#* ﹡ﾟ ━━━ OLD FRIEND OF MINE ( fiddleford )

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part three

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader/ford x fem!reader

tag list: @awitchersbard / @theilluminatidragonqueen / @jazzypop-op/ @maryclanders/ @chaimshelii/@starship606/ @swimmingrascalbatdragon / @stanfordsbaby / @gxstiess / @skrunkle11 / @valinbean / @funkyenby / @therealgoofygoober69 / @theblueraven / @adrian920155 / @im-kinda-bored / @miarabanana / @uwauiss / @leo4242564 / @doggosnoodles12 / @soupieoopieisloopie / @zhungxi / @bandaids-n-porcelain / @marvelous-maniac / @opossumclown / @m4x-3dw / @nothingbutcloud / @reivelmin / @grimometry / @walmartjim / @adelezzxd / @reiofsuns2001 / @bunni-teeth81 / @marshnest / @satorisgirl / @symphology / @pen900 / @sometimesminsan / @creat0r-cat / @lackingoriginalthoughts / @fries11 / @sunniskyies

choose your own ending / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part two | part four

The three of you sat in the impressive living room, Ford and you sitting on the couch while Fiddleford lounges in the loveseat, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“You were able to sell those patents to the government and that’s how you got this place!” You say in glee, your lips spread into an excited smile, “I told you your inventions were going to get you places, Fiddleford!”

“Aw shucks, you flatter me too much. Glad this noggin of mine finally got put to good use!” Fiddleford said bashfully, knocking on his skull, “So Stanford told me you got a job in the National Parks! Find any gold while surveying?”

“No gold yet but I’ve found a few gemstones that I ended up pocketing instead of just documenting them.” You admitted with a sly smile.

The two of you laughed and chatted like time had never passed. Meanwhile, Ford watched with a wistful smile, wishing to hear you be just as comfortable with him as you once were. Though in the back of his head, he recognized that once your memories return, you may never want to speak to him again.

“Ford, what did you end up doing after all these years? I’m sure something exciting with 12 PhDs.” You ask with a curious tilt to your head. You tried to loop him back into the conversation, feeling guilty that you and Fiddleford had spent most of this time catching up with one another with Ford sitting there observing quietly.

“Oh… well..” Ford stammered, caught off guard by the question. He glanced over at Fiddleford who gave him a sympathetic look before giving a nod of encouragement, “I decided to study anomalies with my grant money. Gravity Falls is actually chalk full of them, hence why I ended up here. Fiddleford actually came out here from Palo Alto to help me with my research.”

“Really? I’m surprised we didn’t meet when I had visited him years ago but you must have been busy with your research, right?” You question, not knowing the weight of the situation that you had left years ago. Ford and Fiddleford exchanged tense glances which caused you to sit up right, “Is.. everything okay?”

-

The previous evening, Ford had decided to give Fiddleford a call preemptively before bringing you over to get some answers of his own. 

After the second ring, Ford heard a “Yello?” from his old friend and sighed, trying to keep his composure. He was ready to start a tirade of questions but he attempted to remain cool, not wanting to alienate his friend that he just got back.

He didn’t want to go in blind with the assumption that Fiddleford’s memory erasing gun was the cause of your memory loss, when there could be a laundry list of potential conditions you may have that could have caused this amnesia.

“Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, Fiddleford. I have some news that can’t wait until the morning.” Ford says, leaning against the wall while twirling the cord of the phone in between his fingers.

“Sure, what is it, pal? I’ve been working on a new patent so I need a break anyways,” Fiddleford says on the other end, removing his green glasses and moving to the rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“Well, do you remember Y/N? Our friend from Backupsmore and my… ex-lover.” Ford hesitates during the last part. 

Ford hears a hitch in his friend’s voice along with shuffling on the other end before hearing a response, “Yes, I remember her.”

Ford inhales sharply before letting out a deep sigh, “Well, she’s in Gravity Falls. My brother stumbled upon her after her car broke down in the woods and brought her back to the Mystery Shack.”

“W-Well, isn’t that exciting. We should catch up, shouldn’t we?” Fiddleford says with an anxious edge to his voice.

“Fiddleford…” Ford’s voice is stiff as his worst fears feel like they are already confirmed, “Why does she not remember me?”

Apologies spill from Fiddleford, the anxiety in his voice mounting, “I-I’m so sorry, Stanford. At the time, I thought it was the only way we were going to get through everything we saw, everything we experienced.”

Ford swallowed the lump in his throat, not knowing whether to comfort his friend or to lash out on him for doing such a thing. Hearing those words was like swallowing a bitter pill. He remained silent, letting Fiddleford ramble on to get more details.

“She came to me in tears… she just kept saying over and over that she wanted the pain to go away.” Fiddleford explained, beginning to pace around the space. 

“So you just took her memories, just like that? Specifically her memories of me? Because she remembers you just fine!” Ford’s frustration finally comes out. His right hand balled into a fist, his left clutching the phone tightly. 

Fiddleford winces at the harshness in Ford’s voice, memories of their last fight flashing back but he knows he has to face it rather than running away like he did all those years. He takes a deep breath before sighing, “Stanford, she asked me to erase her memories.”

Ford feels his heart drop and his stomach in knots, almost dropping the phone. 

Is this what heartbreak felt like?

Why would you want to forget him?

Was what he did all those years ago so horrible that you wanted to erase his very existence from your mind?

Ford struggled to find the words but was able to muster out, “It’s… not your fault, Fiddleford. It’s mine. I put you both through hell during my quest for knowledge.” 

Fiddleford paused before responding back shakily, “You don’t need to keep apologizing, friend. Bring her over tomorrow, hopefully we can jog her memory.”

Ford let out a sigh, “Alright, also if you have literally anything from our time from college, please retrieve it to show it to her. That’s what helped bring back Stanley’s memories - any physical reminder of the memories.”

They both said their good nights before hanging up the phone. Ford slides against the wall in defeat, reaching up to run a hand over his face underneath his glasses before pausing as he feels the wetness against his eyes. 

He hadn’t even registered the tears that began to prick the inner corners of his eyes.

-

Fiddleford gets up from his seat, excusing himself abruptly to retrieve something in the other room. Your question remains unanswered and hangs in the air as Ford refuses to meet your gaze, seemingly invested in the stray thread on his sweater.

“Something must have happened when I was out here all those years ago…” You mutter, staring down at your feet, “It affected us, didn’t it? Whatever we were…” You trail off. You had put some of the pieces together that your relationship with Ford prior must have carried a heavy history.

Ford continues to play with the thread, the silence slowly eating away at him before he finally responds, “It did. Not only you and I but my friendship with Fiddleford as well.” He wrapped the thread around his index finger, “It might come as a surprise, but Fiddleford and I just rekindled our friendship this past summer.”

Before you can reply, Fiddleford comes back into the room, holding a cardboard box in his bandaged hands. He unceremoniously dumps it onto the table before flopping back down onto his chair. His light-hearted demeanor had shifted to one of anxiety. 

“Listen, Y/N… I have to admit something to you that you might not like… ah jeez..” Fiddleford stumbles over his words, craving an escape from this situation. 

“Whatever it is, as long as it gets me closer to understanding what’s going on, I promise I won’t be upset at you.” You try to reassure your friend, looking over to Ford to help back you up. Ford’s gaze softened, nodding in understanding, “It’s going to be alright, Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford feels comfort in his close friends’ reassurance, taking a deep breath before rambling out an explanation that’s barely coherent, wanting to get it off his chest immediately, “I created an invention that wipes people’s specific memories called the Memory Gun! I even used it on myself and my mind was gone for decades. Basically I erased your memories all those years ago and that’s why you don’t remember Stanford! There I said it!”

Ford winces at his friend’s delivery, realizing maybe he should have taken the lead to reveal this information to you in a more tactful way. 

Your eyes darted between Ford and Fiddleford, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Real funny guys… did you two plan this prank over the phone last night?” The story presented to you seems preposterous, out of a science fiction novel.

However, when Ford and Fiddleford stare back at you with solemn gazes, you realize that this story is the truth. 

It explained the gaps of time during your time in college that you could not recall.

It explained the dreams you had every night of a person that you could never see the face of.

Your memories of Stanford had been somehow wiped from your brain.

You sit there, processing this information in silence. Fiddleford almost seems like he’s bracing for impact, ready for you to lash out at him for doing such a thing. Ford sits rigid beside you before getting up suddenly. Both you and Fiddleford look up in confusion as he reaches into the box that Fiddleford placed on the table.

His fingers pluck out what seems to be a photo and walks over to you. His warm, calloused hand brushes against yours, placing it into your hands. Staring down at it, you see younger versions of yourself, Ford and Fiddleford.

Ford was decked out in a doctoral graduation cap and gown that swallowed up his frame, a wide grin spread across his cheeks. He had his arm around Fiddleford’s shoulder, who wore a green button up shirt, brown slacks and a pair of cowboy boots. In his hands he held a sign that said ‘10 Doctorates Down, 2 More to Go’. You were wearing a flowy dress and were on Ford’s left side, his six fingers holding you by the waist.

“This was taken on one of my many graduation days, you and Fiddleford attended every single one and were cheering me on in the crowd.” Ford explains, beckoning Fiddleford to come over and look at the photo. Fiddleford hesitantly gets up from his chair, sitting next to you.

“Listen, I know you may have a lot of questions about how this even happened. I promise that in time, Fiddleford and I will tell you everything that led up to the erasure of your memories. But you need the rest of your memories for any of this to make sense.” Ford says, staring into your eyes and resting a hand on your shoulder. 

His mantra after Bill wreaked havoc in his life had been Trust No One.

Yet he asks you to do the one thing that he could not do back then, “Can you please trust us?”

A mixture of emotions - confusion, hurt, anger - ran through you and you weren’t sure which one to listen to. As you looked back down at the photo, your thumb ran over where Ford was, covering up his face. Without him there, the image looked… empty.

You look up at Ford, “I’m trusting you and Fiddleford… I want to get my memories back.” You pause before continuing your statement, “How I feel about the both of you after I get them back, we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Ford nods in understanding, knowing that you rightfully had your guard up. Fiddleford breathes a sigh of relief, still feeling the need to apologize, “I’m really sorry for putting you in this predicament, Y/N… I hope you’ll forgive me.” You stare at your old friend, knowing from experience that this man had a heart of gold. As confused as you were, you try to believe that Fiddleford had to have done it for some good reason.

You quickly envelop Fiddleford into a tight hug, squeezing him tightly. He squeaks in surprise and you mutter, “Whatever the reason you erased my memories is…I know you have a good heart. I’ll forgive you, Fiddleford.” You feel his flimsy arms return the embrace, and you two sit there for a bit before pulling apart.

“Alrighty then, let’s get those memories back!” Fiddleford says, getting up and rummaging through the box to retrieve a textbook that spelled out ‘Quantum Mechanics.’ 

You all collectively shuddered at the sight of it, groaning in unison, “Ugh, quantum mechanics” before bursting out into laughter at your shared reaction.

“Dear god, that class was terrible! Not because of the content but our professor!” Ford groaned, “I swear he spent more time teaching us about his conspiracy theories than actually covering the equations needed for our assignments.”

“Stanford, I think you might be the only one who actually enjoyed the content of it, me and Y/N were ready to pull our hair out every single class.” Fiddleford chuckled before passing the textbook over to you.

You look down at it, brushing off the dust. A wave of nostalgia hits you as you flip through the pages, remembering the sensation of your cheek being pressed against those pages before jolting up, trying to wipe off the stray drool that had accumulated on the corner of your lip. You had fallen asleep in class again, a gentle hand shaking you awake.

You pause before staring up at the both of them, “Oh my god, I think I remember something.”

“You would wake me up whenever I’d fall asleep in lecture, Ford.” You say, the memory coming back to you with more clarity, “I always nodded off in that class since it was 8 AM and I usually stayed up the night before studying for exams.”

Ford and Fiddleford both look at each other before grinning widely. “It’s starting to work!” Fiddleford says excitedly, ready to fish out another object out of the box.

“Jeez, how much stuff do you have in here?” You chuckle, getting up from your seat to crowd around the box. Your eyes scan through the assortment of objects - old textbooks from physics and mathematics courses, decor from Backupsmore and a few older photos strewn about.

“I didn’t realize you kept all these things from college, Fiddleford.” Ford says, following behind you. “I didn’t either, guess I lost track of where everything was after my mind got scrambled. Tate found most of this stuff in a box that I apparently had stashed underneath my cot when I was living at the shack.” Fiddleford chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

The three of you spent the next hours sifting through the contents of the box and with each item plucked from the box, a memory from college returned as you pieced together the fragmented slivers in your mind. Some memories did not come as quickly, causing you some frustration but you put them to the side, cataloging it for later.

Soon the sunlight that leaked through the windows began to turn into a warm orange, signaling the sunset approaching. Ford had tried to hide an embarrassing photo from you and Fiddleford which resulted in you trying to wrestle it out of his hand playfully. You ended up snagging it from his six-fingered hold after he got flustered when you started getting closer to him, practically on his lap, to try and retrieve it.

The last photo was a polaroid of Ford with his face buried into your neck, a few beer bottles littered around him. Fiddleford was clearly holding the camera, his thumb sticking out in the foreground in a thumbs up. ‘Happy 21st, S.’ was scrawled out at the bottom, slightly faded over time.

“You were a light-weight, weren’t you?” You say cheekily to which Ford crosses his arms in protest, “It was my first time drinking, what did you expect?”

Fiddleford watched contently before seeing the sunset start to creep in, “Aw shucks, the sun’s about to set. Ya’ll should head out before it gets too dark. I know this one isn’t the best at driving in the dark.” He said, jerking a thumb over at Ford.

“I didn’t realize this was a gang-up on Stanford Pines session.” Ford huffed, getting up from his seat on the floor. You follow suit, grabbing the stack of photos that had piled up and placing them in the box before asking Fiddleford, “Mind if I take the box with me, Fiddleford? I’m hoping the more I look at them, more memories will pop up.”

Fiddleford nods eagerly, “Absolutely, Stanford can give you my number if you have any questions for me. I’m sure you’ll have a ton… after you get all your memories back.” He trails off, knowing the journey ahead to recovering your memories may come with some mixed emotions.

You give Fiddleford another tight parting hug, squeezing him almost like you may not see him again. You follow Ford out, placing the box carefully into the back seat of the red convertible before driving back down the hill.

You spent most of the drive taking in the sight of the golden hues over the lush forest. Occasionally, Ford uses his peripheral vision to take a glance at you, seeing how the gemstone around your neck glows against the sunlight. 

You catch him glancing once and he quickly shifts his focus back on the road, his chest puffing and his posture stiff. Your lips curl in amusement at how he tries but fails to be subtle. It’s quite charming - you were starting to see how you fell for him in the first place. “So… our relationship clearly wasn’t platonic, was it?” You ask suddenly.

Ford almost swerves off the side of the road at your question, quickly straightening his wheel as your hand reaches for the grab handle. “I didn’t realize you had put that together already..” Ford stammered before apologizing for his driving.

“Even if none of my memories had come back today, it’s pretty easy to pick up from the photos, especially the last one.” You chuckled softly before pausing. You mull over what to say next before finally speaking up, “I’m guessing we… didn’t end on the best terms, did we?”

Ford’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, his expression tense. He looked defeated - weighed down by the weight of the negative effects that his desperate chase for knowledge had on his loved ones. 

Stanley, Fiddleford, you. 

Ford lets out a heavy sigh, “No, we didn’t… and it is my fault. I was on this never-ending journey trying to prove my worth but in the process, I pushed away those who saw my worth just the way I was.” He looks out into the horizon, seeing the sun begin to disappear between the Floating Cliffs. “If you will allow me, I really hope I get the chance to undo my mistakes and mend our relationship… just like Fiddleford and I have.” His eyes meet yours and your expression looks conflicted… almost like you can still feel the remnants of pain that he had caused all those years ago.

“Listen, Ford… I would like to start on the path of healing what happened in the past but I just got back memories from college. I am sure there’s a few more years of history up ahead… one step at a time, okay?” You explain, wanting to level his expectations. Ford nods in understanding, giving you a sad smile, “Understood, apologies for getting ahead of myself.”

As you made your way back down the winding hills, you both sat in silence the rest of the way back to the Mystery Shack. Pulling in front of the cabin, Ford shifts the car into park and clears his throat, catching your attention, “You aren’t planning on leaving tomorrow, correct? Stanley had mentioned that you had a whole trip up to Seattle ahead of you.” 

You stare deadpan over at him, “Ford, I literally was just told today that a good chunk of my memories are gone. Do you really think I’m worried about my trip?” You say with an eyebrow raised. Ford blinks at your response before rubbing the back of your neck, “That’s very true, I just want to make sure I wasn’t holding you hostage in figuring this out.”

You shrug casually, “Unfortunately, I can’t just pick up and leave knowing I don’t have a good chunk of my memories.” You smile, despite everything, you were grateful for this unexpected detour. You got to reconnect with an old friend, still got to enjoy some beautiful scenery and the free lodging didn’t hurt. “Besides, Gravity Falls seems like it has its own charms I can appreciate. I’m curious about the anomalies you came out here to study - everything seems pretty normal other than those floating cliffs we passed on the way down.”

A spark lights up in Ford’s eyes the moment you mentioned anomalies, seeing him grin in absolute glee. “Well, there’s a whole bunch out there, the Floating Cliffs is truly only scratching the surface of what oddities this place has to offer. I would love to take you anomaly hunting some time. Obviously nothing too intense, I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” He realized what he had just said and began to stammer, backtracking his offer, “B-But only if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You giggle at his awkward charm, “I would like that. Maybe tomorrow?”

Before Ford can reply, both of you are startled by the sudden rapping of knuckles on the glass of the driver’s side window. You quickly whip your heads to see Mabel grinning, her braces on full display as she stares at the two of you through the glass. Ford rolls down the window, “Mabel, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Mabel says before whipping out her phone to reveal a slightly blurry photo of you and Ford smiling at one another from an awkward angle, “to take this photo!” Ford blinks, his eyes adjusting to look at the photo before staring at it perplexed, “I still don’t quite understand how this small contraption holds a camera in it.” 

You laugh at Ford’s statement, leaning over his shoulder to take a look at the photo, “What, you don’t know how a cell phone works? Are you sure I'm the one who had their memories wiped?” Ford’s cheeks feel warm as he can feel the heat and weight of your body pressed against his back, “Great photo, Mabel. How was the roller rink?” You quickly change the subject, starting to pick up on Mabel’s matchmaking  tactics.

“It was great! My friends, Grenda and Candy, and I had a slurpee chugging contest to see who could get brain freeze the fastest!” Mabel explained excitedly. “I’d love to hear more about it, how about we head inside?” You say before pulling away from Ford to exit the car and follow Mabel back into the Mystery Shack.

Ford sat there in disbelief, his brain short circuiting over how your body felt against him as well as the prospect of going on a pseudo-date with you, before resting his head directly on the steering wheel, the horn echoing through the forest. You look back in alarm and glance over at Mabel, “Uh, is your Grunkle okay?” 

Mabel looks back and shrugs, as if it’s a common occurrence, “Probably, Dipper does that too against the wall when he’s overthinking something.”

You sat on the floor of the living room, listening to Mabel excitedly tell you about her adventures with her friends with Ford joining shortly after his malfunction in the car.

Dipper came downstairs, having spent most of the day reading over a strategy guide for Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons that he wanted to go over with Ford, which led Mabel to recount her day again to the new audience member. 

“So, Y/N, was the trip to see Old Man McGucket a success? Did you get some of your memories back?” Dipper asks. You blink before realizing he’s referring to Fiddleford, nodding in response. “Yeah, thankfully, he had some stuff from your Grunkle Ford and I’s time at Backupsmore that helped jog some memories. Not 100% there but we’re getting there.” You share, “We actually brought some of it home to help continue to jog my memories.”

“Wait, are there photos? I wanna see young Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket! Grunkle Ford lore!” Mabel asks excitedly. You turn to Ford who seems reluctant to share with the kids, “Well, up to you if you wanna show them.” Ford hesitates for a second but the moment he sees Mabel flash the dangerous puppy dog eyes that Stanley warned him about, he’s easily persuaded, “Alright, I’ll go get the box.”

You spend the rest of the evening showing the twins memories from the past with Ford filling in some of the gaps you couldn’t quite remember still. Dipper and Mabel laugh at the sight of Fiddleford with a horseshoe mustache with Ford insisting that it was in fashion at the time. You smile at the sight of the family bonding before realizing a member was missing.

“Hey Dipper, is your Grunkle Stan not back yet? It’s getting a bit late.” You ask suddenly. Dipper takes a moment before snapping his fingers, “He mentioned something about not waiting up for him. He didn’t say where he was going, just said he was gonna be out late.” You look over to Ford who simply shrugs, “My brother is one of the toughest people I know, throws a mean left hook. He’ll be fine.” Based on everyone’s nonchalant reactions, you decide to trust that this was a normal occurrence.

The night ends with Mabel gushing over the polaroid that she found of you both, leading Ford to chase her around the Shack trying to retrieve it from her. Dipper and you doubled in laughter, watching the antics unfold.

Ford ended up stuffing it in his pocket, wanting to have at least one piece of your shared history to hold onto himself.

-

He wasn’t in bed… again.

You wake up yet again to the left side of the bed empty, the sheets feeling cold to the touch. The moon barely seeps light through the triangle shaped window, allowing your eyes to adjust quickly to the sight. Your eyes glance out the window. The forest is dusted white, snow coating the treetops and causing the glass to frost.

You begin what felt like a nightly routine at this time, sliding out of the bed. Your eyes are still heavy with sleep, rubbing them roughly. You slide on your slippers and make your way to the basement.

At this point, you don’t even need a light to guide the way, navigating through the dark cabin with ease. The wind howls harshly outside, its echo traveling through the quiet house. 

You finally arrive, shuddering at the sudden temperature drop from the upstairs to the basement. You push open the metal door. The lab is quite messy, sticky notes with equations plastered all over and triangle-shaped figures littered around it. You see the familiar figure, frenetically writing in the red journal in front of him as the metal door creeks to signal your presence.

“Ford?” You call out, walking towards him, “Are you alright?” You ask, something felt off with the way he was acting as you walked in. Even when he would reach a breakthrough in his research, he would jot notes down with a quick yet methodical manner. Just glancing over his shoulder, the writing looked messy & chaotic compared to his neat cursive.

You placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to halt his actions. His hand reached up, placing it atop yours. 

However, rather than stroking the back of your hand like he normally would, he gripped it tightly, causing you to wince in response.

“Ow, Ford, what the hell?” You mutter, trying to shake your hand loose.

The grip only tightened as Ford’s head turned, bright yellow eyes staring back at you.

“Well, well, well, nice to finally meet you, Y/N.” 

You jolt awake, a thin sheen of cold sweat coating your body. Your heart practically jumps out of your throat as you look around frantically. For what, you’re not sure but your body goes into fight or flight, tossing the blankets off. The air around you feels thick and the room feels like it's closing in on you.

Your feet move automatically, rushing quickly out of the room and ascending up to where the attic floor is. You make your way down the hallway, slipping past Dipper and Mabel’s room to a hatch in the ceiling. You tug on the rope that dangles from the handle, opening it to reveal a set of stairs. You make your way up them before pushing a door that brings you to the rooftop ledge.

A gust of fresh air hits your face and you finally feel like you can breathe as you take a seat on the ledge. Placing a hand over your chest, you attempt to slow down your breath, inhaling through your nostrils and exhaling through your mouth. After finally grounding yourself, you stare up at the night sky, trying to make sense of what you just dreamt.

That was clearly a memory but why was Ford acting that way?

Why did it terrify you to the core, a knot in your stomach as you remember the yellow hue in his eyes?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of car tires running over the lawn. You look down to see your car with its bright headlights illuminating the bottom of the Mystery Shack before shutting off. Stan steps out of the car, wearing all black attire and a set of black gloves, whistling nonchalantly as he makes his way to the trunk to pull out the car battery.

He hasn’t noticed your presence yet so you decide to call out, “Late night, huh?”

“Hot belgian waffles!” Stan semi-curses, almost dropping the car battery on his foot as he whips his head around before staring up to see you sitting on the rooftop in your pajamas. “How the hell did you get up there? Why are you even up there, it’s like 2 AM?”

“Did you really just say hot belgian waffles?” You can’t help but say with a tired grin, Stan’s antics taking your mind off your anxiety attack. “Had a bad dream, needed some fresh air… somehow I remembered how to get up here, my memory’s starting to come back somehow.”

“I try not to swear in front of the kids, come up with whatever euphemism rolls off the tongue.” Stan says with a shrug, “Guess today was a success, mind if I join ya? I can never fall asleep right away, got too much adrenaline in my system.”

“Sounds like you had a wild night, you sure you just got my car battery?” You chuckle before nodding at Stan’s question, “Go ahead, I could use the company.”

Stan makes his way back into the Mystery Shack, putting the battery near his toolbox to work on tomorrow before trekking up the stairs. He winces, his back aching as he makes his way up the stairs, cradling his lower back, “Jeez, I should really install one of those stair lifts at this point.”

“I don’t think you’re quite that old to justify having one of those.” You grin, scooting over for Stan to have a seat next to you, both of your legs dangling off the ledge. “If I did, Mabel would probably just put Waddles on it and have him ride up and down the stairs the whole day.” Stan chuckled.

“So any new embarrassing stories about my brother I should know about?” Stan asked out of curiosity. Despite them spending the whole past year catching up, there were still parts of Ford’s life that were still a mystery to Stan. Almost 40 years of their lives and they had just scratched the surface. 

