#gravity fals | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 1 day ago

Note

dark lord im haunted

i dont even care about loz, WHY ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT RN IS YOUR GRAVITY FALS LOZ AU

i read the comments and the idea of stan and ford just. Infinitely reincarnating. One doomed to die and other to kill that one.

im feral about this FORD JUST HAVING TO KILL STAN AND THEN BE LEFT ALONE WITH NOTHING BUT A BODY TO HOLD. FIDDLEFORD WHY DID YOU LET THE RUMORS GO ON FOR SO LONG

and like there is no other way this couldve gone, because the way everything was, NO ONE wouldve helped stan. Ford will probably think about ways this couldve been solved in the 10 years but the thing is, no one woulve helped stanley

maybe if he had a support system, maybe then his death wouldve been avoidable. BUT LITERALLY EVERYONE HATED HIM, AND AS FAR AS HE KNEW SO DID THE FORDS (neither did anything about the rumors)

plus 10 years with bill, even as just a voice wouldve been shitty. and adding burn scars and public resentment? he basically was isolated

all of his card were laid out in front of him, and the only way for him to win in any capacity was just that, get killed by his own brother

AAAAAAAAAAAAA FERAL ABOUT THIS. BITTING, CLAWING, SCREAMING (affectionate)

Glad i could spread the worms!

In my mind, the reason the Fords didn't stop the rumors was a combination of being young and traumatized, trying to wrangle the kingdom together, and not knowing how bad it had gotten until Stan was back and they looked around to see the hatred in everyone's eyes. For Fiddleford he was pro Stan enough that nobles trying to curry his favor during the turbulent times would either not mention Stan, or would down play their own feelings so the King wouldn't catch on. So right up until Stan showed up again he knew there were rumors but thought they were just background, not serious grumblings and not what everyone thought actually happened. For Ford the kingdom was just a sound board for his own dark thoughts. He'd grumble about Stan, someone would grumble with him, and then Ford would feel like his feelings were being vindicated and go into grouchy rants about Stan which just fueled the fires, even if in Fords mind he was just venting. Fords not political enough (despite being raised in a castle) to realize what his words were doing to Stan's reputation, he was just bitter and was happy to have willing ears that agreed. Then he saw how Stan was received and on one hand felt it was deserved but he was also horrified by how violent the reaction was. Sort of 'saying things out of anger and not realizing the impact they have' kind of thing. Fiddleford didn't make an official announcement of what happened due to inexperience, trying to manage a kingdom that had just been through a crisis, and not realizing it was something that needed to be done, as he'd told people his side of the story unofficially and thought that was enough.

Here's this for you :)

Stan held his brothers sword to his chest, sure and steady. All his brother has to do is push it forwards, and everything will finally be fixed. Ford will finally do what Stan took from him, all those years ago.

There are two ways this story could go.

In one Ford stares deep into Stan's eyes, searching, looking for a sign that this was a trick, a sick prank. Some unfunny attempt at humor gone wrong.

All he sees is his brothers expecting gaze, waiting for him. Sees the yellow grow and creep, erasing the warm brown of their childhood away. Black making its way across Stan's face, and if he doesn't do something soon this moment will end. Billl will regain control, and he won't be as willing to let Ford drive his sword through his heart as Stan is.

Stan's asking him to do this. For the first time in ten years, Stan is asking Ford to be the hero, and its the worst thing Ford could ever do.

But its Stan. His brother, his twin.

His best friend.

The trembling stops as Ford closes his eyes. Water pools in the corners as he grits his teeth, adjusts his grip, and shoves the sword forwards with all the strength the goddess has blessed him with.

Stan doesn't even scream, just grunts as the sword goes through flesh, digs in deeper and deeper and Ford yells at the top of his lungs and drives a sword through his own brothers chest until he can't do it anymore. Not because of his grip or waning strength, but because he's driven the sword all the way through, and its hilt won't let him go further.

It's a killing blow, no way to have missed.

