then there's like atleest threee others I want to do! So I'm just going to make a list

1: sunnier days AU, bill Gose through about two and a half million years (literal) of theraprisim before suddenly being taken of all medication and put in a human body, this of course is not taken well and he ends up clawing out his right eye as well as a few lles serious wounds. Despite this the theraprisim still sends him off to the pines family for redemption. This AU would mostly focused on mental health and building relationships, although of course it will have a bit of a billford side plot.

2: idiots with guns AU, during the reunion fight ford shoots stan, stan becomes a ghost and is posed at first but that winds down later. In Despare and desperation ford calls Fidleford and *begs* him to comeback, Fidleford dosent want to but agrees becouse divorce and him allso having problems. So now ford fidleford and stan are in the same house experience stan is dead and the other two are working on reviving him, chaos and homosexuality insues. (Fidlestan)

3:second times the charm AU, Mabel and dipper head back to gravity falls three years later (there fifteen about to turn sixteen I think) stan is mostly healed from the memory gun, fidleford is doing better but still has some short-term memory issues as well as memory's from before weirdmagedon being really fuzzy. Stanford is researching an much happier but still dealing with trauma. This one will have fidlestan, dipifica and Mabel being a lesbian who eventually gets with some girl haven't worked out the details yet ¯\_(　´∀｀)_/¯

4:Starlight AU,the axolotl interviens after the eaclidian massacre and brings bill to earth when the stan twins are twelve (bill is twelve when he destroys Euclida) so bill grows up with the stan twins, learning his powers as well as the human way of life. This will have lots of billford and allso fidlestan becouse I say so (let's assume that fidleford moved to new jersey)

5:I can't think of a name for this one but it's about fidleford and stan trying to get ford back. bills fucking with them a bit becouse I can't resist adding him in. there's lot of angst between stan being a general mess and fidleford using the memory gun. It would have them looking at anomalies becouse anomalies are fucking cool. And it's mostly going to be slic of life becouse I want to.

I have more but these are the main ones,If you have anyothers suggestions are absolutely welcome, If not I'd deeply appreciate you giving your opinion on which of these to work on becouse I have no idea 😅

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nexstage · 6 months ago

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Sugargedon

Restless & Rotten - Part 1

Bill had a list of stuff that deeply hurt him. Yeah, it’s true. He barely thought about it because why someone as powerful as him would ever need to revisit potential weaknesses? He didn’t have them, he never did. Nope, nada, zero.

Of course, his denial couldn’t hide the moments he was caught off guard and left speechless. Like when McGucket’s overuse of the memory gun lacerated him when he invaded his mind. Or when Mackerel used him, HIM, to save his imbecilic family! Or when Mr. I-Love-Sugar-So-Much-It-Makes-Me-An-Idiot turned him into a human against his will thinking it was fun!! Or when— You know what? Let’s leave it like that.

Anyway, while those moments were annoying and humiliating, dealing with teenage drama, hormones, and useless pettiness was way worse especially if said teenager was the grand-nibling of his two worst enemies.

To make it worse, you couldn’t imagine who decided to be merciless and unforgiving despite their naive moralistic charade!

“You have no idea how it felt having the best parts of you turned into weapons of mass destruction just because a jerk -AKA YOU!- found it funny! Now I can’t even stomach having good dreams or using my imagination ‘cause every time it happens, it reminds me of how much pain they caused thanks to your Dumb Core!”

“It’s Core of Chaos,” he corrected monotonously. A pebble hit him in the back of the head. If he had energy, he could’ve thrown a rock and watch her squirm in pain as she gathered her bloodied lips and broken teeth. Let’s see if she liked that!

So, yeah, congrats if you thought it was Shooting Star who couldn’t stop antagonizing him for five seconds. If you chose Pine Tree, too bad, buddy. You must be lower in the evolutionary scale than Stanley Pines.

“To make it worse, you possessed someone else!” Oh stars, couldn’t she shut up? “Thank goodness it wasn’t Dipper but it was still horrible and wrong! Blendin could’ve gotten hurt!”

“Aha, sure. Just admit you barely remember the guy and let’s move on, shall we?” He got up and a few steps later, the Pines girl interfered, ferocious glare in her face. “Don’t twist things, Bill! If you possessed someone, of course I would care! You almost killed my brother when you possessed him. I read your note!!”

This time he smiled which incensed her more although he gave no shits about that. The hilarity of Pine Tree being stuck in the Mindscape while his family mourned him, believing he went insane to the point of suicide pushed aside the horrible reality his enemies had forced upon him. That was until a foot stomped on his toes and he shrieked, cursing in an ancient language.

“You little—!!”

“Didn’t like it, uh?” She smirked with a cruel smugness that he would’ve considered impressive if it hadn’t been targeted at him. ��For someone who is like as old as the Earth, you can’t even understand when people doesn’t like what you do to them!”

His bitter laugh caught her off guard. “Understanding? Them? Oh kid, you got it all wrong.” He replied, condescension pouring from his mouth. “I made you a favor.” Her face contorted in horror and he continued. “You think this punny world has anything worthwhile to offer? The only stuff coming from it is rules, restrictions, limitations, and a bunch of idiots who label themselves as superior because their lives are as flat as yours! I gave you POWER!! I turned your imagination into a well of infinite possibilities by destroying the pathetic, insufferable barrier that was reality! You embrace chaos, Shooting Star. Admit it! You love it! Why being held back by idiotic expectations from the most boring fools in history or by your own family when you could show them all what you’re truly capable of?”

The minutes passed. The horror and hurt in her face changed into an epiphany, sort of. Bill wondered if he had gotten through her. Sure, he would’ve turned her into a Henchmaniac due to her potential for chaos and destruction if it weren’t for her mind screaming alerts against him, but just having her feelings directed toward her family, breaking the bonds she held the dearest, now that is an excellent prize for comfort.

“You… He told me kind of the same things.” She finally replied. His smugness diminished at that statement. Stupid yellow dog taking away his powers; he needed to know what she was thinking about.

“Excuse me, kid, what?” He asked, pretending to not have heard her to hide the lack of his reading-mind ability.

Mabel glared thrice as harsh as before. “I said that he told me the same stuff as you. Kind of. That my family was holding me back, that they couldn’t be trusted, that Dipper was an hypocrite with no right to give me advice, and other junk! But that’s not true! Me and my family might not be perfect but we love each other. We forgave one another. The Beast—“

Bill stifled a growl. So Shooting Star was talking about the traitor after all! Ok then, time to twist the topic. “The Beast is just a sore loser who preyed on others. Nothing new, nothing special. I have to admit it, kid, you defeating his worst technique made my day. It takes guts and wits to do such a thing.”

“I did it thanks to Dipper. He was going to kill him! Just like you were trying to kill us all! You and him are one and the same!!”

The environment became cold, freezing. Time seemed to stop. Despite being in a cave, a dark, thunderous cloud hung over them. No, it hung over him, sucking away his smirk, the pleasure to manipulate Shooting Star, the annoyance, the boredom, leaving behind emptiness. Although this void didn’t look like one you’d find in a black hole but in the interior of a furious beast.

“What did you say?” If Mabel had taken a few minutes to analyze Bill’s voice and posture, she would’ve noticed the sharp monotony that spoke nothing but trouble.

“Are you deaf or what? I said you and him and one and the same!”

A few steps echoed in the rocky walls of the cave. Mabel peeked at Bill for a few seconds, then glared at the ground. When the shadow of the humanized demon didn’t move from its new position, she shot him a new glare. However, the effect was lost as she sense a sinister, deadly vibe emanating from his stance, mainly his gaze.

“What?” In a matter of seconds, she was lifted by the neck of her sweated eliciting a frightened shriek. Her blood turned into ice due to the darkness in Bill’s expression. As if whatever was holding him back from killing her was a few moments from snapping.

“Do not. DO NOT. Compare me. To that good-for-nothing. Life-ruining! Hideous! Treacherous! Imbecili— Aaaagghhhhh!!” He let her go the moment her spit hit his eye. Why the fuck they always aimed at the eye?! Why couldn’t they show more respect?!

Mabel, on the other hand, sprinted to a new direction. She wasn’t going to stay and have him strangling her, no sir!

#mabel pines #bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls AU #the beast gravity falls #the book of bill references #gravity falls prompt #Had to change some stuff to make this coherent with the idea I had in mind

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triptychcryptid · 7 months ago

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More on the Venture Falls crossover:

Little Ford WOULD actually like Rusty alot at first because he's a kid and to him, Rusty's exactly who he'd want to be as an adult. This, of course, would feed Rusty's ego and he'd offer to show Little Ford "the ropes." Grunk Ford, Stan and Fidds would intervene IMMEDIATELY and explain that if he spends time around Rusty, he'll actually come out dumber for it. The fact that none of the newcomers like Rusty delights the Monarch. XD

Little Stans would see Fidds as a father figure, and he'd kinda see them as his weird adopted sons. Dipper would ask Fidds a million and ten questions about his time with Ford in the 80's. He'd be reluctant to answer as they would have caught him after the portal incident, but before his memory gun, and he doesn't know how he feels about Ford right now.

Rusty would find out Fidds is an Engineer and immediately try to recruit him to fix the portal. Fidds dodges him because he doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him. Meanwhile, 21, Pete and Billy try to get him to build a giant Mechagodzilla and a Transformer so they could pilot them and see who'd win.

Ford would step in and politely tell them to back the hell off because this man's been through a lot already. He would be pretty protective of Fidds.

Stan would go ask the Monarch what his deal was, then they'd both end up hanging out kindof in the background, watching the chaos from afar. Wendy would join.

When they first got out of the portal, Grunk Stan would immediately blame Grunk Ford for doing some "weird space thing" upon seeing their younger selves. Little Stan would be like "Whoa, Sixer, look! It's like us if we were mummies!" And both Grunks would be like "We're not that old, kid!"

Little Ford would ask all these (to him) big boy science questions of Billy and Pete, who would find the unending chatter between him and Little Stan going "Whoa, your head is huge, Mister! Is that where you keep all your snacks? That's where I'd keep mine! WHOA, A ROBOT ARM! THAT'S SO COOL! Can you shoot lasers out of it? What about sharks?!" Just absolutely maddening and try to avoid them.

Brock would actually think the Little Grunks were okay, as long as they were away from all the other twins. Little Grunks would think he was hot shit. Little Stan would see him as his new role model. XD Brock would get along best with Wendy and the Grunks, and would mostly tolerate Soos.

Grunk Ford would spend alot of time apologizing to Fidds and trying to make amends. 21 and Hank would listen in on their convos and come up with a Not-Totally-Off-Base narrative about what happened, but they'd throw in vampires and Cthulu for good measure. And somehow work in the X-men.

Fidds would eventually forgive Grunk Ford and offer to help Stanley fix the portal when he got back. Ford would think about it for a minute, then ultimately decide it was best not to. "I wouldn't be the man I am today if I didn't go through what I did. No, I need to learn some lessons. As does Stanley, I think. But I want a better life for you than what you have in my timeline. You're a brilliant man, Fiddleford, and a wonderful friend. In 30 years, when Stan gets the portal up..please come visit."

Then Hank would be like "....Are they lovers?"

And 21 would go "I don't think so, but there's some DEFINITE tension there." Which would horrify Ford and Fidds because they just got their friendship back, damnit! XD

Dipper would give Mabel endless shit on her Hank crush because it would basically be exactly his previous situation with Wendy: she has a crush on an older kid who has no interest in her (and honestly is oblivious because HANK) and he's still salty about her teasing him about it.