“Well, I learned he drank about 3 beers on his 21st birthday and was pretty much on the verge of passing out.” You shared, tapping your chin, “He also got into an argument with a professor when they asked him to write his papers in print instead of cursive.” Stan chortles, “Yeah, that sounds like Ford alright. I got to see how much of a lightweight he is this past year. I had to carry him back to the boat after we had a couple of drinks at a bar near the dock.”

You laugh, hearing that time had not changed much in that aspect. “I’m sure there’s more. College is a lot more clearer but everything after that is still a blur.” You trail off, still having mixed emotions about it.

Stan shifts slightly before speaking up, “Hey, uh…I’m guessing you found out that you got your memories erased, right?” You nod, eyebrow raised in confusion at how Stan knows this. 

“Well, from one person who had their memories erased to another, don’t be too hard on yourself when you can’t remember. I swear there’s still stuff that the kids will tell me that takes me a minute to recall. Sometimes I don’t even remember and just try to play it off so they don’t worry.” Stan offers in a sympathetic tone.

“Jeez, Fiddleford used the Memory Gun on you too? How many people has he used it on?” You say in surprise, even more confused than you were earlier about the whole situation.

Stan sees your state of disbelief and chuckles, “I had the same look on my face when my brother roped me into all this. Ford’s actually the one who used it on me… it’s a long story but the point being is that, you’re gonna find out a lot of things that are gonna confuse the hell out of you. You’re also going to remember… a lot of painful memories.” 

“My brother and I seem close now but we weren’t talking for years… and I had to relive and relearn all of that when getting my memories back. It sucked, it felt like I was being punched in the gut every time.” Stan sighs before smiling sadly, “I’m sure you’re gonna feel the same way… I don’t know what exactly happened between you and my brother but I know Ford’s gonna try whatever it takes to make things right by you.”

“Thanks, Stan. I appreciate it, makes me feel less guilty for not remembering everything.” You say with an appreciative smile before shivering slightly at the sudden breeze that picks up. Stan notices this and shrugs off his leather jacket. Shaking your head in protest, you’re quickly silenced as Stan places it on your shoulders.

You bring the material close to your frame, feeling how warm it is from Stan’s body heat. “Thanks again, I’m really looking forward to getting my memories back..." You glance at your car, a reminder of your original plans for the summer. "Well, guess I gotta return all that camping gear I bought.” You chuckle, gesturing towards the camping gear mounted to the top of your car.

Stan looks at the gear and then back at you before offering, “Why not just go camping out here? There’s a campground like half an hour away we could set up at - I’m sure the kids would love to tag along too, they’ve been itching to do stuff while they’re here for the summer.” 

“Like all of us go? You think Ford would be up for that?” You ask, actually liking the idea of camping with the Pines family instead of going solo. 

“If he gets to spend time with you, yeah, he’ll go.” Stan scoffs.

You pause before grinning, “Guess we should start planning.”

[littleoneamanda]

GF: Stanford Pines

Well, probably one of the fastest drawings I have been drawing xD

The original art style is pretty easy to work with, but I think I will keep doing it in mine after Fidds. Unless you want to see me draw more in the original style. Let me know! :D

Now to my thoughts on the book of bill and Stanford as a character. (SPOILERS)

The missing Journal Pages in this book are probably the ones that I found the most interesting and disturbing. We learn more about Ford as a person and what kind of friendship he had with Bill.

I just wanna say this, I really don't see how so many people saw them as "lovers" which I (imo) found very problematic and disturbing.

I think it is pretty clear Bill only uses Ford for his own gain. His property. Ford was the perfect human for his plans.

Take everything Bill says in the book with a whole spoon of salt.

"Even his lies are lies"

-Code from TBOB

"The ego of a king. The insecurity of a circus freak. And totally isolated from anyone who might steer him clear of my plans "

-Bill, TBOB

Ford has very low self esteem, isolates himself, bad at social interactions and even had a shotgun pointed at him. He describes himself "six fingerd freak".

So when a god like figure shows up in a dream one day, tells you how great you are, you will change the world, ect, You would buy it. Especially when others around you have made you feel like an outcast through your whole life (except for Stanley and Fidds).

Bill is basically love bombing Ford. Making Ford feel very special and reminding him of the project that will change everything.

Now there is a difference between self esteem and self confidence. (I'm adding the links if you wanna know more :) ) Ford absolutely have a strong self confidence. He believes strongly in his research. He belives he CAN achive and complete his research. This is also something Bill takes advantage of. He knows Ford is desperate. This is where is self confidence turns a little bit more to narcissism (again caused by Bill by manipulation). Bill does everything to make sure Ford continues the work.

As soon Ford realizes the betrayal, Bill shows his true colors.

He takes over Fords body multiple times. Takes his body on top of the roof in the middle of the winter, taped a rattlesnake into his journal, recorded a video of him being in Fords body "Puppet Hour with Bill" and will cut to something more disturbing scene. Left a lot of polaroids of him humiliating and torture his body in different ways.

Scaring Ford with one scene where he pretended to call Stan that he was gonna kill himself. This part of the book was probably the one that made me actually shiver. Think about it, You see video and pictures of yourself doing all of this, knowing that this is not you doing all of these things. And having no memory of it at. Too scared to fall asleep because you have no idea were your body is going to be next. That would make any person as paranoid Ford was at the end.

Fidds and Ford.

There is a lot of things that I wanna talk about when it comes to these two, but I will save most of it to the Fidds drawing.

Fidleford is Fords only true friend during this time. He is very supportive but also honest with Ford.

Ford haven't had any other friends during his early life. Stanley was his only friend, and the one who protected him until that one mistake that separates them. When Fiddleford comes in to the picture, (a person who also seemed to have problems making friends) he's probably the first person who doesn't even notice at first that Ford has six fingers. I really wish here we had some more backstory of their college years to know what their friendship looked like, but it seems they were very close.

"I am overcome with emotion. The sight of my old classmate upon my doorstep this morning filled my heart with such joy and gratitude."

-Stanford, Journal 3

Ford was obviously very happy to not be alone anymore in his home. To have his best friend (who also left his family behind) to work with him on this massive project. Now comes the question, what does Ford see Fidds as? I think Fidds shows some kind of feelings towards Ford escpecially when it comes to giving presents (Not only in TBOB but also in Journal 3). I think Ford does deeply care about Fidds, but his mind at this point is so focused on the project (and Bill making sure he is) that he pushes away a lot of feelings. Probably a lot of feelings that are necessary to have as well.

Something I do notice tho is when Bill isn't present, Ford becomes more like himself. Decorating the portal to make make Fidds happy after the failed family reunion (which I don't think he normally would have done if Bill was present during the holidays).

After Bill torture and threatening Ford in the nightmare, the only man he could think of in that moment who could help him was Fiddleford. When he went through Fidds notes for any hints of where he was now, he finds the 5 failed knitted 6-fingered gloves and the ripped photo of them. I can't imagine what that must have felt...

The closest person he had in his life at that point, who has tried to warn him. Tried to give Ford another option for success in his research instead of the portal. The regret of not listening to his warnings.

When they reunited after Weirdmaggedon, seeing how Fiddleford lived now and what the aftermath of the portal incident did to him, must have been a punch in the gut.

"...but when I saw that he was living at the dump, it became clear how deeply I had hurt this man that I had once held so dear."

-Stanford Journal 3

So...Is Ford a jerk? The question and discussions that I've seen so many times here xD

Honestly, this man is complicated. Especially when it comes to understand his thoughts and feelings. However, Stanford is a type person that I personally have encountered irl. Sometimes too smart for his own good, sometimes not understanding how others may feel about certain things/topics and a person who constantly try to prove to themself and to others. A man lost in his own insecurities and very isolated. He his the main character in his life. Now that doesn't exscuse his negative actions at all. But more like a explanation to what might had led to the certain events.

Alright, this took way longer to write than actually make the drawing xD But did wanna share somethings that has been on my mind. When trying to search for analyses of the characters, it has been difficult to find one that is a middle ground. It's either: Stanford is a jerk and doesn't deserve anything good or Here is why everyone is wrong type of stuff. I'm not here to tell how we should think about certain characters. This is just how I look at all of this. The only problem I have with all of this is the thing between Ford and Bill. Maybe it's just me, but I really don't see any type of romance there. I know a lot of people went off on the "one thing led to another" part. I do not know what to say to that honestly. That page was super hard for my eyes to read for some reason lol. And i know, Yes, I did a video of Fidds being cucked by a triangle. I don't mind some of the jokes around it...I mean i did myself xD

I think the reason Bill is a bit obsessed over Ford is because after so many attempts with making deals with other humans to help Bill build a portal, this one was sooo close to success and ALMOST succeeded. He had all the tools and the right human to make it, but failed. He must feel so bitter.

Anyway, that's it for now! Next is Fiddleford :D

[fiddlefordisms]

Canon Details and Analysis of Fiddleford McGucket Part 1

I'm writing a series of meta posts centering around everything we know about Fiddleford McGucket as well as what can be gleaned from those details and some theories of mine. At the very end of this series, I will also do a detailed look, analysis, and theorizing about Fiddauthor (a ship which I love) - however, this series of posts will be focusing mainly on what's actual canon (and thus written in terms of Fiddleford's friendship with Ford) and will be mainly focused on Fiddleford's character even as it stands outside of his relationship with Ford. Because he deserves to be his own character outside the context of a romantic relationship, and he deserves it in general.

Fiddleford was raised on his father's hog farm in Tennessee. We've received very few details about his family life other than that the hog farm belongs to his father, Fiddleford has a cousin named Thistlebert who believes in aliens, and Fiddleford's grandmother who does not approve of "coffee" (whatever that is). What we can glean from this is that Fiddleford is pretty familiar with his extended family. We also know he grew up "dirt-poor."

In Journal 3, Ford mentions that Fiddleford crosses himself while stepping over graves and chastises him for saying "what the devil." Tennessee is also located deep in the Bible Belt. This tells me Fiddleford was likely raised Christian and because of the "crosses himself" thing - likely Catholic. He's the first McGucket to ever go to college.

Fiddleford has anxiety issues, possibly an untreated disorder - a fact commented on by Ford in Journal 3 (knee-bouncing, a tendency towards pulling at his hair, his superstitious nature might lend to this as well, and the "SORRY" photograph mentions that he's "mighty nervous" about his first day, he also mentions having the hiccups that day - probably due to how nervous he is). Given how these things go, it's probably been with him since childhood, and he was probably belittled for it. Especially given the stigma around mental health issues, it would not surprise me if Fiddleford has been told multiple times "to get over his anxiety."

Before meeting Ford, Fiddleford had a low sense of self-confidence (and even after meeting Ford, it might still not have been the greatest). His very first day of college, after being laughed out of class, he's already arranging for a tractor (the joke is he's Southern and from a farm) to pick him up. He was going to drop out of college on his first day had it not been for Ford. This tells us that he was led to believe that he was "not right" or "not smart enough" for college. Because it's only his first day at college, he probably didn't get these ideas ingrained in him from the campus itself. Theories? A few. One: His father probably wanted him to stay and help out on the farm - maybe even take over the hog farm one day. Two: Fiddleford easily leaps to the idea that he "got his math wrong" and that his theory must be incorrect because everyone else thinks so. This tells us he does not consider himself "brilliant" despite the fact that he is HIGHLY intelligent. He's also at Backupsmore instead of a first-rate school. Because Fiddleford has a lot of anxiety, I think it's highly possible something that could have led him to believe this is test anxiety. Schools put so much importance on testing, and because of his anxiety, Fiddleford might not have been able to perform very well on tests. He probably really excelled at doing his homework, though, and probably already had a bit of an inventing streak. He might have been persuaded by a teacher to give college a try and probably had an interest in it due to his affinity for machines and likely a love of mathematics and physics (and possibly chemistry given that Old Man McGucket mixes up a voice-changing serum at one point). Fiddleford mentions in the "SORRY" photograph that he thought making a friend was more impossible than solving relativity. This is extremely sad and points to Fiddleford having been lonely through his childhood and school years up until college. It's not hard to imagine that he might have been bullied for being a "nerd" as well. People tend to look down on those who display Southern mannerisms and interests (Fiddleford plays the banjo, has a strong Southern accent, and was probably raised to take pride in his Southern upbringing) as "dumb hicks" - and this might be a cause for even more bullying while he's in Backupsmore and continued confidence difficulties.

[authree]

* ﹡ﾟ    ━━━  TAG  DUMP !

[totallysharkycomplete]

Waiting For You Part Three (Ford Pines x Reader) Her Family Too

“Morning,” Stanley grumbles as he enters the kitchen.

She told him he could stay the night at the cabin, but she wanted him gone in the morning. She doesn't reply, but grips the counter with white knuckles.

“Listen, I know you said you wanted me gone-”

“Correct,” she cuts him off, refusing to look at him.

“But listen,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I want to help, this is all my fault and I want to help you get him back.”

Again she is silent. Stan sighs and turns away from her, she looks at him walking away before noting the burn from yesterday peeking out from his tank top. She grabs his forearms to stop him. “Sit down,” she instructs before going to get the first aid kit. Although the first encounter with Stan made her lose her fiance, he was Ford’s family, which meant he was her family too, and family looks after each other.

He obeys and sits at the table. He watches as she sets the kit on the table for digging around for a few things. She moves behind him and applies something to his shoulder that burns. He hisses and slightly pulls away before settling back down. She knew it would burn but didn’t warn him.

“This is going to scar,” she informs him.

“It’ll be a good reminder to be less of a jerk,” he jokes, causing her to smile.

She continues to clean the burn, apply an ointment and a bandage. “You can stay until that heals. Just so I can make sure it doesn't get infected.”

“Uh, right.”

----------- The next few days are spent awkwardly shuffling around each other as she continues to take care of Ford’s experiments, while looking around the house for his journals. She didn't think he would hide them there but it was as good a place to start looking as any. The majority of the day she spends in the basement tinkering away at the portal.

Stan makes his way down there one day to find her wiping away tears as she rearranged some wires. Her arm was deep in a metal compartment and she was on her knees.

“I don’t know much about science, but aren’t you not supposed to mix water and electricity.”

She scowls at him having not noticed him come in, then turns away to dry the rest of her tears. “What do you want?”

“Like I said, I want to help, just tell me what to do.” He walks to stand in front of her but she doesn’t look at him. “I know I messed up, but can’t you at least look at me?”

“No!” She snaps. “You look so much like him!” A sob escapes her. “I hate it,” she cries. “I hate it so much! I hate you!”

Stan can feel the heavy weight of guilt in his chest increase. Still, he kneels down to embrasse her. “I know kid, I hate me too.”

To his surprise she holds him back while she cries. After a few minutes her sobs calm down and she pulls away. Her cheeks are tear streaked and eyes red and puffy. She looks up at him before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know you enough to hate you.”

Stan let out a chuckle.

“Also, I don’t think I’m being fair, I lost my fiance, but you lost your twin brother too. How are you?” She looks at him again, sincerity in her eyes.

Stan is taken aback. How could she be so caring about him when he just ruined her life? He swallows, feeling a lump start to build in the back of his throat. “Me? Just peachy.” He lies.

She stands up and moves back to what she was working on. “You’re a bad liar, just like Ford.” ----------- She agrees to let Stan stay with her indefinitely. Deciding she can’t kick her family out when he had nowhere to go. One day a few months in, he approached her with an idea to turn the cabin into a tourist attraction.

“A shack of mystery, The Mystery Shack!” He grins.

“No, definitely not. Absolutely not.” She argues.

Stan sighs. “Listen, you told me yourself the grant money had run out. Unless you want to get a job at that greasy diner, I’d like to hear what else you plan to do for money.”

She turns away from her work with a groan of annoyance. “I… I don’t know. That feels almost disrespectful to all of Ford’s work. Showing it off like some cheap roadside attraction.”

“We don’t have to use his work, sweetheart.” He coos, she makes an almost disgusted face at the nickname. “I’ll make up all new attractions, fake of course. Wouldn’t want the rubes of this town getting freaked out or nothing.”

Reluctantly she agrees. She moves the rest of Ford’s experiments to their room or the basement. Since Ford was gone their room seemed too big to be in all by herself. She moved into a smaller room across the hall, and with Stans help they sealed up his room until they could get him back.

It wasn’t long until Stan was getting customers. At least a few everyday. She had told him she wanted nothing to do with it though and spent her time in the basement.

A few months of this routine had passed, Stan swindling the townsfolk and anyone stupid enough to come in. He glued different animals together, bought wax figures, anything to get people in, and she couldn’t really complain. He was taking care of all the bills as she tried to fix the portal.

One night Stan heats up some soup and claims to have made dinner. The atmosphere while they eat is more tense than normal. Finally Stan decided to ask if he did something stupid and not notice.

She stares at the soup without looking up. “Today marks half a year, Stan.”

“Oh,” now it's his turn to stare at his soup. “I hadn’t realised.”

“Unless we can find the other two journals this is hopeless,” she cradles her head in her hands.

“As long as we don’t give up, it’s not hopeless.” Stan disagrees.

Later that night she sits in her new room on the edge of her bed. She looks down at her hand, and thinks about how empty it is. How empty she feels. How she would give anything to feel Ford’s hand in hers right now. How she’d give anything to not feel so alone. Her body shakes as she begins to sob. She lets herself have a real good cry for the first time in half a year.

Stan could hear her cries. He was standing outside her door which was cracked open. He was unsure whether to let her cry it out or if he should intervene and stop her from feeling so sad.

After letting her cry for a few minutes he walked into her room without knocking and sat beside her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her hand. She leaned her head onto his chest.

“When is this feeling going to stop? I don’t want to be sad anymore, Stan.”

“I don’t know kid,” was all he could say. Anything more and he would cry as well.

Eventually her cries died down and she began falling asleep against him. He tried to lay her down on the bed but she grabbed onto him.

“Please stay, I don’t want to be alone.” she sniffed.

He didn’t argue and layed down in bed next to her, a foot away. She held his hand as she fell asleep.

The year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance Stan cried for the first time. He thought he was alone as he stood in front of the broken portal.

“A whole year, huh, Sixer? Time flies. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of the kid for ya’. We’ll have you back in no time, we…” Stan lets out a sob and places his hand on the portal. He allows himself to cry. Even when he feels arms wrap him in a hug from behind he continues to cry.

She presses her forehead to his back and holds him while he cries. When he begins to calm down she lets go and wordlessly excuses herself from the room, knowing he wouldn’t want to talk about it. ---------- Three years pass and still not much has changed, except Stan has roped her into working in the gift shop on busy days. He doesn’t like how much time she spent in the basement, and she had to admit she liked the experience of talking to people who were traveling. Most had a fun atmosphere about them.

However, on day a familiar face comes in. Stan was already on a tour when the door chimes. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack, tours are every half hours and…” She stops when her mind registers who it is. “Fids!” She shouts and runs around the counter to give him a hug.

He chuckles. “Good ta’ see you to, friend.”

“What brings you here?” She lets go of him and takes a step back.

“I kept hearing about this ‘Mystery Shack’ and had to find out if it was really this old cabin.” He tells her.

She bashfully looked at the ground. “The grant money ran out. Had to make money somehow.” She confides in him.

“I just never thought this would be Ford’s style.” He confesses, and watches her face fall into a frown.

“Fids, I…” She thought hard about how to tell him. “You were right about that portal being no good. I….” She sighs. “There's so much I need to tell you.”

“How ‘bout we have dinner and catch up sometime then?” He smiles, not knowing that Ford wasn’t included in the ‘we’.

She offers him a small smile. “That'd be nice.”

They agree on a date and time for her to come over to his place, and he goes to leave when Stan ushers a crowd of tourists into the gift shop. He makes his way over to you.

Your face is panicked and you look from him to Fids. Stan leans against the counted and mouths to you, “What a bunch of rubes.” He then turns to Fids and offers him his hand to shake. “Mister Mystery at your service.”

Now Fids looks at Stan’s hand, then to her, back to Stan. She sighs and places a hand over Stan’s, pushing it down. “Stan, this was mine and Ford’s colleague, Fiddleford.”

Stan’s eager grin falls from his face. “Oh,” he clears his throat. “Well I got a tour to give.” He excuses himself.

Fids gives her another look. “I’ll explain everything.”

A few nights later she arrives at Fiddleford’s house. He’s made a simple pasta dinner and they enjoy some small talk as they talk about their time in Gravity Falls. When they’re done they go and sit on his couch.

“I see Ford finally popped the big question.” Fids smiles as he looks at the ring on her finger.

She fidgets at it with her thumb. “He did, and we were on a spaceship no less.”

“No kiddin’?” He ignores the spaceship part as much as he can. “So what’s been going on in that cabin in the woods?” He finally asks.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “So it all started around the time you left.” She begins, and explains everything that happened, Ford falling into the portal, Stan taking care of you and the cabin.

“I’m so sorry,” Fids lays his hand on her knee. “I knew no good would come of that portal,” he said almost under his breath.

“If only we had listened to you sooner. Maybe all of this could have been avoided.” She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder, his hand not on her knee wraps around her shoulder and rubs circles with his thumb.

She can’t help but feel so welcome to the touch. It had been so long since a man had touched her. She stopped her thoughts there. Fids is just being kind, don't be a pervert, she scolded herself in her mind.

Her thoughts quickly changed, however, when he softly said her name. She tilted her head to look up at him, and his hand from her knee moved to hold her chin. He looked in her eyes for any sign she wanted to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she leaned up to hesitantly kiss him.

He kissed her back, more sure of himself than she was. After some kissing he slowly layed her back on the couch.

“Is this too much? If ya’ want I’ll stop just say the word.” He checks.

“Fids, it’s been so long since I’ve been touched. Please.” She almost whimpers, and he complies.

They’re time together is quick and imperfect, but leaves her feeling satisfied. Almost as soon as they are done she moves to put her clothes on.

“Leaving already?” He smirks.

“Fids, I…” She's unsure how to explain what that was. A moment of need and lust with no feelings?

“I’m just teasing, darling. Don’t have to mean nothing if ya’ don’t want it to.” He stands to dress as well, then walks her to the door. “Doors open anytime ya’ need me.”

She nods in understanding before scurrying off to Stan’s car she had borrowed. When she returns home her hair is out of place, shirt not tucked in correctly, and of course Stan is up late enough to comment.

“How was your date?” He jokes before he actually looks at her. He gives her a quick once over before grinning ear to ear. “You got laid? Nice!” He raises his hand for a high five but she just scowls at him.

She and Fiddleford see each other a few more times before calling it off. She can tell too much of his heart is in it and she doesn’t want to lead him on. He understands and they go their separate ways. It’s not long before she hears a rumor he’s got a steady girlfriend, and not long after that that he’s married with a kid.

The next time she sees him he’s not himself. He’s panicked and his country accent is more prominent than normal. He explains how he’s been using his memory eraser on himself, how all the things in Gravity Falls is too much for him. She tried to get him to promise to stop but he refuses. They argue and he raises his voice. She leaves, not to see Fiddleford for almost thirty year. ----------- She absolutely opposed the idea. “So let me get this straight,” she’s pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit she definitely picked up from Ford. “You want to fake your death?” She watches as Stan nods. “And pretend to be Ford?” He nods again. She slams her hands down on the table. “For what reason on Earth would you want to do that?”

“Listen, I’ve made some mistakes in my life,” he pauses as the look she gives him pretty much says she knows. “So I may have multiple warrants out for my arrest. If I’m gonna keep running the shack. It needs to be like Ford Pines and not Staley Pines!” He insists.

She sighs knowing he’s a little right. Sitting down at the kitchen table she looks up at him. “What about your mother, Stan?”

He pauses confused. “What about her?”

She scowls at him. “What do you mean ‘what about my mother’? Stanley Pines she's going to be heart broken. Not only has she not heard from you in almost ten years, the next thing she's going to hear about you is that you’re dead?” She pauses and thinks for a moment. “Well actually…”

“Well actually what?” Stan grunts.

“The last thing she heard about you was that you had joined Ford and I for Thanksgiving last year.” She looks up in thought. “At least that’s what my letter said.”

“You’ve been writing to my mother?” Stan’s face is distraught.

“Oh course I have! Ford never stopped working long enough to call her, so I started writing to her.” She looks annoyed at Stan.

“Did you say anything about…” He moves his hands awkwardly.

“Did I tell her Ford fell into a portal to another dimension and has been missing for almost five years? Yeah, Stan, I told her that.” She mocks. “Oh course I didn’t! To your parents and brother’s knowledge, Ford is still hard at work here in Gravity Falls with his loving girlfriend!”

Stan looks at hurt like a kicked puppy and she sighs, before saying she’d be right back. When she returns she has a handful of hand written papers. “These,” she sets them on the table, “are all from your mother.”

Stan looks over at them as she spreads them out. “I, listen Stan.” She gently touches his shoulder. “I know you haven't talked since you were kicked out, but your mother still loves you. Maybe… I don’t know, write her a letter before you go through with your choice.” And with that she leaves the room.

Stan waits a moment then sits down at the table. He reaches for the letter on top and begins to read.

Dearie, Thank you so much for taking the time to write. I know how busy Ford is. I love the picture you sent of you and Ford at the waterfall, we have it hanging in the living room. When are you two getting married? I can only wait so long for grandkids!

I was surprised to hear Stanley joined you for Thanksgiving, I didn’t even know he and Ford were talking again. Makes my heart glad to hear two brothers can make up. How did he look? Was he taking care of himself? I love that boy to death but he never did a good job taking care of himself. He needs a good woman like you in his life!

