nowimjustastranger

[nowimjustastranger]

Snuggly boys :3

(As always DON’T tag as ship :T)

[nowimjustastranger]

I know watchdog Ford’s focus is on Stan but what is opinion on Shiftys?

He doesn't feel any particular way about them. He doesn't nerd out about anomalies/aliens like most Fords, he's developed an interest in dimensions instead.

But he is friends with a shapeshifter who goes by The Archivist and they share a mutual friend who's a jerk.

(The Archivist belongs to @tearosepedall and Jerk Ford belongs to @tinfoil-jones)

[nowimjustastranger]

This fic fought me the whole time I was writing it, which is basically the norm for me unfortunately. But hey, here it is at last! Enjoy some Watchdog lore!

Excerpt:

“Stop resisting me, Ford.” Bill mused, a subtle but unmistakable edge of impatience in his voice. It wouldn’t be long now. “It doesn't have to be this way and you know it. All you have to do is make a deal and we can pick up our friendship where we left off.” Ford remained silent, his answer had been unchanging since he was first taken prisoner and it certainly wasn’t about to change anytime soon. But his refusal to acknowledge Bill worked in his favor because the demon craved attention. Ford had learned to weaponize his disregard to get Bill to break first, the demon ending the torture and proceeding to throw a tantrum that could last anywhere from hours to days.

[nowimjustastranger]

https://www.tumblr.com/anotherspookyarchivist/785133290375004160/ive-been-devouring-the-tags-and-i-really-want-to

Ford buddy-o, you need to come save your boy

I talked about the post you mentioned here!

[nowimjustastranger]

idk I was working on some over complicated AU to give me an excuse to draw angsty TeenStan and OlderFord

[nowimjustastranger]

Order is most prevalent characters to least prevalent characters

Name: Stanley "Stan" Pines

Dimension: C40"0

Age: 62

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: Loyal, Protective, Aggressive, Selfless, Cunning, Persuasive, Courageous, Insecure, Observant, Patient, Resourceful, Stubborn, Amoral, Reckless.

Likes: Road Trips, Cars, Cleaning, Puns/Jokes, TV Dramas, Mixing Drinks, Nature, Aquariums, Baths, and People Watching.

Dislikes: Heights, Small/Tight Spaces, Being Wasteful, Hospitals, Police, Being Idle.

+++

Name: Fiona "Ford" Pines

Dimension: F9-2

Age: 62

Gender: Transgender Male (FtM)

Sexuality: Demisexual

Personality: Loyal, (Over)Protective, Amoral, Violent, Intelligent, Confident, Argumentative, Organized, Perfectionist, Passionate, Adaptable, Resourceful, Stubborn, Whimsical.

Likes: Camping, Nature, Repairing/Renovating, Music, Parkour, Napping, Coffee, Rock Candy, Books, People Watching, Journalling, and Calligraphy.

Dislikes: Fireworks, Thunderstorms, Crowds, Surprises, Being Separated From Stan, Ceramic, Being Idle, The Government.

+++

Name: Mason "Dipper" Pines

Dimension: F9-2

Age: 13

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Hetrerosexual

Personality: Loyal, Protective, Shy, Indecisive, Self-Critical, Curious, Dramatic, Messy, Passionate, Perceptive, Envious, Cautious, Petty, Sarcastic, Aspiring, Reliable.

Likes: Books, Rock Collecting, Wind Chimes, Baking, Museums, Sleeping In,

Dislikes: Bullies, Cemeteries, Being Late, Being Lost, Coffee.

+++

Name: Mabel Pines

Dimension: F9-2

Age: 13

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Personality: Loyal, Protective, Cheerful, Compassionate, Creative, Daring, Optimistic, Appreciative, Resourceful, Stubborn, Blunt, Reckless, Devious, Adventurous, Trusting.

Likes: Cake/Cupcake/Cookie Decorating, Shopping, Music, Puzzles, Stuffed Animals, Nature, Hugs, Vlogging, Gossip, and Museums.

Dislikes: Being Alone, Snow Globes, Spiders, The Dark, Tomatoes.

[nowimjustastranger]

This is my new roman empire.

I love late night thoughts cause why did my brain just go “imagine if Stan’s kidney landed somewhere in the black market somewhere and FORD is the one to acquire said kidney”

Hear me out, it’s not even for anything creepy or disturbing but rather to test for regenerative plants and potions etc. that could save people’s life’s! And ofc he doubts he could just be able to walk into a hospital and ask (very politely) for a kidney!