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dennisprager · 1 year ago

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fuck it we ball

heres a gravity falls fanfic

i actually write a lot of things, but never share them. a lot are just unfinished projects, but a lot are also fanfics. i can't post them because theyre entrenched in layers of headcanons and disregard of the source material that makes them unreadably confusing unless i censor the names to make a clean slate for the context. theyre also often otherwise bizarre, offensive and deeply personal because i only write them for myself.

this is the first thing i've written thats clean enough and close enough to the source material that i can actually post it. theres a few differences but you'll figure those out. also you don't have to have watched the show to enjoy it.

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"Aaaaand... a New Yorker." she spoke into the house phone, twiddling and curling a strand of her autumn hair like it was the cord.

"With stuffed crust." Dipper whispered, with a tug at her green tartan pyjama bottoms.

"With stuffed crust." she smiled.

Some crusty, crackling, deep and high-passed voice came through the speaker, which was just as incomprehensible as the squeaking in cartoons, though a vague monotone lethargy and world-weariness in speech crossed the interference.

"Yeah, mozzarella." she confirmed, fixing her hair to look down at a sticky note and tapping a ballpoint.

Wendy went on with the order, leaning on the kitchen counter in a typically cool way, eyes switching from the note to the night-black view outside. Dipper, secure now that the crust had been stuffed, slipped on some too-large slippers and padded out through a rusted fly-screened door into the backyard.

There was a certain buzz in the smokey summer night air; that fresh country air that hadn't greeted him in a year. Most would call it 'the flies'. But him, and his older friend, certainly felt it.

To him, the feeling of a warm, familiar place, galaxies away from science projects, Gamecube curfews and beating white Burbank heat. A place and a person where he could shoot the shit with when he usually had to shoot the poop, and the gun had to have a little plastic red tip on the end. And would get confiscated anyway.

Yet the same place was elusive, like the memory of an earlier childhood vacation. On the pitch-black night, in it's valley below, the stars of distant street lights cutting through the redwoods was a sight usually too good to be true; the warm wind brushing his hair and wetting his eyes too long ago to be felt. In his previous, and first, stay in Oregon, by the time it was over and he had to leave, it felt like a Monday alarm ending a sweet dream.

Yet here he was. For six whole weeks, with no want to waste even a moment of them this time. He grinned, and paced the trodden grass of the yard.

And right now, for this night and at least several others, it just was him and Wendy. Even his sister was back at the cabin, whom he obviously and dearly enjoyed the company of in a different way, but he wasn't in a rush to meet the clique she'd made last year and had been foaming at her mouth to talk to in-person again. They were off having their own sleepover, doing 'girl' sleepover things like tittering and painting nails and going to bed at reasonable hours. Their sleepover would be way cooler. They were gonna watch peak cinema and drink roo' beers. Cos they were dudes.

Or at least he was. Or at least would be, in two years, if you count teenagehood as the threshold for dudedom. Mere technicalities, he thought.

Only a few paces later, the excitement had him jogging laps, jogging into the darkness and crickets of the open yard's far-end, revealing more of the twinkling town lining the forms of the sheer cliffs, then slinging around a stump back towards the orange glow of the oval moth-gathered wall-lamp and the silhouetted window of the log house.

Starting with middle school he'd been increasingly more conscious about 'kid' things like breaking into running randomly, but he didn't care around Wendy. Seventeen was too old to be jeering at someone having fun like a snotty 9th grader would, and regardless of age, that was neither her nature, nor the nature of their kinda-friend-kinda-bigsister-kinda-carer relationship. She always just went with the flow and let him be him, joining in with whatever eleven year old fancies he or his sister were taken by.

She was watching him and smiling, leaning on the door frame with one arm crossed, the other tentatively swigging a skunked heineken. Her height and a summer-job clerk that didn't know her got her past IDs, though with this bottle she was wishing she'd just cracked a can of pepsi instead.

Dipper came to the end of a lap and was in her earshot.

"You yoinked my slippers, ya scoundrel."

He slowed, then started walking to the door.

"Oh, they're yours?" as if he couldn't tell by them almost falling off with each step, and as if she wasn't joking and minded.

"Yeah, so hands off."

"I wouldn't wear em on my hands, that'd be gross."

She huffed amused.

The tall girl stepped aside to let him through the door, and ruffled his hair as he passed. The wide wind and crickets softened to a muffle after the door shut, leaving only a fluorescent hum. They took a seat on two stools, made of the same saturated wood as the entire room barring the dark floor tiles.

"Thirty minutes for the food. You got cash, right, dip?"

"Wait, what? No?"

She gave a long, dramatic gasp.

"No pizza, then." she glumly accepted, slouching a cheek onto her loose white sleeves.

"...you're such a liar." he giggled.

She flicked 'maybe' with her eyes and a growing grin.

"Wanna uhh... go pick the movie while we're waiting?" she asked with a smile as dorkish and eager as his glowing through the mellow teenage exterior.

His two nods practically shook the stool.

"Then coooom'on." standing up with a lean and waving a hand to follow.

She clicked the kitchen light off before they passed through the frame into the sparsely decorated hall.

On the left of the hall, she turned the handle of a heavy oak door, leading into a cooler, unlit room. Light from the hall teased a slice of it's form, until the heavy door shut.

For a moment there was black.

A click, and a tacky white lightbulb flooded the silent room with crisp, specular clarity and colour.

Before them over a wood railing, beneath them by four shallow steps; the TV room, which for all intents and purposes was hers. A wide, top of the line (for 1996) Sony Trinitron and VCR atop a stand lay centre in the far end, flanked by two bookshelves crammed with a part-timer funded tape collection that was no Victorville Archive but was nothing to scoff at either. A red shaggy rug divided the TV from the puffy leather sofa (WITH A PULLOUT BED!) cornered by the steps, thats back had a plaid blanket laid over like a 'murican antimacassar, and several more making fluffy heaps by the armrests.

The room had a certain smell and feeling to the air that only a visitor would notice, and with the blackout curtains closed, felt like a little pocket dimension of take-out and tapes. If not for the inviting carmine carpet, it might have felt like a mancave.

The wood of the four steps made anechoic creaks as they descended and turned the corner, taking them to the left of the sofa.

Wendy knelt down in front of the TV with a grunt.

"Can I do it?" Dipper asked, kneeling beside.

"Hm? Oh, sure."

She shuffled over and instead started perusing for stuff to watch.

Yellow for video slid into the socket with a thump then a click, then red for right channel, then white for left channel, and power.

'VIDEO' filled near a quarter of the screen as a commendation.

He was old enough to know rationally that it required about as much expertise as a fisher-price puzzle, but felt like a technician regardless. The subtle hum of the screen broke the chill of the silence.

"Alrighty..." she sighed blissfully, taking a cross-legged seat with the neck of the bottle in one hand.

"What are we thinkin, lil dude?"

He swayed in thought. A select few tapes on the TV stand caught his attention.

"What are these?"

"Those are..." grunting while scooting her butt across. "My favourites."

"The cream de le cream, as the french say." quietly, close to his shoulder.

"Is Pink Floyd french?" he asked, holding a creased sleeve depicting a screaming man he assumed was the eponymous 'Watl', whatever that was.

"No-ho-ho, he's, uh." laughing. "He's from easter island, I think." dryly, taking a sip.

It looked like kind of a horror movie.

"Is it any good?"

"Oh, it's amazing." she breathed, leaning back. "It's basically a musical of one the best albums, Ever." pinching for emphasis.

Dippers eyes grew wider with anticipation. He knew her well enough and had seen her bash enough snares that he knew it wasn't gonna be the Mary Poppins kind.

"But, uh." she scratched her neck. "It's not like a movie night kinda movie, if you know what I mean." splaying a hand towards him, then dropping it on her knee.

"Oh." He knew that, too. It either meant some weird artsy thing or 'horror' in the kind of way that wasn't fun.

"Well, what about this one?"

The boxes clacked as he put one back and took out another. He held up 'Full Metal Jacket', which wasn't much better.

"Mmmm..." she considered. "Still kind of a downer. You'd like the first half, but I think, uh, after that you wouldn't care."

"But it's like a war movie? Those are fun, right?"

She snickered. "Yeah. About Vietnam, you dork; it ain't Rambo. That shit was definitely not fun."

"Why, were you there?" wryly.

A gleam of mischief flashed in the corner of her mouth.

"Uhhh. Ya." like it was obvious.

"Wait, really?"

She squinted and started in a gruff, chiselled voice. "Oh yeah. Musta mowed down a hundred * in that platoon...", taking a deep and hard swig that she privately regretted once the aftertaste kicked.

"Shhhhudddup!" he laughed, as much at himself for even humouring the possibility for half a second.

She chuckled and set the drink down, but suddenly her eyes shot open and she looked flustered. "Oh, don't repeat that!" hurriedly, reaching out a hand and covering her mouth with the other. "Don't repeat that, that's not a word you can use!" rushing the words out and starting to chortle. "That-that's the beer talking. You'll get in BIG trouble if you say that."

"Yeah, I know."

Her eyebrows flicked in surprise for a moment as if asking 'how!?'.

"Well- I mean, I didn't know. But I don't repeat stuff you say, I mean."

"Ohh, right." she settled with a last giggle.

She swallowed. "Anyway." raising her hands with closed eyes. "I don't think that ones a good choice."

Dipper clicked his tongue in thought.

"Got any good spooky stuff?"

"Oh, dude, do I."

She stood up, and walked over to the shelves on the right. She looked back with a smirk and raised a finger saying 'observe' this shit that's about to blow your mind. The boy shuffled and crossed his arms with a smile awaiting the goods.

The shelf had a larger slot at the bottom that could fit various boxes, some of cardboard, and this one of plastic, labelled with scratched paper and pen marker declaring 'HORROR'.

He bit his lip envisioning the kind of messed up things that must be in there; the sorts of revolting scenes an erudite of the genre six years older than him wouldn't flinch at.

The box simply slid out when she grabbed it by the lip, but somehow it felt like she'd gone down a dark passage and blew dust off it with an oil lantern in one hand and a cursed, ornate key in the other.

He kept wondering. Serial killers, flaying, butthole stuff, genocide, torture, probably poop involved somewhere. All kinds of crazy shenanigans.

She knelt, and slapped the lid of the box with both hands, before sliding it off to reveal the contents. Which would have been a little more theatrical if the box wasn't translucent.

He gazed into the pit of tapes.

"Pick yer poison, dipperoni." steepling, with an ominous voice.

'Halloween', 'IT', 'The Return of the Living Dead', 'Hostel', she hissed and snatched at the CD.

"Exceptthatone!"

She really, really, really needed to sort the 'funny monster gibs 80's teenagers' movies from the 'people actually getting tortured' movies.

Wendy noticed Dipper look a little less sure about watching a horror movie.

"Uhh, just... just pick any. And I'll let you know if it's okay. Mmkay?"

He nodded and continued looking.

"I wouldn't let you watch anything that'd make you, like, upset. Don't worry."

"I know..." he whispered warmly.

She pinched his cheek.

Several cases toppled and clacked the plastic as he pulled one out. "This one looks... interesting."

'CRITTERS II: THE MAIN COURSE'

"Oh, that movie fuckin' rocks." she laughed. "It sucks, but it fuckin' rocks."

"Heh heh~ What's it about?"