Stan sets down the letter, unable to read on through the tears that are clouding his vision. He wipes some away before deciding on what to do. After finding a pen and paper he sits back down to scrawl out his own message.

Hey Ma, Long time no talk. Listen, this message will be short. I know you haven’t heard from me in awhile I just wanted to say hey. Hope you and the old man are well, Shermie too.

I’ve been having the time of my life traveling the country. I even visited sixer and met the lovely lady in his life, boy what a catch, huh? Anyways I’ve got to get going. Adventure awaits and all that.

Love you, Stanley Pines ---------- A few days later she's sitting in the cabin kitchen to read the paper, she unfolds it to read STAN PINES DEAD across the front of it and sighs. She looks up at him over the paper and he’s staring out the window.

She sets the page of the newspaper aside. “Who’s going to tell your family?”

Stan eventually sits down at the phone and dials a number. His voice isn’t his as he pretends to be his brother. “Hello, mother. Yes, we’re doing just fine thank you for asking. Listen, I, uh, I have some bad news.”

She watches as he talks to his mother. Tears form in her eyes at the sounds of Ford’s voice. She wondered how he could sound so perfectly like him. Stan said a few more things before motioning her over.

“Ma want to talk to you.” Stan says.

She wipes a tear away and takes the phone. “Mrs.Pines, I’m so sorry. Yes, I know.” Stan listens to one side of the conversation. “Yes, ma, of course he knew you loved him.” She looks at Stan with tears in her eyes. “Of course he loved you too.”

Stan turned from her to hide his tears.

At his funeral she made an excuse, saying Ford was too heartbroken to come, as Stan watched from a distance away, as his family buried an empty casket in the ground. On the drive home she lay her head in Stanley’s lap, red eyes from crying with his mother.

They were silent for hours until she spoke. “Stan?”

He grunts in response.

“Do you think….” she doesn’t finish her thought.

“Don’t say it.” Stan frowns.

“Do you think Ford is dead?” She chokes out.

Stan pulls the car over to a screeching halt. She’s startled and sits up.

“Don’t,” he whispered before raising his voice. “Don’t you ever think like that!”

Stan stops from yelling more when he looks at her. Her shoulders are hunched over and her head is down, her hands held over her chest. Stan could compare her to a lost kitten.

He groans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, but we can’t afford to think like that. Ford’s alive I can feel it. If anything happened to him, I’d know.”

She nods, still clearly shaken by his sudden agner. He sighs and motions her closer, she complies and he pulls her into a hug. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs into his shoulder.

One morning a few months later the shacks received a call that Mr.Pines had passed. She’s there to comfort him, and a few years later he gets the same call about his mother, she’s still there by his side.

---------- On the thirteenth year anniversary of Ford’s disappearance, as she still called it, Stan found her sitting in front of the portal reading his journal. He sighed and sat down next to her.

“This is no way to spend a Friday night, kid.” He says.

She smiles, but it isn't sad. “It’s a fine way to spend it for me.”

“You seem awfully cheery for… today.” Stan comments.

She sighs, almost sounding content. “It’s just, the more time goes by the more sure I am we’ll get him back.”

He just stares at her. “Well I’m glad you feel that way. But for me, tonight I’m thinking about pitt cola and some dark liquor. Care to join?”

She snaps the journal shut. “Absolutely.”

A few hours later they are playing a childish game of never have I ever, clearly calling the other out. He’s sat in his armchair, she’s sat on the dinosaur skull next to him.

“Never have I ever been to jail.” She sneers as Stan drinks from his cup.

“Never have I ever kissed someone’s twin brother.” Stan sneers back. She rolls her eyes as she drinks.

“Never have I ever faked my death.” She laughs.

“Never have I ever, um, slept with my fiance's college roommate.” He watches as she narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s low Stanley,” she takes a drink. “Never have I ever lost a girlfriend to a hippie.” She bites her lip to stop her shit eating grin.

Stan frowns as he drinks. “Alright I’ve had enough of that game.”

“Why,” she jeers. “Because you know I have more dirt on you than you do me?” She turns to straddle her chair.

He grumbles some excuse and drinks more.

“Oh that’s exactly why.” She takes a drink.

“Well what do you expect, kid? I’ve lived a life of crime and you went to college and met a nice boy, who swept you off your feet to a romantic cabin in the woods.” He huffs.

“Hmm,” she thinks. “I suppose that’s true. Stan why haven’t you found a nice girl, or guy, to settle down with?” She asks sincerely.

“I’ve been too busy. Plus I got you to take care of.” He laughs as she punches his arm.

“I could take care of myself if you want to go off and get married. You’re a total catch Stan, some girl would be happy to be with you.” She smiles and finishes her drink.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He jokes.

“I’m just being honest, any Pine’s boy is a catch. Why do you think Sermie is already married with a grown kid? Plus I got lucky and snatched up the cute twin before someone else got him.” She jokes and Stan shoves her shoulder playfully, however in her buzzed state she begins to fall back. Stan moves to catch her, both his hand landing on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she breaths, her face right next to his. Before she knows it Stan leans in and gives her a kiss. She kisses back, after a few kisses they both pull back.

She laughs and covers her mouth. He chuckles too.

“Yeah, that was weird.” He states.

“Yeah, don’t do that again.” She bursts out laughing and he blushes. ---------- On the twentieth anniversary Stan wakes up to the sound of banging. He sits up with a start and heads down stairs to the basement. He finds her hard at work tinkering away.

“You alright, kid?” He asks.

“When are you going to stop calling me kid, Stanley? We’re a few years apart, not to mention, we’re almost senior citizens.” She smirks.

“Gross, don’t say that.” He scratches himself. “But what are you doing down here so early?”

She continues what she was working on. “I just feel like we’re so close. Closer than we’ve ever been. Don’t you feel it too?” Her eyes are bright and hopeful.

Stan doesn’t really feel the same, but with the look she’s giving him, there's no way in hell he’d say it outloud. “I trust your instinct.” He starts helping her before she yells at him to go put on clothes and change out of his slippers. ---------- It's a gloomy day outside, the wind is howling and the snow comes down in blankets. She's sat in the arm chair with a pen and paper, writing something down when Stan walks by.

“What’re you up to today, toots?” Stan asks.

She doesn't reply lost in her writing. He leans over to take a look before she pulls it against her chest.

“Are you writing a letter?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t everyone we know dead?”

She scowls. “You still have two brother who are alive, buttface.”

“You write Shermie?”

“Not often but I do. This isn’t for him though.” She pouts.

Stan pauses and thinks before he speaks, what a rarity. “It’s for Ford?”

She slowly nods. “I’ve written him a letter every year on his anniversary since he’s been gone. Today marks twenty five years. Just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Stan frowns.

She lets out a small laugh. “Stan we aren’t exactly spring chickens. I could have a heart attack tomorrow and-”

“Don’t talk like that, Ford will be back soon, you won’t need those lousy letters to tell him what’s been going on around here.” Stan states gruffly.

She smiles. “I’m sorry if me talking of my own mortality upset you Stan. I won’t mention it again.” ---------- “Shermie’s grandkids are coming up for the summer.” Stan tells her one morning over breakfast.

“Really?” She beams. “I can’t wait to meet then, Stanley that’s so exciting!” Her smile wavers for a second. “But, Gravity Falls really isn't the safest place for kids.”

“What was I supposed to tell Shermie’s kids, No they can’t come because there's gnomes and mythical creatures in the forest?” He pinches his nose. “It’ll be good to get those city slickers in the forest for a while, toughen them up.”

“How old are they?”

“12.”

[fallen-gravity]

awaken the stars, ‘cause they’re all around you

Stanford Pines never really believed in soulmates.

He can't imagine the idea that there's one person out there for him in the multiverse who would stop at nothing to love him for who he is, despite everything he is and everything he's done. He can't imagine that someone out there is meant for him, someone who will stand by his side until the end of time.

Or maybe he'd just been looking at it from the wrong angle.

Notes: 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @stariousfalls!!!!! I can't believe we've been friends for upwards of five years now?? You've been a huge inspiration of mine from my first day in the gravity falls fandom back in late 2014, and now you're one of my closest friends. I've been spending the last week and a half working on this behind your back, because I wanted to surprise you with a gift I thought you'd love!!

7.5k words of fluff was....not my original plan, but fluff brain wanted to go feral for you, I guess.

Huge, huge shoutout to @ariasofelegance  for helping me keep my mouth shut about this, I absolutely would've internally combusted without your help & support

AO3

Ford never saw the appeal of romantic relationships.

One night when he and Stan were kids, they snuck downstairs in the middle of the night after their parents were asleep to dig through Pa’s “Secret stash” of movies he thought he was good at keeping a secret. They’d thought for sure they’d be coming across bootleg cuts of action movies that were still playing in theaters, or documentaries about how all of the politicians in power were secretly aliens. 

What they actually found was much more…sensual. They were both horrified, to say the least, but each time Ford had to turn away to prevent himself from gagging, he’d hear Stan beside him struggling not to laugh. 

For years, Ford was convinced coming across those tapes before he was old enough to fully comprehend what was happening in them is what had turned him off to relationships altogether. It certainly didn’t help that he was never able to experience romantic relationships firsthand, as every time he tried asking someone out in high school he’d just be laughed at or called a freak.

Though college was another story entirely, his feelings towards romantic relationships never seemed to change. He went out with a girl from his dungeons, dungeons, and more dungeons club for a few weeks, a guy from his advanced physics class for almost two months, and even tried going out with Fiddleford for upwards of nine months, but he never felt that deeper connection with any of them, no matter how much he wanted to feel that connection. 

It’d be forty more years before he learned the term aromantic, but when he was still in college he would brush off his parents’ questions about his relationship status by telling them he was too busy working on his thesis, which technically wasn’t all that far from the truth anyway.

Still, the faint sense of yearning never seemed to leave him be. Whenever he found gaps in his schedule, he would spend hours in his university library reading up on the science of relationships and their place in society. Though he no longer remembers most of the papers he read, one scientific study that’s always stuck with him was a dissertation written entirely on the concept of soulmates.

Everyone has a soulmate, the paper claimed. Though it may be decades until you properly meet, your path always leads to the moment that you and your soulmate are finally united. Once finally together, not a single force on earth can tear you apart. Even if you are apart physically, the stars will always align to bring you together. Weirdest of all, the paper mentioned soulmarks, which were described as “the phenomenon that a person’s very soul is marked with a piece that belongs to their soulmate, which may appear as a physical anomaly on a person’s body, such as an oddly-shaped birthmark”. 

Ford had thought for sure that somebody must’ve moved a romance novel into the sociology section of the library as a joke. The only sort of anomaly he had going for him was his polydactyly, and thinking too much about how that could connect him to a single person who was destined to love him gave him a headache. 

Nowadays, though, Ford tries not to give it much thought. He’s perfectly happy right where he is, watching the sunrise from the deck of the Stan O’ War II through the steam visibly rising from his coffee mug. 

He sighs contently. 

“Mornin’” Stan’s voice sounds beside him, gruff with sleep. When Ford turns to look at him, he’s rubbing at his eyes with one hand while he holds a steaming cup of coffee in his other. He’s already donning one of the sweaters Mabel mailed to him, a deep blue with a tropical island and a treasure chest stitched across the chest.

Ford smirks. “You’re up early” 

Stan cocks an eyebrow as he sips from his coffee. “A’course I am. I always get up early when we’re docking to see the kids”

Ford blinks, the teasing smirk on his face melting into a gentle smile. “That’s today?” 

“Haven’t you checked the calendar lately?” Stan tosses a second handmade sweater at Ford. This one’s the same shade of maroon as his journal covers, and pictures an angry cycloptopus squirting ink towards the bottom left corner of the sweater. “The kids are on spring break. They talked to their parents about letting us have ‘em all week” 

Ford is quick to pull the warm sweater over his head. “All week?” 

He can’t help sounding like a broken record, but it’s been months since the last time he saw the kids face to face. Sure, they talk over video at least once a week, but nothing beats seeing their smiling faces and having them nearly tackle him to the ground in a hug in-person. 

“Heh, you miss em too, Sixer?” 

As little as two years ago, Ford would’ve flinched at the nickname. But Bill is gone for good, and Ford knows that Bill is gone for good, and Stan made a promise to do anything in his power to help him reclaim the nickname. He brings his mug close to his face without taking a sip, allowing himself to take in the warmth in his hands and the steam in his face.

“Not as much as you, clearly” Ford smirks, and Stan crosses his arms over his chest.

“You bet I missed them more than you. I’d been taking care of them all summer before you showed up and fell in love with them in half that time”

Ford smirks as he finishes up his coffee and heads into the navigation room to set their course. “By that logic, wouldn’t that mean that I miss them more, since I had less time with them?”

“Hey!” Stan groans as he follows him into the room. “It does not. It means that you don’t know them like I know them, genius. Everyone knows that it’s all about how much time you’ve spent with a person that determines how close you are with them” 

Ford laughs as he enters the coordinates they need to get to the seaport they were meeting the young twins at. From the looks of it, it’d be three hours before they arrived. 

“Mm, and who put that study together? Was it you?” 

Stan doesn’t reply with words, just a noise that sounds halfway between disgruntled and baffled. It makes Ford laugh even harder, and he wipes at his eyes with a wrist. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Stan’s overdramatic pout melt away until he’s laughing too. 

The sight of it makes the smile on Ford’s face widen. It’d been decades since the two of them were able to just be like this. It’d been so long since the last time Ford heard Stan’s genuine laugh that he’d gone and forgotten what it sounded like altogether. When he was still traveling the multiverse, he searched far and wide for a shred of hope, something to keep his anxieties and nightmares from catching up to him.

What a fool he’d been to ignore his childhood memories of home. 

The trip is a quiet but familiar one. Ford can’t talk much when he’s steering because he needs to be on constant lookout, but Stan remains in the room to talk at him and keep him company anyway. The sun is well over the horizon by the time they reach the seaport, and call it instincts, intuition, or something else entirely, because Ford spots the kids sitting on a bench in the near distance the moment he and Stan step foot onto the dock. 

They’re squished closely together, watching a video on Mabel’s phone. Whether they’re aware of it or not, they’re swaying their legs back and forth underneath the bench in perfect unison. On the ground beside them are their backpacks, overstuffed with so many things that both of them are popping open. 

Most importantly, neither of them have noticed that Ford and Stan are approaching them. 

Ford exchanges an amused glance with Stan, and clears his throat to catch their attention. 

The phone nearly stumbles out of their hands in shock when they look up and meet their eyes.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel squeals, standing to sprint past Ford to knock Stan off of his feet. Ford chuckles at the sight, but not quickly enough to hear Dipper’s “Great Uncle Ford!”, and before he knows it he’s hitting the floor too. The young twins are laughing messes, and stumble over each other as they try to stand to their feet and help their Grunkles up. 

Mabel spits out the hair that stuck to her mouth, and pulls a hair tie seemingly out of thin air to tie her hair up into a ponytail. It’s only now that Ford realizes that she and Dipper are also both wearing sweaters, and if Ford had to guess, it looks like Mabel made both of these sweaters as well. Mabel’s is a galaxy print with actual twinkling stars, and Ford makes a mental note to ask her later what she did to make it glow like that. Dipper’s is also space themed, though his pictures the big dipper splotched across a black night sky with a bright orange meteor shooting through the center.

“You have to tell us about everything you’ve encountered”, Dipper beams, once Stan finishes brushing himself off. 

Stan cocks an eyebrow. “Two years’ worth is a lot to get through, kiddo”

“Exactly!” Mabel beams, turning to pick up her backpack and put it on. “Which is exactly why you can tell us on the way to the hotel!” 

“Hotel?” Ford and Stan ask in unison.

“Surprise?” Dipper giggles. “Our parents rented us a hotel room for the week cause they figured you’d appreciate some time away from the boat” 

“It’ll be like our summer in Gravity Falls all over again!” Mabel grins. “But in reverse! You’re in our territory now” 

Stan laughs. “You’re the boss, kiddo”

“You bet I am!” She beams, and hands Dipper his backpack. “Now c’mon! If you tell us all of the horrors you’ve encountered out at sea, we’ll tell you about all the horrors we’ve encountered in high school!”

“I...think I remember those horrors pretty well already, thank you” Ford smiles sheepishly, adjusting his glasses. “But we’d be more than glad to tell you some of our own stories”

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, but Ford honestly wouldn’t mind if they walked all the way to the hotel on foot if it meant an extra half an hour with the kids. They’re just as eccentric as he remembers, attached at the hip but still wildly different people all on their own. Dipper’s still hanging on to every word he’s saying, and Mabel’s still skipping along like she’s in her own world. 

Once they reach the hotel and check in, Dipper collapses face first onto one of the beds the moment he steps into the room, groaning. 

Stan smiles. “Something bothering you, kiddo?” 

He turns on his side to look Stan in the eye, his face smushing into the pillow. “Mabel didn’t let me get any sleep last night. She insisted on getting to the seaport three whole hours early because she insisted that she had this gut feeling that you guys would have the same idea and we’d magically show up at the same time” 

Mabel pouts, and sits on the bed besides him. “Well it’s not my fault you stayed up late reading that dumb book of yours. Plus, would you rather have kept them waiting for three hours?” 

Dipper removes his hat and places it on the table beside him, exposing just enough of his forehead through his hair to reveal his birthmark. It has the same faint glow to it as Mabel’s sweater, and Ford wonders how the two could possibly reflect off of each other. 

“Their boat has beds and a fully stocked kitchen, Mabel. They can afford to wait. All we had were those strawberry pop tarts that you ate five minutes after we got there”

Ford can’t help but smile softly at their banter. He missed them so, so, much more than he could’ve ever imagined. He’s got half a mind to stow them away on the boat at the end of the week and homeschool them both himself so he never has to be apart from them again.

Apart. The word still feels like a knife twisted into his chest. There’s nothing he regrets more than trying to separate the young twins from each other two summers ago because he’d been so caught up in projecting his own fears onto the pair. He’d tried apologizing to Mabel over the whole ordeal, but she stopped him before he could even start to tell him he had nothing to worry about.

He only wishes he could learn to forgive himself as easily as she did.

“...Can we, Grunkle Ford?”

He blushes. Had he just said all of that out loud?

“Can we...what?” 

“Take the boat out! Not right now, since Dips is being a grumpy-grump and insists on wasting precious time with a nap, but we’ve been talking about it all week”

From across the room, Stan snorts. “Let me get this straight,” he takes his jacket off and hangs it up in the closet. At this point Ford swears his eyes must be playing tricks on him, because Stan’s old burn scar is glowing just as Mabel’s sweater and Dipper’s birthmark are. “All the time you spent groaning and complaining about fishing every time I took you in Gravity Falls, and now you’re asking to go fishing?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a joy ride,” Dipper yawns from under the covers. “But if agreeing to go fishing is what gets you to say yes, then sure” 

He’s smirking under the covers, Ford can tell, because he inherited that expression from Stan.

Stan’s about to bite back, but Dipper must not have been exaggerating about how long he and Mabel were waiting for them at the dock, because he’s already out cold. Stan smiles at him, gently ruffling up his hair before he takes a seat on the adjacent bed, kicking his shoes off so he can kick his feet up on the bed and relax. Ford sits beside Stan, and Stan slings his arms behind him to support his head in his hands as he glances over at Ford. 

“They make you wanna retire the whole ‘treasure hunting’ thing and move into the city to be closer to ‘em too?”

Ford chuckles. “I’ve already considered hiding them away on the boat twice today already.” He taps at his chin. “Though I suppose that moving in with them would go over better with their parents then taking them away to live on a boat” 

“Hmm…” Stan taps at his chin as well. “Being stuck in the same stuffy high school for four years, or living on a boat traveling all over the world whenever they feel like it? I dunno about you, Sixer, but I have a pretty good idea on what the kids would prefer”

“Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Ford?” Mabel’s voice suddenly chimes in, and Ford blushes, wondering how much of that she just heard. 

“What’s on your mind, pumpkin?” Stan asks. 

“Well, uh, Dipper was right about us only eating once really early this morning, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to, uh” She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Cook something for us? For old time’s sake?”

Okay, it’s settled, Ford’s never letting these kids go again. 

“Sure, kiddo. Soon as your brother’s up we’ll head right back up, okay?” 

“Okay!” she beams, and crawls back into her side of the bed, staring at Dipper like she can will him into waking up on command. 

Though Ford would’ve been okay if they’d had to wait hours for him, it’s really only about twenty minutes before Dipper opens his eyes again and nearly shrieks in surprise at Mabel’s face hovering three inches from his own. He smacks his hand into her face to shove her away, and she giggles as she rolls off the bed and onto the floor. 

Beside Ford, Stan smirks. “Better get up before we leave without you and all our food goes to Mabel, kiddo. You’ve got plenty of time to crash in Ford’s bed on the ship, since he never seems to use it anyway”

Dipper yawns, rubbing at his eyes as he kicks the covers off. “I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep”

“I didn’t realize you were even capable of sleep, bro-bro” Mabel punches him in the shoulder as she walks past him to put her shoes on. He glares at her wordlessly, and Ford has to cover up his snicker with a fake cough. 

This time, the bus ride and the walk back to the ship are a quiet one. Ford never really lets himself let his guard down and relax for an extended period of the time, so he cherishes any moment he can get where he finally feels like he doesn’t constantly feel the need to check over his shoulder for signs of danger. Most of the time, if you asked him about his heightened senses, he’d call them a curse. But on days like these, when he can hear the birds chirping and the waves smacking gently against the boats in the seaport, he’d almost go as far as calling it a blessing. 

The kids take a seat at the dining table as soon as they enter the kitchen, and Stan grins at them from over his shoulder as he clicks the stove on. “Whaddya say, Stancakes?” 

Dipper and Mabel grimace in unison. “Ewwww, Grunkle Stan, you promised lunch!” Mabel scrunches her nose, and Stan’s grin only widens. 

“Ah, ah, you said like old times. That means I get to decide what to make, and you have to eat it because I’m your legal guardian”.

“Well I wasn’t even awake when you were talking about old times, so I’d say that cancels out” Dipper crosses his arms over his chest, and Ford can’t help but smile warmly at the three of them as he reaches into the cupboard for his favorite coffee mug. The younger twins clearly had just gotten two copies of the same mug, but crossed both of them out so they’d say #1 GRUNKLES on them instead of #1 UNCLE. Stan has the other one, of course, but he keeps it on his bedside to hold small treasures and keepsakes because it’s, in his own words, “Too special to waste on something as ordinary as coffee”.

Ford sits himself in the seat between the younger twins at their okay, and after some back and forth banter between the four of them, they end up settling for burgers. Truth be told, this is the first time Ford’s eaten a meal in a group larger than two since the last time he and Stan visited the young twins in the winter, and he can’t help but smile into his food at the thought. The closest he’d come even remotely close to eating with others in his research years was his very, very brief time at the truck stop diner, and the experience had soured his view of...well, other people for near decades.

Now, though, he’d burn his own research dozens of times over before he’d even consider eating alone.

Stan’s chair scraping across the floor as he stands pops Ford out of his bubble of serenity. 

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Stan cracks his knuckles, smiling mischievously at Dipper and Mabel. “I think I remember a couple of kiddos finally promising their Grunkle Stan he could take them fishing”

“Promise is a strong word-” Dipper starts as he stands to place his plate in the sink, but Stan’s already placing a fishing hat on his head before he can finish his sentence. 

“Course you did! You wanna take our baby for a joyride, you gotta earn it first”

Dipper turns to Ford, like he’s expecting him to back him up.

Ford chuckles. “I don’t know, Dipper. That sounds perfectly reasonable to me”.

Dipper scoffs, sitting back down at the table. Mabel laughs. 

“Aww, C’mon, Dipper! Aren’t you all about the supernatural? For all we know, Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford could be harboring magical glowing bait that only attracts, like, magical talking fish men, or something!” 

Dipper raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just receive a bottle message from Mermando last week?”

“Exactly!” Mabel flashes a grin. “That must mean that he’s in the area!”

Stan laughs. “You tellin’ me you only agreed to go fishing so you could kiss and make-up with your long-distance fish boyfriend?”

“Grunkle Stan, what kind of person do you take me for?” she gasps. “He’s married! You know I would never want to break apart such a loving couple!”

Ford’s smile only warms. Where else could he partake in such a conversation that doesn’t turn heads and result in judgmental whispers? Where else can he just be like this, surrounded by loved ones who are just as weird, just as out of the ordinary as himself? In his younger years he thought for sure his place would be among the monsters and cryptids everyone in his childhood made him out to be, but even in the weirdness capital of the country he felt more alone than ever. 

“...Don’t think you’re immune, Sixer” Stan’s voice cuts into his thoughts, and before Ford can ask what he means Stan is smacking a homemade fishing cap on his head. “It may ruin your badass image when we’re monster hunting, or whatever, but we’re fishing with the kids.” Stan gestures to them with his thumb. They’re already outside, leaning over the railing to look out at the water in a perfect mirror of each other.  “If they have to embarrass themselves by humoring me for a few hours, so do you” 

Ford waits for Stan to join the kids outside before he takes his hat off to admire the stitch work. It’s not perfect, and nowhere near the fancy embroidery he and Stan have found in various markets across their world travels. But it’s personalized, and Ford knows it comes from a place in Stan’s mind that’s been stuck behind lock and key since he was seventeen.

Ford runs his hands along each individual letter, which reads POINDEXTER, before placing it back on his head to join the others outside. 

Stan has, miraculously, already pulled out his joke book. Stan’s laughing too hard at his own joke for Ford to really make out what the punchline is, but the younger twins’ collective groans is all he needs to know about it. When Mabel notices him stepping out of the doorway, though, her expression shifts entirely. 