Ford let's go of the hilt and grabs Stan's collapsing form before he can topple to the ground. He's whispering something as the blackness fades and chips away, eyes brown and light in them fading. Ford guides his brother to the ground, one hand cupping his head and the other clutching his cloak as all signs if Bill disappeared, as the sword went from a demonic nightmare to glowing dull grey. It didn't regain the light of its blessings, and the pommels eye was closed instead of gone.

Fiddlefords master piece would never- could never be used as it was supposed to again. It was a vessel of evil, had been tainted by Bills touch.

Just like Stan.

Ford choked on his tears as he stared down at the still smiling face of his brother. A blow like this- straight through the heart, where Stan had guided it, it was- there was-

Stan was dead before Ford could find a breath to scream.

He could hear Fiddleford say something, but the ringing in his ears drowned out the words as a heaving sob worked its way out of him, face damp and whole body shaking. He couldn't lay Stan flat with the sword sticking out, so in one quick rage filled move he grabbed the hilt, slid it out, and threw it to the side.

"Stanley," Ford whispered, looking into his brothers eyes. No clever spark twinkled there, no mischievous glint or hardened glare.

Just brown. Brown and lifeless.

He didn't know how long he laid there, crouched over his brothers body. He gently closed Stan's eyes, then brushed away any lingering signs of corruption. The blackness was gone, his arms both human, and what teeth poked out of his still smiling mouth were flat.

Like this, it looked exactly as it should. A man grieving over his dead brother.

Eventually arms pulled him away, and he screamed and thrashed as Stan's body was covered and hidden behind a wall of bodies. Fiddleford's voice cut through the noise, and he turned to see his friend, standing tall and face stained with tears. His mouth was moving, but Ford couldn't make out the words.

All he could hear was his own heart, strong and beating like Stan's would never be again.

Time blurred and the world grayed. They laid Stan to rest back at their small home village, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. He had a distant memory of them coming here, long ago when the world made sense.

Stan would like it.

It wasn't long after that the whispers started. Ignorant folk, talking about how evil Stan must have been, how lucky they were no one was hurt.

How thankful they were that the Hero was there to deal with him so swiftly.

It only took Ford overhearing such talk once for them to learn never to speak of Stan in front of him. Not with such poison. Not with such disdain.

Stan was a hero after all.

Ford was just his brothers murderer.

As time went on and Fiddlefords announcement did little to sway public opinion, Ford found that he could no longer find it in him to care for the troubles of Hyrule. Its evil was vanquished, and every forest and town was filled with his brothers ghost.

He needed to leave. To find someplace where people wouldn't look at him with hope and pride. Find somewhere that needed a man who could wield a sword, could face the dangers ahead and never flinch.

So one night, a year after he'd killed the last Hero of Hyrule, he drove the Master Sword into its pedestal for the next Hero to find, turned around, and left, taking what was quickly becoming known as the Blade of Bill with him.

He said no goodbyes and left only a single note to the one person who really needed to know where he was going.

Stan would get lonely while he was away, but it was fine. They'd see each other again sooner or later.

Stanley Pines was born the younger twin of Stanford Pines, in an era of peace. They were as thick as thieves, running through the forests and fields of their home.

Life was perfect, except for the voice in the back of his mind that whispered at him to kill his brother.

Then they grew, and as they did Stanley found he knew things he shouldn't. Knew secrets others hid, knew monsters others hadn't seen.

Knew how to make them bend to his whims.

Knew he had to die.

Knew Stanford had to be the one to do it.

Stanley Pines was born the twin brother of Stanford Pines, and-

Stanley Pines was born the older twin of Stanford Pines and-

Stanley Pines was born the twin of Stanford Pines but-

They were separated-

They drifted apart-

They were pitied against each other-

-in the beachs, darting through the surf-

-over the dunes, feed sure in the sand-

-up and down the mountains, stumbling into each other by chance-

-and one day Stanley Pines realized he needed to die by his brothers hand, or he would unleash a demon that would ravage the land.