"It's like dollar store Gremlins."

The corny ass Dreamworks face of the monster on the cover seemed to infect him more with a breathy laughter by the second.

"I-hi-hi, I think I'll pass on dollar store Gremlins."

"Hm hm, oo-kay."

Wendy had taken to flipping through some of the covers herself; it had been a while. She huffed a single laugh thinking about Christopher Lee in Howling II, hummed fondly thinking of the first time watching Little Shop of Horrors as a girl, and remembered snatching Maniac Cop 2 on discount as soon as she saw it in Blockbusters just so she could rip 'Children of the Night', which she just now noticed herself singing under her breath unbidden, then soon after 'Alone in the Night' by Leatherwolf and 'Darkest Side of the Night' by Metropolis and a few other 'the Night's.

"This summer... the ball is back" Dipper giggled, reading the tagline of Phantasm II. "What's this one?" holding it up.

"That's dollar store Evil Dead."

"Huh? Never heard of that."

"D-" she jolted.

"Dude."

For a second she thought it inconceivable that an eleven year old wouldn't know an almost two decade old movie.

"That's the one. That's what we're watching, Evil Dead II." immediately rooting for it then holding it up, rapping the side of the case with a bit lip like 'this is the shit right here'. The only reason it wasn't on her 'favourites' shelf was because it wasn't as rewatchable as films with more substance.

"Is it like, 'scary' scary?" with mild trepidation, his eyes following as she moved to the stand.

"It's, umm..." fixing her hair and looking up to think "not ''scary' scary' scary, but it might be scary for a kid. Don't worry, though, it's a blast. You'll love it." raising a finger to reassure while Dipper tried to figure out the nested 'scary's.

"Mmmmm... okay." he agreed enthusiastically.

She slapped it on top of the VCR. Dipper had no frame of reference, so trusted her taste and better judgement, with a simmering excitement to find out what it was.

"I'm gonna go get a drink." she sighed as she stood. "This tastes like dick and ass." half-muttered, wiggling the quarter empty bottle.

"Alright." he said while crashing on the sofa.

She made to the steps, then looked back. "Want anything?"

He'd downed a pepsi just an hour before when they came back from the town. "Not yet, thanks."

"Mkay." continuing up.

For a moment. she looked at him nestled by the armrest again. She moved over the railing and hummed lovingly. Dipper looked up to her leaning over.

"You get nice n' cosy." quietly, reaching down to pull a blanket over. "I'll go fetch yer teddies, too." booping his nose with a dimpled smile.

His backpack in the kitchen had a notebook, a pencil, a few cans, a copy of 'Passport to Magonia', and a selection of his plushies. If anyone else had (correctly) assumed he wanted them, he would have gone on masculinity red alert, but here he only returned the smile.

The light went off, with the hall door left open, leaving the well-loved beige bouclé that enveloped him lit softly blue by the static hearth. They'd lie down and just talk in the quiet for a good half-hour before the food came, or maybe see whatever shitty network sitcom was on at this hour while they waited. He sighed dreamily.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #dipper pines #wendy corduroy #fanfic

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theoryofweirdness · 2 months ago

Text

Depends on whether you think it was the metal plate that kept Bill from possessing him during his travels or the fact that their deal was broken by Ford falling through the portal into the lawless Nightmare Realm (it has no consistent laws of physics or linear time, so that could qualify as "the end of time" as far as Ford's accidental escape clause when he made the deal).

Personally, I subscribe to the latter interpretation, since Ford didn't get the metal plate until he'd been traveling for some time already, so Bill probably would've taken control at some point before that.

Without the metal plate, the memory gun is fully capable of wiping Ford's mind when Dipper shoots him with it in this episode. However, we don't know what, if anything, Dipper input for the gun to target, which could mean it wipes either nothing or everything. If nothing, then things are probably about the same as canon except Ford is the one who gets his mind wiped to destroy Bill instead of Stan (he was fully willing to do so in canon). If everything, then Ford is now pretty much a blank slate, much as Stan was in canon after destroying Bill. And since there's very little of him in Mabel's scrapbook compared to Stan, it would be much harder to recover his memories (I suppose the journals could help…)

If you instead take the former view (the metal plate was the only thing keeping Bill from possessing Ford the whole time and he got it relatively early on despite it being one of the last things he describes from his travels), things are much worse. In this case, Bill would possess Ford at the first opportunity once he got home and use him to turn on the portal, thus starting Weirdmaggedon much earlier.

Day 89

What if Ford never got the metal plate put in his head?

Submitted by @interestingturnofthetables

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ckret2 · 2 years ago

Text

Here, have another post about my headcanoned human Bill Cipher!

I promised to answer the second half of @dykefnctl's question—

also, like, wtf does stan and ford think? i'm invested.

—but I just got a separate ask about Ford, so I'll talk about Ford in that one and focus on Stan here.

So: Stanley versus human Bill!

Of all the Pines, Stan had the least to do with Bill throughout the entire show; at best, he would have seen this triangle guy come up a few times in Ford's journals and once Ford came back maybe he would have personally warned Stan to watch out for a fast-talking magic triangle. (Although considering how long it took Ford to open up to Dipper, whom he was on much better terms with, the odds that he'd have said anything to Stan are still pretty low.) So to Stan, Bill's just some weird triangle freak who came outta nowhere to mess up Gravity Falls, personally threatened his whole family, and forced Stan to sacrifice his brain to get rid of him.

So when the freak comes back, Stan's ready to shoot first and figure out how to hide the body later.

"Maybe Bill's possessing a normal human and you'd be murdering an innocent" doesn't dissuade him; he'll kill a single stranger if he has to, he's not taking any chances when his family's safety is on the line. (Also the world's safety, but he's more concerned about his family.) What DOES dissuade him is "maybe being trapped in a human body is the only thing keeping Bill's reality-altering powers in check." Stan doesn't know much about how this stuff works, but he's already seen Bill shed one body to hop into someone else's head, and he doesn't wanna restart Weirdmageddon.

He's still somewhat skeptical—"if killing this body would make him a god again, how come he hasn't jumped off a cliff?"—but even if Bill wouldn't regain all his powers if he was "freed," there's still a chance he could just go possess someone new and come back, right? And Stan might be willing to kill ONE innocent to protect his family, but he doesn't relish the idea of killing a whole string of innocents being puppeted by Bill. Or risking that the next innocent is somebody he knows.

So he'd rather keep Bill right where he is: inside his current body, and somewhere close by where Stan can keep an eye on him. For now. Until they can find a way to kill him for good. If the memory gun couldn't do it, maybe Poindexter and Old Man McGucket can whip up something that can.

Bill, meanwhile, is perfectly willing to let Stan and everyone else keep believing that killing his body will unleash him again—when the truth is, he himself doesn't know what would happen, but he suspects that might just kill him for good. Or else shuffle his humanized ghost into humanity's afterlife system, which he doesn't much relish either. It's not too long before Stan starts to suspect that Bill's willingness to put up with makeshift imprisonment in the Mystery Shack, rather than smash his own head in and escape, means that he can't just hop over to a new body... or, at least, he doesn't know whether he can. So they're at a stalemate: neither Bill nor Stan knows whether killing his body would liberate him or destroy him, and as long as they don't know, neither is willing to risk the consequences if it doesn't go their way. But both of them really want to find out—while not wanting the other to find out.

So for now, they mostly just glare at each other, and sometimes Bill grumbles about Stan's cooking.

Once they've been around each other long enough that the white-hot rage Stan feels at the sound of his stupid whiny voice starts to cool down, Stan starts to suss out that Bill is, in fact, a lot like himself. That is, a fast-talking stone-hearted con artist who's probably served time in multiple jurisdictions and whose "friends" are more likely fairweather partners in crime. Stan can grudgingly respect that. Being in the Shack means Bill inevitably comes in contact with a few customers, and the guy can make up a whopper of a tall tale at the drop of a hat and sell anything you put in front of him—Stan respects that, too. All these little similarities also make Stan start to suspect that Bill's like him in other ways: that maybe his stone heart has a mushy center that gets very, very lonely without his family, whatever and wherever they are.

But Bill's still the creep who tried to murder Stan's whole family and planet. Who cares if under his weird alien trappings he has relatable problems! It's not gonna make Stan go soft on him or whatever.

(Stan's slowly going soft on him. It's hard to keep feeling threatened by a depressed clumsy loser who thinks depth perception is a curse and lets Mabel paint glitter on his face.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #stanley pines #gravity falls #headcanons #dykefnctl #bill goldilocks cipher

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itsthemysterykids · 3 years ago

Note

MLP Magical Mystery Cure with the MKs!

Lili - Coraline

Coraline - Norman

Norman - Raz

Raz - Neil

Neil - Mabel

Mabel - Wybie

Wybie - Lili

Dipper wakes up in a good mood and decides to go for a walk

While going through town, Dipper is nearly scorched by fire and is quick to accuse Lili until he sees Wybie with his hair on fire

Dipper: What the hell…?

Wybie: Sorry! Can’t put it out!

Dipper: Uh… Care to explain why or even how you have pyrokinesis?!

Wybie’s not sure what he’s talking about, explaining that he’s always had pyrokinesis until his flaming hair torches a bird

Dipper goes to check on Lili and see if she know why Wybie has her powers until she sees her tearing apart some button-eyes dolls with a panicked look in her eyes

Lili: She’s after me! I need to destroy them all!

Lili: I just can’t sleep at night. No, not one little bit. These dolls all have their eyes on me, they watch from where they sit. I won’t take any chances, because surely you know- It’s all part of my backstory! It’s just what my instincts are telling me.

Coraline: I try to ignore them as I talk to what seems like air, but not matter what I try, I can’t avoid their sighs and glares. But hey, it shouldn’t matter, my spectral friends are there for me- It’s part of my backstory! It’s just what my instincts are telling me!

Norman: I don’t care much circus acts, and trapeze stunts I just can’t hack. No matter what I try I can’t master flips and turns- Aw shoot! But I can’t give up now, though it’s no fun being me! But it’s part of my backstory! It’s just what my instincts are telling me.

Raz: I try to keep them upbeat, put a smile on their face! I just try so hard, but I feel like a disgrace! I have to lift their spirits, it all comes down to me! It’s all part of my backstory! It’s just what my instincts are telling me!

Neil: Knitting for hours day and night aren’t what these hands are for! I’m trying to get this pattern- Shoot! I got carpel tunnel! But I’m supposed to be the artist, I can’t go quitting now! It’s all in my backstory! It’s what my instincts are telling me!

Mabel: Well, look here at what I made, it’s some sort of machine! I know, I know, it looks a mess, but these blueprints make no sense! Can you give me a hand here, help me fix my mess?! My backstory is not pretty! But it’s what my instincts are telling me!

Wybie: I can’t control the flames, and the others are concerned. I can’t go a second without causing something to burn. I have to keep on trying, and everyone should know. It’s all part of…

Norman: It’s all part of…

Mabel: My backstory…

Raz: My backstory.

And it’s what my instinct… It’s what my instincts… It’s just what my instincts are telling me!

Dipper frantically looks through Ford’s notes for an answer until he realizes

Dipper: … This is my fault!

Last week while on another anomaly hunt with the others, Dipper strayed away and came across a clearing with a plaque embedded in the ground. Written on it was, ‘From one to another, another to one. A mark of one's backstory singled out alone, fulfilled.’

