piningforstan

[piningforstan]

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[piningforstan]

pls pls heard me out...FIDDLESTAN! <3

ok, i got this ask ten days ago, and I've been thinking about it ever since. Because I got two other asks asking for fiddauthor, and I dON'T KNOW HOW TO LET THEM DOWN LIGHTLY BECAUSE I'M A FIDDLESTAN BITCH THROUGH AND THROUGH 😭😭😭😭 I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!

Don't get me wrong, fiddauthor is great and makes sense and everything. But listen. Billford and fiddauthor are multidimensional ships, they are good! But FIDDLESTAN!?!? that shit is the WHAT-THE-HECK-A-HEDRON!!!!!!! Even though it's literally 100% speculation, the implications are FUCKING CRAZY!!!!!!!!! I jumped between three ships so far during this gravity falls thing, each time thinking one is better than the other. I've decided that FIDDLESTAN IS KING!!!!!! I'm sorry. I could rant about them forever. I've been listening to nothing but extended versions of disco music for the past week. (YES THEY HAD A CRAZY ROMANTIC FLING IN VEGAS NO I WILL NOT ELABORATE!!!! (yes i will. I will elaborate at some point. it will be like ten pages or text. or I will draw it. idk.))

Here is a sketchbook doodle from like a week ago. I'm gonna post another fiddlestan thing in a few moments, but my style changes like I'm a completely different artist every week without warning, so I'm gonna leave this by itself!

He comes into YOUR house, he steals YOUR identity, and he fucks YOUR research partner!!! Fuck you!!!!!!!!!!

[piningforstan]

Let me run my fingers through it

POV: you said his mullet was hot and no one’s said anything nice to him for, like, ever.

[piningforstan]

The things I would do to this old man

eeermmm uhhhhh sir...

[piningforstan]

dumb, dumber, and stupid

they're usually my warmups so I have to ease myself out of that habit lmao

[piningforstan]

This has been a Mullet Stan appreciation post 

[piningforstan]

Oh…my

My beloved

[piningforstan]

I can't explain how much I love them 😔💖

[piningforstan]

Stanley’s “tattoo” ladies and gentlemen.

[piningforstan]

headcanon that stan hates wearing glasses (for many reasons) and went without them for years until he really needed them

[Image Description: Comic of a younger Stanley Pines from "Gravity Falls." Alt text is provided and copied below the cut. End ID]

A younger Stan squints at his blurry reflection in the mirror, leaning in really close to see himself clearly. He sighs and grabs a pair of Ford's glasses on the dresser. Putting them on, he stares at his reflection. "Welp," he says, "this is unsettling."

He turns away from the mirror to adjust his tie, saying, "But it can't be helped." His reflection is now a disheveled Ford, mirroring Stan.

[piningforstan]

I got the idea for a fic that I wanted to pitch🤔

While Stanley was a grifter, he formed a casual relationship with a woman that he loved but was too afraid to get close to her. He feels like their relationship is getting too serious and when he gets the postcard from Ford, he leaves her without an explanation.

A few months later, after Ford is in the portal, she tracks him down. She had noted the address on the postcard and was hoping to find Stan. He has to inform her that Stan is dead and she crumbles — she wanted to tell him that she’s pregnant.

Stan, masquerading as Ford, is forced to pretend that he doesn’t love her or the child she’s carrying. As Ford, he offers her a job and a place to stay until she can get her feet under her.

Basically…angst as the woman he loves is there, she’s grieving him, and she’s pregnant.

What do you think?? Would you want to read it?

[piningforstan]

Stay With Me

Summary: Stan needs you to tend to his wounds and, no, you can’t ask him about it.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: some fluff, drinking, smoking, a brief description of the wound

A/N: I just imagine mullet Stan not being able to tend to his wounds properly after his fight with Ford and only trusting you to help him😭 also I’m not a doctor so this is probably medically inaccurate

A knock at the door roused you from your sleep.

Well, more like jolted you awake and sent you into a spiral of fear and panic. You belted your robe and padded down the stairs to peer through the window. A blast of frigid air burst from the door as you wretched it open, snow swirling inside and melting. “Stan?”

“Hey,” he said simply. He weaved on his feet. Under the light of the porch, his face was grey.

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’ll, uh, ‘splain later. Can I come in?”

You ushered him in, glancing worriedly out your lawn before shutting the door. Stan’s darkened form lumbered into the kitchen where you followed him, switching on a light. He removed his jacket.