“So…” she draws out, stepping towards him. “Is there a trick for attracting merpeople to your boat? I mean, asides from being super cute, obviously” 

Ford chuckles, taking a glance behind her to make sure that Stan is out of earshot. “Stan’ll kill me if I tell you this, but they’re really attracted towards shiny things. If you tied one of his gold necklaces around a fishing pole and dangled it into the water, the boat’ll be surrounded in minutes” 

Mabel offers up her pinkie finger. “I won’t tell him if you won’t”

Ford interlocks his pinkie with hers, smiling. “I think he’ll notice when a whole family of merpeople show up”

“Hmmm…” Mabel taps at her chin with her free hand, visibly mouthing a plan to herself. “Oh! I know! Come with me,” she beams, and before Ford can even open his mouth to respond she’s already dragging him back into the kitchen. She kneels down on the floor and opens the cupboard below the sink. “Got any empty bottles I can use?”

Ford blinks. “Empty....bottles”

“Yeah!” Mabel pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out of her skirt. “If I can send out my response letter the same time we throw Stan’s necklace over, he’ll never be able to tell the difference!”

“Wait, wait” Ford shakes his head. “You really are dating a merperson?”

“Listening skills, Grunkle Ford” she taps at her forehead, folding the letter back into her pocket as she continues to dig through the cupboards. “Used to date. We met at the Gravity Falls Public Pool, where he was stuck, but then I drove him to the lake in a golf cart I stole from the pool grounds because he really missed his family, and then he was my first kiss, and then we were in a long-distance relationship for like, two months, and I kept every single bottle he sent me, but then we had to break up because he was arranged to marry to prevent a big undersea war.” She picks up a bottle, shakes it, and puts it back when it’s too full for her liking. “I know it sounds, like, super complicated, but it’s all okay, because we’re still pen pals!” 

Ford laughs, shaking his head. “No, Mabel, I had to ask because I, uh…” his cheeks warm, and he clears his throat. “Before I...came to term with my orientation, I...dated a merperson too” 

The bottles in the cupboard rattle as Mabel’s head smacks against the doorframe. She’s rubbing the spot where her head hit, but there are stars in her eyes. “Really?” 

Ford’s cheeks burn even hotter. “Yes,” he whispers, and takes a knee so he can get at her eye level. “Technically he was a siren, but yes, we dated for about a month. He promised me he wouldn’t entice anyone else while we were together, but I guess there wasn’t anything...there.” He turns to help her shuffle through the cupboard, and finds a near-empty bottle of olive oil that’s definitely been sitting down there for at least a year. He hands it off to Mabel, smiling. “I’m glad that things worked out with you, though” 

To his surprise, Mabel drops the bottle and throws her arms around him in a hug. “I can’t wait to introduce you! He’s gonna love you”

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, and pulls her close as he winds his arms around her as well. The hug only lasts for a few brief moments, but it feels to Ford in those moments that time itself had stopped. Mabel stands, taking the bottle in one hand and offering to help Ford up in her other. 

Mabel places the bottle in the sink and turns the water on to rinse it out before she turns back towards Ford, stretching her arms up in the air as if she were warming up for an exercise. “Alright, here’s the plan. You tell me where Grunkle Stan keeps all of his jewelry, and I’ll sneak in and take his necklace while you distract him. Got it?”

Ford smiles. “Got it”.

As Mabel splits away for Stan’s bedroom, Ford heads back out to the deck. Dipper’s leaning over the side of the boat pointing at something jumping out of the water, rambling excitedly to Stan beside him. He’s holding his fishing hat in his hand to stop it from blowing into the water, and his hair is bouncing in the breeze. It’s just enough for the edge of his birthmark to poke through his bangs, and even in broad daylight it seems to be emitting a faint glow.

“I found it!” Mabel cheers, bounding up from behind him. She’s wearing the chain around her neck, and for some reason the gold seems much dimmer in contrast to her sweater. She takes it off and hands it to him. “You wanna do the honors while I go and throw this overboard?”

Ford smiles, ruffling her hair. “Sure thing.” He walks over to where Stan and Dipper are chatting and picks up one of the extra fishing rods. Making sure that Stan’s too engrossed with his conversation to notice, Ford starts wrapping the chain along the line, and at the signal from Mabel, he tosses his line as far from the boat as he can manage.

Five minutes pass before Mabel squeals so loud that Ford’s afraid his glasses might shatter. He reaches for the gun he knows he’s got stashed in his pants pocket, but when he turns to run to her aid she’s leaning halfway over the boat wrapping her arms around a young merman in a tight hug.

“...so good to see you again!” She’s beaming. “I didn’t think you’d be able to find us so quickly!”

“Yes, well, you were easy to track down after we figured out the coordinates to the seaport” the young man says in a thick Spanish accent. “It is good to see you too! My family was so excited to meet you”

“Your family?” she gasps. “Did they all come with you?” 

“Of course!” he grins. “We merpeople are very family oriented. Wherever we go, we go together” 

Ford winces at the uncanny familiarity of the statement. Mabel must recognize the statement too, because she responds with “Oh, that reminds me! There’s someone I want you guys to meet! Wait right here,” she says, and comes bouncing back over to Ford. Taking his hand in her own, she starts to drag him back to where she’d just been leaning. “C’mon! He’s the one I was just talking about!”

Three more merpeople emerge from the water when she gently knocks on the side of the boat again. “Grunkle Ford, this is Mermando!” she grins, gesturing to the young merman she’d just been conversing with. “He’s the one I helped reunite with his family after they were separated by tragic circumstances.” She wraps her arms around Ford in a side-hug. “Mermando, this is my Grunkle Ford! He was also separated from his family by tragic circumstances, but I helped with that too!” 

Mermando laughs. “Even when you think it’s the end, family always finds its way, doesn’t it?”

Ford laughs, shaking his hand. “It always seems that way to me”

“Awwww!” Mabel squeals. “I knew you’d get along!” She grins, and turns her attention back towards Mermando. “Before I forget, though, did you see where Grunkle Ford threw that gold necklace? If I don’t get it back my Grunkle Stan’s gonna kill me”

Mermando laughs again. “I was wondering if that belonged to any of you!” He takes off his shell necklace to reveal that he’d put Stan’s necklace on around his neck. He takes that off, too, and offers it to Ford. “I much prefer this one, anyway” he clicks his shell necklace open, revealing it to be a locket with a picture of his family inside.

Ford takes the gold necklace back, and he means to thank him, but a bell ringing from elsewhere in the port interrupts him before he can open his mouth. Mermando turns to Mabel, taking her hands in his own. “We must go. I’m so sorry we have to leave so soon, but we merpeople recognize the sounds of fishing boats very easily. We’ll try to come back later this week” He opens his arms for her once more, and Mabel wraps his arms around him in a quick hug before she watches him and his family swim away. 

“I am so glad that all you were doing was hugging,” Dipper shudders as he and Stan approach Ford and Mabel. “I’m not sure my stomach could handle witnessing you two kissing a second time” 

“Awww,” Mabel punches him playfully in the shoulder. “You’re just jealous that I had a boyfriend before you did!” 

Dipper cringes. “If you having a boyfriend before I do means I didn’t have to be the one dating a fish, then I’m glad you were the one who got stuck with him first” He punches her back, and gestures at Stan over his shoulder with his thumb. “But anyways, I came over here because Grunkle Stan says he wants to get out on the open water before everyone else gets the idea, or something”.

Ford pockets Stan’s necklace and makes a mental note to put it away sometime later tonight when Stan is too distracted to notice. “Tell Stan I’m going to untie the rope from the edge of the dock, and when he sees me back on board we’re all set to go.”

Nodding, Dipper bounds off towards the navigation room where Stan must be waiting, and Ford steps off of the boat to take care of everything else. On the way to the bow, he traces a hand along the white painted STAN O’ WAR II, and a feeling of warmth sprouts in his chest. Once back on board, he waves to Stan as he passes besides the navigation room once more, and takes a seat on one of the beach chairs they liked to keep aboard. 

Most days, Ford prefers to be the one at the wheel. But every once in a while he just wants to be. All he wants to do is lean back in one of their beach chairs and let the sun warm his face. It’s a good kind of warm, the same way spending time with the kids and heavy rain hitting his bedroom window and planning new escapades with Stan feel warm. After so, so long of only knowing unbearable burns, it feels indescribable to have a constant back in his life that heals, rather than hurts. 

“Mind if we join you?” Dipper asks, and Ford glances over to see both of the young twins dragging a chair behind them.

Speaking of healing constants.

“Sure,” Ford says, and can’t help the warmth spilling through his tone. They pull their chairs up on either side of him, and curl up to enjoy the warm breeze. Dipper places his hat on his lap to let the wind blow through his hair, and Mabel stretches her arms out behind her head to act as her own pillow. Ford chuckles silently at the pair, and closes his eyes to let himself relax.

All is quiet when Stan finally finds them a spot out on the open water without a single other boat in sight. The water is nearly still, save for the occasional small wave that gently sways the boat. The sun is at its afternoon high, turning the water beautiful shades of teal and aqua. Fishing is tedious, but it’s careful work, and gives Ford something to put all of his focus into. Two whole hours pass before any of them catch a thing, and Stan laughs himself to tears when it’s Dipper who pulls up a single sardine. 

Typically Ford prefers much more immersive activities, but right now there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. The sun is starting to set before they realize they aren’t going to have much luck catching anything, and instead decide to take the boat for another ride around the harbor to look for a better place to eventually watch the stars. 

“...Great Uncle Ford?” Dipper approaches him shyly once they’ve anchored the boat.

“Yes?”

He tugs shyly at the edge of his sweater. “I…” he starts. “I know you’ve told me that the multiverse was dangerous, and all, but...was there ever anything you enjoyed about it?” He pauses. “What were the sunsets like?”

Ford chuckles, patting at the seat beside him, and Dipper’s eyes light up as he sits down.

“You’re right,” Ford starts, folding his hands together. “I wouldn’t wish what I went through on even my worst enemies, Dipper. It was practically impossible to get any decent amount of sleep and even harder to find food digestible by human kind. I lost some of my best years to the multiverse when I could’ve gone on to become the most renowned scientist in the world.” Ford turns his gaze away from the sun setting on the horizon to meet Dipper’s eyes, but he’s frowning, eyes cast downwards towards the deck of the ship.

“But,” Ford adds before the poor kid can get too lost in his own head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It definitely had its perks.” He smiles. “The sun in Dimension 18.2 would emit a sound that mimicked a lullaby every night as it set. Dimension 47’23 had three moons that would shift phases before your very eyes. I haven’t told Mabel because I’m afraid she’ll try activating a portal of her own and run away, but in Dimension 25-12, everyone and everything looks like a watercolor painting. There’s danger in the multiverse, but there’s beauty in equal measure”

“Do you ever miss it?” Dipper fiddles with his hands, like he’s trying real hard not to say the wrong thing. “I mean, I know you don’t miss being lost, or having no idea if you’re ever going to see home again, but...is there any dimension...where you could’ve seen yourself staying, if you thought you couldn’t make it back?” 

Ford shifts in his chair so he doesn’t have to twist his neck so much to look directly at his nephew. “Occasionally,” he muses. “I met the most friendly faces in Dimension 52, so my mind does tend to wander there from time to time” he smiles. “But rest assured, there is something in this dimension that makes it my favorite”

“Oh yeah?” Dipper’s eyes light up. “Over every other dimension you’ve passed through? What is it?”

Ford gently nudges Dipper’s shoulder. “You and your sister”

Dipper’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks as though he’s struggling not to bury his face into the collar of his sweater and disappear. “Really?” his voice squeaks.

Ford nods. “Everything I had in those other dimensions were fleeting, Dipper. At a moment’s notice everything I grew to love could disappear in the blink of an eye. The very thing happened to me in Dimension 52. When I fell asleep, I woke up in a new dimension I didn’t recognize. Things may have been more advanced, and there may have been dimensions crafted to give you your greatest desires, but in the end nothing ever lasted.” 

Now it’s Ford’s turn to divert Dipper’s eyes, gaze casting towards the floor. “Stan was cut from my life completely in the dimension that claimed to be a perfect world. I had nobody. Even in dimensions that actively worked towards my happiness, I was all alone” Ford shakes his head, and turns his gaze once more out on the horizon. The sun is still touching the horizon, but it’s dipped just low enough that some of the stars are beginning to show in the sky. 

“But...here, at home, everything is consistent. I don’t have to worry about waking up in the morning to find that everyone I love is gone. I can keep everyone in arm’s lengths, even when Stan and I can only communicate with you and your sister over a video call. I’m…” Ford gently squeezes his hands to reassure himself that this is real and now. “...happy. Happier than I’ve been in decades” 

Beside him, Dipper yawns, and when Ford spares a glance over at him he’s smiling at him sleepily.  “We’re really happy you’re here too, Grunkle Ford” he murmurs, and his eyes slip closed. Ford’s cheeks flush pink, and he has to choke back a laugh because that’s one of the first times Dipper’s felt comfortable enough to call him Grunkle. 

Ford stands, so as not to wake Dipper from his nap. A small glance to his right and he catches a glimpse of Stan and Mabel leaning against the side of the boat watching the sunset just outside of earshot of his current conversation with Dipper.

“You finally bore him to sleep with all your nerdy science talk?” Stan asks as he approaches, sparing a glance behind him at Dipper. “Was starting to think that the poor kid would never get a nap in” 

“Yes, well,” Ford smirks. “I’m sure it helped plenty that you bored him to death by taking him fishing first”

Stan gasps in mock offense, and slugs him in the shoulder. “Hey, at least I’m engaging them in something they can actually interact with, unlike your kooky alien stories, or whatever”

Ford can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Bold statement coming from the man who dedicated thirty years of his life rescuing me from said kooky aliens” he says, returning with a punch of his own. Stan opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing to say, and closes his mouth. The sight of it makes Ford laugh even harder, keeling over and slapping a hand on Stan’s shoulder to support himself. It must be contagious, because it’s not long before Stan is laughing too.

Ford removes his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes, and cleans off the lenses with the edge of his sweater. Once his eyes adjust after he puts them back on, his throat nearly catches in his throat when he glances back out towards the water. He’s just able to catch a shooting star before it disappears over the horizon, and the boat’s just far out enough on the water that there isn’t an ounce of light pollution obscuring the rest of the stars in the sky.  He takes a few steps back so he can look up and admire more of them at once, and if he looks close enough he can see them twinkling. 

Before he can ask the others if they’re seeing the same thing, a bright flash of light coming from somewhere on the boat cuts into his thoughts. He turns, to make sure that none of the lights in any of the rooms are on, but no, they’d turned those off when they’d started fishing. Scratching at his head, he turns to Stan and Mabel to ask if they have any idea where the light is coming from, but that question catches in its throat as quickly as it formulated.

They’re the ones emitting light.

Or, rather, Mabel’s sweater and Stan’s shoulder, approximately where his burn scar should be. Those are emitting light. 

...Surely it must just be the reflection of the starlight on the water, right? That same bright light must have woken Dipper from his nap, yes? 

He turns heel to ask Dipper the same question, but freezes in his tracks before he can take a single step forward. Dipper’s forehead is glowing too, the same way it has since he and Stan docked the boat this morning. 

It...It can’t be, can it?

Gripping his forehead, Ford takes a number of steps backwards until his back hits the wall. Maybe...maybe he just needs to call it a night. He’s been awake since sunrise, maybe his vision is just blurring because he needs to lie down? 

He waves his hands in front of his face, but no, those don’t look any different. He squints, to make sure his hands aren’t shaking, but no, they’re perfectly still.

He squints at Stan and Mabel, just to try and see if his eyes are watering, and-

He gasps. 

Mabel’s sweater, Dipper’s forehead, Stan’s shoulder; they’re not glowing; they’re twinkling like the stars. It was hard to tell in broad daylight, but now that they’re surrounded by a thousand shining stars, the resemblance is unmistakable. 

But...that’s not possible. If he can see them twinkling, but none of them have said anything about it, that could only be if those were…

...soulmarks. 

Ford suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out. 

He slides to the floor.

Is...Is that even possible? Ford thought for sure that study he read years ago was nothing but a joke. Someone...who does everything in their power to bring you two together, no matter the cost? Someone who, even though you may not meet for decades, will feel as though you’ve known each other their entire lives? Someone who will do anything for you, no matter the personal expense?

Someone...someone like Stan, who spent a painstaking thirty years teaching himself quantum physics to rescue someone that anyone else would assume dead? The man who sacrificed his very mind, his very life, so he could be spared physical torture?

Or...someone like Mabel, the first friendly face he saw after emerging from the portal? The one who forgave him so easily after he tried to separate her from her brother? The one who insists on calling him a good person, despite all of those he knows he hurt? 

Or...Dipper? His kindred spirit in all things supernatural? The one who, alongside his sister, sacrificed himself as bait for the most dangerous being in the entire multiverse? Who saw memories of him at his very worst, and apologized to him for snooping?

After everything he’s been through...could things really work out that well in his favor? To not have one soulmate but three, and the guarantee that they’ll never leave, because they’ve already expressed how they love him so? 

There’s a tear streaming down his cheek at the thought, but he’s too distracted by a fourth light suddenly emitting from...himself to really notice.

He spares a cautious glance downward, and notices a pulsing light emerging from his chest in perfect time with his heartbeat. If he looks closely, he notices that the light travels down his arms and ties itself into a translucent bow around his fingers. If he looks closer still, the light looks as though it’s slinking faintly across the deck of the boat and reaching towards the gentle twinkling of Stan and Mabel’s marks.

Ford places a hand to his forehead, throws his head back, and laughs his throat dry, paying no mind to the tears pouring down his face.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 4 - Fiddleford to the Rescue

Stan started when there was a sharp knocking at the front door. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming – but evidently Ford had known, because he jumped up to let them in. The person who stepped inside was a twig of a man, carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The guy looked pretty tired – sorta like those people who sometimes slept under the jetty with bloodshot eyes and cans scattered around them. But this man didn’t reek of beer and cigarettes. Blue eyes darted around behind thick glasses before landing on Stan and softening.

“Ah. This is your brother, I ‘spect?” The stranger spoke with a thick accent. Stan hadn’t heard an accent like his before.

“Yes. Thank you for coming.” Ford was a flurry of motion, darting here and there and packing things in a big shoulder bag. “I need to go, I have to get this barrier up as soon as possible. I should be back by this evening. There’s food in the fridge, I’m not sure what bills I’ve paid recently so there may or may not be hot water, and Stanley, behave!”

With that Ford disappeared, the front door slamming behind him. Stan froze, voice squeaking in a totally cool and manly way.

“Wait – Ford? Where are you-”

Yeah, he was already gone. Leaving Stan alone with this strange man. Stan stood self-consciously in the middle of the lounge, hyper aware of those eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

The stranger broke the silence first, kneeling down to be at eye-level with Stan. “You must be Stanley. I guess Ford forgot ta introduce us. Wouldn’t be the first thing ‘e forgot.” The guy smiled a slightly crooked smile and held out one hand. “I’m Fiddleford, an old… friend of ya brother’s. I’m here to look after ya for a while. Is that okay?”

“…I guess so.” Stan stepped forward hesitantly to shake the man’s hand. Despite its thinness his hand was rough and calloused, worn with work. His smile was infectious and Stan found himself mirroring it. “You can call me Stan. Everyone does.”

“Well then, you can call me Fidds.” Fiddleford’s bright eyes combed over him for a moment before the man started riffling through his duffel bag. “Now, I got some old clothes of my son’s that I figure will fit better than that shirt. You wanna give it a shot?”

Stan nodded eagerly. “Yeah! Who’s your son? Is he coming too?”

“No, Tate’s in California right now.” The man lifted a couple items of clothing. “Alright, let’s take a looksee at what we got.”

 Stanford’s little brother was cute as a button. Well, twin brother apparently, not that that made much of a difference right now. The boy was all gap-toothed grins and twinkling eyes and curious questions. Fiddleford let him choose some clothes he liked – a pirate shirt and a pair of faded yellow shorts – and helped the little kid get dressed. Stan chatted excitedly the whole time.

“S’weird! I just woke up here yesterday and Ford was all old. He’s grumpier now too. So if this is the future how do we know you? When do I meet you? We probably haven’t met yet while I’m this age right? No, I think I’d remember seein’ you even if you were a kid like me! You got a mem-or-ab-le nose. Kinda like mine!” Stan poked his own pink nose to demonstrate. “’Cept mine and Ford’s are wide and yours is long. Does your son have the same nose?”

Fiddleford laughed and slipped the shirt over the squirming boy’s head. There were so many questions, he figured he’d try and answer them in order.

“Ford is grumpy now, isn’t he? And I’m a friend of Ford’s from college. This is the first time we’ve met at all, so you wouldn’t know me even as an adult with all yer memories. And Tate does have my nose, unfortunately.”

Stan blinked up at him owlishly. Fiddleford smoothed down his ruffled cowlick. “So… you know Ford but not me? Why doesn’t future-me know you?” Then Stan shook his head with a smile. “You said college, right? I bet that’s why! Pa says I’m too stupid for college. But o’course Ford got in. He’s real smart, ya know!” The kid finished proudly. Fiddleford hesitated.

“Your father says…” Stanford hadn’t spoken much of his family. Fiddleford was starting to see why. The idea of a man telling his son – his son who couldn’t be any older then twelve – that he was stupid filled his chest with fire.

Fiddleford tried to stamp out the anger before Stan could see it on his face. No sense in scaring the child. Instead he changed the subject, carefully poking at one of Stan’s hands.

“So, ya got hands like ya brother’s?”

“Oh, no, I just got the borin’ five fingers.” Stan waggled his fingers to demonstrate.

“Really?” Well that was interesting. “But yer practically identical otherwise! Well, I guess it makes sense that yer not totally the same, seein’ as you don’t have the same eyesight anyway.”

“Oh, we do.” Stan chirped, leaving Fiddleford flabbergasted.

“But ya don’t have glasses!”

“Oh yeah, I don’t need em ‘cause I’m not smart.” Stan’s smile faltered for a moment before recovering. “Pa says glasses are expensive and Ford needs his, so I don’t. Hey, you got glasses too! You must be smart.”

Fiddleford once again tried very hard to not let his anger show. He must not have done a very good job, because Stan shrank back.

“Er – I’m sorry?”

Darn it, and he’d been trying to get the little tyke to trust him! Fiddleford forced an apologetic smile on his face.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for. I was just thinkin’ I’d like to have a word with yer brother when he gets back.”

Stan still looked dubious, so Fiddleford tried another strategy.

“You know, I reckon Ford’s gotta have a spare set of glasses lying around. Do you wanna look for ‘em, borrow ‘em for a while? The prescription should be close enough. I got some old books a’ Tates you might like and it’ll be easier if you can see ‘em.”

Stan twisted his hands together. “I dunno. Ford got pretty mad when I messed with his stuff before.”

“He’ll be fine. Besides, I’m just as adult as him. I think I can make decisions without that worrywart around.”

Just as Fiddleford had thought he would, Stan laughed. “Yeah, he is a worrywart! An’ Ford’s let me borrow his glasses before when we were switchin’ clothes to play a prank on Crampelter. So he can’t get mad now!”

The kid seemed to have immediately forgotten about his upset. That made Fiddleford’s smile come a little easier, a little warmer.

“Well, now that that’s settled, how about we go look for those glasses? And we’ll see if you like any a’ these books. Ya feel like learnin’ about isopods?”

“I have no idea what that is!” Stan whooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 _______________________________________________________________

It was nice, Fiddleford reflected, having a child around. He hadn’t interacted with kids since he’d last seen Tate. How long ago had that been…?

Fiddleford made sandwiches for lunch, and they ate while flipping through picture books. Stan especially liked the one with krill and whale sharks. Then the kid had started telling delightful stories about old ships and adventures on Glass Shard Beach, and who was Fiddleford to interrupt?

By evening Stan had worn himself out, and Fiddleford made him a cup of hot chocolate while he decided what to fix for dinner. Of course Ford had little in the way of food. There was some frozen and tinned stuff, but little in the way of healthy foods. Stanford was terrible at taking care of himself.

Fiddleford glanced out of the window at the ever-darkening sky. Sure, he was still hopping mad at Stanford, but… he couldn’t help but worry. Not when the man had been gone all day in the snow. And when his adorable little brother was getting antsy.

“Fidds, when’s Ford gettin’ back?” Stan whined, right on time. “You said he’d be back soon.”

Fiddleford busied himself with looking in the fridge. There were some assorted vegetables lying around, wrinkled with age but not rotten – he could make fritters. Satisfied, he started gathering the ingredients.

“He’ll get here when he gets here.” Fiddleford rooted around until he found a grater. Stan sulked into his hot chocolate. He certainly had Stanford’s stubbornness! Fiddleford wondered if it was a family trait.

As if on cue, there was a commotion outside the front door. Fiddleford tensed. It swung open, and thankfully a familiar figure trudged inside.

“Ford!” Stan squealed in delight. He scrambled from the kitchen table to throw himself at his brother’s legs. Ford, looking snow-flecked and rather frazzled, patted his head absently.

“Yes, yes, hello Stanley. Fiddleford.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes and continued making the fritters. Trust Stanford to make a dramatic entrance. Still, he eyed the man as he took off his snow-covered coat and boots. Stanford looked… rough. Not physically, but exhaustion was etched into every line on his face.

Fiddleford tutted and poured the man a coffee. Ford blinked as it was pushed into his hand.