Doing so, he inadvertently cast a spell on the Relics, causing them all (aside from Dipper’s) to change colors.

He thinks about using Ford’s memory-restoring gun from when Bill was freed but remembers it isn't his friends' memories that have been altered but their true selves.

So, he’s at a dead-end situation

And in a corny fashion, Dipper looks at a photo of his friends and realizes the solution: if he can't remind the others of who they are, he'll remind them of what they mean to each other. (See? Corny)

Dipper finds Norman at the bus stop, disappointed by his failure to perform the simplest tricks and planning to go back home. Before he does, Dipper asks him if he could help Coraline

He’s unsure, but goes anyway

They arrive at the graveyard, and Coraline’s not doing too well as she somehow upset the ghosts with some of her venting

Norman asks Dipper for help, but he refuses and tells him to handle the ghosts on his own.

The ghosts instantly warm up to Norman even though he can’t see them, but Coraline guides him and he starts to be able to see and talk to them again

Dipper gives him his Relic, and Norman remembers who he is

Dipper restores the memories and identities of each of the Mystery Kids by reintroducing them to their correct roles, with the help of his restored friends and the Relics: Coraline helps Lili in reassuring her the Beldam is gone for good, Lili helps Wybie control his pyrokinesis, Wybie helps Mabel with some projects, Mabel helps Neil knit some amazing sweaters, Neil helps Raz bring back the laughter, and Raz is able to perform tricks again

Later, they head back to the forest where Dipper found the plaque, and he rewrites the spell so this shit never happens again

After that, the relics glow different colors, much to their horror

Lili: WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!

Neil: HOLD ME, NORMAN!

Wybie: I’M NOT READY TO GO INTO THE LIGHT!

Instead of dying, the relics just turn into choker necklaces each in the Mystery Kids’ colors

Coraline: … How embarrassing.

What does this mean? No one knows or cares because it’s Grvaity Falls and weird shit happens

They’re just glad to be back to normal

#coraline #mystery kids #paranorman #gravity falls #psychonauts #the mystery kids #ask stuff #answered ask #MLP

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theoryofweirdness · 1 year ago

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You forget another point in favor of Dipper. He, Stan, and Ford are the only major characters to have canonically killed another character onscreen, and in the Stans' case, it was the same character (Bill). Dipper killed clones 5-10 (albeit accidentally), was about to kill the Multibear, pulled the trigger for the memory gun on Blind Ivan (and presumably the rest of the Society that was in there... which for Ivan at least appears to have been as thorough a mind wipe as that later applied to Stan, completely erasing all traces of his previous personality), believed for a few weeks that he had accidentally killed Agents Powers and Trigger and was apparently not particularly remorseful about it (though that could also be due to the circumstances immediately following their apparent deaths, and then those immediately following their reappearance... Dipper had other things on his mind at the time), and actually did shoot Ford with the memory gun when he thought Bill was controlling him (which likely would've memory-killed Ford were it not for the plate protecting Ford from psychic attack, and I am sure that if Dipper had picked up Ford's laser pistol instead of the memory gun, he would've still pulled the trigger, panicked as he was). So yeah, if I interpret your question literally, then it would be Mabel. She would SUGGEST the death penalty. But Dipper would be the one to actually go and carry it out. I have no doubt in my mind that if someone killed Stan (or otherwise seriously harmed his family), he would not hesitate to fatally shoot them, even at age 12.

Ok weird question time.

I need to know for fic reasons:

On one hand, Dipper is on record saying revenge is awesome.

On the other hand, Mabel's gut reaction was to choose death as Blendin's punishment in Blendin's Game.

So I turn to you, dear tumblrinos, to help me decide.

#dipper pines #mabel pines #gravity falls

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shima-draws · 6 years ago

Note

Remember that one episode in Gravity Falls where Stan loses a bet to Mabel and does that stan-wrong-dance?? Can you write a drabble where Ford finds the footage pls the imagery is so freaking funny lmao

[[Send me a fandom/ship/prompt and I’ll write a drabble for it!]]

I’M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BUT I FINALLY FINISHED…I had a total blast writing it tho!!

I kinda took your prompt and went way beyond the original concept anjsakbnda so there’s some angst in here because Stan’s a self-sacrificial idiot and Ford almost loses his shit, but I hope you like it nonetheless :’)

Also this ended up being nearly 4k words so. Yeah. That’s why it took so long LOL but hopefully you got more than what you asked for!

This is also on Archive, if you’d rather read it there!

——————————————————–

Ford is absolutely furious.

Now, he’s no stranger to anger, having fallen victim to it many, many times throughout his life. His bouts of rage usually result in catastrophe if he isn’t careful. A prime example: letting Stan get kicked out of the house forty years ago. Or, when his irritation caused a fight between them that ended up in Stan’s permanently scarred shoulder and his own thirty year trip into the multiverse. It’s never simple and it usually doesn’t end well, especially if Stan happens to be on the other side of the argument.

This time, however, is a bit different.

It’s one thing if his brother has done something to piss him off. It’s another if Stanley does something so unbelievably stupid it scares the absolute shit out of Ford. He doesn’t like being angry. He doesn’t like being angry as a result of him being terrified even more.

And so, he’s taken to pacing in his study, trying to let off some steam. He’d separated himself from Stan after lecturing at him for twenty-five minutes about the very many reasons why Stan shouldn’t have charged right into battle against a particularly violent group of bullasps (an enormous wasp-bull anomaly hybrid, helpfully named by Mabel). Stan had come this close to being pierced by one of their enormous stingers—and if he had, well. The venom they secrete works so quickly Ford doubts he would have been able to do anything about it in time. And that is what had triggered his hysteria.

Mabel sits on one of the oversized chairs in the room, munching on a bag of popcorn. She’d followed him after his frustration had shot through the ceiling, needing to get away before he said anything he’d come to regret. Dipper had stayed behind to admonish Stan further, but not as harshly as Ford originally had.

It’s been almost a year since Ford and Stan left Gravity Falls to travel the world together. They’ve had plenty of arguments and heated late night discussions on board the Stan O’ War II, but they’d never escalated to this level. The two of them hashed out all of their past history and mistakes, and they’ve been attached at the hip ever since—but Stanley’s always had a bit of a reckless steak, and Ford will never admit it, but he’s unbelievably overprotective of his twin, especially after the whole shooting-him-with-a-memory-gun thing. (They try not to talk about that, much, mostly because it makes Ford feel so guilty it brings him to tears, and Stan hates seeing him like that.) This sort of takes the cake for every previous situation where Stan has willingly put himself in danger on their journey out at sea. Ford can’t remember the last time he’s felt so high strung.

“I just can’t believe him,” Ford hisses, his fingers tangled in his hair. His heart is still pounding, fear spiking through his veins and making him as taught as a bowstring. “Out of all the reckless, most monumentally moronic—”

“I know you’re upset, Grunkle Ford, but we took care of it!” Mabel points out, trying to be helpful. She does sound worried, though, if her expression has anything to say about it. “Those things ran right off after I used that cannon to shoot that t-shirt into the woods! Who knew bullasps are actually attracted to red things? I thought regular bulls hated the color red!”

Ford can’t help but smile a bit at her observation. “Actually, regular bulls are red-green colorblind, Mabel. It’s not that they particularly dislike the color red, it’s the action of a matador moving their cape that stimulates hyper aggression in—wait, wait, that’s not the point!” He heaves out a sigh. He turns to her and frowns. “Do you—do you even know why I’m so furious with Stanley right now?”

Mabel makes a funny sound with her mouth, her legs kicking back and forth, and then she answers. “‘Cause he shook his butt at them and told them to shove it where the sun don’t shine?”

Ford groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. Could Stan have any less tact? The children are almost 14 now, but still.

“That’s part of it,” he grumbles. “But it’s his insistence on constantly throwing himself headlong into danger before even considering the consequences of doing so. Stanley is—he’s ridiculously defensive of his family, which isn’t a bad quality to have at all, but…it gets him into unnecessary trouble. A lot.”

Mabel looks truly concerned now, which is good. “Is that why you looked like Dipper in the middle of a Wendy crisis when Grunkle Stan almost got hit by one of those super giant sharp and pointy stingers?”

Ford considers telling her that the venom would have killed Stanley in minutes, but then decides he should probably spare her those morbid details.

“Yes. It would have been…very catastrophic if he’d actually come into contact with one.” Ford slumps, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’ve come this close to losing him once, I…the mere thought of possibly losing him again, and him ending up somewhere I couldn’t ever possibly reach…”

His throat tightens and he feels pressure building behind his eyelids. Emotion makes his heart feel like it’s being constricted, squeezed tight, and he swallows. He’d gone half his life without his brother and he regrets every single minute he didn’t spend by Stanley’s side. Almost losing him to Bill was a huge wake up call, and Ford’s barely been without him since then.

“So that’s why you’re so frowny,” Mabel chirps. Ford can’t tell if she’s totally oblivious to the seriousness of the situation or if she’s just trying to act upbeat for his sake—but he appreciates it either way. “You were pretty scared for him, huh, Grunkle Ford?”

Ford wipes his eyes and nods wordlessly. In the past he might have brushed her off but he knows better now—his family is the most important thing he has, and confiding in them when times are difficult is usually the best course of action.

The young teen hums thoughtfully, scratching her chin, and then her eyes practically light up.

“Wait, hold on! I have an idea,” she says excitedly. Her smile turns wicked. Oh, no. Ford knows that look. He’s been on the receiving end of it many times before.

“Grunkle Ford, have you seen the Stan Wrong Song?”

Ford tilts his head. “The…what?”

Mabel giggles insanely. “The Stan Wrong Song! It’s a song we forced Grunkle Stan to sing after he lost a bet to me.”

“Stanley lost a bet.”

“Uh-huh!”

“To you.” If Ford didn’t know her so well, he’d think she was lying. It’s extremely hard to believe, knowing how brilliant his twin is in the conning department.

Her grin becomes wider, if that’s even possible. Her braces glint in the dim light. “We bet to see who could make more money—me, taking over Grunkle Stan’s position as a morally ambiguous tour guide, or him on vacation. And I won the bet by a dollar! A dollar, Grunkle Ford!”

“Incredible,” Ford breathes, shaking his head.

“We made him sing it at least thirty-six times,” his nibling tells him. She really could give Stan a run for his money with how mischievous she is.

“Or, wait, maybe it was thirty-eight? Anyway, it was a whole lot! We were all singing it for weeks. The power of catchy made up songs prevailed! Grunkle Stan says he hates it, but I hear him singing it in the bathroom sometimes when he thinks I can’t hear him!”

The older man chuckles at that, amused.

“Anyway,” Mabel sing-songs. “Since Grunkle Stan was a dumb-dumb and almost got speared today and scared the bejeebers out of all of us, I think this is a good opportunity to bust that video out and give him a good ol’ dose of shame!”

“You truly are a peculiar girl, Mabel,” Ford says in wonder.

The brunette beams at this, her smile almost blinding.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his wrist. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and so is the way she tugs him along with her. “It’s payback time! Revenge tastes sweet, like gummy worms!”

——————————————————–

Ten minutes later they’re seated together in the living room, prepared for the show. Mabel has already plugged her phone into the TV, which can broadcast anything she wants, thanks to a helpful little device Fiddleford had made for the family a while back. (It definitely helped when Ford wanted to show off all the videos he’d taken while he and Stan were out at sea on a larger screen for the whole family to watch.)

