#also fords there too obviously and hes like. fiddleford no. why are you like this.

[hopefullyababe]

hng cannot sleep thinking about stan pines

[indigos-shits-and-giggles]

So, lately I've been thinking about what Fears would focus on the Stan twins, that being Stanford and Stanley Pines, if they ended up in the universe of the Magnus Archives. This really interests me because number one, my brainrot about the Gravity Falls / The Magnus Archives crossover AU has not ceased, and number two, it's just a really fun thought exercise. Well, I think I've come to a few conclusions that honestly kind of fit in my mind, that Grunkle Ford would be an avatar of the Spiral, marked by the Eye, and Grunkle Stan would be an avatar of the Stranger.

First, I think I should explain why Stanford's an avatar of the Spiral and not the eye. While I think him being an Eye avatar does also fit, I'm honestly not inclined to go for that because firstly, it'd overlap with Dipper being an avatar of the Eye, and secondly being an avatar of the Spiral fits in a much more intriguing way. See, during Stanford's time researching paranormal phenomena in Gravity Falls, he has been deceived, and deceived others. He's deceived by Bill Cipher, who he honestly thought was his friend, his muse, only to learn that Bill didn't have his best interests at heart, and he's deceived Fiddleford, lying to his friend about what the portal was going to do, and where he was getting all this information in the first place. I mean, obviously, "I'm friends with a yellow Dorito demon and that's why we're building the portal," isn't something you can tell just about anyone. So, Fiddleford is left mostly in the dark, until that fateful day where he ends up falling into the portal and glimpsing the horrors that lie on the other side.

Then, Fiddleford leaves, declaring the project to be far too dangerous, and all Stanford is left with is the firm belief that he can't trust anyone. He couldn't trust Bill, who nearly led him to destroying the world, and he couldn't trust Fiddleford, who abandoned him and the project they'd spent years working on together. However, he'd also inadvertently lied to Fiddleford in the process, both about how he'd gotten the idea for the portal, and why it was supposed to be built in the first place (though that was mostly Bill's fault). And that deception, those lies that had cursed the whole project to begin with, makes the exact kind of paranoia the Spiral would love to prey on.

Of course, we can't forget about good ol' Stanley Pines, who spent literal decades lying about his identity, living in Ford's house, using Ford's name, and even, to an extent, wearing Ford's face. You can probably see where I'm going with this, right? Yeah, Stan Pines is an avatar of the Stranger. 'Nuff said. After all, he's certainly had practice pretending to be someone he wasn't, so he'd fit right in with the Not-Them! Some might say he's... Not-Stan?

...yeah, that's was barely even a joke, let alone a good one. I'll see myself out.

BUT NOT BEFORE I WRITE A GOOD CONCLUSION TO THIS RAMBLE!!!

In the end, Stanley and Stanford Pines are both two sides of the same coin, similar to how the Fears that claim them bleed into each-other. After all, you can't truly separate the fear of being deceived from the fear of things that are almost the people you know, but not. Just like how you can never really separate the Stan Pines twins.

[callipraxia]

Just spent about half an hour working out my answer to the question, "so, if I were to regard the plot of Gravity Falls as part of a chess game played to put Bill in check...who would fill all of the roles?" Because this is obviously a sensible use of my time after midnight...Plus, by sheer coincidence, I actually have sixteen characters who can logically compose Team Good Guys! To demonstrate, with explanations below the cut now that I know how those work on this site:

Pawns: Filbrick, Caryn, Shermie, Shermie's wife/girlfriend/whoever Shermie had a kid with, Dipper and Mabel's parents, Robbie, and Pacifica.

Knights: Dipper and Wendy

Bishops: Fiddleford and Gideon

Rooks: Stan and Soos

Queen: Mabel

King: Ford

Those last two should not be read as implying any weird ships, because...ew. Rather, it's all in how their actions correspond to the relevant pieces/the fact that they are in fact arguably both ex-royalty (Ford's the ex-king of the Finger Dimension, one could interpret Jeff the Gnome's comments as meaning that Mabel was, briefly and on a technicality, Queen of the Gnomes before she busted out the leaf blower). As for the more relevant bits:

The information in Ford's head makes him a vital piece for Team Good Guys: if Bill extracts said information, the game's over. Ford is also very limited in his options (the piece can move in any direction, but only one square at a time) and is just as easily trapped into check by his own pieces - it's his attachment to Dipper and Mabel which nearly allowed Bill to pull off a ‘smothered mate’-like situation.

Mabel is a strong piece with a very respectable track record of violence toward Bill. She can also move in any direction in a very literal way (grappling hook!) and this ability is what gives her uncles time to execute the twin switch which 'won the game.' On which note...

I think I read that it's different now (full disclosure, I'm a lousy chess player), but at one point in the history of the game, castling rules allowed an unmoved King to swap places with one of his unmoved Rooks. The Rooks, meanwhile, are moving buildings that flatten pretty much all in their path. Seemed like a description anyone Stan ever punched would agree with. Soos could go here or as Knight II; I stuck him here because he takes over the same role as Stan at the end of the series (plus, you know it would make him so happy).

If Soos is with the Rooks, then Dipper and Wendy become the Knights. Look at them in Weirdmageddon I! And in general (Dipper was pretty much born not moving the same way as anyone else in the game: ‘ladder shoes’, anyone?), but in that episode, when the two of them work together, they go from "surviving out here, which is already impressive and indicative of unusual skills" to "have decimated Bill's ground forces by flipping Gideon and are gearing up to take on a magic trap directly." Plus, Wendy customarily carries an axe; if she wanted to, she could go very medieval on folks.

Speaking of medieval (sort of) - our Bishops, Fiddleford and Gideon. Aside from both being at least religion-adjacent in supplementary materials (Gideon reads Preacher's Digest and behaves like a televangelist, Fiddleford is specifically stated to make the sign of the cross when he steps over a grave), they also fit well enough with the incomparable Terry Pratchett's description of the role in chess: "Bishops move diagonally. That's why they often turn up where the kings don't expect them to be." Certainly both Fiddleford and Gideon end up in places Bill didn't expect them to be, and they both go the long way about accomplishing their goals, too, preferring manipulation and ranged tech (robots, science guns, proxies, etc.) to direct confrontations, though they will if they must and may well show slightly disturbing glee while they’re about it - rather like the mace-wielding bishops of yore, no?

Which just leaves our eight pawns: Filbrick, Caryn, Dipper and Mabel's parents, one set of Dipper and Mabel's grandparents, Robbie, and Pacifica. The first six fit the role well: they are the 'front line' which made initial moves (had kids, raised kids, screwed said kids up something awful on occasion) and allowed the more powerful pieces to 'develop' long enough to get to Weirdmageddon/have the mental health issues that create their circumstances at that time. Pacifica's season two arc also makes her fit nicely into the role of Promoted Pawn: at first, she may compete for everything as the 'face' of the Northwest family, but she has so little real power of her own that she is cowered by a bell. Later, though, after fighting her way through Lilliputtians and aiding in the capture of a Category 10 ghost, she breaks the bell conditioning and saves the town. During the endgame, she is in the right place at the right time to first get the sweater Mabel made her and then to realize it meant she was part of the Destiny Circle. I'd say she made it to the other end of the board.

And then there's Robbie. Who I just stuck in here because he wasn't cool enough to be Knight II and nothing else fit at all. Sorry, Robbie.

[fordtato]

So obviously Jersey Boy is written from Ford’s perspective, which gives us a beautifully intimate understanding of what’s Ford is going through. But that leaves me really curious about how Fidds feels about everything. Ford was pretty obviously crushing on the guy, Fiddleford even points that out himself.

(Sorry for asking two questions today; I literally thought of this one right after the other and it’s been eating at me. Being able to just ask the author of my current obsession is too much p o w e r. I feel like Dipper interacting with Ford.)

Also while I’m here, I might as well ask if Jersey Boy will have a happy ending. Ford deserves it, dammit.

(spoilers: Jersey Boy) First of all, I am always more than happy to answer questions about JB! Seriously. It is so cool that ppl gush over my story, and it 100% is getting to my head but also this is so rad i love talking about it 

In the context of Jersey Boy, Fiddleford has had experience in Tennessee being intimate with someone who, in the middle of a crisis about their own sexuality, ended up hurting Fiddleford. That is very much informing how he is navigating all this with Ford. (I don’t think that’s been in the text itself, it’s more implied. I don’t consider it a spoiler, since I don’t think I’ll have a lot in the story itself about Fiddleford’s past.)

It’s why he let it alone when he saw that Ford was struggling with this - Fiddleford figured it isn’t his job to teach other men their own identity. They gotta figure themselves out, especially when he has no way of controlling how they might react. BUT even despite not doing anything, and not pushing it, and not flirting, and leaving Ford alone, he still ended up very hurt (in chapter 9.) And then he finds out that Ford tried to hurt himself. The response we see in Chapter 12, that frustration with Ford, the “why the fuck did you tell me that” is just the externalization of ‘I did it RIGHT this time, I didn’t push him, I didn’t even be the one to kiss him, he kissed me, and he almost killed himself because he couldn’t bear to be like me.’ And of course we want to sympathize with Ford, the person who HAD the crisis, but there is no right way to navigate this, and Fiddleford is hurt by this, and yes, he’s still angry. He gets it, but this is hard.

Lastly, no spoilers for the ending of Jersey Boy. But thank you very much for your question.