“Oh – thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Didja meet the unicorn?” Stan pulled on his brother’s shirt, his own tiredness evidently forgotten in his excitement. Ford sighed.

“Yes, though she still stubbornly refuses to give me any of her hair. I did manage to obtain the rest of the ingredients though, so as soon as I get the hair I’ll be able to ward the house.”

Unicorn hair? Fiddleford was confused for all of two seconds before he shrugged it off. With Stanford, everything was a surprise. You just learned to roll with it.

And now that Ford was here…

“Stan, wouldja do me a favour?” Fiddleford asked gently. Stan nodded. “There should be a blanket up in the closet upstairs, all red and gold with snowflakes printed on it. It’s my favourite one. Could you go get it for me?”

“Sure.” Stan chirped, darting out of the room. Ford made a sound of confusion.

“I don’t remember that blanket.”

“’Course ya don’t, I made it up as an excuse to get Stan out of the room.” Fiddleford put down the grater and turned to meet Ford’s wary gaze from across the kitchen bench.

“…okay.” Ford said. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Stanford.” Fiddleford fixed him with a serious look. “Yer little brother’s a good kid.”

Ford sighed. “Twin brother. We’re twenty-seven.”

“Well right now he’s just seven. And you’d better not mess ‘im up. I’m watchin’ you.” He added with narrowed eyes.

Ford laughed nervously. “Honestly, what do you take me for?”

“A scientist who’s obsessed with his work and has no idea how to care for a child, ‘specially not a child who’s been abused.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “Abused? I can assure you that Stanley hasn’t been abused.”

“I beg to differ!” Fiddleford said sharply. Ford had the audacity to look insulted. “With what the kid’s been tellin’ me, there’s no way he hasn’t been abused. For god’s sake, he doesn’t have glasses when he needs ‘em! And ‘e flinches when I so much as raise my voice – or my hand, for that matter. E’s got bruises all over, too. What am I supposed to think?”

“Stanley… he refuses to wear his glasses.” Ford said weakly. Fiddleford snorted.

“He’s been usin’ yer spare ones all day. Says ‘e likes bein’ able to see for once. In fact, he basically said yer father refused to buy ‘im glasses after his old pair got broken!”

“He’s been wearing my-?”

“Of course you didn’t notice. Have ya even laid eyes on the kid?”

“Of course I have.”

“So you did notice him wearin’ your spare glasses? No wonder ‘e thinks he’s stupid, he can’t read the words on a page two inches from his nose!”

Ford looked devastated. Right now, Fiddleford didn’t care. “But… no, that’s not right. Stanley always told me he hated wearing them.”

“Even besides that, what about the bruises?” Fiddleford challenged. “The kid’s covered in ‘em. And I’m givin’ you the benefit of the doubt here, because I don’t believe you’re the one who’s been roughin’ him up.”

“I – I-”

“So you’ll forgive me for bein’ a little concerned here! What kinda father would I be if I just sat back and ignored this? Yer brother’s been abused, plain and simple.”

Ford floundered. Fiddleford sighed, a little of his anger evaporating.

“Well... I suppose if ya are really twins, ya probably wouldn’t have had a hand in it. An’ I don’t know the full story. But I do know this.” He leveled a finger at Ford’s face. “That kid trusts ya, more than he probably should. An’ we’re gonna have words if you hurt him, or put him in danger, or do anything that’ll cause him harm. The boy’s suffered enough, I’ll not stand around and let it happen again. Ya understand?”

“Yes.” Stanford said quietly. “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that’s outta the way, I gotta ask; why on earth didja not tell me about him before? We went to visit Shermie and his kids during that Christmas break a while back an’ no one mentioned another brother.”

Stanford flushed. “It’s… a family matter.”

Fiddleford leveled a cold stare at him. After a moment Ford sighed and averted his gaze.

“When we were teenagers Stanley sabotaged my one chance at getting into my dream college. He says it was an accident, but… anyway our father kicked him out and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Fiddleford held up a hand. “Hang on. Are my ears decievin’ me? You’re telling me your brother, who got booted outta his own home as a teenager, hasn’t been mistreated? My friend, you’ve got issues.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he was cut off by Stan’s return. Fiddleford turned his attention to the sheepish boy who was currently wringing his hands and wincing at the doorway. “Um, sorry Fidds. I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, I musta left it somewhere else. Now, didja wanna help me with makin’ dinner?”

Stan perked up at Fiddleford’s breezy tone, as if surprised he wasn’t in trouble. “Jeez! Can I?”

“Well sure, why wouldn’t you?” Fiddleford flashed the boy a smile. Stan beamed in return and scrambled to join him in the kitchen.

“Pa says cookin’s for ladies and we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well, your Pa seems to be wrong about a lotta things. Now, you know how ta use a grater? I’ll show you.”

Fiddleford could feel Ford’s gaze searing into his forehead. He flicked his attention up from Stan and cooking, just for a moment, to catch the conflicted stare. Ford looked away when their eyes met and cleared his throat.

“I’ll just – um – put these ingredients away for later.”

“You do that.” Fiddleford agreed coolly.

Stanford walked away, more subdued than usual. The sight of his slumped shoulders was enough to send a spark of guilt through Fiddleford’s chest. He knew he was being too hard on the guy – especially with how wrecked Ford was looking – but his blood boiled for this gap-toothed child with his cute curls and nervous laughs.

Fiddleford couldn’t comprehend the idea of kicking out his son. The idea was as foreign to him as the idea that they should all put sticks of butter under their hats and walk on their hands instead of their feet. Tate was his son – his boy, his child. Fiddleford was sure that there was nothing Tate could do that would made Fiddleford throw him out. The idea of Stanley and Stanford’s father kicking out a helpless teen? No matter what mess that teen had gotten himself into, it shouldn’t have happened. He felt a fierce protectiveness rise up in him.

No, and it most certainly wouldn’t happen again. No kid was getting kicked out on his watch. Nor hurt, even unintentionally by an oblivious scientist of a brother. Fiddleford would make sure of it.

He made sure both the Pines boys were fed before packing up his things with the promise of returning tomorrow. Stanley hugged his legs with a surprisingly strong grip – Fiddleford crouched down to return the hug properly.

“I had a real good time today. We’ll have to do this again some time, huh? Now, you got my phone number? Good. Call me if you need anything. Especially if that brother of yours gets into any trouble, okay?”

“Yes sir!” Stan saluted enthusiastically. Fiddleford laughed and ruffled his hair before glancing up to meet Stanford’s eyes. Ford was hovering in the doorway, seemingly unsure of whether to join them.

Fiddleford took pity on him and offered his old friend a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Stanford. Take care of ya brother.”

Ford smiled back nervously. And maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.

 _______________________________________________________________

Stanford couldn’t smother the huge yawns that bubbled out of him. Curse this sleep deprivation! It made everything harder than it had to be. His sentences kept being interrupted by his own body’s involuntary reflexes.

Stanley followed him like a baby duck – a rather apt description, actually – while Ford bustled around the house. Ford sighed in annoyance when he very nearly tripped over his brother yet again, upon doubling back to retrieve a piece of equipment he’d forgotten.

“Stanley, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Stan glanced away and rubbed his arm. “Well, I guess. But every time I go to sleep I get these weird dreams. I dunno, I was kinda hoping I could hang out with you?”

Dreams – dammit, Ford had forgotten to warn his brother! He dropped down to be at eye-level with Stan, who blinked at the sudden movement.

“Uh, what-?”

“You’re having odd dreams, correct?” Stan nodded so Ford continued. “Rest assured, they won’t be able to harm you, so long as you never make a deal. If you come across anything triangular or yellow while in a dream you must not talk to it. It will talk to you and try to be your friend. Don’t trust anyone with yellow eyes, even if – no, especially if that person is me. Don’t talk to it and never shake its hand. Do you understand?”

“Um, yeah, but why? This is all soundin’ like Ma’s predictions.” Stan perked up. “Can you tell the future too? Does that mean I can as well?”

Ford sighed. “No, I can’t tell the future.”

“…can you make the weird dreams go away?” Stan questioned hesitantly.

“Yes, when I manage to get that unicorn hair – though I fear it may be a hopeless endeavor.” The weight of the day’s events – how could he ever hope to be pure of heart with all the wrong he had done? – sat heavily on his shoulders. Ford lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. “Go to bed, Stanley, and remember what I said about people with yellow eyes.”

“Yeah, yeah, never make a deal, I get it.” Stan paused, eyes flickering to the journal resting in Ford’s pocket and lighting up. “Can you tell me some more stories from your book before bed? Yesterday we got to the hidey-thing!”

“I don’t have time to read you stories, I have important work to do.”

Stan pouted. He looked up at Ford with those big brown eyes that were bigger than usual. It was then that Ford noticed the glasses – yes, Fiddleford had mentioned them, hadn’t he? Stan was wearing Ford’s spare glasses and they threatened to slip down his nose at every movement, far too big for him. They also had the added benefit of making him look very, very cute.

“How about I lend you my journal?” Ford relented. “You can read it by yourself before you go to sleep. I can tell you other stories later.”

Stan hesitated. “…yeah? I can borrow it?”

“So long as you don’t damage it, you may.” Ford dropped the book in his brother’s hands and turned to gather up an armful of equipment. “Go along now.”

Stanley scurried off to read, and Ford descended into the basement where his work waited.

When he emerged at seven thirty the next morning, Stan was gone.

[cosmic-divinity]

What about an au that Stans about how “weird” “Old man mucket” is and Ford askes about him, then Stan is confused but tells him where he lives and ford talks to his bud for the first time in a long time.

I am so sorry if this is confusing :(

No confusion here! I gotcha ^^ Hope you like it! FEELINGS TIME

Stanford remembered hearing it that morning and nearly dropping his coffee in the process. It had been the mention of a name he had forgotten about momentarily. After all, in all his travels across the multiverse, small things like that were bound to slip his mind. However, the fact that it brought about such a sudden reaction had shown that the memory was not entirely gone. It was still very much a part of him, and hearing that name, brought about a multitude of emotions. The strongest one wracking his brain was of….regret. 

“Hey, kids. Did you see the latest video on Bramble? Man, I swear, that Old Man McGucket keeps getting crazier and crazier. I dunno what he’s gonna do next,” Stanley laughed and then even harder when Mabel showed him another video. 

“I mean, yeah, it’s funny, but I feel kind of bad for the guy. He lives by himself near the dump, and no one’s tried to, you know, help him at all?” Dipper added, sipping on his strawberry milk. 

“Ah, lighten up, kid. As far as I know, that’s just..how he lives. He doesn’t seem like he’s unhappy or anything.” Stanley did stop laughing momentarily. Of course Dipper always had to be the realist just like someone else he knew. He finally noticed Ford standing in the doorway, looking like he was about to pass out. “Sixer? You all good over there?” 

“Oh, no, Grunkle Ford! You dropped your mug.” Mabel hurried over to scoop it up. Luckily, it wasn’t one of the ceramic ones and didn’t break upon impact. It took Stanford a couple of seconds before he registered she was grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess. 

“Terribly sorry, Mabel. I zoned out for a moment there,” he apologized, helping her sop it up before it spread to the rug. “I just...you guys were talking about Fiddleford Hadron McGucket...right?” 

Stanley raised an eyebrow. How the hell did those two know each other?

“Wait, how do you know his full name?” 

“Did you not read his journals, Grunkle Stan? McGucket was his assistant in his research. He was...a genius, really,” Dipper said with a concerned look towards Ford. “I would’ve done something, but..I’m not exactly sure how to help him. He lost a lot of his memory.” 

“You said he lives over by the dump, right?” As soon as Dipper said “yes” in response, Ford was out of there in about five seconds flat, dashing off towards the dump. 

“Ooh! Should we follow him, Dipper? Maybe Grunkle Ford can get the old Fiddleford back!” Mabel gasped. By the look in her eyes, Dipper could tell she had already made up her mind. 

As soon as she ran off, Dipper sighed and grabbed his backpack. He’d really hear it from both Mabel and Grunkle Stan if he didn’t go with. “Uh, be back in a bit, Grunkle Stan!” 

Stanford didn’t stop running until he got to McGucket’s shack. In hindsight, he could’ve had Stan drive him, but this was urgent. He gasped when he saw where he was living. Oh, Fiddleford… He felt that guilt hanging heavy on his chest again. How long had he gone on not even knowing he was here? Of course, he had only recently returned to this dimension, but still! How could he forget about the person most dear to him. The person who….he betrayed..for an interdimensional demon with empty promises. For a moment, he stopped himself as he started walking up to the shack. If his memories returned...would he hate him still? He wouldn’t blame Fiddleford if he never wanted to see him again.

Mustering some courage, Stanford took a deep breath and continued onwards to what sort of resembled a door. A six fingered fist lingered at it a moment before tentatively knocking. He heard rustling from within before a raccoon bolted out of there, making him jump and nearly fall over. Was a raccoon his only company now?? His heart nearly stopped when Fiddleford stood in the doorway, his beard all the way down to his feet and what looked like...a bandage on his beard? Stanford wasn’t about to question it. Fiddleford stared blankly at him before saying, “Well, howdy, there! Can I help you with somethin’?” 

The words caught in Stanford’s throat for a moment. There was so, so much he wanted to say, mostly “I’m sorry, so sorry,” but he held it back. He didn’t know how much of his memory was missing, but given his living conditions, and the fact that he wasn’t completely pissed at him right now, he’d say a lot. He held up a six fingered hand in a wave, putting on his best smile even though his body simply didn’t want to, no matter how much it hurt. 

“Hey, Fiddleford. I’m an...old friend, Stanford Pines. Do you..remember me at all?” 

Fiddleford seemed utterly confused. He “hmm’d” to himself, scratching his beard and looking Stanford over. It got to the point where it seemed to be causing him physical pain, finally stopping with a groan. “Aw, sorry, there. Can’t seem to recall your name, but you’re that new scientist guy that arrived here in Gravity Falls, right? Sorry if I’m wrong. My memory ain’t what it used to be, you know?” 

Stanford let out a sigh and an understanding nod. He figured this was probably going to be the case. Perhaps, he needed some stimuli to get things going. 

“It’s alright, Fiddleford. I know you’ve been through a lot...trust me, I do, so I hope you don’t mind this.” 

Taking a breath, Stanford reached out to place his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, slowly drawing him into a hug. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Fiddleford. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything that happened. I should’ve put my trust in you, not Bill. Driving you away is one of my deepest regrets. Even in other dimensions, it haunted me in my dreams. I wish...I wish I could take that hurt away, but we both know even the memory gun isn’t perfect. Memories don’t simply disappear, right, Fidds?” In that moment, he didn’t think about if Fiddleford didn’t know what he was talking about. All that mattered now was that he was hugging him again. He didn’t need forgiveness. It was the closure that he’d get at least. 

For a minute, Fiddleford stayed still, but he slowly wrapped his arms around Stanford, sighing softly. Just feeling safe in his arms and his familiar scent, he felt a rush of memories coming back to him, especially with the use of his old nickname Stanford often called him back then. He glanced over when he felt Stanford trembling, tightening his grip on his shirt. His head..well, really hurt, especially at the fact that Stanford was here and in his arms. 

“It was a tough time for both of us. And you know, I forgive you, Stanford. It’s been far too long for me to hold onto a grudge now.” 

Stanford gasped when he heard him call him by his name. Were his memories..returning? Was his hypothesis correct? Tears started to run down his cheeks as he cupped Fiddleford’s face with trembling hands. “Fidds….you really remember me? I-I mean, you shouldn’t forgive me. I betrayed you. You were the person I was closest to, and I turned my back on you, drove you mad enough to use the memory gun on yourself. I..I don’t think I deserve it..” 

“Oh, Stanford,” Fiddleford chuckled, looking up at him with the softest smile. “What matters is learning from your mistakes. Obviously, you found out the truth about Bill and his intentions, and you worked hard to correct your mistakes. Like I said, it’s been too long for me to hold onto a grudge, right, old buddy?” 

He winced a bit when another headache and rush of memories came on. “Ah, look at this. You’re sparking so many lost memories o’ mine. It’s like magic!” 

Stanford let out a choked laugh, having to remove his glasses a moment to wipe away his tears. 

“Yeah, it kind of is. I would say magic doesn’t actually exist, but..I’ve seen far too much to say that anymore. Plus, Mabel would probably kick me in the shin if she heard me say that.” After taking a moment to collect himself, Stanford offered his hand to Fiddleford. “How about we find a place to chat and catch up? My brother actually turned the old cabin into a tourist trap of sorts, but it’s a good place to hang out in. And really? A shack, Fidds?” 

“Hey, don’t blame me! I lost my mind, literally!” Fiddleford teased and accepted Stanford’s hand. The warm touch of it was something he really had missed. 

“OH MY GOD, GRUNKLE FORD! That was sooo cute! I actually started crying myself,” Mabel squealed from a nearby bush as she tumbled out of it followed by Dipper. “Oh my gosh! You guys are literally the cutest!” 

“Mabel...they just met again after...a really long period of time,” he said, having forgotten the exact number. “How about we give them some space?” 

“Oh, yes, yes. Space is important, but afterwards you guys have to tell me everything!” 

Stanford chuckled as he watched her drag Dipper off, guiding Fiddleford along. Things were still a little...awkward, but he was sure they’d regain their footholds in their relationship again. Things were a little different now, but after all these years, Fiddleford was still Fiddleford, and that was enough for him.

[frost-flame]

Okay so I posted this Rich!Fiddleford thing in Twitter where Tate played an important role as he knows all the winning lottery numbers:

Stanford felt his eye twitch as he watch his brother cuddle that thing that was delivered to them.It's just a teddy bear, but still! Someone sent Stan that teddy bear and that someone isn't just an ordinary someone. Oh no. It's from Fiddleford, an old college buddy. But he wouldn't call him a "buddy" now.

"I swear I'm just as surprised as you!" Stan said to him when it came. "I used to love teddy bears as a child but not anymore" Stan added. Ford knows that's a lie, Stan still loves teddy bears. But what he does know that isn't a lie is that Stan isn't the type of person to ask for things or beg someone to buy something for him. He won't believe this fact a few weeks ago, but he does now.

"How did he even know?" Stan asked to himself. Ford might've slipped this fact from Fiddleford back when they were still friends. He wasn't expecting for Fiddleford to remember since Ford knows he spoke ill of Stan most of the time! Ford left the shack with heavy footsteps while Stan stare back at him confusedly. He'll deal with Ford later. He still have chores to do. Seriously, Ford doesn't seem to know how to clean. Stan isn't a neat freak but too much is too much!

.

Fiddleford looked up from his papers to see his old friend, Ford. Ford has a forced smile and his eye twitched. Fiddleford spent enough time Ford to know that Ford is angry. "Hello, Ford. What can I do for you today?" Fiddleford asked, unfazed by Ford's anger. "Can you explain to me what that teddy bear was for" Ford asked, the smile not leaving his face. "Teddy bear? Oh whatever do you mean?" Fiddleford asked innocently. "The one you sent Stan this morning" Ford spoke with gritted teeth. "Oh that! Isn't it cute? I remember seeing that teddy bear and thinking 'hey Stan would love this!' Ever since I met him when he brought me my son back, I feel like I should repay him" Fiddleford replied with a smile. "Well now you did. Now could you please stop sending him any more?" Ford requested. "Why?" Fiddleford asked. Ford didn't reply and his gazed hardened.

"Don't tell me... Haha! You're such an overprotective brother! Don't worry, I'll take good care of him, Ford. I'm your best friend" Fiddleford chuckled. "I can take care of him!" Ford insisted. Fiddleford paused for a second. "Well, you can. But I can give him everything he needs and wants. I don't think your grant money is enough for all of those" Fiddleford said with a shrug. "I can get him everything he wants! Once I've completed my research, I know I'll get the research I deserve and will have my own institute" Ford defended. "Don't count your chicks before they hatch, Stanferd" Fiddleford said "I'm not even sure if you'll be successful in this." "Are you doubting me?" Ford asked with a rose brow. "The same way you doubted me and my laptop! My ideas for a wireless connection! My ideas for the walkman! Yes!" Fiddleford took a deep breath. He is starting to lose his cool.

"These ideas got me this far, Stanferd. Will your research do the same?" Fiddleforf asked, smile is gone "You only got this far because of your son!" Ford said. That made him snap. "I went this far because of hard work just like you! My son played a part but my business and money and fame were all mine!!" Fiddleford yelled at his best friend. "Are you jealous, Ford?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

Ford didn't say anything. He doesn't know if Fiddleford is right or not. Is he really jealous? If so, of what? Fiddleford's fame? His success? Of What? He doesn't care about any of these before so why now? What would make him dislike Fiddleford and everything he gained out of the blue?

With nothing to say, Ford growled and walked out of there. Fiddleford didn't try to stop him so he either got his answer or just let it go for now. Either way, if Fiddleford got everything Ford wanted first (despite stating that he doesn't care about that), he certainly isn't getting Stan next.

((I... I don't know what this is. Originally a comic but I lost inspiration to draw. Anyway, I'm not the type of person who likes friendships getting ruined just because both characters like the same person. These two will just have a rivalry but that's it. Not enemies or anything. They are still friends. Just competing for Stanny while also doing work.))

[instantlyexhaustedowl]

"He was my first love... And only one."

Summary:

Old photos, one old love and two not that old twins. A bit of talking after Weirmaggedon. Stan listening to his bro-bro memories about college lover.

Notes:

Please be kind to me, it's my first fanfic in English and also my first fanfic i have ever posted.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28580418

Ford was nostalgically sorting old photoes. Wrinkled paper gently rustled in his weary hands. All those memories, forgotten things with distand feeling of lost love, whole past in his worn out hands. "Ya look sad, bro," Stan's voice broke the silence of Ford's room. His twin was looking at him with curious brown eyes covered with thick glasses. He leaned on the doorframe.

Older twin  smiled sligtly, running his polydactyl hands thru grey hairs. Fingers touched silver stripe that cut thru dark grey hairs. He felt suddenly old and exhausted. "Just... Overthinking past, i guess." He patted spot on the sofa next to himself, showing that companion is welcome.