Stan is nowhere to be seen—which Ford supposes is a good sign as any. He’d rather not have Stan confiscate Mabel’s phone before Ford even gets to watch whatever the young girl is intent on showing him. Dipper’s probably still keeping watch over Stan, so that’s reassuring. He’s sure that there’s nobody more capable of watching his twin, except maybe Soos.

Mabel is practically vibrating in her seat, posture tense with excitement, and Ford fidgets. He’s honestly not sure what to expect—but when the video finally loads and the first thing he sees is Stan in a neon orange track suit covered with sparkles, Ford blinks in shock. He definitely didn’t expect that.

His twin looks like he’d rather be chased by a horrendous monster of the deep than perform in front of the camera, and the deadpan expression on his face has Ford releasing an amused snort.

Stan glances offscreen, gruff and irritated. “Ugh, l-look, I’m not gonna—”

Mabel’s voice interjects before he can finish protesting. “Do it!”

Stan begins to bounce as a song plays in the background. He looks so goofy doing it that Ford starts to giggle a little, the stress of the day rolling off his shoulders.

“I’m Stan and I was wrong.” Stan sings, dryly, with all the emotion of a desert cactus. “I’m singing the Stan Wrong Song.”

Something in Ford breaks, then—and he’s laughing, incredulously, sort of struck dumb by the whole situation. Mabel sniggers beside him. Stan starts to swing his arms, and Ford wheezes. His brother looks so foolish. Ford is absolutely reveling in it. (He’s so using this for blackmail material later.)

“I shouldn’t have taken that chance. Now here’s my remorseful dance,” Stan finishes, pouty and clearly embarrassed.

“Do the kicks!” Mabel’s voice calls out again, and Stan makes a feeble attempt at performing a kick, to which she demands them to be “Jazzier!”

It’s when Gompers comes in and starts a tug of war match with Stan that’s one for the history books that Ford loses it completely. The entire thing is just so wild and hysterical that he can’t help it, clutching at his side as he laughs and laughs and laughs. The video resets, going back to the beginning, and Ford happily sits through it again.

By the time the video loops for the fifth round Ford is howling with laughter, nearly bowled over by the force of it. His side has a stitch and it hurts and he’s pretty sure he’s crying but he can’t stop, too overwhelmed at the hilarity of his brother in a sparkly suit singing a song clearly meant to humiliate him—and maybe it’s the fact that Stan had had another close brush with death earlier and the built up tension from the incident that has him letting it all out through his chortles. Mabel is giggling madly beside him—whether she’s laughing at Stan or laughing at him laughing at Stan is unclear, but it’s contagious, and Ford can’t stop smiling.

God, how utterly ridiculous this all is. He loves his family.

The video is on its eighth loop and Ford is pretty sure he’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen when Stan bursts into the room, his eyes wide. Dipper follows close behind.

“What’s going on in—Ford?!”

Stan rushes over to him, his face drawn up in concern, and Ford’s heart melts a little. He might still be angry at his twin for scaring him half to death, but really, Stan’s mother hen tendencies never fail to make him smile.

“Ford—Jesus, you’re cryin’, Sixer! What the hell happened?”

Ford giggles and wipes the tears from his eyes, struggling to get his breathing back under control. “I’m—ahaha! I’m fine, Stanley.”

“With all the noise you were making, I thought you were dying,” Stan says with a worried frown. “It sounded like you were in pain or—”

Ford playfully rolls his eyes and nudges him in the shin with his foot.

“Now you know how I feel.”

Once he finally settles down, and when Mabel’s tittering fades, Stan finally registers the video playing behind him. His face immediately goes ash white, his expression quickly morphing into one of utter horror, and if Ford weren’t so wiped out by nearly laughing his ass into unconsciousness he’d probably start doing it again.

Dipper sees what they’re watching and he snorts, covering his mouth to hide any further giggles from coming out.

"Mabel, pumpkin?”

Mabel is the picture of pure innocence, her smile sickly sweet. “Yes, Grunkle Stan?”

“Either I’m having memory issues again or I swear I made you promise me in confidence that you would never ever show this video to Ford,” Stan says, slowly. His grin is wide and almost terrifying. If Ford didn’t know how much Stan loves Mabel he would have thought his twin was seriously considering strangling her. “And what did you do?”

“I showed the video to Ford,” Mabel says, looking shameful. She twirls a piece of long brown hair around her finger. Ford chokes back a bark of laughter at how well she’s pulling this off.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Stan,” Ford soothes in an attempt to curb his brother’s embarrassment. “She was only trying to help.”

Stan simply pouts, and suddenly all Ford can see is a young boy, cheeks bright red from the sun, childishly complaining about having to wear glasses because he thinks it’ll make him look like a nerd. Something warm blooms inside Ford’s chest and he bites his cheek, trying not to get lost in the memory of their childhood.

“How is this helping anything,” Stan mumbles, his cheeks flushing a charming shade of pink.

“It’s teaching you some humility,” Ford states, crossing his arms. “Maybe you should sing it again, Stanley.”

“What?!” His twin barks in outrage.

“He does have a point, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper provides helpfully from where he’s now lounging on the couch with Mabel. The video continues to loop, much to Stan’s chagrin. “You did do something wrong today.”

“Wh—are you still on about that? My god,” Stan groans, throwing his head back. “I was trying to be, ya know, heroic! Live up to my title.”

Ford is tempted to kick him again, but harder. His glare makes the other man wilt slightly.

“You already live up to your title, Stan,” Ford points out. “You don’t have to throw yourself in front of a beast with a toxicity level of 94 percent to prove that.”

“94? Holy crow, that’s high,” Dipper squeaks.

“You’ve already saved the world and paid the price for it once,” Ford continues. He slumps a bit in his chair, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. “Please, Stan, you have to understand—there’s no point in trying to protect us if we lose you in the process. It’s just…just…” And he shakes his head, frustrated that he can’t put it into words properly.

“Okay, alright,” Stan says sheepishly, edging closer to where he’s sitting. “I get it. I didn’t mean to scare ya. It’s just habit for me to be self-sacrificial at this point.”

“That’s a terrible habit!” Mabel accuses.

“She’s right,” Ford mumbles. “If you hadn’t…if that stinger had come into contact, you would have…and then I…I…” He chokes up, his eyes watering. His heart clenches painfully, fear making his body feel like it’s encased in ice. “If I lost you…”

“Hey, easy there on the waterworks, Poindexter,” Stan teases lightly. He holds his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “I’m fine, see? Still in one piece. Mostly.”

“This isn’t funny, Stanley! How can you still refuse to comprehend—ugh!”

Ford is nearly tearing his hair out in frustration now, his teeth grinding together. Seriously, how can his brother still be such an idiot? He thought the lecturing and the clear distress the rest of the family is expressing would be enough to make Stan realize, but—

Stan folds his arms, huffing, and Ford notes that his face is coloring again. Mabel and Dipper gaze at him curiously, and before Ford can question his twin, Stan releases a soft, irritated noise from his throat.

“I’m Stan and I was wrong,” Stan mutters.

Ford blinks in shock.

The other man sighs, a deep-sounding one that slackens his posture. “I’m singing…the Stan Wrong Song.”

Mabel makes a high-pitched keen of excitement, and Dipper grins. Ford almost falls right out of his chair.

He isn’t sure what’s more surprising—Stan willingly putting his pride on the line, or begrudgingly singing about his mistake in front of the family, who he knows are more than capable of holding this against him.

“I shouldn’t have taken that chance…”

Stan edges closer until he’s standing over Ford, his cheeks the color of a ripe apple.

“I’m sorry, okay? Now will you please forgive me already?”

Something lodges itself in Ford’s throat, and his whole body feels as if it’s being flooded with warmth. Even after all this time, Stan still puts his want for Ford’s forgiveness over everything else. His heart glows.

“Stanley…”

“Don’t gimme that look,” Stan grumbles, refusing to meet his eyes.

The older twin beams and launches himself out of his chair, scooping his brother up in a hug.

“Wh—Ford?!”

Ford nuzzles happily into Stan’s hair, grinning wide.

“Thank you, Stanley.”

“What! You cannot leave me out of this family hug action!” Mabel cries, leaping off the couch to run over and throw her arms around her Grunkles’ legs.

“Squeeeeze!” She says, squeezing them tight. Ford laughs jubilantly and Stan rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile that refuses to go away on his face.

Mabel presses her nose into Stan’s leg for a moment, and then she looks over her shoulder at Dipper.

“Come on, Dippin Dots, you know you want in on this!”

Dipper rolls his eyes but slides off the couch nonetheless, coming over to circle them before ending up beside Ford in the group hug.

The young girl starts giggling, a happy, wonderful sound that makes Ford’s heart swell like a balloon. He feels all sorts of fuzzy, the euphoria of being with the people he loves the most—and with his twin, his other half, the person who almost gave his life for him today—making him burst into merry laughter as well. Soon enough Dipper joins them, and finally, Stan is roped into it, their laughter too contagious to ignore.

When they finally all calm down, Ford nudges his head against Stan’s temple. So maybe he’s feeling a bit clingy now, so what?

“Next time you do something like that again I will sneak horrifying body-altering concoctions into your coffee,” Ford tells him way too cheerfully for someone who’s threatening possible disfiguration.

“Yikes, Sixer. What sort of crap did you learn how to do on the other side of that portal?”

“I know how to disembody someone in a total of 103 unique ways,” Ford responds brightly while he rubs his cheek against Stan’s shoulder, hiding a grin into his shirt.

Much to his delight, Stan stiffens beneath him, and Ford almost laughs.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Stan gruffs, patting him on the back. He pauses. “…Again.”

“Hey,” Dipper playfully elbows Stan. “Grunkle Stan, you didn’t finish.”

Mabel’s entire face lights up, and her smile is blinding—and devilish. “Oh, that’s right! You didn’t finish, Grunkle Stan! You have to commit to it all the way!”

Stan looks down at them, puzzled. He tries to squirm out of Ford’s hold but Ford just hums and hugs him tighter, his forehead pressing against the man’s shoulder.

Stan promptly gives up on getting free (because he knows from experience once Ford starts clinging it’s all over). Instead, he addresses the younger twins with an air of confusion.

“What are you gremlins going on about? Finish what?”

“Your song, silly!” Mabel chirps.

Dipper nods, his smirk matching his sister’s. “Yeah, you didn’t sing the entire thing. Or even do the dance! That was a pretty lackluster performance if you ask me.”

Stan’s face draws up in horror. “Oh, no.”

Ford leans back, but doesn’t detach himself from their interwoven limbs. Giving Stan another dose of shame, as Mabel put it, sounds thrilling right about now.

“You know, they do have a point,” he says, pretending to mull it over. He can’t stop grinning. “I’d love to see the most recent rendition of the Stan Wrong Song, from start to finish. Wouldn’t you, kids?”

“Abso-lutely!” Mabel almost screams. “I’ll have to go get my camera!”

Dipper nods, a hand on his chin. “Oh, yes, yes. Gotta have it.”

“You are the worst,” Stan hisses, his entire face matching the color of Ford’s sweater.

Ford laughs for the millionth time that day, his body feeling lighter than air.

——————————————————–

After that, they make him sing it a total of seven times before finally giving mercy. Stan swears he’s never going to do anything super dangerous again until he does two days later. Then the whole process repeats. LMAO

I can never get enough of Pines family fluff it makes me weak in the knees and oh so happy

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anistarrose · 6 years ago

Text

If The Sky Comes Falling Down (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan’s (and Ford’s) birthdays throughout the years.