And once he gets said kidney he run some tests and comes to the realization of “wait a fucking minute… the dna is saying is mine which is not right. UNLESS-“

Leading to ford freaking the fuck out cause holy shit Stanley’s organ is sitting in ice in his fucking house and wherethefuckistherestofhisbrother-

[nowimjustastranger]

Oh man, I love the Speak No Evil fic! Kinda reminds me of your mini series with the time-erased Stanley.

I lowkey couldn’t help but imagine a scenario where that Stan could have died during the car crash or the events after, and Watchdog showing up because of it. What a chaotic mess that would have been, lol.

It would've been a straight-up bloodbath for sure. Watchdog would've made Ford's kills with his crossbow look like mercy compared to the pain this absolute unit of a man would subject anyone he got his hands on to. And even if someone managed to flee the massacre, they wouldn't get very far.

Suicidal Stan's might make Watchdog mentally unstable and act rashly, but a Stan who was turned into property makes him practically froth at the mouth with rage even as he methodically and viciously kills whoever was involved.

I love this fic and recommend it to anyone who likes some seriously dark Stan whump with hurt/comfort and an eventual happy ending!

[nowimjustastranger]

Nothing to see here, folks! Nevermind that only a select few people have Watchdog's number and an even smaller sum of people have Jerk's. That's totally unrelated to their semi-frequent correspondence.

Would love some jerk-ford watchdog-ford crumbs please

Post series finale / Sea Grunks Era:

[Watchdog Ford by @nowimjustastranger]

[Shadow the Watchdog

Text 1, from Watchdog: Good morning, Heckler.

Text 2, Jerk Ford: Go fuck yourself.]

[nowimjustastranger]

Hey what do the BH Twins do for their birthday?

They throw themselves a birthday party at whatever temporary base that they're using, decorations and cake and wrapped presents. They go all out every year. The cake is always themed and at least two tiered, sometimes three if they can fit it into their budget. They shop for presents separately but keep in contact via walkie-talkies because Ford has separation anxiety. They'll either invite their friends over or barge in on one of their friends to have the party in their abode if the twins are in-between places when June 15th rolls around.

[nowimjustastranger]

Stanford sees his brother for the first time in over 10 years, but the Stanley that comes to his door isn’t quite the man he remembers.

[nowimjustastranger]

Unfortunately it seems that I've lost the ask that inspired this fic somehow (I think Tumblr ate it) but here's the ask:

"You told us of what would have happened if Watchdog Ford's Stan had survived with him seeing into the future, starting a business with Ford, and living happily ever after. @oxyphara made a comment about Ford waking up, and I can't help but imagine the dream being caused by Bill during Ford's imprisonment. As a way to get Ford to join him Bill uses the dream; just a little psychological torture to go with the physical torture."

“Hey, Sixer?” Stan called from the living room and Ford looked up from his planner, his favorite ink pen poised over the page. He was currently sitting at the kitchen table, jotting down their respective appointments for the next few weeks. They were completely booked by locals and tourists alike, though it wasn’t unusual for them to be bombarded by clients once they returned from their yearly vacation.

“Yes Stanley?” Ford answered only to be met with silence, his brows furrowing. Perhaps Stan hadn’t heard him? Stan’s hearing was nearly gone in one ear and, therefore, often needed Ford to get his attention first with a nudge or by entering whatever room he was in. Ford sighed as he shut the planner, pushing out of his seat to pad out of the dining room and make his way to the living room.

“Stanley?” Ford asked as he paused in the doorway, eyes taking in the oddly chilling scene.

Stan was sitting in his recliner, strangely stiff. The TV screen was filled with static that buzzed in Ford’s ears, setting his teeth on edge and making his skin break out in goosebumps. Stan didn’t react, making no outward indication that he even knew Ford was nearby. He was just… staring at the screen blankly.

“St–” Ford’s vocal cords failed him, so he swallowed thickly and tried again, his voice small and timid. “Stanley? You, um, called? Did you need something?”

“I needed you.” Stan said dully and a chill crawled down Ford’s spine, his hands blindly finding either side of the doorframe and gripping tight either to hold himself up or to anchor himself in place; even Ford didn’t know which one spurred him to seek stability or restraint.