[ashyslashyy]

alright ive mentioned these headcanons before but since it is currently autism acceptance month and this show is my special interest i wanna go more in depth on my autism headcanons for the gravity falls characters!!!

dipper: obviously his interest in the supernatural can be considered a special interest, and he also tends to be very organized and gets upset when things dont go how he planned (best example of this is in double dipper). he also has trouble a lot in social situations and a lot of his behavior is stimming (like chewing on/clicking pens, chewing on his shirt, pacing, etc). also gf is a cartoon so its not too weird that he wears the same outfit every day but i am choosing to believe its because thats his routine.

mabel: very creative and eccentric i love her. she also stims a lot and tends to miss social cues, but unlike dipper she doesnt get nervous, she just tends to be a bit sillier and more outgoing in situations where it may not be appropriate. shes also pretty high empathy; she cares a lot about people and objects and in the hand that rocks the mabel its shown she has a hard time saying no because she doesnt want other people to be upset. she also wears the same outfit everyday (not Exactly the same but shes always wearing a headband, sweater, skirt, and the same socks and shoes).

ford: like dipper, ford also seems to have a special interest in the supernatural, as shown by the journals. ford is also a bit socially awkward and tends to only keep a few people close. he also gets stressed when things dont turn out the way he planned. ford is also shown to have trouble with empathy and understanding others, especially stan. he doesnt understand why he does what he does, and its hard for him to grasp decisions that arent logical.

stan: honestly i dont have too much to say about stan, hes a bit stubborn but beyond that i dont think theres too much explicit evidence from what i can remember. this one is less about actual traits and more just about vibes.

soos: hes interested in a lot of tv shows and games and has a somewhat unique sense of humor. he also has trouble in social situations, the best examples being in soos and the real girl. he also has interests in things that may be considered childish, which isnt an autistic trait in and of itself, but it is common. also soos is just awesome

wendy: once again this one is more about vibes. shes just really cool

fiddleford: i have less to go on for him, but theres still a lot. fiddleford very obviously has an interest in mechanics and technology; this strikes me as especially important as a special interest because even after losing his memory he still retains lots of mechanical knowledge and skill. hes also shown both in the show and the book to be stimming a lot, specifically bouncing his leg. he also gets overwhelmed easily, which is shown a lot more in the journal.

bill: HOOO BOY now this is where it gets rambley bc bills my personal favorite and we have quite a bit in common so i'll be listing off more stuff here. obviously bill cant really be judged by human standards because hes. not one. but personally i think he has a lot of autistic traits. number one his low empathy swag. bill is like ford and has difficulty understanding others and why they do things. he also gets thrown off when things dont go his way. his dialogue also tends to be pretty blunt (hes good at being vague about his intentions but in general he doesnt really use idioms and if hes not trying to hide anything he'll usually say what he means). his speech is also relatively flat; hes basically always yelling but beyond that he isnt super expressive with how he talks, at least not in comparison to some other characters. he also does a lot of stuff that can be considered stimming, which you can see a lot in sock opera (like ive picked up several stims from stuff he does in that episode). also, weirdmageddon is just what happens when you get understimulated. You know how it is

obviously these arent the only characters who i think are autistic, but these are some of the main characters that i have a decent amount of evidence for.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Just... I don't think that I can express how happy Alex Hirsch saying that in the Gravity Falls universe that Fiddleford McGucket becomes the 45th US president makes me. Like it's dumb, probably just a joke, and won't stick... BUT BOY HOWDY DO I WANT IT TO STICK! This is MY kind of garbage! Fiddleford is my favorite. Politics is a thing that I know things about. My presidential history isn't exactly the most comprehensive, but it's probably better than most. SO I LOVE THIS GARBAGE!

In any case, here are some dumb headcanons about Fiddleford being president:

He ran as a third party candidate (or as an independent). Ford REALLY hoped this would kill his chances of being elected. But as it turns out, 100 foot spider robots is something that everyone, no matter their political leanings, agreed that they would LOVE to have.

I have no idea which party he would be a part of, but it has to be something completely absurd like, "The Rent is too Damn High Party."

You probably wouldn't expect McGucket to be very good in a debate. But here's the thing. When you show up in a 20 foot tall mech taken straight out of some anime, you've kinda already won. At everything. Including life.

I can totally see McGucket pulling an Andrew Jackson, and on the day of his inauguration, throwing a MASSIVE party on the White House lawn that goes full crazy and lasts for the greater part of a week!

Once in office, he would let raccoons run amok in the White House. Guy just seems to have always liked raccoons.

He would make the White House cow a thing again.

He would NOT pardon the turkey! That turkey said some really nasty things and doesn't deserve a pardon!

Speaking of pardons, he would probably give Stan and Ford presidential pardons (you can't say that they don't deserve it, let’s be honest here), but immediately after recieving the pardon, Stan would then break a LOT of laws again. Why? Because he thinks that McGucket will just give him infinite pardons! Of course Fiddleford's not an idiot, so Stan does not receive any further pardons.

Here! Have a fun fact! He would be the first president from Tennessee! (Also I learned that Al Gore is also from Tennessee... I feel like they’d know each other... Also, just imagine Fiddleford solving the whole Global Warming thing just to stick it to Al.)

He would also be the first single divorcee to be elected into office! You know... Unless...

He would also be the second president to have ever been divorced!

I feel like he would get along GREAT with Jimmy Carter! Obviously, I don't think that he would particularly be on bad terms with any single one of the former US presidents, but I can see Fiddleford getting along famously with Jimmy.

I can't say for certain that Jimmy did any of the manual labor on his family's peanut farm, but considering Carter's philanthropy and how he was indeed on the ground, putting up buildings and doing physical labor, it does sound like something he would do. Therefore Jimmy and Fiddleford like talking about life back on the farm to one another.

While Bush Jr. has a ranch down in Texas and therefore could also talk country farming life with Fiddleford, they don't stand particularly eye to eye in their political beliefs. Still, Fiddleford remains completely civil and friendly towards both of the Bushes, and they get along perfectly fine. Of course this would demonstrated during George Bush Senior's funeral.

Fiddleford's politics and policy would probably swing pretty darn progressive. He did spend 30 years homeless so he knows what it's like to be at the bottom of society, poor, and of not particularly good physical or mental health... And how terrible the United States is at actually helping its people, after all. He would probably fight to end homelessness and I would love to see him establishing a system in which everyone at least has their most basic needs met.

Obviously Fiddleford would support the Black Lives Matter movement. Because cops are assholes and he’s probably experienced how shitty they are first hand. (Even if he likes Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland just okay... But probably the best thing they ever did for Gravity Falls was be terrible at their jobs.)

It would be incredible if he could break down how divided this country has become and how the parties almost always tend vote as a block, regardless of personal beliefs. Especially if he does it by just... Befriending... Everyone. And being his usual kind self. Like, he can get bipartisan support on stuff because... Just... “Why did I vote for this bill that he wanted to pass in spite of past objections to such policy? Well... A lot of it is because I owed him a favor. Have you met the guy? He’s just SO nice! And he really helped me out a lot a few months ago. It’s really the least I could do. Also he has made a lot of good points on why this legislation should be passed.”

Just imagine him being like... A REALLY nice Lyndon Johnson, but who’s also a scientific supergenius.

Also he would absolutely not be above punching some politician for being completely unreasonable for petty reasons!

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 11 - Epilogue

“Will I remember any of this?”

Ford paused, hands stilling on his workbench as he considered the question. “…I don’t know.”

Stan swung his legs idly from where he was perched on another table in Ford’s lab, watching the nerd fiddle with his vials. One of them had a glimmering rainbow liquid in it that kinda looked like unicorn blood. “You said when I was an adult we were fighting. Do you think we’re just gonna keep fighting?”

“We’ll always be fighting a little bit.” Ford hedged.

“No, I mean real fighting. Not just arguments and stuff.”

“Then… no, not if I have any say in it.”

:readmore:

“Good.” Stan folded his arms. “Adult me kinda sounds like a jerk, so you gotta tell him I said to be nice. And you’ve been kind of a jerk too, so you also have to be nice.”

“I doubt a grown-up you will follow the instructions of a baby.”

“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Stan found a crumpled piece of paper nearby and lobbed it at Ford’s head. He missed, but it was the thought that counted. Ford let out a huff.

“Don’t throw things when I’m working with chemicals, Stanley. Unless you want me to spill it on myself and also turn into a baby. Then who would cure you?”

“Not a baby!”

Stan didn’t throw anything else, though. Only because there was nothing nearby to throw.

“I honestly don’t know how much you’ll remember.” Ford admitted after a while, twirling a test tube to mix its contents. It looked pretty boring for what was basically a magic potion, just clear and grey. It wasn’t even bubbling. “You might completely forget everything that happened when you were de-aged. In which case, I don’t know how I’ll explain everything.”

“Just start with the story of how I defeated an evil dream demon. It’s the coolest part.”

“It’s the most exciting part of the story,” Ford allowed, “But not the best place to start.”

“It’s the hook! That’s the best part of a story, you know.”

Ford lifted the boring test tube up to inspect it in the light. When Stan looked closer, it didn’t seem as clear – as he watched it was slowly getting cloudier, more silver than grey. He vaguely remembered something about that from science class – did that mean there was a chemical reaction? Or a physical reaction? He could never remember the difference between them.

Ford stared pensively at the vial, and after a few moments Stan cleared his throat. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ford started to turn to him and then hesitated again. “You just have to drink this to go back to your real age. I… hm. Are you ready? Do you want to have something to eat first? Or maybe go to bed and have it in the morning?”

Stan blinked. “It’s gonna make me older again, right? Why wait?”

“Well, I don’t know.” When Stan made grabby hands Ford relented and handed over the vial. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come from the fridge. Stan stared at the thick, silvery liquid and wondered what it would taste like. “When you touched water from the spring of youth you passed out for several hours. The same thing could happen now, so we should move you somewhere comfortable before you drink-”

Stan tipped the vial and swallowed its contents in one big gulp. Ford shrieked.

“Stanley! Why would you do that?”

It tasted kinda like dirty, metallic oranges and Stan screwed up his face. “Ew! Couldn’t you at least make it taste nice?”

Ford retorted something, but the sounds were a bit wobbly in his ears. Stan blinked hard to try and make his vision make sense. It was just a little bit off, fuzzy in the corners of his vision.

“…getting dizzy?” Ford’s voice swam through the air, thick and swampy, like Stan was breathing treacle. “…lie down…”

And then, quick as blinking, he was on the floor. That was rude, for the world to just flip over like that. Everything was clouds and Stan was very, very sleepy.