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226707

Happy June 15th! (Title is from Hey Brother by Avicii!)

***

Stan and Ford are ten years old, and every one of their birthdays has been shared.

Every year, from the second the final school bell rings and onwards, the twins’ number one priority is planning the best birthday ever — what type of cake they want, which comic issues each of them should beg their parents for in order to maximize their combined yield, how they want to spend the day in order to make it the best day of the whole year.

Other kids at school seem to feel sorry for them, like having to share your birthday ruins all the fun of it, but to Stan and Ford, sharing has always been the whole point. With a twin, you’ve always got someone just as dedicated as you are to making your birthday perfect.

They’d never want it any other way.

Stan and Ford are seventeen years old, ready for their final year of high school, and as always they spend their birthday together. Today, they’re using the morning to work on the boat.

Freedom is tantalizingly close — just one more year of school, one more year of putting up with Dad. It feels just barely out of reach, just barely over the horizon.

If they time this thing right, and put in enough work, they might be able to complete the repairs just in time to sail out of town on the very day they turn eighteen. It’ll be a poetic and dramatic exit, as they journey onwards to clearer waters and grander adventures.

Just the two of them, going wherever they want to go. Stan can’t wait.

Stan (and Ford) are eighteen years old, and they aren’t spending their birthday together this year.

Ford is probably with his family — or maybe he’s already headed out to college and made new friends replacements there, for all Stan knows…

No, don’t waste time thinking about that, it won’t end well. The only thing Stan knows is that for the first time in his life, he’s spending his birthday alone, and he doesn’t have any idea what to do. Birthdays without Ford are a foreign concept to him, like an entirely new holiday that he’s never celebrated before, and he just feels empty.

Eventually, he settles on going to the nearest comic store and blowing his dwindling supplies of cash on the installments he’s missed over the past few months. He ends up not even having enough money to both get fully caught up and eat tomorrow, so he only buys a few issues — but it’s still enough to put a smile on his face that evening, even if that smile is only brought about by indulging in denial, by pretending he’s back home and everything with Ford is just as it’s always been.

Stan (and Ford) are twenty, twenty-five, thirty years old, and Stan still treats himself for his birthday however he can most years — if not the fifteenth, then the eighteenth, or even the twenty-eighth if it takes him that long to get ahold of a few spare dollars. And many years, he enjoys himself, but on others it just isn’t worth the painful memories that always tend to surface.

He’s realizing that sharing your date of birth with someone isn’t so fun after all, if you’re not sharing the celebration too.

Stan is thirty-one years old, and he doesn’t know if Ford is too because he doesn’t know if Ford’s even alive.

Summer is peak tourist season, so he has plenty of cash to spare, but he doesn’t do anything to celebrate when his birthday rolls around. He briefly has the notion that he should buy a cake and bring it downstairs to the portal room, but he discards the idea just as quickly. It just hurts to much to acknowledge.

Stan is fifty-two years old, and has been for nearly a month now as he gives Soos a reassuring pat on the back. The kid’s tears slow down a little, but not enough.

“Hey now, what’s the matter? Do you need to go home, ‘cause… well, it pains me to say this, but you haven’t missed a day of work since I’ve hired you, and I guess I could give you one day off with full pay…”

Soos shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I — I don’t wanna be at home today.”

“Uh…” That surprises Stan, because as far as he knows Soos has a pretty idyllic home life with a grandmother who does nothing but dote on him — but if Stan has to curse out an old lady for reducing Soos to a bawling wreck, then he’ll do it, damn it. He’s cursed out stranger characters before.

There’s a sharp rap on the door — specifically the door to the private side of the Mystery Shack, not the side that’s open to tourists.

“Shoot, I gotta get this. Be right back,” Stan tells Soos, tossing him a box of tissues on the way out. Soos makes no effort to catch them, and the box bounces off his shoulder with a thwack as Stan cringes internally and hurries to the back porch.

And speak of the devil, it’s Soos’s Abuelita who’s waiting for him there, anxiously fidgeting with the straps of her apron.

“Has Soos come into work today?” she asks. “He said he would take the day off for his birthday party this afternoon, but he is not at home!”

Oh. So it’s a birthday thing.

“Yeah, I think I saw him swing by today,” Stan answers slowly. “I’ll go find him for you.”

“Thank you! I was so worried…”

Stan heads back inside, and sits down on the ground next to Soos even though his back protests against him with a burst of pain.

“Hey, kid. Your Abuelita’s looking for you.”

Soos buries his head in his hands, and mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Not a fan of birthday parties, huh? It’s okay… I’m not either.”

Soos looks up. “Really?”

Stan looks away. “Yeah, they’re just… not my thing.”

“My dad always promises he’d come visit on my birthday,” Soos mumbles. “But then he never does…”

“Oh, kid. I’m so sorry about that.” Stan pauses, and then throws an arm over Soos’s shoulder.

“I get it,” he whispers. “When it’s supposed to be the greatest day of the year for you, but then the people you care about — or the people you want to care about you — aren’t there, year after year, then it… it really wears you down.”

“Does your family never visit you on your birthday, Mr. Pines?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

Soos wraps his arms around Stan’s chest, trapping him in a surprisingly tight hug.

“I thought I was the only one who hated my birthday,” he whispers. “I’m sorry your family’s like that, Mr. Pines, but… I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Stan is sixty-one years old, and he’s perfected the art of doing nice things for himself in early June and then lying to himself about it.

The party’s just a moneymaking scheme, nothing more. Getting to dance all night and eat marshmallows and other junk food? Those are just bonuses, and the timing? Falling exactly on the fifteenth of June? Well, that’s definitely just a coincidence.

Mabel is a whirlwind of energy and excitement on the dance floor, having apparently made some new friends, and Dipper is who-knows-where, probably off shirking his responsibilities and making trouble. They’re both good kids — their weirdness and stubbornness and just general twin-ness is a comforting kind of familiar on some days, and a worrying kind of familiar on others, but that’s not their fault. They don’t know.

Something about the presence of the younger twins tells Stan that it’s this summer that everything will finally change, though. That this is the last birthday that he’ll spend alone, unable to share.

Stan and Ford are both sixty-one, and all of those years have only led up to this. To the sky being ripped apart, and a demon burning the town to the ground.

“We used to be like Dipper and Mabel,” Ford says. “The world's about to end and they still work together. How do they do it?”

“Easy, they’re kids,” Stan tells him. “They don’t know any better.”

Ford stands up, a determined but wistful look in his eyes.

“Whoa, where you going?”

“I'm going to play the only card we have left — let Bill into my mind,” Ford explains. “He'll be able to take over the galaxy, and maybe even worse… but at least he might let the kids free.”

“What? Are you kidding me?! Are you honestly telling me there's nothing else we can do?!”

“Bill's only weak in the mindspace. If I didn't have this darn plate in my head —” Ford makes a fist and hits the side of his skull for emphasis, producing a metallic clang. “— we could just erase him with the memory gun when he steps inside my mind.”

“What if he goes into my mind? My brain isn’t good for anything.”

Ford chuckles sadly. “There's nothing in your mind he wants. It has to be me. We need to take his deal, it's the only way he'll agree to save you and the kids.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna make good on that deal?”

Ford sighs. “What other choice do we have?”

“You could… holy shit, Ford, quick! Put on my clothes!”

“Excuse me?!”

Stan takes off his fez and slaps it on Ford’s head. “If we switch places, Bill can go in my mind and then you can erase him! If it fooled all our teachers, why can’t it fool a demon?”

Ford throws the fez to the ground and grabs him by the shoulders, and Stan braces himself for a reply of you idiot, that’ll never work, don’t you think I would have thought of that myself if it would? — but he’s left completely unprepared for the words that actually come out of Ford’s mouth, quiet and slow and afraid in a way Stan hasn’t heard in decades:

“Stanley, that won’t just erase Bill. It’ll erase you.”

“But will it work?” Stan doesn’t even need to ask — Ford has a certain gleam in his eyes, a certain look of awe upon his face that only appears when he’s truly blown away by a revelation that never occurred to him, but makes all the sense in the world. It’s a look that’s partially obscured behind an expression of fear, of guilt, of desperation — but it’s definitely there.

“It will work,” Ford whispers, “but I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s either erasing one idiot’s memories or letting a lot of people die, Ford! We’re — we’re running out of time, damn it!”

Ford stares at the ground as he begins to pull off his trenchcoat. “I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“I am too, Ford.”

A man wakes up in a clearing and remembers nothing, least of all his age.

Strangers approach him, cry over him, call him a hero and hug him uncomfortably tight, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

Ford, the older man, tells him that his name is Stanley, and that the two of them are brothers, that they’re twins, but something about the realization rings hollow. Any connection Stan might’ve once had with this man has since been severed, leaving them to share a face, a birthday, and nothing more.

…Or at least, that’s what one would think, because surely a disoriented and confused shell of a man with ill-fitting clothes and no memories can’t be a brother to anyone, not in any of the ways that truly matter — but when Stan looks at Ford and sees him staring off into the distance with a defeated frown on his face, looks at any of these strangers and sees them in anguish… his heart feels like it’s about to be torn in two. So maybe, just maybe, some fragment of a connection has persisted.

He tries to lighten the mood, to no avail, and tries to remember the scenes in the scrapbook the girl shows him — and when words start spilling out of his mouth on instinct, he’s relieved not for himself, but for the others. (For his family.)

He’s relieved when he sees them start to smile, to hope, and finally thinks Yeah, these faces look familiar.

Stan and Ford are sixty-two years old, and they blow out the candles on their birthday cake together as Dipper takes pictures and Mabel showers both of them in confetti.

“Mabel, sweetie, that’s kind of a fire hazard,” Stan warns her. “You know, with the candles and all —”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ford cuts in. “We all know where the fire extinguisher is, don’t we?”

“Yeah, because you’ve already come seconds away from blowing us into the stratosphere twice this summer!”

They laugh, and then Stan and Ford argue over who gets to cut the cake, but there’s no malice behind the words. It’s just the usual sibling banter — one of the many little things that Stan and Ford have found themselves appreciating more than ever this past year, after having gone so long without it.

Everyone is stuffed except for Stan, who’s cleaning out the last few spoonfuls from a tub of ice cream, when Ford pours one last glass of milk and raises it towards Stan like one would for a toast.

“Here’s to more birthdays together,” he says, and Stan hastily picks up his own cups to clink it against Ford’s. It’s not a very satisfying clink, since both cups are plastic, but it’s good enough. It’s the sentiment that really makes the toast, after all.

“To more birthdays together,” Stan echoes.

***

Endnotes:

Thanks for reading, feedback and reblogs are appreciated as always! I realize Stan acted in Blendin’s Game like he didn’t know what caused Soos to hate his birthday, but I feel like it’s plausible he wouldn’t have wanted to share something so personal with the others if Soos clearly didn’t want to talk about it (and also I wrote that scene before realizing this potential continuity issue and just really wanted to keep that dialogue).

Anyways, I could go on and on about how much these two stubborn old men mean to me, but to keep it brief, thinking and writing about them has helped me through a bunch of rough patches, so I felt like it was about time to write something for their birthday (which I’d hoped to do last year, but writer’s block was a bitch). I’m so proud of this whole dumb fictional family, and I had the biggest smile imaginable on my face while I was writing that scene of pure fluff at the end :’)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan twins birthday #rosalia writes fic

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piningfor-pinestwins · 7 years ago

Text

Falling In Love Again, Everyday (Stan X Reader)

You wipe your hands against your jeans, wrinkling your nose at the dusty knickknacks you’ve just had to restock. It wasn’t the busy season anymore; leaves from the trees fell in droves, and the air has begun to have a certain chill to it.