“Stan, what is —?” You choked. From where he sat at the table, back to you, you could see a wound burned into his right shoulder, clearly neglected. “Holy shit.”

With trembling hands, Stan lit up a cigarette.

“Stan, what happened?” You hovered over him, unsure where to start.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said quickly. “Can you patch it up?”

“Patch it up? This looks like an infected second degree burn.”

“Is that a no?”

You let his harsh tone slide over you. Not only were you used to it, being a nurse, but you sensed that something was wrong and Stan was badly shaken. Instead of prompting him for answers, you hurried into your medicine cabinet for your first aid kit. You didn’t have half the supplies that you would’ve at the hospital, but you needed to at least disinfect the wound first to prevent infection. The contents of the kit spilled out onto the table as you rummaged through them, cursing under your breath.

A cloud of smoke billowed from Stan. You snatched the cigarette from him and tossed it in a half-empty glass by the sink. “At least let me fix this before you kill yourself with that.”

Stan grumbled a response, but it was half-hearted. You got to work disinfecting the wound and cleaning it up. Stan never once complained, shoulders tensed, wincing only once you applied the disinfectant. Vaguely, in some distant, secretive part of your mind, you admired the feel of muscles reacting beneath your hands, the intimate proximity to him. From your position crouched over Stan, you could make out his profile, his clenched jaw and thousand-yard stare.

You prepared a bandage. A strange design was embedded in the reddened skin, almost like a brand. You’d have to keep an eye on the wound, but hopefully you could stave off the infection.

“When did this happen? You should’ve come straight to me,” you told him. If he didn’t look so obviously pained, you would’ve smacked him upside the head for not seeking treatment sooner.

“S’not a big deal,” Stan mumbled.

Some of the color had returned to his face.

“Stan, yes it is. You could’ve died from the infection.”

“It was just an accident in the lab.” His brave face faltered slightly, a slip of emotion like the silver belly of a fish flashing in dark waters. “I deserved it anyway.”

You frowned. “I doubt that’s true. Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

“I could use a drink.”

You dug out an old bottle of whiskey that an ex had left behind. He insisted on drinking out of the bottle, knuckles white — shaking, but not as violently as before. You had taken his jacket off the back of the chair and used spare material to stitch it up from the burn. It must’ve been horrible if it burned through the jacket and into his skin so deeply. You watched him sip the whiskey and wince occasionally, not able to completely recline in the chair.

“You should stay here,” you said after who knows how long, both of you content in the silence. Before he could protest you added, “I have a shift tomorrow so I’ll be gone most of the day. But I can keep an eye on you and I know you won’t be doing anything else stupid.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Thanks, kid, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“At least just tonight.“

“Fine. But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

You nodded your approval. After he polished off the bottle and you peeked at his wound again, you got him set up on the couch with pillows and a blanket. He looked small, boy-like, tucked under the covers and looking so vulnerable. Your heart panted. “You’ll be alright?”

“Ain’t gotta worry about me,” Stan replied. The sounds of his snores reverberated through your house before you even hit the stairs.

You awoke to Stan yelling. For the second time that night, or, well, morning, you jolted up and ran down the stairs without even snatching your robe. Bleary eyed and stiff-limbed, you staggered downstairs to find Stan thrashing on the couch, blankets thrown to the floor. He was crying out in his sleep. You knelt down next to him.

“Stan. Stan. Stan!”

It took you shaking his shoulders for him to come to, eyes widened and looking surprised to see you. “What? What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He propped up on one elbow, running a hand through his dark curls. You adamantly kept your gaze from drifting to his chest, partially revealed in the white tank top he had worn to sleep in. “I, uh, been having a lot recently. Did I wake ya?”

“No,” you lied. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

You brought him a water. Sweat sheened his forehead but you suspected it was from the nightmare and not a fever from the infection. Still, you double checked the wound again. Some more pus oozed out along the edges that you cleaned up. It was clear, though, so nothing to worry about. Yet.

You bid him goodnight and moved to leave but felt a large hand grasp your wrist. “Would you, uh, would you mind stayin’?”

Surprised, you turned to him. His expression was so desperate, pleading, that you wordlessly agreed. Stan looked satisfied at this. You sat near his socked feet and pretended to sleep, though there was no way you could now. Not with him so close, so scantily dressed, raw and vulnerable.