Stanley Pines stared once more at the blade in front of him. A screaming voice yelled at him to draw it from its red scabbard, to finally start what he'd been waiting to do since time began. It writhed and clawed for control, urging him to start the slaughter. Stanley shoved it away, picking the dusty blade up and attaching it to his belt.

Stanford wasn't ready to kill him after all. Stanley wouldn't draw the sword until he knew for sure his twin of a thousand lifetimes had the strength to push it through. It was risky grabbing it so soon in the cycle, but circumstances had lead him here, and he knew from experience leaving it behind once he found it always led to worse odds.

"Shut it why don't you," Stanley said, rolling his eyes at the twin screaming from Bill and the blade, "you act like we haven't done this a hundred times."

With that he turned and left the crumbling temple behind. He'd left a good trail for Stanford to follow, and he didn't want to get caught too early. Best to hold off until he'd planted more seeds of his betrayal, get the Hero's blood boiling. Stanford always had an easier time the longer Stanley waited to draw the blade after all.

This time would be no different.

In another Ford does not close his eyes, cannot look away from his brothers accepting face. Cannot stop himself from looking deeper and deeper, from trying to find some evidence that he doesn't have to do this.

Stan watches as Ford's eyes harden, and his smile grows. Its getting hard to focus, hard to hold back the tide of a demon's mind. But now Ford is ready, and this'll all have been worth it.

He's learned his lesson, he's ready to make amends.

Which means the moment Ford reaches forward to pry Stan's human hand off the Master Sword, Stan's smile twitches, and his control starts to slip.

"What- What're you doin'" Stan says, words slurring slightly and stuttering as Bill claws his way back towards the front of their mind, "Ford-"

"I won't." Ford snaps, voice clipped and eyes bright with the light of determination, "I won't kill my own brother. I'll find a way to save you Stanley, I'll rip Bill from your body if its the last thing I do. I'll-"

"We'll." Fiddleford cuts in, stepping forwards, eyes just as determined as Fords, "This is our fault. We shoulda never let this get as bad as it did. I'm sorry Stanley."

And thats the last thing Stan hears, As Bill tears him away and shoves him back. Their body jerks forwards, Ultra Master Sword swinging down where Ford was standing a moment before. His brother and the King have retreated slightly, and Ford is yelling, Hero's Spirit glowing brightly at the words, but Stan- He can't-

He can't hear what his brother's saying.

Stan feels the heavy weight of Bill crushing his mortal spirit, and Stan rages as much as he can. He forces their swings to go wild, slides their feet out of alignment, makes them lose their balance. If Bill thinks Stan was screaming before, then what he's doing now must be the commands of the greater spirits themselves.

It's one thing to let Ford kill him, its another horror entirely to see his body get used to kill his twin. This wasn't supposed to happen, Ford was supposed to drive the sword through, to use the rage Stan had been fanning since their reunion to power through and trample whatever bonds they might have had.

Bill was never supposed to have a chance.

Instead, due to Fords stubbornness, Stan was watching as Bill's corruption spread across his body. Saw glimpses of his transformed body when Bill turned to follow Ford's movement, saw his worn travelers clothes warp and change into the demons preferred black and yellow noble's apparel. Saw pitch black and gleaming pauldrons manifest on his shoulders in the corner of his eyes, sharp and engraved with demonic symbols. Matching greaves kicked at Fords rolling form when his brother got too close, and then Stan's other hand came to grip the Ultra Master Sword, clawed and black, golden lines flickering as Bill completed his takeover.

Ha! Bills voice rang out in their mind, even as he said something else, something taunting based on Fords expression, out loud, Thought you could pull one over on me did you!

BILL! Stan thought snarled, clawing and writhing at the demonic spirit crushing his own, I WON'T LET YOU-

Won't let me what, kill little Fordsy here? Bills laughter rang out in their shared mind, each cackle a stab as Stan's meager control was wrenched out of his nonexistent hands, I'd like to see you try and stop me. Now shoo, your screaming is only entertaining for so long.

The weight of Bill's spirit became unbearable, and Stan yelled out for Ford, his brother's determined face the last thing he saw before the world went dark.