“W- what? What do you mean? Stan, you’re scaring–” Ford stumbled over his words, wide eyes raking over Stan as if he could somehow identify what was wrong with his brother if he just stared hard enough.

“I was scared.” Stan interrupted in that same dead– flat tone and Ford only realized that he had moved when he wrenched his shoulders, blinking rapidly as his white-knuckled hands held him fast to the threshold. He wanted to go to Stan, wanted to grab him and shake him out of– out of whatever this was. But he couldn’t force himself to let go, clinging to the illusion of safety.

“Knock it off, Stanley. This isn’t funny.” Ford bit out, his fear turning to anger because anger was easier than this suffocating uncertainty that roiled in his gut.

“They thought it was funny.” Stan droned, head rolling in a nauseating fashion as he finally looked at Ford, who could do nothing but helplessly hold eye contact. “They were laughin’ as they took turns, rotatin’ who held me down so everyone could have their fun. N’ once fuckin’ me got borin’ they–”

“Stanley.” Ford whimpered, eyes burning with tears. His vision blurred and Ford swore that a significantly younger Stan now sat in the space that his old man of a brother used to occupy. Ford made the grave mistake of breaking line of sight to scrub at his eyes, recoiling as his hand dropped and he found a nineteen year old Stan standing a measly two feet away.

He was… he was covered in familiar fresh bruises and cuts and burns and old scars.

“No.” Ford choked out, throat closing up as he stumbled back, his frantic retreat halted when he hit the wall opposite of the doorway. Stan seemed to swallow up the threshold, a looming presence that pressed down on Ford like a physical weight, the light from the buzzing TV in the otherwise dark room throwing Stan into ominous shadow.

When did it become so dark? It had been only midday just moments ago.

“I got what I deserved, didn’t I?” Stan asked mildly and Ford’s stomach lurched at the implications, a wounded sound tearing out of him as his knees buckled, sending him sliding down to the floor. He was staring up at Stan now, shaking uncontrollably. “Say, Stanford, do ya think I suffered enough for ruinin’ your life?”

“You didn’t– Stanley, please. You didn’t ruin anything! It was– it was me! It was me, Stanley!” Ford pleaded between desperate gasps, struggling to draw air into his lungs. His heart felt like it leapt into his throat when dark hands crept out from behind his brother, grabbing his neck and biceps and waist and legs even though Ford couldn’t see anyone in the living room. Where were the silhouetted limbs coming from?

But it didn’t matter, not when they suddenly tightened their grip and Stan cried out in both pain and terror, Ford surging forward on weak legs even before the appendages began to drag Stan back and down to the floor to pin him there so those awful fucking dark hands could freely tear at his writhing form–

Ford’s hands clamped onto Stan’s forearms a moment before he toppled on top of his sobbing brother, his hands struggling to hold onto his brother’s slick skin. His thumbs dug into the deep lacerations on each of Stan’s wrists and more blood poured out onto the floor, Stan howling in agony but Ford could not let go.

The black hands shoved at Ford now, trying to separate them as Ford frantically fought to keep his inadequate grip. Stan’s struggles steadily weakened as Ford’s knees became wet, firmly straddling his brother’s waist to bear down with his full weight so he was harder to dislodge. He could hardly see through his own tears, steadily pressing closer until his chest was flush against Stan’s.

He didn’t even notice that the hands were gone until Stan’s lungs rattled and then abruptly went still, his body limp and unmoving below Ford.

“No no nonononono–” Ford babbled as he sat back on his haunches, realizing with a sickening roll of his insides that he was holding Stan down. His brother’s bloody wrists were pinned to the puddle of red on the floor that surrounded them with his own six-fingered hands, Ford’s weight keeping him in place. He had– he had been helping. The hands were– he couldn’t let the hands take Stan because then they would–

“Oh god. Oh god, I’m so sorry Stanley. I’m sorry.” Ford wept, retching when he somehow managed to make out his brother’s pale face, lifeless eyes staring up at him. He leaned to the side just in time to avoid vomiting on Stan, bile hitting the vast pool of red with a splatter. His eyes were drawn to movement in his peripheral vision and crippling fear seized him as his wild gaze locked onto the unsettling grin that had overtaken Stan’s otherwise slack face–

Ford woke up unable to breathe, cuffed hands flying up to claw at the blue collar around his throat, toes barely brushing the ground as his legs flailed in a useless attempt to find purchase and ease the pressure. Then the chain connected to his collar went slack and he hit the floor with a garbled sound of pain, wheezing and coughing in intervals as he fought to catch his breath.