Something else was said, but he was too far away to hear it.

 _______________________________________________________________

When consciousness came – and it did come, as much as Stan wished he could sleep forever, dragging him up from the depths of hazy dreams he couldn’t remember – he knew exactly where he was.

There were soft sheets against his back, the faint whistle of wind through the pines outside, the taste of copper on his tongue. The spare bed felt smaller, now, and when his head shifted his stubbly cheek scratched against the pillow. It smelled faintly like dust.

“Stan? Are you waking up?”

Okay, that was Ford’s voice. But, there was still the possibility that this had all been a weird, vivid dream! That’s right, everything from the last couple days had been a dream. There were no gnomes, no dream demons, and in a moment Stan would open his eyes and be back inside the Stanleymobile.

He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the assault of light, and saw his brother’s face looking back at him.

…shit.

“Stan? Are you alright?” Ford was tapping his cheek, looking for a reaction. Stan grumbled and brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Hands off the merchandise.” His voice was rough with sleep, and Stan was almost surprised by how deep and gravelly it was compared to the childish squeaking he’d been doing lately.

Ford made a face, somewhere between worried and amused – an expression that Stan was familiar with from the last couple days. Dammit. He just had to remember all that. Ugh, and now Ford would want to talk and get all mushy.

“I’m fine.” Stan repeated, with nothing else to say. He got up on his elbows, and a quick glance around the room confirmed they were in the spare room he’d been sleeping in the last couple days. Still, he asked. “Where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” Ford asked urgently, making Stan blink. “Since you arrived here, I mean.”

“Uh… nothing.” He lied, like a liar. Ford’s face fell.

“…oh.”

Yeah, there was no way he could tell the truth here. He would die of embarrassment if he had to admit he remembered acting like a child and being all…sappy. Ford would look at him all weird and they would have to talk and that was just… ugh.

“Yep! I just remember getting here and then – poof! Nothing.” Stan went for a carefree laugh. “Man, did I get hit on the head with a coconut or something?”

Ford lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking crestfallen. “No, not quite. Do you – remember the argument we had?”

Nope, nope, feelings alert. Stan did not want to delve into that conversation.

“What argument? Probably about you being a nerd, huh? Jeez, am I hungry, you got any food in this joint?”

“Wha-”

Stan was already throwing the covers off (thank god he was wearing a nightrobe underneath, he didn’t think his pride could survive another hit). Ford spluttered as he got to his feet.

“Will you slow down?”

 ______________________________________________________________

After a couple tests which were obviously unnecessary (but Ford insist on anyway, the nerd) Stan was finally free to pull on some actual clothes and follow Ford to the kitchen. He hadn’t been lying earlier, hunger really was gnawing in his stomach, and he made a beeline for the fridge.

“-and so you were reverted back into a child,” Ford continued. The guy had absolutely no showmanship. Way to lose an audience, Stan muttered to himself as he grabbed the fridge door. He’d told him to start with the demon bit, but noooo. “That was a couple days ago. There have been some – well, it’s been eventful. I doubt you’ll believe me if I told you.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“By the way, my friend is on his way.” Ford added. Stan ducked down to inspect the fridge’s contents – at least it was better stocked than when he first arrived. He hummed in acknowledgement. “You – well, I suppose you won’t remember him. You’ll like him though. You did.”

“Is he a nerd liked you?”

Ford snorted.

Stan grabbed a box of leftover pasta and then went in search of a fork. “Well, let’s hope this Fiddleford guy can tell stories better than you, ya almost put me to sleep with the way you tell it.”

When he turned around, Ford was staring at him.

It took a moment for him to realize his mistake – by the time Stan opened his mouth to spew out some bullshit excuse, Ford was pointing an accusing finger at him.

“I didn’t tell you his name!”

“Yes you did!” Stan spluttered. “I mean, how else would I know his name unless you told me, huh? You ever think about that?”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “Stanley.”

“Stanford.” He parroted right back. The staring match continued for a few moments before Ford threw up his hands.

“Unbelievable! You’re such a liar.”

Stan took a large bite of pasta. Because he was hungry, not because he didn’t want to answer. Ford glared at him.

“I should have known you’d try to wriggle your way out of this. ‘I don’t remember’ my ass. What, were you just going to leave and pretend none of this ever happened?”

Stan shoveled more pasta into his mouth.

“Don’t think you can avoid talking with me. We are having this conversation whether you like it or not.”

‘No, we’re really not’ is what Stan meant to say. Unfortunately, the moment he took a breath to speak he started choking. Ford scowled and thumped him on the back as he coughed, getting bits of pasta all over the kitchen floor.

“Unbelievable.” The nerd said again.

 Well, so much for that.

  _______________________________________________________________

Stan squirmed under his brother’s glare – the whole ‘pacing and towering over him while Stan sat on the couch like a scolded child’ schtick was uncannily similar to what their mother would do when they earned her ire.

“So.” Ford began. “You remember childhood.”

“Yep.” Stan grumbled.

“Your adult life?”

“Mm hm.”

“The last couple days here and everything that occurred while you were reverted?”

“Mm.”

Ford stopped his pacing to turn to him. “Then why on earth did you try to pretend you didn’t? We even made up!”

Stan buried his face in his hands to try and hide its burning. “I don’t know! I knew you’d try and get all…” He shuddered. “Mushy. Feeling-y.”

Stan could just feel the flat look his brother was giving him.

“Okay, fine, look. You forgave me for breaking your project, I forgave you for being a jerk. We’re good. Now, I’m just gonna head home-”

“You’re homeless.”

“You don’t know that!” Stan looked up from behind his hands to see Ford folding his arms. “I could have a, a house, a mansion even!”

“You have a mullet.”

…okay, Ford had him there. Stan scowled. “What’s the plan then, smart guy?”

Ford’s eyes gleamed, and he immediately regretted asking.

“I’m glad you asked, Stanley! I’ve had plenty of time to think over these last couple days. First of all, the Duskertons are looking for someone to help around their store, and no one in Gravity Falls cares much about credentials – I’m pretty sure the man who works at the post office is just a bunch of gnomes in a trench coat ­– so your lack if identification shouldn’t be a problem if you’re looking for a job. There’s also Boyish Dan, his family owns a logging company and I’m sure you could get a place there if you wanted. You’re welcome to stay in my house for as long as you need – I’m sure there are some places in town if you want to rent instead, though. If you choose to stay I might ask for your help in some of my research, since Fiddleford has decided to take a break from studying Gravity Falls, which I don’t blame him for.”

Stan blinked, but Ford wasn’t finished, ticking things off on his fingers as he went.

“I’ll also need to keep you under observation for a while to ensure that there are no side effects from the fountain of youth water, so I’ll ask you to stay around for at least a couple days. If you decide to leave Gravity Falls after that period, you’ll need to give me your phone number so we can keep contact. Oh, scratch that, I’ll make a new one – I’m sure I can work up a design that isn’t as flimsy as the current models going around.”

“Uh-”

Stan was saved from having to answer (answer? There wasn’t much of a question but Ford was looking at him expectantly and he didn’t know what he was supposed to say) by a light knock on the door. Ford perked up and rushed to answer it.

“Am I intruding?” Fiddleford’s hesitant voice rang out. Ford shook his head and stood aside to usher the smaller man inside.

“Not at all, come in. It’s good to see you.”

Fiddleford stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes on Stan on the couch.

Ugh, he was already getting a headache. Now came the judgement. Stan looked like a mess, he knew he did – unshaven, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and ragged hair and old scars crisscrossing his arms. Some small, childish part of him wanted to jump up and hug the guy. Gross. Instead he shoved down the nervousness, stood, and gave him a lazy two-fingered salute.

“…Stanley?” Fiddleford tilted his head, eyes scanning him. Stanley shrugged uncomfortably. It was weird, towering over the small guy like this.

“Hey.”

“Well, you grew up big. The spittin’ image of yer brother.” Fiddleford gave a little smile and stuck out his hand. “Pleasure meetin’ ya, officially this time.”

“Eh, you too.” Stan shook the offered hand. It was small, frail, but gripped his firmly.

“So are you stickin’ around?”

Stan hesitated. He glanced from Fiddleford’s earnest face, to his own rough hand, to Ford’s careful expression – the look of someone trying hard not to look like they were listening.

“…yeah. Yeah, I think I’m gonna stick around.”

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Finally, Some Ford Content

Ford has been suspiciously absent from all of the ficlets I’ve posted thus far in this AU, and while I’ve talked a bit about his role, I haven’t gone too in depth.  So, here, for everyone craving some Best Revenge AU Ford, I’m here to satisfy that craving.  Finally, some Ford content.  Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————— 

              Ford slowly woke up.

              Shit.  I stayed the night, didn’t I?  He sat up. The man he’d slept with the night before was already up and getting dressed.

              “Mornin’.”

              “Good morning,” Ford said hesitantly, realizing to his horror that he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Um…”

              “I can make ya some breakfast ‘fore I send ya on yer way,” his one-night-stand said.  “I’ve got to check in on my sister first; she’s startin’ a new job today. You can find yer way to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee while I’m talkin’ to her.”

              “…Okay,” Ford mumbled.  The man finished dressing and left the room.  Ford hesitated for a moment before dressing as well.  He exited the bedroom.

              Which way is the kitchen?  Ford chewed on the inside of his cheek and turned left. He followed the hallway down to a living room.  One corner of the room had a colored rug, baby toys, and a playpen.  He said that he lived with his sister, right? Maybe she has a child.  Ford wandered into the adjacent kitchen.  His jaw dropped.  There was someone sitting at the kitchen table.  Someone he recognized.

              “Holy shit, Stan?!” Ford said.  Stan looked up with a frown.

              “Hey, keep it down around Junior.”  His eyes widened.  “Ford?!”

              “I- you-”  Ford’s gaze landed on the infant in Stan’s arms, greedily drinking from a bottle of milk.  “Is- is that your child?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “…Sorta.”

              “What do you mean by-” Ford started.  He was interrupted by the arrival of his one-night-stand.