You don’t mind too much, though. People still occasionally come in the gift shop, and Mr. Mystery somehow convinces suckers to come on tours, even though most of the audience were town locals who couldn’t get enough of seeing the Sascrotch or Goosurkey. Some of the usuals come by often to check up on their local hero, your boss, Stanley Pines.

In the few months you’d been employed, you made friends with the twins, your boss’ brother came through a freaky portal, and the town fell apart and came back together again. You fought beside the townsfolk, pushed yourself to exhaustion, and helped clean up the town in the aftermath of Weirdmaggedon, all between searching for the Pines family—who had, at this point, become your own.

Before he lost his memory, Stan was a damn good boss. He stuck up for you against rowdy customers, showed you the tricks of the trade with his “art”, and you’d even started staying a little later than usual in the weeks leading up to the end of the world. The younger twins didn’t suspect much, but you knew Ford saw through your ‘just-being-sure-everyone-eats’ act. You‘d developed feelings for Stan, and god, you had it bad, and he was either too polite to mention it, or too oblivious to notice. Either way, your empty apartment didn’t offer much to you except a creaky bed and an old comforter, so the Shack made a great home away from home.

But, summer had ended, and things weren’t the same. Sure, the town eventually returned to its usual hustle and bustle, but school was going back into session, so Dipper and Mabel had gone home to Piedmont weeks ago. Even despite the daily Skype calls and Mabel’s hourly texts, the older twins still seemed a little put out.

More than that, though, was the change in Stanley. Ford has explained the after-effects of the memory gun in detail to you, explaining that, although everything came back as quickly as it left, sometimes things would be spotty. Despite Ford’s optimism that it will get better with time, your heart still breaks every time Stan looks at you with confusion behind his amber eyes, or every time he startles at the realization that he has a twin. But, this seems to be the new normal now, as much as it hurts to think he doesn’t remember your late night flirting and his arm snaking oh-so-carefully around your back when you sit “too close”.

The ringing of the gift shop bell startles you out of your memories, and you hurry to finish restocking the cheap fragile snow globes onto their shelf. You grin at the last tour of the night as they bustle in, just a few locals and some college freshmen home for fall break. “Remember folks, the cashier-witch won’t curse ya, as long as ya buy something over $20!” Stan shuts the door behind the crowd, shooting you a crooked grin and a wink as he moves his eyepatch from his left to his right. “Right, toots?”

You shake your head with a smirk, sliding back to your familiar place behind the counter. With a smile like that, how could you not fall for him? You chat as you ring up customers, playing along with Stan and giving a dirty look to customers with under $20 worth of junk on your counter. You hear Stan snicker as a customer fumbles to add a keychain to their haul, and you smile again and ring them up, sending the last of the night on their way. Stan chuckles now as he flips the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’, pulling the eyepatch and fez from his head and placing them gingerly on the counter as you start counting cash from the register.

“Good work tonight, kid… Hey,” he says, and you look up at him with a raised brow, “No funny business, y’hear me? I trust ya.” Stan wags a finger at the money in your hand as he walks towards the house-half of the shack. Ah, he must remember you today. You shake your head and roll your eyes with a half-smile, snatching a rubber band from behind the counter to bind the dollars together as you hear Stan in the other room, flipping through channels on the tv. You still knock on the door every time you come through to the house-half, just in case, and Stan heaves an exaggerated sigh each time. “Come in already.” You walk through the threshold, his hand already outstretched and waiting for the cash you drop into it. He thumbs through it, decides he’s satisfied, and shoves it into his pocket where he stands. “This another of your ‘force the old man to eat’ nights?” He asks, tilting his head and leaning against the banister of the stairs. “If that’s alright?” You say, with almost a question in your voice. Even though he seems to remember you today, you never want to overstep a boundary. He rolls his eyes, but you can still see a fond smile as he undoes the cufflinks on his sleeves. “Whatever,” he smirks, jerking his head towards the kitchen door, “You know where everything is.” He turns to leave, and you hear his steps upstairs and his bedroom door close. You call up after him, Guess I’m making whatever I can find, and walk onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen. You look through the fridge, humming quietly to yourself. You’re glad you’d forced the men to buy some decent groceries; the fridge looked damn empty before you’d started staying for dinner. You pick up a tray of chicken breasts and some veg to go with before moving to the other side of the counter. You slide out of your sneakers as you wash your hands, socked feet pushing them out of the way before reaching under the counter for a pan. These evenings worked this way most of the time; him going up to change out of that itchy suit, and you staying below to work on dinner. It was...weird, but nice. Domestic, in a way. You couldn’t deny the fondness you held for Stan Pines, even though he is your boss and at least a decade or so older than you. He really was a kind man, and not a terrible looker for his age. You snicker at the thought; Stan Pines, local silver fox.

He liked to retell stories once your shift was done and when the two of you were sat for dinner. When there were holes in the plot, Ford did his best to help jog the memories back. The stories are a little more jumbled than the first time he told you, but you still liked to listen to his tales. Stupid ones you didn’t believe, scary and illegal ones that you didn’t want to believe, and then some of the more normal, ‘back in my day’ type of stories. He was big in boxing, and a real ladies’ man (you always rolled your eyes at him, but you knew it had to be the truth).

You chop up the veggies and toss them onto the stove, humming as you turn the knob that makes it ignite.

As the food sizzles in its pan, you lose yourself in the otherwise quiet kitchen. You continue to hum to yourself, hips swaying to your own music. You close your eyes, imagining Stan dancing with a smile. In your thoughts, he’s giving you a confident grin, his hands low at your hips as he twirls you around. It almost makes you blush with just the thought of it, but you just snicker to yourself, shaking your head as you move your hips.

Your socked feet shuffle-dance against the linoleum floor as you move to snatch something from the fridge. You bend at the waist as you reach into the fridge, hips wiggling as you scan the shelves for the damn worschtersire--worst--werst...the sauce Stan likes. You startle at a cough behind you, and your hips go still. “Hey toots,” Stan starts quietly, and you hear him walk to sit at the little table in the kitchen, “Could’ya toss me a Pitt while you’re in there?” You slowly stand back up, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. How long was he standing there? “Long enough.” He answers, and you whip your head to face him, realizing you had accidentally asked that aloud. “Hope I wasn’t interruptin’ anything, but I don’t feel too bad barging in on you...Y’know, my house an’ all.” Stan shoots you a shit-eating grin, obviously amused by your embarrassment. “Food smells good, though.”

You bite your lip, quickly reaching into the fridge for the dark brown bottle and a can of Pitt, tossing Stan the latter without meeting his eye as you return to the meal. He catches it with a “Woah!” but his amusement is palpable. You can all but see the sleazy smirk on his face.

It’s a quiet few moments as you return to the pan, wiggling it by its handle to shift around the cooking food. You hear him take a long drink of his soda and lean back in his chair, the legs creaking quietly as he lifts them from the floor.

“Could you holler at Ford for me? Looks like dinner will be done soon.” You break the silence, glancing at him over your shoulder. You catch his eye and he clears his throat, apparently catching him staring as he quickly glances away. “I tried earlier. He said somethin’ about some sort of breakthrough down in his lab. Not sure he’ll be up tonight.” Stan scratches his gut as he speaks, bringing his soda back to his lips to drain it. You watch him finish off the Pitt, eyeing him appreciatively while his attention is diverted. He’s got some muscle under his softness, and you know from experience (he refuses to let you live down the time you fell from a ladder while decorating the shop, right into his arms, mostly on accident). He’s run his hand through his hair a few times to get rid of the hat-hair he tends to keep after long shifts, mussing it just so. He really does look good.

You lose yourself momentarily, and now he’s the one catching you staring. He meets your eye, lowering the can slowly. Stan licks at the remains of his drink at his bottom lip, tongue darting between his teeth. You feel dryness in your mouth, and watch as his tongue laves over his bottom lip once more, slower this time, his eyes curious on yours.

You’re startled back to reality by heat on your hand, realizing your fingers have come slightly too close to the burner. Swearing, you stick the knuckle of your index finger into your mouth, sucking out the heat as you move to turn off the burner and grab a plate. You look down to inspect the burn as you turn around, leaning against the counter for better light. You’re startled at Stan’s figure, moving closer to you. “Are ya hurt?” His voice is quiet, his body is close. Stan takes your hand in his own, inspecting the burn before you really get a chance to. His warm, lightly calloused fingers envelop yours, and his amber eyes are focused at your knuckle. You can’t help but stare up at him--surprised, embarrassed, maybe even a little hopeful at his proximity.

You curse yourself for your optimism, but find yourself caught watching his expression. There’s a care behind those brown eyes that you’ve seen from him a few times before, and it makes your stomach flip. It’s the same look you get on his best days -- the days where he laughs the loudest and smiles the biggest.

He’s so close, his chest is against your arm as he turns your wrist over in his hand. “C’mere.” He mumbles, moving you to the sink and turning the knob for cold water, gently pushing your hand beneath the faucet. He gently washes the digit, his thumb running over your fingers gingerly. You lean against him without thinking, and feel his breath hitch in his chest. Shit, maybe too much. He grabs a dishtowel from the rack of the oven and you move away from him, letting him dry your hand and release his grip. “That should help.” He turns away, dropping the towel onto the counter. “I’ll...Go try and get Ford.” He wipes his hands on his boxers and walks away, stepping through the doorway toward the vending machine. You watch him leave, quietly cursing yourself. He barely remembers your name some days; how dare you expect the intimacy you so desire? It’s unfair to him, and it makes your stomach turn to think he might just hate you. Or disregard you. Or...you weren’t sure what you were more worried of.

There’s quiet through the house as you make two plates of food, suddenly unsure if you’d be welcome (or willing, if you were honest) to stay for the meal. Pinpricks of tears form at the edge of your eyes, and you curse yourself as you wipe them away. You shouldn’t be hurt by this, but your optimism is your downfall more often than not. You sniffle quietly and rub your eyes, willing yourself to get it together before the twins come in.

You hear only one set of footsteps come back to the kitchen, soft footfalls returning the way they left.

“Ford’s asleep, believe it or not,” Stan returns with a huff of a laugh, coming through the doorway without looking at you. He turns his back to you, snatching up another can of soda from the fridge before moving to sit at the table once more. “So, looks like it’s just you ‘n me for dinner.”

His tone is even, which makes you more nervous. You clear your throat, hoping your face doesn’t give away your worry. Taking both plates and turning to face Stan, you place one plate in front of him and set the other at your regular place on the table, sliding into your chair quietly.