“Wowza, Sixer, it sure is a mess in there!” Bill cackled and Ford curled in on himself with a pathetic whine, his chest tight and aching from what his ego and selfishness had cost him. If he had just been a better brother… then he could’ve had that life with Stan, a domestic and content existence at his little brother’s side.

“Unfortunately, you got that ability of yours locked up tight.” Bill sighed, the nearness of his voice indicating that he was floating somewhere above Ford’s shoulders. Ford kept his head bowed, staring at his wrists and grimly wishing that the chafed and shackled skin matched Stan’s. “I won’t go dredging up old news if you let me in, Fordsy. This can all stop right here and now if you just. Let. Me. In.”

Ford said nothing. His answer remained the same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that–

“No?” Bill grit out, anger replacing that faux friendly tone that he usually adopted during these visits. The chain yanked Ford up by the collar, forcing him onto his knees in front of Bill. “Why do you insist on being so difficult!? I’m offering you everything! All you have to do is shake my hand and we can move on from this rough patch.”

“You… have nothing that I want, Cipher.” Ford croaked and red bled into Bill’s eye, the demon growing larger as his form warped into a wretched beast that wasn’t as much of an eyesore to look at as the disarming front he put on as a simple distinguished triangle. It was not the first –and certainly not the last– time that the grotesque creature on the inside would be reflected on the outside.

“You have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Bill roared, Ford trembling as the demon towered over him. And, as Bill’s corrosive saliva hit his calves in thick droplets the size of a human skull, he couldn’t help but inwardly agree with the demon's comment. Even as he screamed and sobbed and puked as the drool melted flesh from bone, he just couldn’t shake the notion that he deserved every bit of it.

[nowimjustastranger]

Obligatory Stan Twin Birthday (15JUN) ask: Does Watchdog Ford celebrate his and Stanley's birthday or do some sort of yearly ritual for it? How does it look pre-Lee vs Post-Lee?

Tin, I'm gonna come to your house and eat your drywall if you keep sending me angsty asks (unintentionally angsty or no). Also, this is obviously a day late and I apologize for that, I was pretty busy yesterday and didn't get to answering this until an ungodly hour of night so... yeah. Here you go!

Pre Lee:

Watchdog is a sentimental man, so if he isn't otherwise preoccupied with a mission, he'll set up a little birthday shrine for his brother. It's the only time he ever really let's himself grieve. He has a picture of him and his brother on the table with some things that he's picked up over the years that he thinks Stan would've liked, then he cuts a slice of cake that he bought (Stan's favorite flavor) and puts a candle in it to light.

Watchdog talks to his brother as he eats the rest of the cake, telling him how things have been and how much Watchdog misses him. It always ends with Watchdog crying as he reverantly cleans up, putting the cake slice into the wood stove (because he can't bring himself to just throw it away) before putting everything back into a box that goes in the closet except for the photo. That goes back into his pocket.

Post Lee:

Lee would be surprised to come downstairs one morning and find a lavish spread for breakfast, courtesy of Fiddleford. However, when Lee asks what the special occasion was, Fiddleford would just stare for a long moment before reminding Lee that it was his and Watchdog's birthday. But Lee wasn't celebrating his birthday after he was kicked out. It was too painful. So it just turned into another day.

Now Lee, feels wrong-footed and insists on baking a cake from scratch that they can share after dinner. And that year, Watchdog gets his favorite flavor (because Lee asked Fiddleford what it was). Lee would head down to the lab after everything was set up, timidly telling him that there was cake upstairs if he wanted some.

And Watchdog, looking up from his project to see Lee's hopeful and anxious expression, couldn't refuse. So upstairs he went. Fiddleford looks shocked as the Watchdog sits across from him at the table, Lee picking up the knife to cut four slices. Lee puts a candle into three of them, leaving the extra slice in front of the seat beside Watchdog, Lee opting to sit beside Fiddleford instead. Watchdog and Fiddleford are equally stunned by Lee's actions, Watchdog barely holding back tears of both gratitude and grief as he blows out his candle.