He wasn't asleep, not with the way he was aware of himself. There was a distant feeling of sensation, sounds muffled and far away, flashes of scenes come and gone too fast to make sense of. At one point he was struck with the knowledge that his hand was wrapped around something delicate, and he used what little power he had to loosen his fingers and drop whatever they were holding.

The burning rage that filled Bill was a triumph, even as the demon pushed Stan further into wherever he was. Something sharp and not there dug into his not thereness, like the demon was grabbing his spirit and digging his claws in. It made Stan writhe as much as he could, and he was pretty sure he'd scream if he had a mouth or thoughts to fling at the demon.

Maybe he was. He didn't know.

What he did know was that Bill couldn't crush him. Or wouldn't. He didn't know why, but every time he came close to feeling like he was going to crumble to pieces the demon would ease his crushing grip. Maybe Bill needed his spirit to control his body? Or the magic that had sealed Bill's mind inside his own had linked them in some way Bill couldn't kill Stan without killing himself. Maybe the demon just like torturing him.

Whatever the reason, it meant Stan was sort of alive in the dark not thereness. Any attempts at clawing his way out was brushed aside, any screams he might have made unheard.

There was no way to know what was happening outside. No way to know if Bill had-

No. Ford was a hero. Ford was The Hero. There was no way Bill could have killed him. Ford was out there, and someone would smack some sense into him eventually. Any moment Stan would feel the Master Sword through the chest, and then...

Wait. If he died, would he still be stuck here? Deep in what he suspected might be Bills overwhelming spirit? That sounded awful actually. Everything was dark and flickered yellow, there was a constant feeling of being watched, and the squished feeling wasn't any kind of pleasant.

What was even less pleasant was the sharp pain to their shoulder. It was the first time he'd felt his body so clearly in... months. Maybe.

However long it had been, the pain radiated through the darkness, and Stan sort of not really saw a warm glow cut through the blackness around him. It soothed the ache to his spirit, even as it really, really, hurt his actual body.

Another sharp pain hit his side, and a few minutes later it his his leg.

Then Stan was hit with agony, as Bill's grip on his spirit disappeared. The heavy feeling that had wrapped around him and shoved him deep into the dark was gone, no longer there to block off the feeling from their body.

Bill was growling something, and their chest and limbs throbbed, not just from the sharp warm points of pain, but from several other cuts and injuries. It took Stan a second to orientate himself, so used to the nothingness, but eventually he realized they were no longer in the plains surrounding the castle.

They were in some kind of grand temple, one Stan was amazed to find he didn't recognize. An image of some kind of pink lizard was on several glass stained windows, casting pink and blue light into the large room. The pews were flung into the walls, the giant doors across him shut and sealed with green and blue light.

In front of him was Ford, wearing the stupid Hero outfit Stan had spent their whole lives laughing at. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and that determined look hadn't left his eyes. Behind him, reloading his crossbow, was Fiddleford.

Stan watched, dazed as Bill exchanged blows with Ford, then felt another sharp pain hit his left arm.

He snapped his head down to see a blue, red, and gold glowing bolt sticking out of his bicep, then looked over at Fiddleford in shock.

"You just shot me!" Stan shouted, confused and trying not to collapse from the agony spreading through him, "Why did you shot me?!"

The realization that he just moved and spoke hit him just as Bill snatched control back once more. The demon screamed and swung again, but all Stan could see was Fords face.

It looked triumphant .

"Its working!" His brother shouted, dodging a swing and slashing at Stan's right arm, where he was holding the Ultra Master Sword, "Keep shooting FIddleford!"

NO?! Stan though shouted, DON'T?! JUST STAB ME ALREADY!

Another bolt hit his other leg, and Stan cursed and slammed the Ultra Master Sword into the ground so he wouldn't fall over.

"What is this?!" Stan yelled, looking up to glare at the excited faces of his brother and king, "What even is the plan here! Can't you just-"

"SHUT UP!" Bill finished, standing up and pulling the sword out of the floor. Stan hissed at the demon for interrupting him, then froze as he caught sight of his arm, where the bolt was still lodged.