Utensils clink quietly against your plate as you eat in silence, refusing to look his way as you eat. He’s quiet too, which is slowly making you lose your appetite. Usually he’s chatting, talking about anything and nothing with his mouth full and making you laugh, but it’s so noticeably awkward and quiet, you almost can’t handle it. You chew your next mouthful, tapping your socked toe against the cool linoleum. Stan finally groans, putting down his utensils and looking over at you. “Toots, we can’t...pretend this isn’t an issue.” You look at him with raised eyebrows, swallowing your bite and pursing your lips as you meet his eye. He’s looking at you with a warm sort of sadness in his gaze, leaning forward, his arm closer to your hand on the table than you remember it being, like he was reaching for you when you weren’t looking. “I know my memory shit is difficult for all of us--trust me, I hate being on the receivin’ end of all the sad looks you ‘n Ford give me.” Despite his words, his lips quirk up. He reaches over and takes your free hand, warm fingers gentle against your skin as he turns your hand in his, thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. “But you can’t go pretending it doesn’t hurt you. I know it does, and even on the hard days, I know when you’re hurtin’, babe. I can feel it, and God does it break my heart when I see you trying to hide those watery eyes.” Stan looks so vulnerable, his shoulders heavy and looking almost surprised at his own words as they come from his mouth. You blink back the tears at the edge of your eye and look away before it can fall, catching the bob of his throat out of the corner of your eye.

He takes a breath and exhales it, then clears his throat before he speaks again. “Sweetness,” Stan’s voice is so soft, drawing your eye once more, “We can make this work. It’s hard to live day-to-day like this, but...I dunno, toots, it’s kinda fun to fall in love with you every day.” He huffs a wry laugh as the words leave him and you laugh with him, standing from your seat and moving to sit into his lap.

His arms wrap around you and he holds you close, a hand curling tenderly into your hair and his face buried into your shoulder. As you slip your arms around his neck, you could swear you feel a wetness through your shirt. You save the man his dignity and hold him silently, pressing kiss after kiss to the side of his hair.

Warm palms find your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against the fabric of your shirt. He lifts his head and smiles at you. One of your hands comes up to his cheek, caressing the stubble and smiling at the warmth of his blush beneath your fingertips. As he meets your eye, his gaze holds a timid yearning that makes your breath catch. His face melts into a grin at that, his dimple caving in beneath your palm. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him and you lean closer, ducking your head to plant a kiss at his forehead. One hand leaves your back and lifts to catch your chin, the callouses brushing your skin as he pulls your face closer to his own.

His lips catch yours in one quick motion, their softness enveloping your bottom lip as he releases his hold on your chin. Your eyes close as you feel a blush rising up your cheeks, kissing him back with fervor. He tastes like peach and just slightly like salt, the tip of his tongue grazing over your bottom lip so lightly, sending a shudder down your back. You pull away first, but press two more kisses against his lips for good measure as you sit back against his knees. A laugh escapes your lips as he opens his eyes, and he laughs with you after a second, his blush still pink and bright.

His chest rumbles as he laughs, and you relish in his grin. As the laughter fades away, you catch him eyeing your lips once more, his tongue darting between his own as he begins to lean into you. You can feel his breath against your mouth before you feel him stop, his eyes darting away from you and to something a bit past you, the corners of his lips quirking upward. You cock your head at him, then turn around to see what it is, eyebrows raised.

A sleepy-eyed, blushing Ford stands at the entrance of the kitchen, his hair mussed and clothes disheveled as he looks at you in his brother’s lap. Though he’s blushing, a knowing smirk sits on his lips, and he crosses his arms as he raises his brows at both of you. “Sorry I missed dinner.”

#stan x reader #Stanley Pines #gravity falls #stanley pines x reader #nic's fics

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freeamoebas · 6 years ago

Text

Bill Cipher was awake, as usual, at 3AM.

He absolutely refused to sleep, the idea of entering the plane of consciousness he used to dominate humiliated and (even if he’d never admit it) terrified him. Occasionally, he’d doze off for a couple hours at most, but that was once every couple days. Plus, those precious couple hours of sleep were usually disturbed by nightmares regarding the axolotl, the second dimension, or worse.

Bill was wrapped up in a fluffy blanket Mabel had provided, rereading Flatland by Edwin Abbott. The story was strikingly similar to how the second dimension actually was, with all the rules about shapes, sides, women, etc. The book reminded him of Liam, his irregular brother, and how he read so many illegal books about the third dimension. Odd that a dimension like this would have books about something as dull as the second dimension.

Bill realized it was probably because humans craved the idea of suffering. Or at least the idea of apocalyptic eras. Funnily enough, they didn’t seem to get too big of a kick out of his Weirdmageddon.

The demon’s body froze up when he heard creaks from the staircase. His heart raced, worried it was Sixer coming back to scold him after their little… argument, which resulted in Bill gouging his own eye out after a complete nervous meltdown. Now he had to wear this dumb piece of gauze to cover the wound up.

He found himself pulling the blankets closer around him, as if it were a shield of some sort. He relaxed when it was just Mabel, going to the kitchen to get some water. “Hi Bill,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “Shouldn’t you be-” She was cut off by a yawn. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Can’t.” Bill held the book close to his chest and warily eyed the girl.

“Why not?”

“Oh, I dunno, Shooting Star, maybe because sleeping wastes ONE THIRD OF YOUR PUNY EXISTENCE, WHICH ISN’T SAYING MUCH CONSIDERING YOU MEAT SACKS LIVE, WHAT, EIGHT OR NINE DECADES BEFORE KICKING THE BUCKET?” Bill’s shrill voice came out louder than anticipated. He hoped the Stan twins wouldn’t wake, he was way too tired to deal with them at that very moment. Mabel simply blinked at the string of words that tumbled out of the demon’s mouth.

“...Does Mr. Grumpypants need someone to stay up with him?”

Bill huffed at that, but made no move to stop her as the teen sat next to him on the couch. She peered over at the book he had still clutched against his chest.

“Yanno, I always see you reading that book. I tried reading it once! It was really boring,” Mabel said, bluntly. She paused for dramatic effect, but noticed the odd, almost irritated look on Bill’s face, and quickly continued. “Why do you keep reading that book over ‘n over again, anyways? I could show you better ones, if you want!”

Bill’s odd expression melted away into something tired and… sad? No way, Bill Cipher’s only emotions were irritating, angry and crazy laughing. Those were totally emotions, at least in Mabel’s mind.

“It makes me feel… nostalgic, I guess,” Bill finally murmured.

“Oh.” Mabel didn’t really know what else to say. How does a dumb confusing book make someone nostalgic? Maybe Bill’s mother- if he even had one- used to read it to him when he was little. That would make a lot of sense, actually. Weirdo.

They sat in silence for a few more moments before Mabel turned to him. “Want me to show you me and Dip Dop’s cool hiding place?” Her mouth stretched into a mischievous grin. She knew Bill had the tendency to hide in odd little spaces. She’d found him in closets, under tables, but usually he’d bundle himself up and hide under the blankets the Pines provided for him. “Blanket town” Mabel had affectionately nicknamed his most common hiding spot.

Bill glared suspiciously at Mabel, clearly not trusting her judgement of what she considered cool. Finally, he shrugged and got up, still keeping the fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I literally have NOTHING better to do,” the demon sighed, and followed his ally to a not so trustworthy looking ladder.

The climb to the top was… rigorous, to say the least. Bill nearly fell off the ladder several times, not knowing completely how to put one foot above the other, and occasionally forgetting he had to hold onto the railing. When they finally managed to climb out of the chimney, they sat on the floor of the little flat above the gift shop.

Bill was panting as if he had run a marathon and Mabel was beaming, congratulating him on how well he did.

“Yeah yeah, you don’t gotta BABY ME, yanno.” Bill waved her off with his gloved hand, doing his best to sound irritated. He’d never admit it, but he actually liked Mabel’s pity praises. It definitely beat Sixer’s life lessons about how everything bad that has happened to the Pines family during the past 45 years was Bill’s fault.

Mabel giggled at Bill’s dull attempt at sounding mad and turned her attention up at the starry sky. One thing she adored about Gravity Falls was that there was no more city haze to cover her view of the stars. She could look up, and boom. Thousands upon millions of pretty twinkly dots in the sky, waiting to be stared at.

Mabel turned to Bill. “Do you have any alien friends?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows. Bill frowned at her, not entirely sure what Shooting Star was implying.

“Sure, kid.”

Mabel gestured for Bill to continue. “C’monnn, didn’t you liberate like… a bazillion dimensions? Tell me about a good one.”

Bill shrugged. “Shooting Star, you gotta remember that what I consider good and what you consider good are LITERAL POLAR OPPOSITES.”

“Okay,” Mabel said slowly. “Tell me about a good dimension… In my standards.”

Bill gave Mabel an exasperated look. He was way too tired to try to remember some puny dimension he had liberated eons ago, especially with his memory failing and all, but at the same time he was way too tired to deal with Shooting Star haggling for a happy story.

“FIIINE,” Bill snapped. He then rested his chin in his hand, trying to think of the best story that would shut Shooting Star up. A small grin appeared on his face and he finger gunned in her direction.

“Did Fordsy ever tell you about GOOD OLE’ DIMENSION 1610?”

And then he continued with an elaborate story about a world where the world hunger issue was solved, the majority of countries allianced with each other under a common socialist society, Bernie Sanders became president, superheroes were real, and much much more. He most of all emphasized how he had influenced the majority of these fortunate series of events, since he wanted at least one good dimension to come out of the countless dimensions he had ruled in the past.

Mabel listened the entire time with round, amazed eyes. Everytime Bill would add a new detail, she would always dramatically react, encouraging Bill to continue.

The story went on for a couple hours at least, Bill staying animated as ever the entire time. When he was finished, the sky was beginning to lighten.

The demon crossed his arms, grinning. One thing that definitely puts him in a good mood was talking about himself.

“So?”

“So…” Mabel’s gaze darkened, giving Bill an extremely serious look, making him worry he said something wrong. “That was… SO FREAKING COOL! And imagine having a superhero boyfriend… Spider-Man… if you’re out there… Why couldn’t you have done that instead of ruining our town?” The girl excitedly rambled.

After a good five minutes of talking, Mabel began to settle down, realizing just how late- or early- it was, and how little sleep she had gotten. She was going to need a lot of Mabel juice today if her and Dipper were going adventuring.

Bill laughed as Shooting Star analyzed his story, with that classic unhinged laugh that always gave her chills no matter how often she heard it. She was a little too tired at the moment to care about just how creepy Bill’s laugh was.

“I just so happen to know a g-” Bill was cut off when Mabel rested her head on his shoulder. His entire body stiffened.

For a split second Bill was tempted to shove the girl straight off the roof, but knew better. Ford would blast his head off without a moment of hesitation. So instead, the demon forced himself to relax and take a few breaths.

He hated being touched, but he realized the only times he’s ever been touched in this new body was when someone was punching him in the nose or yanking his collar so hard he choked. Mabel’s head against his shoulder was… comforting, in a way.

Mabel felt Bill stiffen. She braced herself to have his shoulder yanked away with a snarky comment following. It never came, though, and she let out a small breath of relief.

Mabel talks to Bill the most out of everyone in the Pines family, since she was the most sympathetic. Although, she was very aware to keep a distance, not wanting to be manipulated as Ford had been. Nonetheless, she was glad their friendship had reached a peak from annoying ex-demon living with her family to someone who tells her stories until she falls asleep.

“You know… you’re not that bad of a dude,” Mabel mumbled before her eyelids drooped and she dozed off.

Bill blinked at that final comment, totally taken by surprise. He hadn’t heard someone say that about him in… years. The demon’s heart swelled just a tiny bit, although he wasn’t quite sure what this emotion was called. In the future, he will discover this emotion is called friendship, something the All Seeing Eye hasn’t truly experienced in eons.

#skip writes #bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #human bill cipher #btw this is NOT shippy they are just friends.. and mabel is like 15 U_U

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