              “Oh, I see ya met my sister’s boyfriend,” he said. Stan groaned loudly.

              “Lute.  How dark was the nightclub where you found last night’s lay?”

              “Didn’t pick him up at a nightclub.  Found him at the library when I dropped off books fer Angie,” Lute said cheerfully.

              “Look at his face.”

              “Hmm?”  Lute looked at Ford.  He paled. “…Oh.”

              “You managed to hook up with my no-good twin,” Stan said.  The infant in his arms began to fuss.  “Aw, it’s okay Junior,” Stan cooed.  “I know, Uncle Ford is scary, especially his face.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “We have the same face, Stanley.”

              “Since Lute didn’t realize we were related when he picked you up, I don’t agree,” Stan said tartly.  Ford sighed.  “You better get going before you make Junior even more upset.”

              “I’m not going anywhere until I find out what you’ve been up to and why you’re holding an infant that you said is ‘sort of’ yours,” Ford said firmly.  Stan scowled.

              “Lute, kick him out, will ya?”

              “No.”

              “Lute-”

              “I think it might be good fer the two of ya to reconnect,” Lute said.  “Don’t you think the lil bean would like an uncle from yer side?”

              “He won’t know what he’s missing.”

              “Okay, fine.”  Lute smirked.  “How do ya think Angie would want ya to act under this circumstance?”  Stan glared at him.  “You know full well that Angie would want ya to use this opportunity to reunite with yer twin.”

              “…Fine.”  Stan adjusted his hold on the infant.  “Why didn’t you come to the kitchen with Ford, Lute?”

              “I wanted to check in on Angie, but she’s still sleepin’.”

              “Yeah.  Since she’s starting her new job, I figured I’d feed Junior.”  Stan grinned down at the infant.  “He can’t be happy he’s getting his breakfast from a bottle instead of a boob.”  Lute rolled his eyes.

              “Crass, Stanley.”

              “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

              “You catch up with yer twin while I whip up some eggs,” Lute instructed, already opening the fridge.  Ford walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Stan. He peered closely at the infant.

              “So…”

              “So…” Stan parroted.

              “What’s his name?”

              “Stanley Junior,” Stan said.  He frowned.  “Well, he’s not really a Junior, since he’s got his mom’s last name instead of mine. But he’s named after me, so we call him Junior.”

              “Ah.  And, um, how old is he?”

              “Four months.”

              “Four months?  Are babies supposed to be that small at four months?”

              “Doc says he’s definitely smaller than average, but that he can probably catch up pretty quick,” Stan answered.  He removed the now empty bottle from Junior’s mouth, then burped him.  “He’s a good kid.”

              “Is he yours?” Ford asked.  Stan set the empty bottle on the table.  “You said he ‘sort of’ was.”

              “If you were anyone else, I woulda left that part out,” Stan muttered.  “I hate your guts, but I’m not used to lying to you.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Biologically, he’s not mine.  He’s my girlfriend’s ex-husband’s.  But with how bad things got between Angie and Max, she decided not to tell him about Junior.”

              That’s a strange coincidence.  Didn’t Max Hillcrest at work recently go through a divorce?  What was his wife’s name again?

              “I was dating Angie, so I stepped up,” Stan continued with a shrug.  “And Angie named her kid after me.  I’m the only dad this little bean’s ever known.  If things go well, I’ll be the only dad he ever knows.”

              “Little bean?”

              “That’s what Angie called him while she was pregnant with him.  It stuck.” Stan smiled fondly at Junior. “Isn’t that right, bud?”  Junior giggled.

              “You’re raising another man’s child as your own?” Ford asked, his brain desperately trying to catch up with all he’d been told.

              “Yep.”

              “Why?”

              “I love Angie.  I love Junior.  Why wouldn’t I?” Stan asked, a hint of a bite to his tone.  Junior settled in his arms, smacking his lips happily.

              “Fair enough,” Ford said, deciding to back off. Some tension left Stan’s shoulders. “Other than dating pregnant women and taking in their children, what have you been doing since we last spoke?”

              “You mean, since Pops kicked me outta the house and you didn’t say anything or use your power to summon me in secret at any point for years,” Stan said flatly.  Ford opened and closed his mouth a few times.

              “…Yes.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “When we were younger, I remember you wanting to follow in Mom’s footsteps.  I haven’t seen any pyro heroes around here, though.”

              “Hold up, what?” Lute asked.  The brothers looked over.  Lute stared at Stan in shock.  “Stanley, you wanted to be a hero when you were a kid?”

              “Most supers do.  And like Ford said, our mom was a hero.  I looked up to her.”  Lute was still staring at Stan.  Stan sighed. “Obviously I didn’t do that, Gucket.”

              “Yer mom is a hero?”

              “Retired.  What’s with the third degree?”

              “You understand why that information is important in our line of work, right?” Lute prompted.  “Does Angie know?”

              “Duh.”

              “Why don’t I?”

              “‘Cause I’m not sleeping with you,” Stan snapped. “Even though I’m apparently your type.” Lute turned red.

              “Wait.”  Ford held up his hands.  “Wait. Stanley, am I reading between the lines properly?  Are you- are you a villain?”

              “Maybe I am.  Maybe I’m not,” Stan said.  He met Ford’s eyes.  “But whether I am or not, you know better than to snitch.”  Footsteps sounded.  Stan looked over.  An exuberant smile broke across his face.  “Look who it is!  The hot new professor!”  Ford looked as well.  A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt she was practically swimming in.

              Presumably, it’s one of Stan’s.  The woman smiled at Stan.

              “I don’t mind it much when ya say it, but I sure hope no one at work calls me that.”

              “If any creepy coworkers do, let me know,” Stan said.  “I’ll handle it.”  The woman grinned viciously.

              “Oh, darlin’, ya know I’m fully capable of handlin’ it myself.”  Stan grinned back.

              “Good point.”  He held up Junior.  “Junior, say hi to your mama.”

              “Aw, he’s too young to talk yet,” the woman cooed. She walked over to Stan, took Junior from him, and sat at the table.  “And I don’t know if his first word ‘ll be ‘hi’.”  She began to lift her T-shirt.

              “Whoa, hey, uh, Ang, you don’t need to whip your boobs out,” Stan said quickly, glancing at Ford in distress.  “I fed him while you were sleeping.”

              “Oh.”

              “Also, we have a guest.”

              “Hmm?”  The woman lowered her shirt and looked up.  “Oh, my apologies.”  She smiled at Ford.  “My name is Angie McGucket.”  Ford felt himself pale.

              McGucket?

              “Dr. Angie McGucket,” Stan corrected.  Angie chuckled.

              “Yes, I have a doctorate,” she said.  She cocked her head, her eyes boring into Ford. “I’m guessin’ yer Stan’s no-good twin I’ve heard so much about.”

              “I- uh-” Ford stammered, still reeling from hearing his ex’s last name dropped so casually.

              “Geez, you make it sound like all I do is talk about Ford,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  “That’s wrong.  All I do is talk about you and Junior.”  Angie laughed.

              Angie and Lute do appear to have the same nose as Fiddleford.  How could I have been so blind?

              “So, Stanford, what brings ya here?” Angie asked.

              “I brought him home last night,” Lute said.

              “Hmm, that seems out of character fer ya,” Angie said to Ford.  She shrugged. “Just goin’ off the stick-in-the-mud that Stan described to me.”

              “Why do you keep insulting me?” Ford asked. “This is the first time we’ve met.”

              “Maybe, but I also feel like I know ya pretty well,” Angie replied.  She bounced Junior in her arms.  “Stan took a while to start tellin’ me ‘bout ya, but once he did, he had a lot to say.” She smiled.  “Most of it was negative, sure, but some of it was positive.”

              “Angie, shouldn’t ya be gettin’ ready fer work?” Lute asked.  Angie groaned.  “I’ll make ya some nice breakfast while ya dress ‘n whatnot.”

              “Ugh.  Fine.” Angie handed Junior back to Stan, kissed his cheek, and left the room.  Ford coughed politely.

              “I, um, I should probably leave,” he said. Lute looked over.

              “Ya don’t want to stay fer breakfast?”

              “Your sister isn’t the only one who has a shift starting soon.”

              “Shift, huh?” Stan said, raising an eyebrow.  “Where’s the big shot genius working?”

              “Well, uh…”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I have been working on my own personal research, but to pay the bills, I’m currently employed as an executive assistant.”  Stan snickered.

              “Isn’t ‘executive assistant’ just a fancy word for ‘secretary’?” he asked.  Ford flushed. “You better get going, then.  Whatever doctor’s office you work for definitely needs you manning the front desk.”

              “Stanley,” Lute scolded.  Ford swallowed his retort.

              He’s been remarkably civil, let him be childish for one moment.

              “…See you later?” he suggested.  Stan froze.  “I mean, the fact that we were able to talk without fighting is, I think, a good sign that we can bury the hatchet.”

              “Ford.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “Junior was here the whole time.  That’s why I didn’t shout or knock your block off.”

              “…Oh,” Ford said softly.

              “But…”  Stan sighed. “I’m not against making up.  Just know that the next time you and I are in the same room, it’s open season if Junior’s not there.”

              “Fair enough.”  Ford managed a smirk.  “I think you’d be surprised by how well I can hold my own now.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Goodbye, Stanley.”  Ford leaned over to smile at Junior.  Junior stared at him with wide eyes.  “Goodbye, Junior.”  Junior giggled.

              “Bye,” Stan grunted.  Ford waved goodbye to Lute and walked out of the house.  Beeping sounded from his pager.  He pulled it out of his pocket with a sigh.  The message made him sigh again.

              I swear, I’m the only person who can fix the wifi at work.  Everyone else either doesn’t know how or isn’t willing to do one of the secretary’s responsibilities.  Ford shook his head.  He put his pager away and began the long walk to work.  A building full of superheroes and not one of them can unplug a router.