A glowing light was spreading out from the bolt, turning Bill's yellow sleeve back into Stan's red one. They made a mad swing at Fords head, and Stan forced them to stumble and glance down at their legs.

Just like his arm, light was radiating from where each bolt had hit him, pushing the corruption back and bringing the feeling of control with it.

"What is wrong with you!" Stan yelled as Bill swung the sword at Fords neck, then tried to shoot a bolt of magic at Fiddleford with their sword. Stan smacked it with their other hand, disrupting the spell and wincing at the screech that rattled their mind.

"A bolt!" Stan continued, after Bill parried a blow from Ford and side stepped another bolt, "A Bolt?! Why couldn't it have been anything else! This hurts!"

"SHUTUPSHUTUP!" Bill screeched, and Stan stuck a spirit tongue at him when the demon tried to squish him down again and he bobbed away. The overwhelming power of his spirit was being pushed back with each wave of warm magic that made Stan want to scream.

"We didn't have a lot of options Stanley!" Ford shouted, rolling away from a swing and doing some kind of weird spin move that hit Stan's-

"Is that another arm!?" Stan screamed, staring at the demonic monster arm that looked like it was growing from his back. Ford slashed at it again, and the entire thing exploded, leaving nothing behind.

Thank the goddess. He wasn't sure he wasn't to figure out how to use extra-

Wait no.

"Just stab me already!" Stan yelled, trying to jerk his swings wide and mess up Bill's dodges, "Why are you dragging this out!?"

"I'm not-" Ford grunted as he rolled (and seriously, what was with all the rolling?), "-Not dragging this out!"

"We're going to save you Stanley!" Fiddleford shouted, and Stan screamed as another bolt embedded itself into his right shoulder. The bolts seemed to pulse together as one, sending a wave of comfort through his spirit while it ripped his body to shreds. The contrasting feeling made him want to throw up.

Then Bill was torn from his mind, leaving a gaping void behind. Stan gasped at the feeling, his mind too empty and silent after ten years of constant chatter.

"NO!"

The Ultra Master Sword screamed, and Stan screamed with it as Bill tried to claw his way back inside. He blinked down to see his arm, still demonic and the pommel eye staring at him, full of rage and hunger.

"This is my body now!" Bill screamed, dragging himself up Stan's arm, "You had your chance, and now-"

"I'm sorry Stanley," Ford said softly, just as the Master Sword flashed in front of him, blocking Stan's view of Bill as it separated his arm from his body.

If the bolts had been agony, tearing him to pieces as it pried Bill's spirit from his own, this was excruciating. He barely paid any attention to Ford slamming his sword through Stan's former arm, too focused on the space where it once been attached to him. Blood was already flowing from the wound, soaking his side and creating a puddle on the floor.

Between one blink and the next he was on the ground. Fiddleford was holding his face with one hand while the other held down his- where his-

It hurt.

Searing pain on top of everything else, worse than the feeling of a demon digging his claws into his spirit. No part of him was free of pain, each bolt still a blazing beacon, each scrape stinging, and the- the- his arm- it-

This time the darkness wasn't the result of a demon, and Stan welcomed it as Ford's panicked face came into view.

It was very cold, and- and-

The ceiling was very blurry and fancy. Too fancy. Stan stared at it for a while, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be staring at anything.

Everything felt fuzzy and far away, hazy like... like...

But Bill was gone, leaving nothing but the nothingness where the demon had carved a space in Stan's mind for himself. He poked at the spot the demon used to occupy, and shuddered at the feeling of loss.

He exhaled slowly as he looked around the room.

It was his room. His old one, the one he'd lived in a lifetime ago. His tapestries were still hanging on the walls, depicting various historical battles, while his drawings and doodles filled the spaces in between. Someone had cleaned up his surprise clothes pile, and a part of him ached at the loss of mystery. Never knew if he'd grab something clean or stained, and now it was gone, tidied away.