"Pics?" asked carefully Stanley. His mind was still a bit wobbly, but he remembered nearly everything. Definitely good sign. Stan sheepishly sat next to Ford on the sofa. Old matress swayed under his weight and caused, that Ford leaned a bit agaist Stan's shoulder. "What? Oh, yeah... Pictures. Old ones." said author of the journals with sigh while his hands gently folded photos on the lap. "Hehe, 'm probably not in your colection,...  Hey that one... that guy looks cute," chuckled his brother. He pointed at picture of tall smiling boy, maybe a bit older than twenty-one. Long sand blond hair, big blue eyes brightly shining with happines were hinding partly behind small round glasses. That noodle nerd had two daysies tucked behind his ear, big smile on his face. He looked like hippie college student. "Yeah... Fantastic old friend of mine. Wait! It...He is a man. Why do you think he is cute?" suddenly asked Ford. Stan was ladies man. Why he would think something like that?! Stanley blushed. His eyes wondered over room. Now seemed every piece of furniture like super interesting. "Ehh...No comment?" "No Stanley. We should be more honest with each other. We spend enought of our time pushing each other away. I just want to know why do you think that. No judgement, only curiosity." Old man mumbled something. Then he scooted away from Ford. Scietinst seemed a bit concerned. His brother was always the one who wanted to feel the others presence, but this was different. He was suddenly so shy. Ford like physical contact too but only from persons he loved and liked. Stanley was different- he loved patting peoples shoulder, hugging them even thou they were strangers. His attention was like contact sport. And sometimes it could change into one when that person made him angry. Ford's attention thou. It was more about reading between lines. "Pardon, Lee? I didn't understand." "I said... That i dated men too," sighed Stanley. His fingers were twiching. Eyes were trying to burned thru the floor into the heart of the Earth. He made himself look tiny. Whole body curled into himself. Ford's mouth formed into small silent "oh". "'m sorry... Gonna vanish, don't worry." "Are you crazy, Lee?! No vanishing, no going away." "But..." it was strange. Stanley could brake a montain with bare hands and now... He looked so vulnurable. Like scared teen he once was- standing outside in the middle of warm spring night hoping that Ford could forgive him. "But 'm nothing just familly disapointment. Stupid big idiot and even gay..." "If you say it one more time, i will punch you. Without warning! You are not disapointment! You are my best friend i have ever had and best twin brother i could wish for!" "Poindexer, i am weird old fag!" "Probably not. And that is absolutely horrible word, do not use it, please! You did loved Carla, hm." "And some other girls..." admited Stanley with blush of embarassment. "So you are bisexual. You like both." "'m not picky type," shrugged younger brother with hint of smile. He seemed more comfortable now. Hands put on his knees, eyes still sticked to the ground but he didn't look like persone who wanted to crawl under the rock and stay there for next few milleniums. "I am fag... At least that would Pa called me... If he had knew about it..." "That explains lots of things... And highschool," mumbled Stan scooting back so they shoulders touched again. "Pardon me?!" shrieked Ford. "You were curious only about science. And why girls didn't talk to you! Nothing was about girls, only why they kept ignoring you," explained Stan. Ford blinked few times, his face making pretty good impression of confuesed owl. Stanley was smugly smiling: "I've knew the whole time that you are not straight. 'm glad that Pa never knew about it thou. He would kick ya out too, maybe beat ya...Ya would never make it out unharm, on the streets..." "You were the one that ended up there... I can not forgive myself," two big tears started to roll down. Ford tried to dry them with his sleeve. "Poindexter, let it be. We are here, we are good..." "And gay," added Ford with tiny smile. Roaring of Stan's laught filled the room: "YEAH, we are gay! SO ... Who was that cutie? First crush?" His eyebrows wiggled in devilish way. "First crush, first love and only one. He took my heart without asking and never gave it back..." His brother wrapped arm around his shoulders. "You are old sappy man, Ford." "I know. I... Everything could be so different." "What happened?" asked younger twin. He hated seeing Ford depressed. "First time he went back to his family, after a while he had one too. And later when we found each other... Portal happened." "Sixer! I ... I caused...! Did I....?" Stanford grabbed old photos. He hold them on his chest, close to his fast-beating heart. "It was my fault, we had huge arguement and split up. I should have listened to him, but i was the biggest idiot on this Earth!" Stanley suddenly gasped. "You were dating McGucket?! Old man MCGUCKET?! Oh holy hot Belgian waffles!" "Kids aren't home," snarkyly pointed out Ford still carressing his pictures. "In that case- FUCK!" Small smile crept on scientist's face. "May i tell you a story, Lee?" asked Ford. He looked way younger now. Shy blush on his cheeks, still a bit teary eyes behind glasses. But they were light up with memories. "Yep, ya nerd. I haven't heard romantic novel for a long time! Ok i saw one last night. But i want to hear yar romance," beamed happily Stan and made himsleft comfortable. He was now sprawled on sofa, legs streched infront of him, hands folded on his soft belly. "So...Tell me yar fairytale, bro-bro." "Lee you are so silly," nudged Stan's elbow Ford playfully. "Fine. Long time ago... Ok, i am really getting old and silly. We were college roomates. I liked him first time i saw him. He was true opposite of me. Emotinal, empathic, wonderfully talented. His genius was amazing. After a while we got closer and closer. Fidds was so carring, nearly motherly. You should saw him when i was ill. I phoned dad, that i needed some money... to see a doctor, cause i felt really awful. He... shouted at me- to be a man and sleep it off. So i tried it. And fainthed during one of our classes we had together. Fidds did knew what to do, he took care about me. Got me to our room, helped in bed where i stayed for next week barely knowing about world. I don't remember much, my fever was too high. All seemed like a dream. After i got better i found him sitting on the window frame. His eyes were looking into starry night, silently crying. He was aftraid about me whole week and...He finally snapped... We started dating few days later." Ford had tears on his cheeks while he hold old pictures like precious treasure. His hands were clutching them, only gems he had from his past. Someone knock on the door frame. Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket stood there. He was dressed in jeans, silly shirt with watermelons and drinks on it. He had crazy bowler hat with daisy that kept danggling. Still with beard that could belong to the oldest wizzard in the Dungeons, Dungeons and more Dungeons, but under it was hidden smile. "I swear Stanferd, ma biggest mistake was leaving ya. And i fool made it twice!" Stanley looked at them with squint eyes trying to seem like he fall asleep. "Stop foolin' us, ya'r great conman, but that's horrible try," laugh Fidds hopping on the sofa from Ford's free side. He covered one six-fingered hand with his small one. They fitted perfectly, like two pieces of puzzles. Maybe their hands were a bit cold, but hearts were still aflame with passion and love. "I guess now i've to keep an eye on two nerds," sighed Stanley. "Have fun ya two, i am gonna go to... Don't know. Want a coffee?" "Yeah we will join you," smiled Ford when Fiddleford hugged his waist. "Yej, coffee is great idea pals!" "Gentlemen, we will have gayffee party!" clasped his big hands Stanley and went to the kitchen, chuckling because he liked that new horrible pun. Ford froze a bit and then shouted: "Do not tell this term in front of Mable! Or we all end up covered in rainbow glitters! I don't mind them but i certainly don't like to drink them with my coffee!" "WHO SAID SOMETHING ABOUT RAINBOW GLITTEEEEEERS???????!" "Mabel, calm down! Honey, put that bottle of rainbow disaster down!"

[orangeoctopi7]

A-Hiking We Will Go

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 5 : Part 6 :  Part 7 :  Part 8

Despite how eager he’d been to start this trip yesterday, Ford was really dragging his feet getting ready that morning. He took his sweet time loading all their equipment into the back for Fiddleford’s truck, and he insisted on packing sleeping bags and a few cans of food.

“Just in case we end up taking longer than expected inside Crash Site Omega.” He explained when Stan reminded his brother they weren’t planning on camping.

Then he wanted to double check that they had everything they needed, which was uncharacteristic of Stanford. McGucket was the one who liked to triple-check things, Ford was normally much more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. 

When they finally got underway, it was after lunchtime. As McGucket drove toward the hill, with Ford giving directions, Stan dug around through their supplies to see if he could find any snacks. 

“I got you a bag of toffee peanuts,” Ford looked up from the compass he was using to navigate, “They should be right beneath your seat.”

“Oh, uh, thanks…” Stan dug the bag out from under his seat. “But, uh, I’ve… kinda lost my appetite for the stuff.” He handed the bag up to Ford.

“Well I don’t want them!” His brother huffed.

“Oh for the love of-- I’ll eat them!” McGucket snapped, swiping the bag from between them. “I swear, you two are worse than my five-year-old!”

What with all the bumpy back roads they had to take, it took nearly an hour before they reached the field they were looking for. Unloading all their equipment and supplies took a while too. 

“Ford, I can’t carry everything.” Stan insisted with a roll of his eyes. 

“You can lift well over a thousand pounds!”

“Yeah, but there’s a huge difference between lifting and carrying. I’ve still gotta balance it all on my back.”

Eventually, they divided up the load a little more evenly. Stan was still carrying the bulk of the weight, but Ford was also carrying as much as he could. McGucket was given the lightest bags, but he was still huffing and puffing by the time they reached the foot of the hill.

“I could use a breather.” The inventor wheezed as he slumped down in the shade of a small aspen tree.

“Hey, no complaints here.” Stan set his own bags down with a resounding thud. 

Ford shook his head, unable to keep the smug smile off his face. “If only the two of you had a rigorous physical regimen like mine. Before either of you came out here, I’d hike out to the falls at least once a week! And here we are, not even half-way to Crash Site Omega, and you’re both already winded! And Stanley, you’re supposed to have super strength!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, why don’t I let you carry all your science crap then, Dr. Strongman!” Stan retorted. “And for the record, I’m not winded. I’m just ready for a little break.”

“I’m winded, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.” Fiddleford panted.

“Well, take a drink and eat something. You’d be surprised how much that helps. We’re in no rush.” Ford assured his friend.

“Well, I mean, we are in kind of a rush,” Stan pointed out. “If we wanna get back to the truck before dark. It’s already getting to be mid afternoon.”

“Don’t worry, Stan, I brought sleeping bags, just in case.” Ford assured him.

“Just in case, he says.” Stan rolled his eyes. “That’s why you were takin’ your sweet time this morning! You’re just that dead-set on camping!”

“That’s absurd!”

“Would you two give it a rest?” McGucket complained, looking up from a diagram of robotic hiking legs he’d been sketching in the dirt. “I thought ya said y’both were gettin’ along better after I left, but it seems to me like you’re fightin’ as much as before.”

The twins shared a sheepish glance and dropped the argument.

“Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind spendin’ the night out here if’n we can take more breaks and go at a slower pace.” The inventor continued. “I’m as eager to see this crash site as anyone could be, but I’d also like to have the energy to actually explore it once we get there.”

Ford shot Stan a triumphant smirk.

“Yeah, fine.” Stan sighed. “We’ll camp overnight, if that’s what makes you nerds happy.”

The three of them continued at a slower pace from that point on, taking breaks whenever McGucket needed them, which was often. Ford wasn’t bothered at all. Their leisurely walk and frequent stops gave him more opportunities to study the local wildlife. He even managed to spot a plaidypus as it came out to sniff at the remains of Stan’s snack mix. 

* * *

The sun was beginning to cast long shadows by the time they reached the top of the hill. 

“Ah, just as I left it.” Ford said with satisfaction as he rolled a large-ish boulder to the side. Beneath it was a strange metal panel, marked with circuitous symbols neither Stan nor Fiddleford recognized. The researcher aimed one of the magnet guns he had brought with him down at the panel, and it popped out of the ground with a satisfying clang.

McGucket’s knee started bouncing faster than Ford had ever seen it go before, and Stan’s eyes were as wide as when they’d first found the Stan’O’War in that cave by the beach. Stanford couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Sharing his greatest discovery yet with his brother and his best friend was a true pleasure. 

“Fiddleford, you’ll need a magnet gun to safely navigate the ship, and to disable any security systems that might still be running. Stanley, I’ve only got the two guns, but between your ability to climb up walls and the web shooters, I think you’ll be even more mobile than us.” He handed them their headlamps, magnet gun, and web shooters, and began to climb down the ladder. McGucket followed down after him with an excited grin spreading across his face. Stan came next, slightly more cautious in his approach. He looked up around at how the ceiling of the UFO  gently curved away from him on either side, then down at the ladder, which dropped straight down into what looked like a dark abyss.

NOPE. Stan’s complicated relationship with heights told him.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna just climb down the wall. See you guys at the bottom.”

“Alright, just try not to get lost.” Ford waved him off.

“You two are the only other source of light down here, I think I’ll be able to find you.”

Stan crawled down the wall, taking in the sights as he went. The aliens’ architecture was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was all curvy and smooth and shiny like an oil spill. It reminded him of the inside of the big spiral shells that would wash up on the beach sometimes. The metal was smooth as glass; so smooth Stan almost felt like he shouldn’t be able to stick to it, but he did. Long recessed ridges were carved into the walls, making huge symbols like the ones he’d seen on that panel Ford had opened up to let them in here. Stan wondered if the symbols were some kind of language, just for decoration, or if they served some sort of purpose. 

As he continued to climb down the curve of the wall, the pair of lights that were his brother and McGucket grew smaller and smaller as he ventured further away. Luckily, whatever these walls were made of, they were very reflective. The whole place seemed lit up from just a few headlamps.

Eventually, Stan came upon the entrance to a large tunnel. It had to be at least ten feet tall and twice as wide. He was easily able to jump down to the ground from that height without hurting himself. He glanced back to the tiny lights, still several yards up the ladder. He then shone his own headlamp down the long, elliptical hallway, peering into the darkness. 

Part of him wanted to explore the tunnel himself, but it was pretty creepy being on an unknown alien ship by himself. Stan would feel a lot more comfortable exploring the ship with his brother by his side, and not just because Ford had been down here before. It was almost like when they were little kids, and they just naturally stood closer together when they were both nervous.

Stan slowly made his way back toward the bottom of the ladder and the lights, passing several strange control panels and consoles on the way. Those long grooves continued across each wall and through the floor, branching off into more of those circuitous symbols. Down here on ground level the smooth metal surface was broken up by cracks and dents. Stan guessed they had been caused by the crash. Or at least, he hoped they had.

When they met back up, Fiddleford was in absolute awe of the place. He was darting around excitedly, taking in every little detail, running his hands along the circular symbols and trying to figure out the control panels.

“Uh, you sure it’s a good idea to be messin’ with this stuff?” Stan asked apprehensively. “We don’t even know what it does.”

“Relax, this ship crashed millions of years ago. Everything’s defunct.” Ford assured him.

“Have you been able to date it?” Fiddleford asked eagerly.

“Yes! I was actually able to locate a few skeletal remains!” The researcher answered with just as much gusto. “Carbon dating put it at approximately 30 million years old!”

“So the crash would have taken place in the early Oligocene… have you looked up any fossil evidence to back that age up?”

“I was able to correlate it to a few tree rings preserved up by Mount Saint Helens. There’s a spike in rare-earth metals and radioactive isotopes that match the makeup of this ship.”

Stan tuned out the nerd speech and just followed them along as they continued examining the ship and going bananas over every little thing they came across. Not that Stan wasn’t impressed with the crashed UFO. He just didn’t understand most of what the nerds were going on about. So far all he’d seen were weird symbols and oddly smooth metal walls. Now, if they ran into some of those skeletal remains Ford had mentioned, that would be more his speed!

“Hey Ford, there any more dead bodies down here?” 

“A few.” Ford answered casually, as if his brother had just asked if there were any potato chips left. “Either the crew was disproportionately small compared to the size of the ship, or most of them vaporized while entering the atmosphere, but I have run into a couple of alien remains. If we’re lucky, we should find more while we search for the Hyperdrive.”

“And where are we supposed to find that?” Stan asked. “This ship is half the size of the valley!”

“Don’t worry, between Fiddleford’s mechanical know-how and my intuition, we should be able to find it in no time!”

“Uh…” McGucket stammered, “I’m not so sure about that, Ford. This is far beyond the scope of my knowledge. We dunno if these alien fellers follow the same mechanical traditions as Earth!”

“True, but physics is universal. All their machinery still has to follow the same physical laws.” Ford reasoned. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“I appreciate yer confidence in me, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin! It could take days, no, months for me to map out the configuration well enough to find their main power source!”

“You can do it.” The researcher assured him. “All you need is a little help from a friend.”

With that, Ford sat down on  the floor, cross-legged, and rested a hand on each knee, open palm facing up towards the ceiling, his fingers gently curling as he took a deep breath and relaxed.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Stan asked in confusion. 

“Meditating.” Ford answered, closing his eyes. “Now shhsh!”

The two of them just watched in awkward silence as Ford began muttering to himself. He whispered so quietly, it was clear he was hoping his friends wouldn’t hear him, but it was dead silent inside the wrecked spacecraft, so they did anyway.

“We need to find the hyperdrive. Do you know where it is?”

Stan’s blood ran cold as his twinging spider-sense he had connected to that yellow triangle returned. Oh, not again!

Fiddleford was giving both the twins concerned looks. Sure, it was strange for Stanford to sit down on the floor of an alien spaceship and apparently ask the air where to find the hyperdrive, but Stanley’s eyes widened as if his brother had just set himself on fire. 

After a moment of waiting and listening, Ford nodded, opened his eyes, and stood up.

“...Did that help?” McGucket asked uncertainly. Ford shushed him.

The researcher appeared to be following something only he could see. Stan wanted to kick himself for not bringing those light filtration goggles, but there had already been so much equipment to worry about. All the two of them could do was follow Ford as he ventured down the hall Stan had found earlier. It just went on and on for several minutes, until Ford stopped in front of an alcove. To the untrained eye, it didn’t look any different from the many others they had passed, but Ford pressed his fingers into one of the grooves running along the wall and pulled up, cracking open some sort of door. Stan cautiously stepped forward and helped him open it, despite the way the triangle’s presence was grating on his nerves. Thankfully it seemed that, once they reached their destination, the thing left. Stan couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when the sensation stopped. 

“This should be the engine room.” Ford said with certainty.

“How… how did you know where to find it!?” McGucket wondered with disbelief.

“Intuition.” Ford answered, as if that actually settled it. “Be sure to step over that security beam.” He pointed to a faint beam of light near the door they had just entered. “If that’s still working, the other security measures may be as well.”

Stan and McGucket shared a concerned glance. Ford didn’t seem willing to elaborate on how he knew all this. True, he had been here before, but he had been as clueless as they were about finding the hyperdrive before. Of course, Stan had his theories.

“Well, let’s get what we came here for.” Stan shrugged, sharing another significant glance with Fiddleford, hoping he got the implied We’ll talk about this later when we’re alone.

McGucket nodded and tried to push his worries to the back of his mind, instead focusing on the once-in-a-lifetime chance to examine alien technology.

* * *

By the time they got the hyperdrive back to the surface, the sun was barely peeking above the horizon and the sound of crickets after the near silence of the UFO was deafening. Despite the eerie moment while locating the engine room, spirits were high. Everyone was happy they’d been able to accomplish their goal with little to no trouble. Ford was obviously pleased that he’d finally been able to share this huge secret with someone, McGucket was absolutely giddy with what he’d learned just from examining the alien technology, and Stan had gotten to mess around with a real alien skeleton. It had been a very successful trip. 

Now Ford was busy clearing a fire pit while McGucket gathered firewood. Stan had his web shooter out and was carefully examining the nearby trees, looking for low-hanging branches. 

“Huh… wonder if I could make a tent out of web…”

“No need, it will be calm and clear tonight.” Ford assured him.

“Forecasts can be wrong, genius.”

“It’s not just the forecast I trust.” Ford grinned. “I discovered a scroll a while back that has spells for manipulating the weather. I used one yesterday that guarantees there will be no storms tonight.”

“Huh.” Stan busied himself setting out their sleeping bags instead. 

Soon enough, camp was set up, and they began preparing a dinner of roasted weenies and canned beans. As the sunlight finally faded and the stars began to shine, the conversation turned to the future, and how their lives would change once they put the hyperdrive to use and completed their project.

“As much as I enjoy bein’ out here and workin’ with ya,” Fiddleford said, “Once the project’s finished, I’m goin’ back to my family in California.”

“Why don’t you move your family out here?” Ford asked. “Surely a small community like Gravity Falls would be a better place to raise your son than Palo Alto.”

“Maybe so, but I gotta get my own career off the ground first. I’d like to start patenting robotics that’ll make folks’ lives easier, and there’s a lot more billionaires in California who’re willin’ to invest in independent inventors. I wanna give Tate what I didn’t have growin’ up, like a nice house with a screen door that doesn’t blow open every time there’s a gust of wind.”

“Heh, working screen doors? I don’t think those exist.” Stan chuckled.

“We certainly didn’t have one in our home.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“Haha, I can practically still hear Ma yellin’--”

“Who locked the screen door!?” The twins mimicked in unison, then shared a laugh.

“What about you, Ford?” Stan asked. “Lemme guess, you’re gonna start tourin’ me around to all the big scientific conventions, showin’ off all you’ve learned about the Amazing Spider-Mutant!”

Ford shot his brother a hurt look. “Stanley, I wouldn’t do that to you! You of all people should know I’d never want to see anyone paraded around like an exotic animal, least of all my own brother! I know you’ve been keeping your identity a secret because you don’t want to be treated like… like a freak.” Like me. “I wouldn’t ever publish anything we’ve learned from studying your powers without your permission.”

Stan gaped at his brother in surprise for a moment. All the time he’d been here, he’d figured Ford was keeping him around because he was a walking scientific discovery. Ford was always going on and on about how much they could learn from him, about how useful his powers would be to their studies. And while Stan was the only one here who wasn’t a genius, that didn’t mean he was completely stupid. He knew there had to be some sort of Nobel Prize or some other sort of sciency award for discovering a mutated human being who could climb walls and lift thousands of pounds. And yet, Ford wasn’t interested in any of that, simply because he knew his brother wouldn’t be comfortable with it. It was almost like Ford cared more about Stan as an individual than as a research opportunity. And that was more than Stan had ever allowed himself to hope for.

“Wow, uh, thanks Ford.” Stan finally said, at a loss for words.

“Besides, I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize.”

Fiddleford and Stan shared a glance and sat back. It was clear from Ford’s tone that he was about to launch into one of his lectures.

“Every major field of science has a unifying theory, something that ties all the different pieces of their discipline together. Chemistry has the periodic table. Geology has plate tectonics. Biology has evolution. Physics has mass-energy equivalence. Cryptozoology and the study of other anomalies aren’t taken seriously as a science, partially because there is no underlying theory to tie it all together. That’s why I’ve come here to Gravity Falls. Surely, here, in the middle of the highest concentration of living anomalies in the world, I’ll be able to find that Grand Unifying Theory of Weirdness. 

“When we finally discover the origin of all anomalies and prove my theory right, the world will finally see that the weird things of the world are not something to fear or overlook, and I’ll go down in history as the man who brought it all into the spotlight! I’ll be among the scientific greats of our time, like Carl Sagan and Steven Hawking! I’ll finally be able to go home a hero! Stan, imagine the look on Crampelter’s face when I’m on TV, shaking hands with the President! Better yet, imagine what the West Coast Tech Board of Directors will think when they realize the man who changed the world is the same kid they rejected years ago! Then we’ll see who’s a waste of time!”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up as he listened to his brother’s tirade. I'll finally be able to go home. He'd been wishing for that for over a decade. He'd never imagined his brother was hoping for the same thing. Only Ford wasn't just trying to buy back the approval of their father; he was trying to win the respect of the whole town! 

And apparently the hotshots over at West Coast Tech as well. Stan was shocked by his brother's bitter tone as he imagined showing them he wasn't a waste of time. The only other person his brother had ever taken that tone with was, well, Stan, when the young scientist had still blamed his brother for smashing the spider habitat. Despite the fact that it was over a decade ago, despite the fact that Ford had discovered an alien ship and was on the verge of this world-changing theory, the pain of their rejection still affected him. Stan knew losing that scholarship had hurt Ford financially and academically, but he'd never really thought of how much it must have hurt emotionally.

Well, obviously there had been a bunch of emotions between the two of them, plenty of betrayal and broken trust and all the negativity that came with that. But Stan always felt like he was the one who came out with the worst of it. He hadn't considered that Ford dealt with more emotional damage outside of that.

"If you're so keen to be the talk of the scientific community, why wait?" McGucket asked, interrupting Stan's thoughts. "Ya got a discovery right here that'll change the world!" He slapped the hyperdrive for emphasis. "You publish yer findings on Crash Site Omega, heck, even just the weird fauna ya studied round these parts, and you'll be sittin' pretty. That'd give you time to settle down, maybe even meet someone and start a family of yer own."

Ford burst out laughing, and didn't stop for almost a minute. "No, heh, no, I don't think so." He finally said once his giggle fit had run its course. "Romance is one mystery of the universe I don't think I'll ever solve. And even if that weren't the case, once the truth about Gravity Falls and Crash Site Omega gets out, it will become a 'Weirdness Rush'. Every interested scientist, cryptozoologist, and curious bystander in the world will want to come explore this place. If I don't come up with the Unifying Theory of Weirdness first, someone else will. I'd just be a footnote, the Otto Lilienthal to someone else's Wright Brothers.

"I've never been one to take the path of least resistance. True, it's been a long, laborious, lonely road, but I know it will be worth it.” He looked up at his friend and his brother. “...And I'm glad it's not quite so lonely anymore."

Stan stood abruptly. "Welp, this is gettin' too sappy for me." He tried to hide his cracking voice behind a forced yawn.

"Stanley, are you crying?"

"I just got smoke in my eye! Shut up!"

MWEZ-RELA CMRSZ BY JR NHDSVT G NWYL GOTM. CCEK DWETQ HL I CPNSL QP ABSLBRQAM DMBM GU OIZXRT AW RQZ.

[kingofthewilderwest]

How do u feel about Mabel

I have an unending sense of adoration for what Mabel contributes to Gravity Falls. Technically, Mabel isn’t a favorite of mine – I don’t think of her or relate to her as much as others like Stan, Ford, Dipper, or Fiddleford. However, my appreciation for her is endless.

Gravity Falls couldn’t exist without Mabel. The story’s heart would be crippled. Mabel’s energy and charm provides a unique personality to the show through her unique personality. The show wouldn’t have the same vibe without her ridiculousness! Plus, GF is a story of familial love. And Mabel, as half of the younger Pines twins duo, is essential to giving us the feels of what it means to be in a loving but emotionally complicated family. They couldn’t have picked a better personality to interact with Dipper and Stan for the narrative’s central trio. The combination of Mabel’s vivacity, Stan’s gruffness, and Dipper’s paranoia… is what sells us on this cast. (With Bill, Soos, Wendy, Ford, Pacifica, Gideon, etc. making great additions.)

That’s already enough to celebrate Mabel, but I can’t say this enough: Mabel is the fulfillment of my greatest wish for women characters:

Let women be weird.

The Limited Scope of Female Personalities in Media

All genders get roped into stereotypical personalities in media, but I feel like women especially get reduced. I struggle relating to and loving fictional women… because they feel like the same restrictive subset of personalities I’ve seen reiterated again and again and again and again and again. 

There’s the rude, prissy, popular rich girl. 

There’s that easygoing cool tomboy. 

There’s the hot, edgy, serious, sexy, COOL, highly skilled badass action woman who is the most hardcore of the main cast, hides a sense of internal empathy and compassion, but warms up from her coldness when she meets the main character lead… and then probably goes and kisses him once he, despite being a rookie, magically manages to best her years of hard training.

*ka-sigh*

Even when a fictional woman doesn’t hit something that cringeworthily stereotypical, she still feels… bland. Fictional characters can be enjoyable exaggerations of personality traits – we have the opportunity to create as weird, ridiculous, or diverse of individuals as we possibly can. And yet usually women aren’t written to be as wild or diverse in their personalities as men. The ladies will probably look standardly pretty, act standardly reasonable, act standardly feminine, and make standard choices. Women characters in a cast often feel the least distinct to me. I’m probably not going to find quirks in my ladies or something that sets them apart from the crowd. Let’s be real: media depicts women according to societal expectation. Women in media are reduced to a washed-out, generic fantasy that doesn’t relate anything to how women feel, nor does it try hard to relate to what women feel.

The writing doesn’t understand women. And I can feel it.

When a bland, stale action woman goes on screen in her hot sexy tight pants, is her presentation supposed to be female empowerment (she’s fighting [gasp!])? Or is it another quick, uninspired shortcut without thinking through what her humanity is? “She fights, she’s a ‘good’ female role model, that’s good enough.” Still caters to the male gaze, still caters to male fantasy for what an attractive woman is like, still doesn’t think through her psychology, still presents media’s “desire” for what women “should” be like.

We drastically need to improve how women are written.