And if a few tears escape as he eats his slice, no one points it out.

[nowimjustastranger]

HAPPY BIRTH TO THE STAN TWINS (15/06)

[nowimjustastranger]

Does Lee ever feel guilty about “replacing” his original Ford with Watchdog? Sure he was a heartless dictator but he genuinely loved his brother and Lee's brain can go to dangerous places sometimes, maybe he thinks things like “Did I take him for granted?” “So many Stans didn't even have a brother half as loving as mine, and yet I still...”

He most certainly does! He goes back and forth on whether or not to ask Watchdog for the means to contact his brother at least once a week. Stanford was good to him, Stanford protected Lee from Filbrick as soon as they turned fourteen, though Lee doesn't know what Stanford did to get Filbrick to stop beating him.

Stanford might be a bad person, but he wasn't a bad brother.

And what does missing Stanford say about Lee? Does the soul-deep longing he has to be with his brother make him a bad person too? He tries not to be. He tries to be good. He looks after the man who saved him (by kidnapping him), he tags along on a few missions to save his variants (which reminds him of how good he'd had it with Stanford), he refrains from bringing up his dimension and brother (because sometimes Watchdog's hatred toward his variants scares Lee).

He is ashamed because a part of him is relieved when Stanford finally finds him and personally comes to collect him from Watchdog's dimension. But Lee's loyalties have long since split and now he's stuck between two very dangerous people that will kill not only each other, but hundreds upon thousands of others, just to keep him.

And no matter who he chooses, he loses someone.

[nowimjustastranger]

All "adults" are just kids in big clothes

[nowimjustastranger]

Is there a universe where Watchdog Ford saves a little baby Stanley who otherwise would have died in childbirth? Like picture Caryn having an at-home birth, maybe due to extreme weather conditions that made it physically impossible to get to the hospital like a blizzard or hurricane. Stanford comes first and makes it out okay but when Stanley comes complications arise and he ultimately doesn't live for more than a few minutes before his life is already snuffed out. How would Stanford save him?

Also the idea of Stanley's tiny hand reaching out and curling around one of Stanford's six fingers makes me absolutely sick and ready to hurl and it was what prompted me to submit this ask

To set up the scenario, say that there was a hurricane preventing Caryn from giving birth at a hospital. Ford comes out with a little trouble but is perfectly healthy and then Stan's turn comes. Meanwhile, Watchdog has broken into the shop and made his way upstairs where Caryn is giving birth with Filbrick awkwardly holding a wailing Ford.

Stan is affected by birth asphyxia, which occurs when a baby doesn't get enough oxygen during or after birth. It can happen due to various factors like placental abruption, umbilical cord prolapse, or problems during labor and delivery. Stan is fading and Watchdog is suddenly there, scaring the shit out of Caryn and causing Filbrick to nearly drop Ford when he moved to intercept.

But it's too late because Watchdog already has Stan and brings him to the nearest flat surface to lay him down, snapping at them that he is saving their baby and to shut the fuck up. He digs several tools and devices out of his utility belt, giving Stan an injection as he speaks to the baby too quietly for the parents to hear. Filbrick had moved to hover beside Caryn, who's holding Ford and staring at Watchdog's turned back.

There's a tense moment before a cry rings out, Watchdog's coiled posture relaxing as he leans over the screaming baby, cupping his tiny head in his large palm. A wayward hand lands on the back of his hand, clumsy fingers curling around Watchdog's extra pointer finger. Watchdog chokes on a laugh, eyes burning with unshed tears behind the privacy of his helmet.

Watchdog scoops the baby up and turns, noting how Caryn looks scared and Filbrick looks wary. Watchdog slowly approaches, handing a fussy Stan to his mother. As soon as the baby exchanges hands, Filbrick is grabbing him by the trenchcoat and slamming him up against a wall, the commotion setting both babies into another screaming fit.

Watchdog warns Filbrick that if he doesn't raise those boys with love and kindness, then Watchdog would be back.

Then Watchdog smashes the front of his helmet against Filbrick's face, easily escaping his loosened grip to say a few parting words to Caryn too. He advised her to not let Filbrick dictate her life and the lives of her children, tossing a beacon near her foot for if she and her boys ever need to get away from her husband.

Then he trots back the way he had come and vanishes into a wormhole in a nearby alley.