There were a few other things that had changed. Someone had replaced the curtains (understandable, they'd been yellow before), had added a weapons rack and armor stand (the armor looked much better than it had in years, and the sword on the rack was a plain guardsman's), and finally a few chairs were next to his bed.

Ford was sitting in one, arms crossed and head back as he snored. Judging by the light spilling in through the window it was probably early morning. Nerd probably fell asleep sitting there.

Weirdo.

"Time to blow this joint." Stan mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. The world went in and out of focus a few times, so he stared at the far wall until it stopped. Getting the blanket off was another battle, one arm clumsy and the other-

Stan stared at the stump, wrapped in crisp white bandages, perplexed. Any attempts at moving his arm sent prickles of pain up his shoulder, and no arm materialized to help him.

Hmm.

"Ford," Stan said, turning to pull at Fords shirt, "Ford."

Ford awoke with a shout at Stan's touch, and he watched as his brother fell out of the chair and slammed into the ground. Ford shot to his feet a second later, eyes wild and on edge, before meeting Stan's own and freezing.

"Ford," Stan said again pointing at his missing arm, "Ford, my arms gone? Where- have you seen it?"

The expression of Fords face went funky, before landing on some kind of sad.

"Stanley," Ford said, stepping forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, "you're... you're awake."

"Arm." Stan said sadly, and he reached forwards to grab Fords sleeve, "m'arm."

"Yes," Ford grabbed Stan's hand, holding it in his own, "I had- I'm sorry Stanley. We were out of bolts, and I- I couldn't."

Stan blinked at Fords crumpling expression. After a moment he nodded, and Ford slumped, pressing Stan's fingers to his forehead. The grip wasn't tight, and Ford let go when Stan tugged.

What was tight was Ford's grip on Stan's shirt when he tried to get up.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, pulling him back into the bed, "What are you doing?! You need to rest!"

"I needa... gotta go." Stan mumbled back, trying to wiggle out of his shirt, before flopping down and turning to face his brothers' newest funky face, "Gotta- s'was somthin' I have to do."

"What, what is it, I can-"

"Gotta get stabbed." Stan said eyes wandering over to the sword. It wasn't the right one, but maybe it'd do now that Bill was gone, "Gotta- there was- yeah."

He'd get stabbed, then everything would be better. Fords newest funny face tickled the back of his mind. It looked maybe bad, maybe sad.

"Don't be sbad." Stan said, patting his brothers face, "Gonna hero s'mthigyea?"

Ford pulled his hand down with a sigh, "Stanley, I know you're still recovering and probably won't remember this, but I need you to know."

With that he let go of Stan's hand and leaned forwards, twelve finger's cupping his face. Stan wanted to melt into the feeling, but Fords mean eyes helped him focus.

"I'm not going to stab you, and if you do something like this again? I'll tell Fiddleford to add barbs to the bolts."

"Jerks."

"We were short on time, we didn't-"

"Mean to me."

"The situation was-"

Stan didn't catch the rest. The twelve fingers were pressing into his skin, each firm and tingly on his skin. One of them was rubbing his temple, and it was the nicest thing he'd ever felt. The darkness was like a blanket, gently tugging at him and pulling him far, far away.

#then stan gets hella pt and cried over when he dumps the whole experience on the Fords while drugged out of his mind #Does he get a magic arm? Stay armless? Is he still linked up with Bill somehow? Who knows!#This is the happy ending though so whos to say #The Ultra Master Sword gets renamed the Blade of Bill or the Monster Sword #anyone who pulls it when Bill's at full power becomes his new vessel.#by the way #the delicate thing Stan made them let go was Fiddlefords throat #One of those moments that fueled Ford into knowing Stan was still in there somewhere #even as Bill bragged about crushing him to dust #im thinking that since Bill was sealed into Stan he was tied to Stan's soul #and destroying it risked destroying his link to his new vessel and he'd be trapped in the sword.#so instead Stan got trunked in his own body here #does not know about his new phobia until the worst time of course #gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #legend of fiddleford

53 notes · View notes