[nikxation]

If You Give a Mothman a Loan

Huge thank you to @birdgirlamp for commissioning me to write a fic by donating to WHO (if you want more information, see this post). Sorry it took so long to get this out, but here it is! Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2359

Characters: Stanford Pines (pre- and post-portal), Fiddleford McGucket (pre-portal), Wendy Corduroy (post-portal... obviously)

~ ~ ~

It’s three months into Fiddleford’s stay in Gravity Falls, and the skeleton in the closet (or the portal in the basement) is slowly looking less and less like just a bundle of messy wires and half-finished structural supports and more like the behemoth of a machine it’s meant to be. The raw stock for the exterior plating should be here any day now, the first of the two power transfer beams is online, and every day is another day closer to their end-goal.

He’ll hand it to Stanford Pines, this is some of their best work yet.

He still remembers the day he arrived and Ford showed him the initial drafts. He’d thought the size was overkill, that the hollowed-out basement beneath the house would just become a room with decent acoustics for him to practice his banjo playing away from his old college roommate while the real machine was built somewhere less cold and damp.

Boy howdy was he wrong.

Now, every time he walks in the room, he feels the thing like the presence it is, towering stories tall, looming over him in a way that he would almost consider menacing if it weren’t for the fact that it’s just a machine.

He’s got blueprints and prototyped miniatures of literal death bots.

So why would the interdimensional portal in the basement put him on edge?

It shouldn’t.

So he shakes the thought away and gets back to work.

An unsuccessful system test led to the time-shift circuit on motherboard seven incinerating again. If he were the kind of man to actually keep count (which he certainly is), he’d know it’s the fourth time in the past week this same part has crapped out on them.

It’s also the reason he’s gonna finally stop out-sourcing these parts and just start making them in-house from now on. He’s about sick of replacing them every five minutes.

That’s what brings Fiddleford to where he is now, with his upper body shoved halfway inside the portal’s support structure and crammed between God knows how many electrical components. His arms have just started to cramp in their rather unnatural position as he pries at the burnt-out part to replace it with a newer one that will hopefully hold out against the power output better than its predecessor.

Ford’s sitting in the control room, supposedly running through some of the math again to double-check that they didn’t miss anything.

The “supposedly” is only because, for the past twenty minutes, the man has been prattling on like Fiddleford’s grandma at Sunday family brunch. He can only hear the occasional snippet from his position (quite literally) inside the portal, and as far as he can tell, he thinks he’s talking about either his most recent research outing, or something about preacher scouting. He wants to lean towards the former, but with the new stories he’s found about a so-called “velocipastor”, he can’t rule out the latter. Either way, the man hasn’t stopped talking long enough to breathe, let alone re-run equations that use relative space-time physics with integrated fourth dimensional calculus.

Fiddleford just doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he really can’t hear him.

He snaps the ribbon cable off the still-smoking component (after the first time it blew, he learned to bring heat-resistant gloves in here with him) and is rather glad to see it’s still intact. Rewiring is a day-long project he’s glad to not have to do again. He maneuvers his hand back out into open air and tosses the old piece somewhere into the room before getting to work mounting the new one.

Ford’s voice echoes from the next room over.

“… extra funds… exploring… investing for…”

Bolting the circuit down turns out to be easier the fifth time he has to do it, and he’s about to start running a simple, probably non-exploding test to make sure the new part is integrated correctly when he hears—

“… so I gave Mothman a thousand dollars…”

And that, of all things, stops Fiddleford in his tracks.

“Come again?” he yells. He had to have misheard because he swears he just heard the man say—

“I ran into Mothman in the woods yesterday,” Ford says, all too nonchalantly, “and they told me they were starting up a small business and needed an investment, so I gave them a thousand dollars from my excess funds with a verbal agreement that they would pay me back within the year.”

… So he didn’t mishear him, that’s for darn sure.

The fact that the Mothman is real is surely weird enough. But he’s lived in Gravity Falls (and known Stanford Pines) for long enough that it doesn’t really surprise him too much. No, that’s not the part that brings him to wiggle himself out of his position inside the portal’s underbelly just enough so that he can meet Ford’s eyes in the other room.

“You gave Mothman… a thousand dollars…” Fiddleford says slowly.

“To help kickstart their new business, yes.” It’s so casual, like he doesn’t even register the inherent absurdity in what he’s saying.

“And that business is?”

“Mothballs.”

“Stanford!”

“What?”

“That’s the stupidest scam I’ve ever heard.”

Ford sputters, his face aghast for a moment. “I did not get scammed by Mothman!”

“You did.”

“Did not.”

“Do you even know what mothballs are for?”

He pauses, his mouth snapping shut, his face turning the slightest shade of red. Fiddleford can see it from the next room over. “No. I always assumed they were some biproduct created by moths during reproduction or something.” Fiddleford lets his head fall back, bonking on a bar of the steel framework behind him.

“Stanford, they repel moths,” he says. “You just let a bunch of moths convince you they’re starting a business making the thing they hate. That’s stupider than the time my neighbor tried to convince me his cat could see God. And you have three PhDs!”

“Four now,” he says quietly, and Fiddleford levels him with a single raised eyebrow.

“You’re gonna go back, find that over-glorified insect, and get our money back. Or so help me, I will never do another grocery run for as long as I live here.”

“Oh come now, that’s hardly fair. You know I hate going into town.”

“Then you better hurry along and find him.”

“You honestly believe the actual Mothman is pulling a con.”

“People lie, Stanford,” he says, finally ducking himself back into the machine to finally run the diagnostic on the new circuit. “Even cryptids and aliens probably from another dimension.”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s broken a few moments later by the sound of a chair scuffing on the floor and footsteps ascending the wooden stairs out of the basement.

Fiddleford snorts, shaking his head and getting back to work.

~ ~ ~

“So, like, the Mothman,” Wendy says, keeping pace next to him as they make their way back into the woods, the sun’s last rays just starting to slip behind the trees. “The actual Mothman. He’s real?”

“As real as any of the other anomalies in this town,” Ford says, adjusting the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. He’d heard the cryptid had come back into town again shortly after Wierdmageddon, and after his first attempt at getting his money back a few weeks back (second if you count that time over three decades ago) went sour, he decided to bring back-up this time. But with Stan still out of commission and the kids rightly wanting to stay with him, he was hard-pressed for options. That is until the cashier girl piped up and said she’d do it for ten percent of whatever they recovered.

Ford negotiated her down to eight and a half. She drives a hard bargain; he can see why Stan hired her.

“Dude, that’s sick,” she says.

“I mean, I hardly think they’re ill or anything,” Ford says. “As fast as their moths die off, they re-introduce new ones to the population through some sort of reproductive mitosis—”

“Nah dude, it’s a phrase,” she cuts him off. “Means, like, ‘that’s awesome’.”

“Ah, alright.” Ford pauses to check the anomaly scanner on his watch, the little white blip flashing on the screen. “I’ve never been exceptionally ‘with it’ when it comes to slang, so you’ll have to pardon my misunderstanding.”

“You’re fine, Dr. Pines,” she says. She kicks a loose rock off into the brush. “I’m pretty sure Stan doesn’t understand half of what I say either.” Ford hums an affirmative, intently watching the small blip on his watch, confirming that it is, in fact, slowly moving in their direction. After a few seconds, he drops the bag he’s been carrying with a thwump, a bit of dust swirling up from the dirt.

“We’re going to set up the trap right here,” he says. “We have probably ten minutes until the Mothman comes through here, so we’ll need to act quickly.”

“You got it boss-man.”

It’s a fairly simple net trap, one that they make short work of assembling. Ford had already built the majority of it to bring out here, including a magic-imbued mosquito net that should contain the Mothman’s consciousness so long as they catch the majority of their moths.

He made that mistake last time, the Mothman managing to escape in the couple moths that his trap missed.

“So, you really were in, like, a different dimension for a bunch of years, right?” Wendy asks as she spreads some leaves and twigs over the net.

“Multiple dimensions,” he says as he carefully sets the trap’s trigger pole. “I travelled through thousands of them in my thirty years away from this one.”

“Dude, that’s nuts.”

“It was… pretty sick,” he says, shooting her a wry grin. Wendy groans.

“Well,” she says, “you just confirmed for me that I was right to never teach Stan slang, so thanks for that I guess.”

“Glad to help.” With the trap finally set and ready to go, he pulls the last item out of the bag: the bait, which he flicks on and gently sets down against the trigger.

“That’s a flashlight,” Wendy says, the statement almost a question.

“Indeed, it is.”

“Is it, like,” she says, waving her hands slightly, “I don’t know, magic or something?”

“Nope,” he says, backing off and giving the trap one last look-over. He has to hand it to the girl, she knew what she was doing.

“You’re serious?”

“Entirely,” he says. “It doesn’t take much to attract them. Back in the eighties, they used to hang around streetlamps and windows all the time. It’s a wonder they’re still considered a cryptid considering how blatantly out in the open they—”

He hears the tell-tale sound of fluttering insect wings, not too far off, but loud enough to make him pause. He glances in the direction and then down at his watch, the blip on the screen almost on top of them. Quickly, he motions to Wendy to hide and then does the same himself, crouching behind the nearest tree and peering around the side to watch.

It’s rather quiet for a few moments, the darkness starting to settle into the pines, the lit flashlight a lone beacon, just the sound of the pine needles whistling in the breeze and the far-off humming of the approaching cryptid. But that low hum gradually gets louder, turning to a white drone of hundreds of small wings beating in tandem.

A familiar dark shape emerges from the underbrush. Humanoid, but just barely. Ten-feet tall with two enormous wings sprouting from its back, two large yellow eyes reflecting the scattered light of the flashlight in the clearing. Their entire shape feels blurred at the edges, like someone drew a line of charcoal and smudged it, the hundreds of moths that make up their body shifting and moving amongst each other in a din of small beating wings.

The Mothman.

Ford hates to admit that the thought still sends an excited shiver up his spine.

They emerge into the clearing, glancing around and taking an immediate interest in the flashlight lying on the ground. They approach it slowly, cautiously, glancing around as if waiting for the ambush, eventually making it onto the net before moving to bend down to pick up the flashlight.