You know what my women friends are like? Women are loud and unashamed belchers. Women crack terrible puns about the French Revolution while everyone boos. Women dress up their stuffed animal cats in goggles and a lab coat. Women geek out over how cute worms are. Women want to kill the opposing team in sports competitions. Women eat food off the floor. Women spend sleepovers watching chick flicks and musicals. Women shriek screamo songs at the top of their lungs, getting maybe a third of the lyrics right, racing through the night in their car twenty miles over the speed limit. Women spend thirty five minutes trying to get the perfect selfie because their hair finally fucking cooperated. Women repeatedly text their friends photos of them flipping the bird making derp faces. Women play beer pong until they’re drunk. Women do unnecessarily complicated mathematics calculations to prove their point in fandom. Women stay up all night screaming murder at first person shooter video games. Women play shitty pop song covers on their tubas. Women spend an hour and a half dyeing their hair pink in the sink (and dye the entire bathroom pink in the process). Women debate the finer points of Immanuel Kant with one another. Women demand their friends dish the details when they hear someone has a new significant other. Women binge watch anime eating frozen dinners heated from the microwave while sobbing out their mascara. Women get crushes on Simba or Kovu from The Lion King. Women work out at gyms because they want to get RIPPED. Women. Are. Diverse. And. Delightfully. QUIRKY.

I know I ranted a long time about it, but the point is to show the difference between what women are (personable and peculiar)… versus the stale bread, watered-down crap we get in the movies.

So this. This is why I will never quit raving about Mabel.

Mabel finally lets us see an ACTUAL GIRL as ACTUAL GIRLS act: she’s delightfully, realistically, over-exaggeratedly, charmingly, unforgettably WEIRD.

Instead of trying to write a “girl” first and getting tied up in the tropes and gender biases, Gravity Falls writes a character who happens to be a girl with some girl traits.

What Makes Mabel Different

Instead of writing some standard bland stereotyping “oh this feels vaguely feminine and attractive” excuse-for-a-cardboard-cutout-of-a-woman… Mabel is given real love, real personality, real demonstration of what women are. After all these years of me suffering in theatres thinking, “Oh look, it’s the same uninspired sexy badass action woman stereotype,” I can finally find a character who’s not what media pretends women should be like. I see a character who the writers actually thought about her personality for!

Gravity Falls allows a woman character to do things I almost never see of women characters.

For starters: Mabel’s gross. She finds leftover tacos in the backseat of the car and decides it’s a perfect snack. She sticks her head into a dusty barrel and laughs when caterpillars crawl over her face. She makes fart sounds and laughs at those fart sounds. She lets a statue pick her nose. She shoves food into her mouth voraciously. She’s animated with wild, ridiculous, non-flattering facial expressions. Gravity Falls allows Mabel to be gross.

This is already amazing to me. Cartoons are a little better than live action movies, where the latter can’t let a woman look imperfect when she’s crying or fighting villains. But cartoons often have limitations for how women are shown, too. It’s refreshing to see a girl who is gross.

And I don’t know about you, but I’d be hard-pressed to name even three other contemporary Western women characters who’re allowed to be girly AND gross. Mabel Pines. Princess Fiona. The list ends there for me? Sometimes I’ll see girls in media dressed with “unruly” appearances – their hair is SLIGHTLY frazzled and they wear glasses (gasp) – but that’s not real grossness, and it’s especially not grossness combined with girliness.

Gravity Falls isn’t afraid to make Mabel both gross and “girly”, and that’s special.

Next, Mabel’s girliness feels authentic. By “girliness” I mean Mabel taking actions according to Western societal gender norms for ciswomen. I don’t mean that’s how girls have to innately be. I hate the idea that people “should” behave according to gender roles and encourage us all to express our individuality. Anyway. Yes, most women in media have girliness to them… but nothing prepared me to seeing a twelve year old girl act like the twelve year old girls I knew.

Mabel loves bright colors, rainbows, unicorns, cute boys, formal dances, boy bands, and looking cute. These are girly traits and girly interests. But the way they show Mabel, Candy, and Grenda bonding over boy talk at a sleepover? That ridiculous, unrestrained screaming, combined with the mischievous grins, is exactly the sort of stuff I grew up with. It’s not just “oh we wrote a girl who likes pink and makeup who gets catty about crushes” – it’s “oh, we wrote a girl who enjoys her girly side like a twelve year old would!”

Gravity Falls allows Mabel to live according to some elements of the gender norm. The show doesn’t tote the idea that people live without gender influence, that people live in a vacuum of culture. It shows people in society often live by some pattern of gender roles. But, the show doesn’t make Mabel be that norm or preach she should be that norm. Honestly, I don’t see many shows try to strike this balance: willing to give characters gender role interests, while still respecting that everyone is unique and doesn’t need to live by those roles. Either the shows completely drop gender roles (which can be refreshing and help us overcome our biases) or they stick too close to assumptions that your gender = your brain, which is backwards thinking.

GF doesn’t lazily pin a character with girly traits because “that’s what women are.” It doesn’t stop at some assumptive “She wears pretty boots.” It understands Mabel’s psychology, lets her express that girliness unrestrained, provides her screen time to live this (!!! screen time to girl time in an all-gender-demographic-show!!!), and allows her to intersect that girliness with her grossness and her weirdness.

Next, Mabel is allowed to be confident and bold. Society isn’t good with women being bold and outspoken yet. Women often get criticized for being bossy, bitchy, obnoxious, etc. when they speak their minds and act with the confidence that men are “allowed” to have in their daily lives. And yet Mabel can be an outspoken and unrestrained character.

It works well for her age, too! 

Last, Mabel is weird. Mabel has quirks. I’ve said this three hundred times and I’ll say it three hundred more, but Mabel being weird is a delight. It’s not often that women are allowed to be the ridiculous comedic side in children’s / family animation. (Yay Ruffnut for also fulfilling this role.) 

Mabel is unrestricted, allowed to be a wild dork on screen. She’ll eat tubes of toothpaste because they’re sparkly, make “Mabel juice” with plastic dinosaurs in the pitchers, dress pigs in costume, knit scratch-and-sniff sweaters, slap stickers on her uncle’s nose, scream for a minute straight before coughing up glitter, dream up the centaurtaur, and more. 

But it’s not just that. It’s her mindset. Mabel’s excitement for things – down to an eight legged cow having “more limbs for hugging” – is a perspective I essentially never see in stories. She’s got a way of looking at the world like no one else I know. It’s a wild, bizarre perspective… but that’s what makes her so good and human. 

Mabel has a “What the heck?” vibe from her, whether it’s her interests, her thought processes, or her choices.

And frankly, that’s so much more relatable, personable, and beautiful to me… than almost any other woman I see on screen in media. When I see Mabel, I can remember what I was like as a kid.

Although I’m non-binary, I didn’t grow up knowing about non-cis gender. I grew up more or less thinking of myself as a little girl. Many of my childhood experiences were with little girls. So, when I look at old photographs of myself, I see someone with unrestrained energy, joy, and weirdness - just like Mabel.

That is what kids are like, guys! That is what kids are like!

Not this weird restricted stereotype on television I see! But THIS.

So yeah. 

Even just from the topic “What does Mabel bring to women’s representation in media,” Mabel is a shooting star. She’s a success. I love it. It’s freeing, exciting, and refreshing to me, being able to see a woman character given this loving treatment. I’m passionate about women being represented well in media, and not in the sense of falsely-portrayed empowerment. Mabel is the glorious three-dimensional, unique, bizarre, memorable type of girl I want!

She’s worth celebrating for all her personality traits, too: her creativity, her energy, her lightheartedness, her love for her family. But that’s content for another essay.

In short: bless Mabel Pines. Bless, bless, bless Mabel Pines.

This is a damn great character.

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 4: Squib Load

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

I was too busy working on my thesis last week and getting sick this week to upload this chapter.  The fic is already written, but it takes time to post, especially since I sometimes edit while I’m posting it.  But!  It is here.  And things go from bad to worse...

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Squib load (noun): a firearms malfunction in which a fired projectile does not have enough force behind it to exit the barrel, and thus becomes stuck

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              Stan paced anxiously by the side of Ford’s bed, glancing at Ford every now and then.  Ford was sleeping peacefully, his chubby, cherubic face particularly angelic.  Stan scowled.

              He has no right to look so relaxed when he did this to himself.  Why the hell did he eat that plant?  He knows better than that!  Hell, I know better than that, and I’m a dumbass.

              “Yer bound to wear a hole in the floor like that,” a voice said.  Stan spun around.  Fiddleford had returned from his house.  He handed the plastic bag he was holding to Stan.  “That oughta fit him.  Yer lucky that I’m a bit of a hoarder.  Children’s clothes are expensive.”

              “I know,” Stan mumbled, thinking back to some of the price tags he’d seen at the mall, what felt like years ago.  “Why didn’t his clothes shrink with him this time?”

              “The cause was dif’rent,” Fiddleford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “Yeah, I got that, Fiddlenerd.  I’m complaining, not actually asking a question.”  Stan set the bag down next to the bed.  “It looks like he’s done shrinking, at least.” Stan looked at Ford again.  “No clue how old he is now.”  Fiddleford crossed over to the bed and sat on the edge. He stroked Ford’s hair out of his face.

              “I can’t give ya an exact age, but he looks to be ‘bout three.  Maybe a young four or an old two.  Depends on whether he was larger or smaller than average as a child.”  Fiddleford looked at Stan expectantly.  Stan shrugged.  “Well, the range of old two to young four ain’t exactly an easy one.  If ya thought he was difficult ‘fore, he’s goin’ to be extra difficult now.”

              “Why did that plant do this to him?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford let out a heavy sigh.

              “I don’t know, and I won’t until I get a chance to observe it more closely. Unfortunately, Stanford was the one who knew biology.  Combine the fact I ain’t that knowledgeable in the first place with the current state of my mind and ya wind up with someone tryin’ to shoot with both eyes closed.”

              “You figured out what was going on with the energy whatever,” Stan protested. Fiddleford shook his head.

              “Stanford collected most of that data hisself.  And it was regardin’ a machine’s impact.  This time, it’s a plant’s impact.  My knowledge on plants is strictly from growin’ up on a farm. That plant wasn’t alfalfa or an apple tree.”  Ford made a small noise and rolled over.  Fiddleford smiled faintly.  “These are terrible conditions, to be sure, but I’m a sucker fer a cute face.”  Stan sat on the edge of the bed as well, watching Fiddleford watch Ford.

              There was no doubt that Fiddleford was a loving, caring father. He radiated an aura of gentleness while he looked at Ford.  Stan felt an ugly jealousy unfurling in his chest, thinking of his own childhood.  Dreading the sound of heavy footsteps on stairs, being ignored until he succeeded or, more often, screwed up.

              Why is this hick who looks like there’s a chicken nesting in his hair a better dad than I got?  Fiddleford looked up.  He furrowed his brow thoughtfully.

              “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “No, just-”  Stan looked away and tried to fight back his sudden irritation.  “Just thinking about when we were this small before.”

              “Ah.”  The sound was small, but full of understanding.  Stan looked back at Fiddleford.  “I ain’t privy to the details, but Stanford told me a few things ‘bout his – your – parents.”  Fiddleford gazed down at Ford.  “I forget sometimes that not everyone had a ma and pa that took care of ‘em as well as mine did.  When ya grow up with somethin’, ya tend to not realize that there are folks who don’t have that thing.”  The jealousy that had arisen out of nowhere began to settle into a low simmer.

              Right.  The reason why he’s a good dad and Pops wasn’t is because this guy actually cares about other people.  And he had a good dad, so he had someone he could copy. It was like a stone had been tossed into Stan’s stomach.  It’s for the best I haven’t had kids yet.  Maybe I shouldn’t ever.  It’s not like I had someone who could show me how to do it right.

              “What’s in the past is in the past,” Fiddleford said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  Stan snorted.

              “Sounds like something someone who had a good past would say.”

              “Or it’s somethin’ someone would say if they’re beginnin’ to learn the hard way that they need to find a healthy way to move past negative events,” Fiddleford said sharply.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              I touched a nerve, didn’t I?  The urge to keep pushing was strong, especially since Fiddleford had been strangely specific.  Stan fought back that urge.  Don’t. If you push him, he might leave. And if he leaves, you’re stuck with three-year-old Ford and no idea how to take care of him, let alone cure him. Stan frowned, a stray phrase that Fiddleford had mentioned earlier suddenly catching his attention.

              “What did you mean by your ‘current state of mind’?” Stan asked. Fiddleford stilled.  “You’ve mentioned it before.  That your brain isn’t what it used to be.”

              “That’s private, personal business,” Fiddleford said tightly.

              “Not really, if it’s gonna make curing Ford more difficult.”  Stan had touched another nerve.  Fiddleford’s jaw clenched.

              “Then it serves him right, ‘cause his actions ‘re what led me to it,” Fiddleford growled.

              “So it has to do with whatever happened between you and Ford,” Stan said. Fiddleford nodded reluctantly. “What was it?  Bad breakup?” Stan joked.  Fiddleford completely froze, every muscle tensed.  Only his eyes moved, darting back and forth like a bee trapped inside a room.  Stan could practically hear the gears frantically turning in Fiddleford’s head. Finally, Fiddleford relaxed.

              “No.”

              “…That’s it?  That’s all you’re gonna say?  ‘No’?”

              “What more do ya want me to say?”

              “I want you to tell me what happened with you and Ford.  And why it might make curing him more difficult. You might have a beef with him and I do too, but he’s still my brother, okay?  I want him to get back to normal!”  Stan began to pick up steam as he spoke, physically shaking by the time he bit off his last word.

              “Fine.”  Fiddleford carefully pulled Ford’s blanket higher, covering Ford’s shoulders.  “I’ll tell ya.”  His voice was soft but firm.  He looked up at Stan, meeting his eyes unflinchingly.  “But only if ya tell me in turn ‘bout yer own issues with him.”

              “Hell, no,” Stan said immediately.  “That’s my business.”

              “It’s only fair fer you to share with me, if I have to share with you.”

              “Your shit is relevant to the situation!  Mine isn’t!”

              “So you don’t think that there’s even a slight chance Ford might use whatever bad blood is between the two of ya as a weapon?” Fiddleford shot back. “He’s a toddler.  Toddler’s aren’t exactly known fer their self-control, and honestly, Ford wasn’t particularly good at that as an adult!  He’ll get frustrated at some point and use it against ya, to get ya to back down or hurt yer feelin’s ‘cause he’s upset he can’t stay up past eight!  It might not be relevant in the same way, but that don’t mean it ain’t!”

              “You goddamn fucking-” Stan started.  Ford let out a loud groan and began to move.  Stan and Fiddleford froze.  Stan belatedly realized that his voice had been getting louder, as had Fiddleford’s.  Fiddleford seemed to have come to the same conclusion.  Once Ford stilled again, Fiddleford got up.

              “Maybe we should have this conversation in the living room,” Fiddleford said quietly.  “A toddler is one of the worst people to wake up from a nap.  A toddler who will wake up and know he’s not supposed to be one?  Bound to be even worse.”

----- 

              Stan entered the kitchen.  Fiddleford looked up from the papers scattered across the kitchen table.  Stan held up the bottles he had found.

              “Time to get liquored up!” he said cheerfully.  Fiddleford raised his eyebrows.

              “You can.  I think I’ll avoid imbibin’ fer a while.”  He pointed at a cup sitting next to him, likely leaving water rings over everything. “I’m fine with my water fer now.” He looked back down at the papers, frowned, and picked one up.  “I don’t need to mess up my mind with alcohol.  It’s a bit like a hamster in a wheel as it is.”

              “Suit yourself.”  Stan opened a pantry and grabbed a glass tumbler, then poured amber liquid into it from one of the bottles.  He picked up the glass and sniffed the liquid experimentally.  “Hmm.  Smells like some fine whisky.  Ford’s got good taste.”  Stan joined Fiddleford at the table.  Fiddleford set down his piece of paper.

              “So.  Tell me about yer history with Stanford,” Fiddleford said, nonchalant.

              “One sec.”  Stan gulped down half of his glass of whisky.  “All right.  Ford and I were best friends when we were kids.  Mom would call us ‘joined at the hip’.  We…”  Stan trailed off.

              You don’t need to spill the whole thing.  He doesn’t need to hear it.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “But when we were in high school, Ford made this science fair experiment. All of a sudden, colleges were looking at him like he was gonna solve world hunger or cure cancer or whatever. He decided that he wanted to go to one of ‘em.  I was pretty pissed, ‘cause we always planned on doing stuff together when we were finally old enough to leave New Jersey.  And I went to go yell at his experiment about it.”  He managed a weak laugh.  “Like that was gonna help.”

              “Better ‘n yellin’ at Stanford,” Fiddleford said, his tone carefully neutral.

              “Not really.  I bumped a thing, something fell, and the damn machine broke.  I tried to fix it, but I couldn’t.”  The memory filled him with a hot, pulsing shame.  “That screw-up screwed up his shot at going to a fancy school out west,” Stan finished.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “I knew he was bitter ‘bout not gettin’ to go to West Coast Tech, but I never knew why he didn’t go there.”  Fiddleford rolled his eyes.  “He complained about it all the time at Backupsmore.”

              “He- wait, you went to college together?”

              “We were roommates.”

              Oh my god, they were roommates.

              “Even if he got into West Coast Tech, I doubt he’d have enjoyed it.  That school might be years ahead of the general population in terms of technology and science, but it’s way behind in…how should I say it?  Social progress.”

              “Sounds like you have experience with them.”

              “A bit.”  Fiddleford took a drink of water, his eyes stormy.  “I got in.  West Coast Tech accepted me to their engineerin’ program.  But then they found out somethin’ personal about me.  Don’t know how.  Maybe some spiteful feller from my high school told ‘em.  But it don’t matter.  Once they found out, they decided they didn’t want to be associated with my ‘lifestyle’.”  Fiddleford etched quotation marks in the air, a distinctly sour look on his face.

              “They couldn’t rescind my acceptance over it,” Fiddleford continued. “I mean, they could’ve.  But my ma was a lawyer ‘fore she married my pa, which they knew, ‘cause I mentioned it in my cover letter.  So they knew I’d make a stink over it.  Them backin’ out on their decision to accept me over a rumor.” Fiddleford swallowed.  “A rumor that was true, but I didn’t confirm it to ‘em. I ain’t always wise, but I ain’t dumb, neither.

              “They didn’t want to deal with the bad press, so they quietly changed the rules fer financial aid.  When I first got in, I qualified fer all sorts of grants and scholarships. Practic’ly a full ride.  But after they changed the rules, I didn’t qualify no more.  And without financial aid, I couldn’t go.”  Fiddleford downed the rest of his glass.  “They effectively shot me in the legs.  Didn’t kill me, but wounded me enough that I couldn’t go on.” Fiddleford’s voice broke. “Absolute horseshit, the lot of it.”

              “I’d agree with that,” Stan said solemnly.  Fiddleford sighed.

              “Anyways, I doubt Stanford would’ve thrived in an environment like that.” Fiddleford shook his head.  “Never mind.  Was that the end of yer story?”

              “…Basically,” Stan said.  Fiddleford took off his small reading glasses and busily rubbed at them with his sleeve. “I don’t know how that’s gonna help you clean those.  Your shirt’s even dirtier.”

              “Hmph.”  Fiddleford set his glasses down on the table.  He locked eyes with Stan.  Without a thin layer of smeared glass covering them, his eyes were a bright shade of blue, something that took Stan by surprise.  He wasn’t completely sure why it startled him, but nonetheless, it did. “What happened when Stanford’s machine was broken?”

              “Ford got pissed.”

              “And yer father?”

              “Even more pissed.”

              “What did he do?”  Fiddleford’s questions weren’t purposeless.  Each one was sharp, short, and thought-out.  A chill ran down Stan’s spine.  Fiddleford knew there was something Stan wasn’t saying.  Something Fiddleford was determined to find out.

              “Why do you care what my dad did?” Stan snapped.  “It doesn’t have anything to do with- with anything!  Back off!”  Fiddleford’s mouth straightened into one flat line.  After a moment, he leaned back.

              “I mentioned before that Stanford told me a bit ‘bout yer parents.  Not a lot, but enough to know that yer father would not have reacted well to this.”  Stan was silent.  “I don’t consider myself a busybody, but-”

              “You’re doing a pretty good job of pretending to be one, then.”

              “Am I wrong?” Fiddleford pried.  Stan scowled.  “Am I wrong in that somethin’ particularly awful went down that day?”

              “I don’t need to answer any more of your questions!” Stan thundered.  “I said I’d tell you why Ford and I weren’t on good terms.  I did, so I’m not gonna tell you anything else.”  Fiddleford held up his hands placatingly.

              “All right.  I’ll drop it. Fer now.”  Fiddleford looked down at the spreading water ring from his glass. “I s’ppose it’s my turn to share my bad blood with Stanford.”

              “Damn straight.”  Stan leaned back and took a swig of his whisky.  “Talk, Fiddledork.”

----- 

              “That’s essentially what happened,” Fiddleford said.  His mouth was dry from talking for so long.  “Both to make things…tense between Stanford and myself, and to leave me in my current state.”  Fiddleford’s shoulders drooped.  “I’ve felt scatter-brained before, but nothin’ like this.”

              “Huh.  I get it now,” Stan said thoughtfully.  Fiddleford was too weary from the weight of his decisions to respond energetically. He picked up his glass of water.

              “Get what?” he asked.

              “Why you and Ford used to get along so well.  You’re both dumbass geniuses.”  That startled Fiddleford out of his tiredness.  He slammed his glass down on the table and glared at Stan.

              “Excuse me?”

              “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m a dumbass, too,” Stan said airily.  He ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “But I’m not the kinda dumbass who makes sci-fi villain weapons, I’m the kinda dumbass who licks a metal pole in winter.”  Stan shook his head.  “How the hell did you think it was a good idea to make something that would erase memories?  That’s like, the plotline of half of Ford’s favorite books.”

              “Being able to erase traumatic events would revolutionize treatment! Think of all those folks with PTSD-”

              “Look.  I’ve been through plenty of traumatic shit I’d rather forget,” Stan said.  His voice was level but firm.  “There are things that haunt me.  But forgetting ‘em would mean I- well, if I don’t have my memories, I’m not me anymore.  And isn’t that the same problem you’ve got?  You used that thing on yourself and started forgetting and now you’re not the same guy that got into West Coast Tech.”

              “To be fair, there have been side effects from prolonged use,” Fiddleford said. “If I had worked out the tweaks more before beginning to use it-”

              “Maybe you wouldn’t be dealing with this,” Stan finished.  “But maybe you would.  I stand by what I said.  Everyone’s got things they wish hadn’t happened, or that they could forget happened. Erasing them, though, changes who we are.”  Stan was silent for a moment.  He looked out the window, his eyes mournful.  “I don’t always like who I am.  That doesn’t mean I’ll try to become someone else.  I don’t know how to be someone else.  I barely know how to be me.  Y’know?”  A heavy silence filled the room.

              “Yer quite the philosopher,” Fiddleford said finally. Stan shrugged.

              “I think a lot.  Not enough to be like you or Ford, but my head isn’t completely empty.”  He cracked a small grin.  Fiddleford managed a weak smile in return.  Quiet footsteps sounded in the kitchen.  Stan and Fiddleford looked over.  “You found the clothes,” Stan said to Ford.  Ford looked down at himself.  He was wearing bright red shorts and a white T-shirt that Fiddleford remembered having a lizard on the front.  The lizard wasn’t visible at the moment, though.  “Your shirt is inside-out,” Stan said helpfully.  Ford scowled.

              “I’m aware.  My coordination is currently lacking.”

              “Tots aren’t really known fer their gracefulness,” Fiddleford said, in what he hoped was an empathetic tone.  Ford rubbed his eyes.

              “‘Tots’?  I take it I’m a toddler, then?” he asked, his voice shaking.

              “Looks like,” Stan said.  He seemed to be taking the tactic opposite to Fiddleford’s.  Rather than keep Ford calm by commiserating, he appeared to be downplaying the seriousness of the situation.  His voice was light and cheerful, like the latest wrinkle to occur could be smoothed out easily.  Fiddleford nodded slightly, appreciative.

              Stan might try to deny it, but he has very good instincts.  Children pick up on the emotions of adults and will mirror them.

              “What brought about this development?” Ford asked.  Stan got up from his chair and crouched down in front of Ford.

              “You ate a weird plant in the woods.  Lift your arms.”

              “Why?”

              “Why did you eat the plant or why should you lift your arms?” Stan asked. “I don’t know the answer to the first one, but the answer to the second one is so that I can fix your shirt. C’mon.  Lift ‘em up.”  Ford did as he was told.  Stan slid off Ford’s shirt, turned it outside-in, and put it back on Ford. Through the process, he was gentle and careful.

              “Do you not remember the plant?” Fiddleford asked Ford.  Ford rubbed his chin, an action directly contradicting his current youthful appearance.

              “No.  Do you happen to have it?  Seeing it might jolt my memory.”

              “It’s in the lab,” Stan answered.  Ford nodded.

              “Excellent.  I’ll need to run some tests on myself anyways.  Two birds with one stone.”

              “Oh, hell no,” Stan said firmly.  Ford’s eyes widened, taking Fiddleford aback.  He’d expected a scowl or frown.  Ford seemed less angry than startled.

              “What?  Why?” Ford whined.  Stan stood up.

              “You’re three.”

              “So?”

              “Your lab isn’t safe!  There’s all sortsa weird, dangerous stuff in there.”

              “Stanley!”

              “Calm down, gents,” Fiddleford said.  “Stanley, Stanford’s right in that more tests need to be run on him. Stanford, Stanley’s right that it ain’t really safe fer ya to be in the lab.  Yer too lil to do any experimentation anyways.”