It didn’t take long for him to lapse into another nightmare, twitching and muttering. Concerned, you reached over to console him. It was in that moment that he trapped you against his chest, looking for comfort, his heart beating furiously. You stilled. The nightmare slipped away but you were stuck, having fallen between his legs and lying completely on top of him. You did your best to wiggle free but he refused to budge.

Slowly, nervously, you put your head down. Stan, still asleep and unaware of the situation, kept his arms around you. He was big and warm and soft, and you were awfully tired. You reasoned that he needed his sleep, and if staying here meant that he could rest without disturbance, then you would happily fulfill this service for him.

It didn’t matter that you had dreamed of this before, cuddled up next to him, his shallow breaths rustling your hair. That you were overly awake of his hand on your hip, the way that you fit perfectly against him.

No. Nope.

You were just helping him out, like you did with his shoulder. Just helping out a friend.

A friend.

Right?

[piningforstan]

Head-STAN-ons

Just little things I imagine about Stan’s life and if you were together with him

SFW:

• At night you’ll roll over and he’ll be scrunched up in some ridiculous position. Stan adapted to sleeping in his car and the habit still carries over. You always make sure to ease him out of it.

• He insists on fixing everything around the house in order to spare the expenses. Most of the time he’s able to fix whatever is wrong but on the occasions when he can’t or is too busy, you have to sneak a plumber or builder in while he’s not looking, then act surprised that it fixed itself

• Stan loves 80’s rock, obviously. Secretly, he’s a great singer

• Always loses his glasses. Mabel makes him a bedazzled, glittery chain that he cherishes

• Stan will routinely pretend like he doesn’t know you when you’re out and tries to pick you up. Lame pick-up lines ensue.

• they all work

• You try valiantly to sneak vegetables into his food. He always knows, but sometimes he acts like he doesn’t because it means a lot to him that you care about his health

• He’s always upset after the twins leave so you convince him to coach a coed flag football team. Stan played football in high school for a while before getting kicked out for too many fights. The team becomes his whole personality and he subsequently becomes the grandfather of almost every child in town

NSFW:

• He 100% has a specific shirt he wears after he gets laid, a lá Ron Swanson

• Everyone knows about it

• Stan definitely talks you through it, praising you the entire time

• He’s afraid of never measuring up, so he takes sex pretty seriously — learning everything about you, what you like, what precise movements it takes to hear you make that sound

• Stan loves it when you call him daddy

• Definitely has a breeding kink

• You fucked on the water tower once, bent over the rail, Stan holding a fistful of your hair while you appreciated the view and he appreciated his view

• In that same vein, he always likes to try and one up the craziest place to have sex. But he’s also a sucker for good ol’ lazy morning sex or fucking on the couch, you straddling his lap

• Smoking while he fucks you??? (This has consumed my every thought and I might have to write a oneshot)

• The smallest, strangest aspects of domestic life turn him on — he can’t believe that you’re real, that his life is real and he’s not dreaming. You could just be washing the dishes and he would press up against you from behind, his appreciation nudging into the back of your thigh

• Stan LOVES PDA. Sneaking his hand in your back pocket, kissing you, slinging his arm around your shoulders at all times, holding your waist and keeping you close to him. Wolf whistles. Stan loves pulling you into his lap, hand on your thigh, whispering his dirty thoughts in your ear

[piningforstan]

despite everything, it's still you

[piningforstan]

Sounds like Memories 😏

Stan having no idea who you are after his mind is wiped but you're gorgeous. You kneel in front of him, hand on his arm, trying not to break down as you introduce yourself.

It doesn't work and you can't help but pull him in for a hug, Stan awkwardly patting your back. You needed the comfort, he was yours and you needed him.

Ford eventually tries to pull you away and you shake your head, clinging harder, pathetically telling him no.

"Hey, she can stay as long as she wants." Stan tightened his hold as he frowned at Ford. He may have no clue about the group staring at him but if someone as beautiful as you needed a hug from him he would oblige.

"No, he's right." You spoke in his ear before pulling back, swatting at your wet cheeks.

Stan's eyes roamed your face. It was sad and in pain but he knew he had never seen anyone as glorious as you. The curve of your cheek, the line of your nose, your plump lips. Your eyes had turned a hue of pink, because of your sobs, that made them shine.

He felt like a kid. He didn't know what to say or do but he wanted needed to get on your good side.

What had you said your name was again?

[piningforstan]

Brb crying. Are those Ford’s glasses??😭😭

Dysfunctional without his other half

[piningforstan]