They stop.

Ford holds his breath.

“Stanford Pines,” a voice says, the sound a high whine broken up and mixed with soft clicking. The Mothman stands back upright, snapping its eyes right in his direction. Immediately, Ford’s mind starts swirling with potential fallback options to try to turn this in their favor. “Surprised you’re still alive after last week. Really think we’re stupid enough to fall for—”

“Suck mothballs, lamp licker!” Wendy screams from across the clearing, the Mothman whipping around just as a projectile of some sort (is that an axe?) flies out of the underbrush and hits the trap’s trigger dead-on, sending the net shooting upwards and capturing almost all of the moths above it. A shrill screech fills the air from the now-dangling mass of moths, but Ford is too busy gaping at the cashier girl as she emerges from her hiding spot.

“Nice shot, Wendy!” he beams, shaking off the shock and coming out to join her on either side of the now-enraged Mothman. She shrugs, retrieving the axe from off the ground and sliding it back into her belt loop behind her back.

“No biggie. My dad enters me into the annual axe-throwing competition every year. I’ve won the last 5 in a row.” Ford, having not known anything about this girl before today, is rather stunned. He certainly was not expecting that from the teen, let alone the nonchalance over it. “But anywho,” she says, turning her attention to the writhing mass in front of them. “About that money…”

~ ~ ~

About two hours after they left, Ford and Wendy arrive back at the Mystery Shack, Ford heading to the back of the house to find Stan and the kids, Wendy collecting her things and heading back out to go home, a crisp one-hundred dollar bill tucked into her pocket.

[orangeoctopi7]

A Small Setback

@stanuary Here with week one. The Theme is “Burn” and I’ve got a sequel to last year’s oneshot “A Minor Inconvenience”

***

It had been a few days since the elder Pines twins had received definitive proof that little bits of Bill were still floating around in Stan’s head. Ford had immediately set a course for the nearest land, a Norwegian island called Spitsbergen, where he was planning on doing some more in-depth research. He had already collected all his notes on the Dreamscape and Bill, as well as contacted Fiddleford for more data on the effects of the memory gun. When the old inventor asked why his old friend needed this information, Ford simply replied it was to help Stan with some unforeseen side-effects. 

What sort of side-effects? Fiddleford’s next email replied. I’d have a better idea of what data to send you if I knew what he was experiencing. 

He’s asked me to keep it confidential. Ford replied back. Just send everything.

The next email Ford got from McGucket contained an attachment so big, it took over 24 hours to download with their limited internet bandwidth at sea. 

The old researcher also asked his brother to start keeping a dream journal, and routinely asked Stan to recount all he could remember of his fateful encounter with Bill last summer. By now, Stan was getting a bit exasperated by it all.

“Seriously, it was over six months ago!” he whined, “I don’t remember any more of it now than I did yesterday! Can we just drop it?”

Ford looked ready to argue, but he must have changed his mind before he opened his mouth. “Ok, ok, if it’s frustrating you that much, I’ll stop asking.”

“Thank you.” Stan sighed. 

“We'll just have to find another way to figure out what happened.” 

Stan rolled his eyes. Of course he wasn't free to go yet.

“I've been going through the data Fiddleford sent me. The memory eraser doesn't actually erase memories, it just subliminalizes them by severing the main neurological connections.”

“... Meaning?”

“The memory is still in your head, you just can't recall it.”

“Great. What good does that do us?”

“I might be able to find access to the entire memory through your dreamscape.”

Stan grimaced. “So you wanna go digging around in my head again?” 

“Well I don’t want to, but it’s our best option to learn how Bill survived.”

“Didn’t he tell you the last time you were in there? Something about Tylenol?”

“Xolotl,” Ford corrected, “An Aztec god of death, among other things. I’m having trouble figuring out exactly how it’s connected to Bill. Which is why I need to know exactly what happened.”

“Alright, fine.” Stan consented. “But no more reading outta your nerd textbooks!”

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be needing that.” Ford assured him. “I need you awake this time.”

Stan raised his eyebrows curiously. “Didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely certain it will work.”

“... should I be worried?”

“No, no, worst case scenario, I recite the spell and just stay in my own head.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Stan sat in the middle of a ring of candles glowing dimly in the perpetual darkness of the arctic winter. Ford extinguished his match and stood behind his brother. Stan turned in his chair to watch.

“Don’t pay any attention to me.” Ford instructed. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on what you can remember about beating Bill. Tune me out.”

“Heh, got plenty of practice doing that.” Stan chuckled nervously.

“Concentrate.” Ford reminded him.

Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There wasn’t much he remembered, and it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on. For the most part, all he remembered was blue flames, Bill begging for his pathetic life, and then punching the filthy dorito out of existence. More than anything, he remembered how he felt. Fear, then determination, a grim sense of satisfaction, and finally, acceptance. He tried to focus on those feelings and ignore Ford reciting the incantation. 

***

Stanford really hoped this would work. As he finished the incantation, there was a blue flash of light, which was a good sign. He opened his eyes, and sure enough, he no longer saw himself in the darkened galley of the Stan’o’War II, but back on the deck of Stan’s mindscape. There was a major difference this time though: Stan was actually standing there, clutching a treasure chest in his hands. It was severely damaged, blackened and burned. It seemed as though it might fall apart if someone looked at it the wrong way, but streams of blue light leaked out of it.

Ford reached out and lightly touched Stan’s shoulder. The old con man jumped like someone had cracked a whip at him.

“It’s ok, it’s just me!” Ford reassured him. 

“Where are we?” Stan asked.

“This is your mindscape, and that,” the old researcher pointed to the charred chest in his brother’s clutches, “Should be the memory we’re looking for.”

Stan gulped and cracked open the lid. Blue flames seemed to pour out of it. Ford placed his hand on top of his brother’s and opened the lid all the way. They could see the memory of Stan sitting in his favorite recliner, Bill growing more and more desperate and panicky every moment, but it was hard to make out exactly what they were saying or doing over the crackling, spreading blue flames that obscured most of the scene.

“What was that?” Ford asked suddenly as Bill started to glitch and contort with increasing rapidity.

“I think he’s tryin’ to get out.” Stan replied tensely. He didn’t like revisiting this memory.

“No, listen!”

Stan listened carefully over the crackling of the flames. “It just sounds like gibberish.”

“I think it’s an incantation!” Ford exclaimed, his voice caught somewhere between excited and scared. “Can you play it back again?”

“It’s a memory, not a video tape!” Stan glared at his brother incredulously.

“This is the mindscape, Stanley, you--”

“--Can do whatever I want, yeah yeah, I know.” Stan rolled his eyes and concentrated. The vision in the treasure chest skipped back a bit, to when Bill started warping. 

Ford listened carefully, but he still couldn’t quite make out Bill’s incantation.

“It’s no good, I’ll have to go in.” He sighed.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Stan eyed the dancing blue flames.

“It’s not real, it’s just a memory. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going with you, then.”

“Technically, you’re already there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Alright. We should be able to just reach in…” Ford thrust his arm into the chest...

...and found himself in the cozy living room of the Mystery Shack. The blue flames flickering around the edges of the room were frozen in time, and there, floating in the center, was Bill Cipher. Ford felt his body tense up and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, ready to fight or flee for his life. 

“He’s not real, remember?” Stan said reassuringly from his recliner. 

Ford took a steadying breath and nodded. “Try not to change anything.” he advised, “Just let the memory run its course.”

“That’s gonna be hard with you here.”

“I’ll do my best to blend in.” Ford imagined himself invisible and ducked behind the recliner for good measure. Next he imagined a little camcorder, so he could go over the events in detail later, and placed it besides the chair, where it wouldn’t be noticed. 

The flames began to dance again as Stan started concentrating on the memory and time around them started to flow normally once again. Ford watched with some satisfaction as Bill looked around frantically. The panic was obviously starting to kick in now. 

“LET ME OUTTA HERE! LET ME OUT!!” the demon waved his arm, trying to create a portal to escape through, or a door to slip into a safer part of the mindscape, but nothing happened. There was nowhere to run to. “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!”

Stan stood and drew himself to his full height. Although his heart was racing, he felt confidence and determination surge through him. He was going to teach this triangular jerkwad a lesson, and this time he knew how it was going to end. 

“Hey, look at me. Turn around and look at me, ya one-eyed demon!” He barked. Bill could do nothing but turn and look as the flames rose higher and higher. “You’re a real wise-guy, but you made one fatal mistake: you messed with my family!”

“YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE! I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING! MONEY, FAME, RICHES, INFINITE POWER, YOUR OWN GALAXY!” Bill pleaded, “PLEASE!” 

Once again the demon began to warp and glitch, changing forms more and more rapidly like he was losing control. Ford watched and listened carefully, although it was getting harder to concentrate as the azure flames closed in around them.

“NRUTER YAM I TAHT REWOP TNEICNA EHT EKOVNI I! NRUB OT EMOC SAH EMIT YM! L T O L O X AAAAAAAAAA!” Bill screamed, cycling through forms faster than ever. With the last of his strength, he reached out. “S  T  A  N  L  E  Y…”

Stan wound up and socked Bill straight in the eye with a powerful left-hook. Bill shattered into millions of pieces, the shards scattering everywhere, only to be licked up by the flames within seconds. The ring of blue fire was closing in on them now. It was weird. It didn’t feel hot, but the closer it got, the more Stan felt like things were… ebbing away. 

Ford could feel it too. “Heh, good job Stanley.” He chuckled nervously, reappearing and picking up the camcorder. “Let’s pause things here so we can take a closer look.”

Stan tried to concentrate on the beginning of the memory again, but the flames surrounding them refused to budge. They just continued to close in around them. He tried to imagine a way out, but he couldn’t imagine a place to escape to. He couldn’t even recall where they’d been before they got here.

“Something’s wrong!” Stan panicked. “Ford, you gotta get out of here, now!”

“What? What’s wrong?” his brother asked in concern.