              “I beg to differ,” Ford muttered, crossing his arms and looking away.  He let out a small squeak as Stan picked him up. “Hey!”

              “Fiddlesticks, think you can run the tests on him?”

              “I can do my best,” Fiddleford said hesitantly.

              “Your best is gonna be better than mine,” Stan said.  “Let’s go get those tests done.  Then…I dunno, maybe we put Ford down for a nap.”

              “No!” Ford protested.  He squirmed in Stan’s arms.  “Put me down!”

              “I thought you didn’t wanna be put down for a nap,” Stan said snarkily. Ford stopped squirming to glare at him.

              “That’s not what I meant and you know it!  I can walk downstairs myself!”

              “I’m not gonna risk it.  Those stairs are steep.  I don’t want you to trip and break your nose.”  Fiddleford watched the bickering with some amusement.  It wasn’t quite the same as an argument between siblings, which Fiddleford had plenty of experience with.  But it also wasn’t quite the same as an argument between a parent and child, which Fiddleford also knew well.

              Whichever fightin’ it’s most like, it’s kind of cute.  Though that might have somethin’ to do with the people who are arguin’.  Fiddleford flushed slightly.  Now what did I mean by that?

              “Fine, dad,” Ford grumbled, giving in.  Stan was facing away from him, but Fiddleford could still see him tense slightly.  “You can carry me down the stairs.  But I refuse to be carried all the way to the lab.  I can walk to the stairs.”

              “Sure,” Stan said quietly.  He set Ford down.  Ford immediately set off, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Fiddleford got up and walked over to Stan.  He placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  Stan startled.

              “Somethin’ wrong?” Fiddleford asked softly.  Stan looked away.  “…All right, I won’t push it.  But ya seemed mighty tense just now.”

              “It’s probably nothing,” Stan muttered.  “It’s- Ford’s never called me ‘dad’ before.  Even jokingly.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “But he was joking, so yeah, it’s- it’s probably nothing.  I’m probably just a bit on edge about all of this.”

              “It’s understandable fer ya to be on edge.”  Without thinking, Fiddleford squeezed Stan’s shoulder reassuringly. Stan eyed him.

              “You’re a bit touchy, aren’t you?”

              “My apologies,” Fiddleford mumbled.  He removed his hand.  “I’ll grab what I need to.  You bring Stanford down to the lab.”

----- 

              By the time Fiddleford arrived in the lab, Stan had found an old blanket and covered the large window through which the portal could be seen.  It was a challenging task, in that he had to do it one-handed, with Ford constantly trying to break free of his hold.  Now, Ford ambled around the lab, standing on his tiptoes to try to see over the edges of counters and mumbling to himself. Stan couldn’t quite make out all of Ford’s words, but he recognized a few as frustrated swears.  Ford’s cussing was incredibly endearing as he puttered around in the distinctive toddling gait of a very young child.

              “Sorry ‘bout the wait,” Fiddleford said, finally arriving in the lab, carrying a cardboard box.  He looked around.  “Why haven’t ya turned the lights on?”

              “There’s a light switch?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford reached a finger out and flipped a switch that Stan had seen before but assumed turned on some sort of death ray.  The lab was filled with light.  Fiddleford glanced at the window tensely.  Stan was relieved to see his face relax.

              “I see you’ve hidden that bad decision.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan shrugged, passing off the action as inconsequential to him.  “It hasn’t done anything good so far, so I figured, why stare at it?”

              “Very sound logic,” Fiddleford said.  He flashed an appreciative look in Stan’s direction.  “Stanford, c’mere.  Let’s get you all tested.  Sooner we’re done with that, the sooner you can have lunch and take a nap.”

              “I don’t need a nap,” Ford protested, but he toddled over to Fiddleford obediently.  Fiddleford set the box on the ground, got down on his knees, and pulled a device that looked like a grocery store scanner out of the box.  “By the way, how long was I unconscious?” Ford asked. Fiddleford moved the scanner up and down Ford’s body.

              “A coupla hours,” Stan answered.  “Not too long.”  He glanced at his watch.  “We went on a hike around nine, you passed out around ten, it’s noon-ish now.” Ford’s stomach rumbled. “Fiddleford was right about lunch. We need to get some food in you. Any requests?”

              “I’d think somethin’ not too strong,” Fiddleford said.  He looked at the screen of the scanner, his face grim. “Toddlers should be restricted to blander food.  Maybe somethin’ like chicken nuggets or mac ‘n cheese.  Do either of those sound good to ya, Stanford?”

              “Either one should be fine.”  Ford craned his neck around to try to look at the scanner’s screen as well, but Fiddleford put the scanner back in the box.  “What were the results of that?”

              “Odd.”

              “Odd how?” Ford pressed.

              “Yer no longer givin’ off the energy of a dif’rent dimension.  Yer cells seemed to have realigned with this one.”

              “That’s good, right?” Stan asked.  Ford rolled his eyes.

              “Duh, dad,” he scoffed.  Stan’s chest tightened.  Fiddleford looked up at him.  Their eyes met.  Fiddleford nodded slightly.

              He thinks it’s weird, too.  For weeks, Ford never called me ‘dad’, even though I acted like one.  But since he turned into a toddler, he’s called me that twice.  Jokingly, yeah, but what if he starts saying it seriously?

              “On the surface, yes, it’s good,” Fiddleford said carefully.  He removed another item from the box.  Stan squinted.  It looked like a pair of tweezers.  “I’ll see ‘bout testin’ some of yer DNA.”

              “You don’t have much experience with that,” Ford said.

              “I’ve seen you do it plenty of times.  I think I can figure it out.  And if I can’t, I can always ask ya.”  Fiddleford plucked a strand of hair from Ford, who let out a small yelp.  “Sorry ‘bout that.  It’s not a pleasant feelin’, but I figure it’s better ‘n blood samples.” Ford paled.

              “Yes.  I prefer this over taking blood samples.  Needles…” Ford trailed off.  He shivered violently.  Fiddleford’s mouth pursed in concern, but Ford’s reaction didn’t surprise Stan.  He remembered well his brother’s childhood fear of all things medical.  As a medical anomaly, he was in and out of doctors’ offices near constantly, and not just to try to fix something.  Filbrick used to brag about the number of studies they’d been paid to have Ford participate in, back when Ford was too young to protest being treated like a lab rat.

              “Needles suck,” Stan said, trying to take some of the focus off Ford.

              “No disagreements here,” Fiddleford said, feigning cheer.  He took out a third device from the box.  This one looked like a cross between a satellite dish and ray guns on the shows Ford used to watch.  Like with the scanner, there was a screen on it directly facing Fiddleford.  “This is the last test I’ll be runnin’ fer now.”

              “Really?  There are so many others!” Ford said.  “You haven’t even taken my vitals, for one.”

              “Well…”  Fiddleford set down the satellite dish-ray gun.  He pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead.  “You feel fine temperature-wise.  Hold out yer wrist.”  Fiddleford silently took Ford’s pulse.  “Heart rate is also fine.”  Fiddleford placed his hands on his knees.  “There ‘re plenty of other vital signs, but those two are the ones I’d be most concerned ‘bout.  I can listen to yer breathin’ ‘n whatnot later, but ya seem fairly healthy to me.” Ford’s stomach rumbled again. Fiddleford managed a small smile. “And ya sound pretty hungry, so goin’ through this as fast as possible to make sure ya get to eat soon is a good idea. Let me get a quick readin’ on ya and then Stan can take ya upstairs fer some lunch.”  Fiddleford held up the satellite dish-ray gun again.  He pulled the trigger.  There was a flash of light.

              “Well?” Ford prompted impatiently.  Fiddleford nodded slowly, staring at the gun’s screen.

              “Yer givin’ off a bit of magical radiation.”

              “Wait, Ford’s magic now?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford tilted his head one way, then the other.

              “Yes and no.  I’ll need some time to properly interpret these results, but just goin’ off what I see here, it looks like Ford has a slight magical aura.  Prob’ly from eatin’ that plant in the woods.”  Fiddleford playfully poked Ford’s nose.  Ford wrinkled his nose in response, eliciting a small smile from Fiddleford.  “Go on upstairs and have yourself some food, okay?  Once yer done with lunch and yer nap after, I can go over these results with ya if ya still want to.”

              “Okay.”  Ford looked over at Stan hopefully.  “Mac ‘n cheese?”  Stan nodded.

              “You got it.”  Stan strode over to Ford and picked him up.  To his surprise, instead of attempting to wriggle free, Ford settled against his chest.  He began to head upstairs.  “And this time, I won’t even make you eat a vegetable with it.”  Ford beamed up at him.

              “Thanks, dad.”  A lump appeared in Stan’s throat.  He choked it down and forced a smile.

              “No problem, Sixer.”

[zonerobotnik]

"Great Uncles!" "Which one is that?" Stanford asked, looking up from his reading. "One of the children. I think the girl, but it's hard to tell them apart sometimes." Fiddleford commented, getting up and going to the window. "I'll go see--GOODNESS! Mabel, what happened to your DRESS?!" Mabel was covered head to toe in dirt and grass stains, and looked very pleased with herself. By her side was a wild boar piglet, similarly covered in stains from most likely rolling around on the ground. "This is Waldo Grout the 1st! I found him in the woods! May I keep him?" She asked, picking the piglet up. Fiddleford brought a hand to his head. "Uhm...Stanford!" Stanford got up and made his way over to the window. "Why, Mabel! Have you made a friend?" "Mmhm!" She beamed happily. "May I keep him?" "Well, you're both going to need a bath." Stanford chuckled. "Come inside and wash up, before Fiddleford here has a heart attack. William, start the bath for Mabel and her little friend." "His name's Waldo Grout the 1st!" Mabel said, carrying the piglet inside. "What a wonderful name." Stanford smiled, going to meet her at the door. "He tried to kill me!" Mabel said excitedly. "And so I tried to kill him, and we wrestled and rolled around and then, whoosh, it was like magic! We felt such a connection! So, he's mine now." "I'm sure Stanley will be excited to meet him. Why don't you both wash up before he gets home with your brother and you can tell us all about it over tea." Stanford ushered her inside. "Okay!" She skipped away to follow Will Cipher to the bathroom, trailing dirt and grass behind her. Fiddleford sighed. "Well, this is what we have Cipher for, I suppose. I shoulda known children would be messy." Stanford chuckled. "Aw, she's adorable." -- I realized that I hadn't yet drawn 12 year old Mabel Gleeful so here she is! Precious ray of sunshine, she is. Even if she's going to grow to be a vicious killer. Fiddleford has been living with only adults so long that he's forgotten how messy kids can be. He'll get used to it. This takes place in 2008, four years before Gideon comes back and two years after he was taken out of town with his mother.

[kittykat-creations]

Worldwide Mageddon AU

So my cool friend @primepulse came up with like a really good AU (more info over at @worldwidemeggadon) where Ford gets tricked into starting a worldwide weirdmaggedon when he’s 17. Also took some inspiration from their short fic about this scene, I just wanted to add in Bella bc of course I did. Mine is mainly a parody, so I did steal some speech lines from their fic.

“Why can’ we just eat- eat the farm animals? Free meat, right there!”

“Fer the last time, we ain’t eatin’ the animals,” Fiddleford replied. “They’re fam’ly.”

“They’re goddamn animals!” Bella protested. “You ain’t even a- You ain’t even a vegetarian!”

“Would you eat Happy?” Fiddleford asked.

“That’s different!” Bella groaned. “Ya ain’t supposed ta eat cats. People actually eat pigs an’ cows an’ chickens.”

“People in China eat cats,” Fiddleford told her.

“Well that’s their weird thin’,” Bella rolled her eyes. “Besides, Ah ain’t gonna eat my kitty when we’ve got animals that’re- supposed ta be food.”

Fiddleford didn’t respond, instead approaching a big warehouse. Bella looked up at it, rubbing the soft blanket tied around her neck like a cape. Fiddleford led her inside, looking around at the boxes full of machinery. Bella tugged at her bra a bit and adjusted the straps of her bag.

“Why’d this apocalypse shit have’ta happen right before we turned eighteen?” Bella complained. “Y’know how much Ah was lookin’ forward ta- gettin’ these things removed?”

“Yes, Ah do.”

“Ah swear, if Ah ever meet whoever started this apocalypse, Ah’m kickin’ their ass in,” Bella grumbled.

“Ssh,” Fiddleford said suddenly, holding up an arm to prevent Bella from walking forward.

“Hm?” Bella questioned quietly. Fiddleford pointed at a brunet a little bit ahead of them with his back to them. He hadn’t seemed to notice them, and was instead focused on a dusty old sandwich left from a worker who had apparently ran. Fiddleford pulled a gun from his belt, not taking his eyes off of the other man. Bella eyed it, backing up a bit and pulling her blanket over her head. Fidds motioned for her to stay there before he approached the man and loaded the gun.

“Ah recommend you take a step back, mister,” Fiddleford said. The man seemed to freeze before taking a step back and slowly raising his hands. Fiddleford set the end of the gun on the back of the man’s head and stepped into his line of sight, peering at him. Bella ducked more behind the boxes she was watching from. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m looking for food,” the man answered. Fiddleford removed the gun and put it back at his belt. He nodded at Bella, who slowly came over and took her place next to her friend. The man lowered his arms as he watched her.

“Name’s Fiddleford McGucket,” Fiddleford introduced, holding out a hand. “This here’s Bella. Who might you be?”

“Uh- Stanford,” the man said. “Stanford Pines.”

“Pleasure ta meet ya,” Fiddleford smiled, taking the sandwich and tearing it into three pieces. He gave one piece to Stanford and another piece to Bella. “Sorry ‘bout puttin’ a gun ta yer head.” He took a bite of the sandwich, while both Bella and Stanford looked over their pieces first. “Ain’t nothin’ personal. Ya don’ know who you can trust anymore.”

Stanford laughed.

“So, Stanford, what’s brought ya ta Tennessee?” Fiddleford asked.

“Yeah, y-you sound- er, you don’t sound like yer um, from aroun’ here,” Bella spoke up. Stanford appeared to choke on his sandwich a bit.

“I-I’m in Tennessee?” He questioned.

“Mm-hm,” Bella confirmed.

“Where’re ya from?” Fiddleford asked.

“New Jersey,” Stanford answered.

“Ooooh boy,” Fiddleford chuckled. “Well, welcome ta the country, mister.”

“Where we’ll hold a gun up ta someone’s head but we won’ eat a fuckin’ pig!” Bella grinned, throwing an arm around Fiddleford’s neck.

“Can ya leave me alone about that fer one goshdarn minute?!”

“Nope! Never.”

[shadowofthelamp]

Let Me Help

So, after some introspection and realizing why Ford matters to me, I decided that the self-insert fic I was planning to do anyways should work off of that. Set in the 80′s, during the time Ford had locked himself up to study more about Bill post-betrayal. 

I’m going to do another one in a bit that’s a bit more huggy and comforting, but I wanted to get a base and try and get 80′s ford nailed down.

Gravity Falls in the winter is kind of peaceful.

Well, it's a small town in the middle of nowheresville, Oregon- of course it's going to be quiet. There's the occasional gnome attack, but you'd gotten used to them and the other various supernatural creatures ages ago. You'd grown up here, after all.

However, one thing was new this year- the mysterious scientist who lived in the woods. Not Fiddleford, he came into town often and was happy to chat with people, everyone knew him by now. He had an accent, he had helped Susan fix the broken oven in the diner, and he had fun stories about his farm when he was a kid.

No, his partner was the mystery. S... S something. Stanley? Samuel? Whatever it was, he only ever appeared to buy supplies then sweep back to his backwoods cabin out on Gopher Road. He wore a trench coat. You'd seen him approximately three times. Once in the diner, ordering coffee, once at the hardware store buying a blowtorch, and once in the middle of the woods with a net, chasing after pixies.

It didn't tell you much besides the fact he hadn't figured out that the pixies would come to you if you had honey.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea, but you hadn't always had the best ideas, you'd run out of books to read, and something in you itched for an adventure, but you found yourself traipsing through the December snow to that creaky house that already looked old at the end of the road. Fiddleford had always been so kind, and you'd always liked talking to the shy ones in class. S-whatever probably was the same. He didn't seem much older than you, after all. Maybe he just needed a friend.

...Those barrels out front probably were full of some kind of science goo. This was Gravity Falls, not some place that would end up on the news because somebody had toxic waste.

The floorboards of the porch creaked under your winter boots, and you knocked on the door twice. Snow plopped off the roof and unto the ground, crushing a solitary weed that had squirmed up through the frost. Footsteps clomped towards the door, but it didn't open.

"Who is it?" His voice was shaky, and you puzzled over a response for a moment.

"My name is Miranda, I'm just here to talk. Is this a bad time?"

"Who are you?" The doorknob rattled, but the door remained shut.

"Um, I'm... Miranda. I'm twenty two, I was just curious what you do out-" The door nearly slammed you in the face as he pointed a flashlight to your eyes, a snarl on his lips. The light burns, but he only leaves it on for a moment before being satisfied by whatever he did (or didn't) see.  

You regret coming the moment he tugs you in by your wrist, reminders of stranger danger floating around in your head. You can still feel the wind and snow swirling at your back, but he just tugs his coat tighter around him with his free hand as he narrows his eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"I... well, I haven't seen Fiddleford in town for nearly a week, and I've always been sort of interested in science, and... are you all right?" It had taken until you'd seen him in flickering light, but he didn't look very well. There were bags under his eyes, and his skin was sallow and sagging, as if he'd lost weight.

"That's a good one. You just happened to show up when you've never wanted to be here before?" His nails dig into your wrist as he flips your hand over, tugging off your glove and shining his flashlight at your palm. He yanks it up to eye level, and you stumble forward, barely managing to avoid crashing into him. "Fingerprints look legitimate..."

"Seriously, are you okay? It's freezing in here, you don't have any heat on. Is that a dinosaur skull? Why were you looking at my-" "Shh, he's- what did you say your name was? Never mind, it's not important. You shouldn't be here, why are you here?"

His eyes are twitching, and he looks like your friend after she stayed up two days straight during a particularly strenuous final.  "I was just... wondering, is all. About your fancy science stuff. I saw you chasing after pixies once, so... you like Gravity Falls for the supernatural stuff too, right? I have some stories-"

He sets his hands on your shoulders, squeezing in the fabric of your coat. "Listen. You don't want to be involved with me, with this. Leave, and don't come back. Tell everyone to stay away. This is dangerous, awful, it's a mess, it's a mess-" He's started shaking, and you set a hand on top of one of his. Something feels weird- does he have too many fingers?- but it seems to calm him down, at least a little.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. I'll... I'll go."

"Yes. Yes, go, that's a good idea." He lets go, raking a hand through his hair. It's slick, but more like he hadn't washed it in a few days than the shine of hair gel.

He ushers you out the door, and it isn't until it clicks shut that you realize a piece of paper is stuck to your boot. The wet snow has made half of it indecipherable, but the parts that are are scribbles of some kind of were-cougar. It's apparently a cougar that turns into a much bigger cougar on full moons.

Huh. You'd never seen that before. _________

It was two days before you found yourself on his doorstep again. You hadn't even gotten his name yet, but... he'd looked like he needed help. Badly. You'd been in that sort of place before, that place when you didn't want to admit you felt like shit and didn't care about life anymore, and if you could help someone out of there, you damn well were going to do it.

You had macaroni and cheese in a thermos. It wasn't very classy but it would have probably melted your mom's tupperware so it was better than nothing.

You knocked twice. "It's me again!"

"Who?"

"Miranda! I came a few days ago, you shined a light in my eyes?"

Something metal jangled before the door creaked open.

"What did... did I tell you to leave?"

"Yes, but I wanted to give you this." You hold out the thermos. "It has mac and cheese. I know it's not much, but it didn't look like you'd eaten."

He stares at you like you'd grown horns.

"You can look at my hands again, if you want."

"What do you care about hands?" His tone shoots to defensive almost immediately.

"Well, you wanted to see mine last time. Something about the fingerprints. I dunno what you were looking for."

He blinks before taking a step back, and you hear a series of crashes before he's pushing the door open the rest of the way. You take that as a cue to step in, nearly tripping over a cage that only went up just past your ankle. "Woah!"

"Ah, my- my apologies, I wasn't expecting- it was- nothing."  

Turning slightly to your left to the stairs shows three chairs- all different- and another cage twice the size of the one that almost made your teeth get acquainted with the wooden floorboards. Either someone had had a fit or he'd been blocking the door and needed to chuck them away to let you in.

"I know I'm probably intruding but... I noticed you didn't look so hot, last time. I know mac and cheese always makes me feel better."

You hold out the thermos again, and he takes it from you, setting it on a small table littered with printer paper.

"Oh. Um. Thank you." He stares at you for a few moments, scanning you up and down. Even in a puffy coat, you feel almost naked. "Why did you do that for me? I don't know you. Is this a trick?"

"I... I've been where you are." You swallow, about to continue, but then he suddenly smiles. It doesn't look like he's happy- his eyes are watering- but it shows off a chipped tooth and blood on his gums.

"You think you've been where I am? You know what- what I've been through? You... you couldn't possibly...!" His mouth extends to the point where you wince for his cheek muscles, but this feels like a horror movie. You take a step backwards as he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and something that's both a sob and a distorted laugh forces its way out of his throat. His body starts shaking again, and you raise a hand to your own mouth.

Whatever is wrong with him, if he doesn't get help he is going to hurt himself. You know this for certain- and you knew a panic attack when you saw one.

"Hey, it's okay. Breathe." You can't force your feet to move closer, but you can ball your hands into fists and shove them into your coat pockets. "It's all right, let it out, take a breath." He's still wide-eyed, looking at something above you and a million miles away. "With me, in one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand."

He squeezes his eyes closed, nodding his head far faster then the pace you're setting, but you try again. "In one thousand, two one thousand, out one thousand, two one thousand. Focus on my voice. Just think of the snow falling outside. It's nice and even and slow. Focus on your hands, squeeze your fingers, focus on how it feels against your palm... okay, let them go."

He took another deep breath before opening his eyes again. The right one looks more bloodshot than the left but they're both more grounded than they were before.

"...Thank you."

You force up a smile even though your heart is pounding. "You're welcome. I've had panic attacks before, I know they majorly suck. That's part of why I came- I wanted to know if I could help."

"Help?" He wraps his arms around himself, and you notice the elbow is burnt off the left sleeve.

"Yeah, help. I don't want anybody going through that junk alone, after I did." You take a few steps forward, and your boots crinkle more paper.

He takes a few steps back as you move, so you stop.

"No, no. No, this is a trick, I can't trust you, can't trust anyone, can't-"

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you." You have a sudden idea. "How about I prove it?"

"How?"

You grab the thermos of noodles. "How about we split it? You know it's not poisoned or whatever, I'll know you're eating. That's the first thing I know I stopped, anyway- eating properly."

He stares at you for a solid fifteen seconds before nodding slowly.

"Fine."

______________

Over the next week, you learn new information bit by bit. His name is Stanford. He's been in Gravity Falls for six years now. He came here because it's one of the weirdest places in the world, something you think is accurate and also really neat. You can't imagine the town without talking squirrels or the occasional wandering vampire.

He's done something bad. He refuses to specify what, or to let you past the living room, but considering every time you see him he's got a new bandage somewhere, he's still beating himself up for it.

Your suggestion that he go to the hospital for a few days nearly gets a fork in your neck so you decide to not mention it again. You're pleased that he's gained a tiny bit of color, but the bags under his eyes only continue to get deeper. There are always mugs half-filled with coffee scattered around, but if you ask how long it's been since he's slept, he simply waves it off, that he has too much work to do.

You never visit for long- he usually shoos you out within fifteen minutes, but by the third time, you've developed a routine- he gives you a code word at the end of one visit, and you'll say it the next so he knows it's you.

Unfortunately, you never really learn what he thinks some mysterious 'other you' with sinister intentions could be.

A particularly cloudy Thursday, when he answers the door he's got a creepy grin on his face and his glasses glint gold.

"Hey! Come in, come in! I'm so glad you're here, I've been dying to show you something!"

He didn't even ask for the code word, but you step inside anyways. Maybe you were just dumb that way. Maybe you'd started to like the way his hands darted about, and how he looked when he explained something, lighting up and showing you a hint of what he'd used to be.

Maybe it was something more than just trying to prevent the continuation of a spiral like your own.

"What do you want to-" you start, but Stanford shoved something that smelled rancid into your face. It took a moment for your crossed eyes to adjust, and you saw fur and blood and white squirming maggots. Upon stumbling back, you realized it was a deer head, with the antlers replaced with a crown of rabbit's ears. Knives stabbed into both eyeballs, and blood drooled down the cheeks of the animal.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to look away. "That's... interesting. Very dark."

"Oh, that's nothing! Wanna see what I did to myself?" You nearly vomit as he drops the deer head (that hits the wood with a meaty THWAUMP) and rips back his sleeve to show fresh burns, ragged cuts zigzagging across them like a sick facsimile of stitches on a baseball.

"Wh-what..."

"I'm a bit out there, see!"  His grin grew wider. "It's not safe, y'know- one day I'm just curled up on a puddle of my own tears, the next I'm doing taxidermy on live animals! It's a toss-up, curly, and I think you might wanna stay away! That sound good?"

You nod mutely, stomach still turning with bile. The blood from the deer splattered unto your pants and shoes.

"Toodles!" He roughly shoves you through the door and off the porch, slamming it hard enough to make a single bird that had braved the winter fly off with an indignant 'CAW!'.

You shiver in the snow for a moment before coming to your senses and bolting.