But Stan could tell he didn’t have time to explain. This wasn’t his first experience, and he knew Ford’s window was closing. He imagined one of the few things he could still recall clearly: an imposing metal structure in the shape of an inverted triangle, with a glowing white light pulsing in its center. He pushed his brother into the last possible exit.

This has happened before, hasn’t it? Was his last thought before he woke up.

***

Ford found he had stumbled to the floor when he awoke. His temper flared as he picked himself up off the floor. Why? Why would Stan ever think it was ok to recreate that moment, even in the dreamscape?

“Stanley, what were you thinking!?” he demanded. “What just happened?”

Stan came out of his trance groggily. He seemed to have a hard time focusing for a moment. He glanced around like he didn’t recognize his surroundings. “...Who… what?”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh. “Do you even remember what just happened?”

“Uuuuh, no.” Stan said simply. “Who’re you?”

The old researcher’s blood ran cold. “That’s not funny.”

“‘Snot a joke.” Stan replied. “Seriously, you look familiar, but I’m drawing a blank. Help a guy out here.”

Ford clamped down on his emotions best he could. He couldn’t panic now, panicking would only make things worse. “I-it’s me, Stanford, your brother.”

“Stanford…” Stan repeated, as though the name was familiar, but he couldn’t remember exactly where he’d heard it before. “But I’m… wait, no… no that’s… but you… ugh, this is making my brain hurt!” He rubbed his temples.

Ford took his brother’s hand in his and interlocked their fingers. “You’re Stanley. And I’m Stanford.” he explained as patiently as he could, although inwardly he was freaking out. “We’re twins. Dad… heh, dad couldn’t be bothered to come up with two different names.” 

Stan just stared at their intertwined hands as though they were a particularly difficult puzzle.

“Just… just wait here.” Ford said firmly as he could while his voice hitched. “I’m going to find something to help you.”

“Uh… ‘kay.”

The old researcher dashed out of the galley and into the storage room, searching desperately for the scrapbook Mabel had made them. He’d had to use it a few times when Stan had memory lapses before, but in all those instances Stan still remembered up to some point in his history. Still remembered Ford. It had never been so bad that he’d forgotten everything. Not since…

“No, nonono I can’t do this again!” Ford moaned, pulling at his hair as he continued to search. He finally found the scrapbook, which helped him get a lid back on his emotions. “No. Get a hold of yourself. This is going to work. It’s worked before.” And if it didn’t, he was willing to commandeer a plane and fly them straight back to Gravity Falls if he had to. He knew that Stanley could recover from this, it was just a question of when and how.

“Uh, you ok in there, Sixer?” Stan called from the doorway. Ford turned and stared at him in shock. “S-sorry! That was rude. Dunno why I said that. It just kinda slipped out. I-I’ll go sit back down.”

“No! That’s fine!” Ford assured him with a soft smile. “That’s your old nickname for me. We don’t use it as much anymore because someone kind of ruined it for me… but that means you’re already starting to remember!”

“Oh. Good.”

“Come sit over here.” Ford motioned towards a long padded bench besides the table with the scrapbook in his hand. “It’ll be much more comfortable.”

***

Thankfully, it seemed that Stan hadn’t forgotten everything this time after all. He had forgotten a lot, and what he did remember was quite muddled, but at least there was something to start with. 

“So I was living under your name for thirty years… while I was trying to bring you back home?” Stan recapped as the reached the end of another section in the scrapbook.

“That’s right.”

“Yeah…” Stan nodded thoughtfully, “Yeah, that explains it. I was kinda confused when I first woke up, cuz I thought I was Stanford, but that makes sense.”

“Do… do you remember that?” Ford asked hesitantly.

“I remember… a lot of long nights working on that portal.” Stan said slowly. “And worrying about you. Wondering whether or not you were still alive.”

Ford managed a weak smile. “Believe it or not, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, if you could call it that.”

“Well, I survived, in any case.” The old researcher turned the page. “And here we have--”

“The kids!” Stan finished, a huge grin spreading across his face. “Yeah! How could I forget those little firecrackers? The glitter-bomb and the nervous know-it-all.”

“Do you remember their names?”

Stan’s grin faltered. “Yyyyno. Look, I’m not doing great on names today, cut me some slack!”

[truth-spatter]

Thia fuc, brought to you by Mumbledor M stiltskin is also pisted on Ao3, link, please enjoy.

_________

The walls were bleeding, the shadows got up and danced around, and Ford was sincerely questioning what color that was, this was definitely not good.

They must have pissed the demon off somehow!

Then as soon as it came, it was gone.

The demon stood, the glare gone. “Why.. why did you summon me?”

Ford was so excited he almost forgot the incident and began diving into his many notes and theorems, and his… failure.

Much time the later Ford finished, and the demon nodded, content.

“So you want to build a portal” The demon glaced at Fiddleford with an odd expression “Right, well, what can you give me?”

Ford had to admit, he was pretty dumb to have not thought of this.

Lucky for him, Fiddleford seemed to have his back.

“Mr-Mr. demon, sir?” “Alcor.” “Mr. Alcor, sir? I would like to ask you, what are your thoughts on- er- sa-sacrifices?”

“Fresh, cooked, candy, or, if you want something good,” The- Alcor, smiled. The room lit itself in unnatural darkness, an impossibility if Ford had ever seen one, “Sentimental.”

Ford gulped, he didn’t even have to check to know Fiddleford did too.

————————————-

There were two things running through Fiddleford McGuckets head right now, one, was “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH”, and the second, was “I FORGOT THE COWS, HOW DID I FORGET THE COWS.”

But, if Fiddleford McGucket was good at one thing, it was faking it till you make it.

“Can we, uh, have a week? Just to think on what we want and what we can give you?”

The demon looked at him as if he was an ant, which to a demon, he probably was. “One week.” And then it was gone.

Fiddleford turned, his passive face turning to anger when it faced his partner. “Ford! What the hell made you think summoning a <em>DEMON</em> was a good idea!?” In hindsight, as Fiddleford reflected on the situation, it was a tad unfair to be angry at Ford, he wasn’t the one who reinvited the demon after all.

“Knowledge! The secrets of Gravity Falls hide behind a sentimental family photo, Fiddleford! We cannot afford to back away now, not with so much at stake!” Fiddleford got the feeling they weren’t thinking about the same stakes.

———————————

Over the course of the next week, many things occurred, as they usually do. Dipper was constantly mulling over what he should do, he could take Bill's place and allow all events to flow normally, letting he and his sister go through the events that undoubtedly shaped their lives today(obviously preventing the existence of another Alcor), or, he could do something entirely different.

Both Fords were constantly going through their few available sentimental artifacts, after they found out that the wildlife of Gravity Falls was largely protected.

And Bill observed, well, as best he could anyways.

——————————

“Hello again” the voice said, startling the two Fords.

“Er, hello!” Ford said

There was a long pause, Ford was quite confused at what the demon was doing, being nothing. Shouldn’t they be taking the offerings by now?

The demon began laughing, “You guys-aheh- You guys need to strike up a deal, before-haha- before I can take any of that.” The demon paused “Well, that's not entirely true.”

“What?”

“Nothing , anyways, what are you offering? And for what?”

Ford stepped forward, clearing his throat, “We offer the most sentimental item in this house for the schematics for an interdimensional portal.”

The demon looked at the pile of sentimental items, mostly still incomplete projects that Ford was loath to part with, but he felt that for this? It was worth anything.

The demon held his hand out, and Ford knew he could no longer go back. Unbenounced to him, the demon was thinking the same thing.

The ethereal blue flames didn’t burn, which was nice.

Later, after he had gone through the pile only to find nothing gine, he would notice that the only picture he had of both him and Stanly was gone. And maybe, just maybe, he was bothered by that.

————————————

[littlemonstersau-blog]

The Feels Awaken, Interlude: Attack of the Clonesuit

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

PART I  - PART II [Interlude] (you are here) - PART III

————————————————————————————–

Ford, leafing listlessly through notes: … Suppose I could go out and look more into this anomaly … or that one, any of them, really —anything’d be better than just sitting here … moping. Yes, moping, that’s really what I’m doing right now. All that I’m doing right now. Moping … [sighs heavily, stands up and paces around room aimlessly; roving eyes land on a shelf of scientific glassware with several empty decanters among them; swallows drily] Damn, a drink would really hit the spot right about now … Gah, no! How pathetic can I be, wanting a drink now, after decades of sobriety! Still wanting a drink at all, just because … just because I’m missing the kids … Damn it, man, pull yourself together! [takes off glasses with one hand, slaps self with other] Are you a scientist or a sentimentalist?! [slaps self again] Focus on your intellect! [slaps self a third time] They’ll be back here soon enough to visit for Fall Break, you can look forward to that, so stop all this … this sniveling! [resumes pacing] … Gah, that Demon’ll probably sour their visit for me, too. Just like he’s soured everything else in my life of late … Besides, he’s already had too much influence over them as is, and them coming back risks him gaining even more of one; would be far, far better if they never came within 100 miles of him ever again … I can … I can go to them, anyway. Stan and I. We can go down to Piedmont and see them safely that way, or … or I can call or use that skyelp program just about any evening … Yes … Yes … So no more of this sniveling and moping and such …

Bill, through the elevator intercom: Hey, Stanford?! I’m coming down now, so … uh, put away the crossbow and the dirty magazines! Haha … ha … um, yeah …Th-that was just a joke, by the way! Except for the part about the crossbow, obviously, ‘cause I would appreciate it if you put that away instead of putting a bolt in this vessel! So, um … yeah, here I come! (79 Hells, that was awkward …)

Ford, muttering and jumping back to desk: Grrr! Now?! Pigcrap fucksnorkel, this is the last thing I need right now! [sits in an exaggeratedly nonchalant pose; turns and glares as Bill steps out of the elevator] What is it, Cipher, can’t you see I’m very busy?

Bill, holding up two cans of Pitt: Thought you might, I dunno, like something cold to drink? [sets one can down on the desk]

Ford: … Why are you wearing a sock puppet?

Bill, shrugging: I could ask you the same thing.

Ford: No, you couldn’t.

Bill: Sure, I could. It wouldn’t make sense, but I could. [cracks open own drink, takes a sip] So, um, how you doin’?

Ford: You still haven’t answered my question.

Bill, shielding his mouth with non-puppet hand, whispering: He just showed up on his own, and I can’t get him to leave no matter how many hints I drop.

Ford, turning away: A feeling I relate to on a deep, spiritual level. [pretends to resume reviewing notes]

Bill: Now you still haven’t answered my question. How you doin’?

Ford: … Tired. And getting more and more tired with every second I spend in your company. So I repeat, what is it? What do you want?

Bill, sighing, leaning against the desk: I just … wanna talk is all, I guess? It gets kinda lonely, y’know, without the Twins here. And I do know y’know about that.

Ford, hiding embarrassment: What are you implying?

Bill: C’mon, Ford. We all miss them. And, I dunno, that’s got me all sentimental about … [takes a deep breath, looks at Ford, lets himself be vulnerable] about other people I miss spending time with, too.

Ford, looking away: Yes, well, if you burn a bridge, you can’t really complain about not being able to cross back over again, can you?

Bill, through sock puppet: Bridges can be rebuilt, can’t they?

Ford: …

Bill, through sock puppet: Can’t they?

Ford: … Not some bridges. Now leave me alone, please, because I have a lot of work to do.

Bill, stiffening up: Fine, if that’s what you want. Sit down here and brood in the dark, ignoring all the people who’re concerned about your health and happiness.

Ford: Pff, right! Sure, you are.

Bill: I am, though! I’m concerned about your health! So are Stan, Soos and Melody, and the Twins would be, too, if they could see you like this—Mabel and Dipper!

Ford: I’m fine, Cipher. You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Bill: Me and Stan’re especially concerned about you, I think. Prob’ly ‘cause we know you the best.

Ford, reddening: I asked you nicely to leave me alone once already. I won’t ask nicely again.

Bill, through sock puppet while stomping towards exit: I guess you would know about burning bridges, right? I mean, you’ve been slowburning a bunch of ‘em lately, haven’t you?

Ford, raising his voice: What’s that supposed to mean?

Bill, through sock puppet: How many years d’you spend missing your brother so much it ached, huh? I mean, you had me play him in your fantasies hundreds of times—literally. 872 times with him as a major character by my count over the years we spent together! [whirls around at the elevator door and points, which looks especially accusing and grotesque coming through a hand puppet] Yet, even though he’s back, you won’t even enjoy your time with him just ‘cause I’m around!? Just ‘cause he doesn’t spit and hiss at the sight of me like a Vampire at sunlight?! You murmur and grumble and carry on and act … act mean and bitter at him for that?! Well, Fordsy, if that ain’t slowburning a bridge, I don’t know what is!

Ford, stung: Y-you … Shut up, Cipher.

Bill, pointing petulantly at the sock: It’s not me. It’s him. [speaking through the sock again] And you’re doing it to everyone else! Including the Twins!

Ford, on his feet: Get. Out. Now.

Bill, whirling on his heel: We’re already gone! [storms back into the elevator and upstairs with it]

Ford, covering face to contain fury: That little, monocular— No, Stanford. D-don’t let him get to you … fffff … Don’t let … that smart-talking shitass—No, d-don’t … fffff … don’t … [eyes land on decanters again; desire for a drink spikes, which makes fury explode inside of him] Graaaaargh! [stomps over, seizes first decanter, hurls it at wall; it shatters] That greasepainted, crap-piling, illuminati fuck hat and [hurls second decanter at wall; it shatters] cyclopes poseur in a mustache-twirled, pan-licking ass wad [hurls third decanter at wall; it shatters] of a grephew’s face-stealing TURD BREATH! [stands huffing and puffing for a moment; leans against wall, slides down until sitting on floor, buries face in hands]

Ford, eventually beginning to calm down: Says he’s “concerned about my health and happiness”—pah!—right … Heard that one before, haven’t I?

[remembers from more than 30 years ago …

Bill, inside Ford’s mind: Uh, you sure this is a good idea?

Ford, scaling an improvised novi-wave receiver: Sure! *cough* Why do you ask?

Bill: Let’s just say I’m concerned for your health and wellbeing.

Ford, shifting a bag of materials, climbing higher: Huh. What for? I’m not *cough cough* sick at all.

Bill: Only ‘cause of the major storm—strong winds, pounding rain, and constant lightning—raging around you while you climb up a structure made of conductive metals that doesn’t have a lot of really solid hand and footholds for your gravity-bound meatbag.

Ford, laughing: Oh, that! Don’t worry, this’ll only take another *cough cough* minute or two.

[lightning cracks nearby]

Ford, still laughing: Whoa! Haha! That one was close! [foot slips on wet metal; catches self] Whoops! Heh, clumsy me … Better hurry up! *cough*

Bill, obviously worried: Y’know what? I think you should just leave it for now. Wait until the storm clears, do something about that wet cough like … like have some ginger tea!

Ford: The forecast said it’s *cough* to continue all week. If I *cough* don’t fix this now, we’ll lose all that work time.

Bill: Yeah, but if you fall and break one of your fleshsticks, we’ll lose even more time. Assuming a fall doesn’t, y’know, do worse. Like kill you. Also, you getting pneumonia is a thing that could cause us to lose even more time.

Ford, dismissively: It’s fine. I’ll be fine. *cough*

Bill, almost desperately: Hey, know what? Not being able to work the rest of this week might be an okay thing! Like, you could take a break. Relax a little, get several full nights’ sleep. Eat a few square meals at regular times with all that nutrient stuff you meatbags need, stave off scurvy and other illnesses you could catch as a result of skipping meals and sleep. Doesn’t that sound like fun? We could even have extra play sessions in your mindscape! Eh? Eh?!

Ford, tempted: You’re a *cough cough* good friend, Bill, but I need to concentrate on this right now.

comes out of his memory …]

Ford, sitting in the lab: Heh … I did fall in the end. Didn’t break anything, just got the wind knocked out of me and was bruised for a bit, but still … Was that when Cipher first recommended I get an assistant? Someone who’d help me build his infernal portal? [sighs, admits] No, I thought an assistant could help me build the portal. Cipher said I needed one to stop me “dying like an idiot during monster hunts” and make me “perform basic self-care for meatbags” from day to day. I was the one who thought it could be someone to help with the portal. [face turning red with shame] I … It was me who made the Electron Carpet to try to switch him— Fiddleford, someone I dared call a f-friend—with Cipher … That was entirely me … When I suggested we use it for that, he actually told me it was a terrible idea—told me Fiddleford was there to help keep my “moments of near suicidal dumbassery in check” and ease my workload, not increase both of them … [chuckles incredulously] That was the first time Cipher and I ever had an argument … He said he was worried about me, and the thing I invented the most was new ways to make him worry …

[remembers the argument, which ended with both of them screaming “FUCK YOU!” at each other in different voices until it stopped being angry and started being hilarious …

remembers flashes from times he and Bill worked together, succeeded together, advanced SCIENCE! together …

remembers flashes from times he and Bill laughed together, played together, bonded together, had so much fun together …

remembers flashes from times he and Bill spent inside Ford’s mindscape, and how good it felt to relive his memories of better times, to play out all his wild fantasies …]

Ford, resting head against wall, gazing at dark ceiling: Cipher’s not … not the only one who misses spending time with … other people … who misses the old days … And—Moses!— I’m so, so tired from always being on guard … from always reminding myself what he really is … what he’s done, what he could do if he got the chance … So tired from always keeping myself angry and bitter … from always stoking this animosity … So tired from always pitting myself against him … Well, against everyone else, too … [heaves self upright and dusts off coat; rubs temples; sighs heavily] Could I be entirely wrong about Bill? Is it really possible he has changed, and I’m just being a stubborn, old fool? Am I making everyone else … Am I making myself unhappy for no real reason? [sighs heavily again] Not the first time I’ve asked that question, and the answer’s the same as always. I can’t afford to take that chance—this whole dimension can’t afford for me to take that chance. And it’s selfish of me to even consider it, given the stakes … What’re my desires and my health and my personal happiness against the safety of this whole dimension for the rest of eternity? And … what’s the happiness of my family, even? [shakes head woefully] I want to believe Bill, but he has conned me before … Besides, he’s immortal; he can afford to play a long game, just wait until I die or waver … That’s why I can’t give in. I just can’t … ever …

[sound from overhead like heavy objects being rearranged]

Ford, flopping into chair at desk: Fffffuck, I wish … I wish there was a solution to this dilemma … a way to untie this Gordian Knot … More than anything in the world … [picks up Pitt, cracks it open, takes a swig; eventually looks at pile of shattered decanters] That’s going to be a bitch to clean up …

Stan, through the basement intercom: Poindexter, you down here? I’m comin’ down, so get out the crossbow and the dirty magazines! [takes elevator down to the lab, notices pile of broken glass and Ford’s drained expression] Yeesh, what happened here? You try playin’ jenga with champagne flutes, or something?

Ford, sighing: … Had a … a temper tantrum, guess you’d say. Threw all the old decanters against the wall because they reminded me how badly I want a drink sometimes.

Stan: Well, darn. We could’ve sold those; some of ‘em were really nice crystal … But, more importantly, you feelin’ better?

Ford, taking a reflective sip of Pitt: … Not really, no. I loathe how much, even now, even still, sometimes I want a drink more than anything in the world … Makes me feel like … like …

Stan, walking up to rub his shoulders: Yeah?

Ford: Like nothing’s changed—maybe more like I haven’t changed— not really, even after everything … Mmm, that feels good, Stanly …

Stan: I can understand the feelin’, Sixer … Some days … Well, some days are just bad days. Some days, all the crap from the past tumbles outta the closet in your head, and there’s nothin’ much you can do about it. [leans down, lightly kisses top of his brother’s head] But there’s also nothin’ wrong with takin’ some time off from all the crap, either, on those days.

Ford: Yeah?

Stan: Yeah. I been thinkin’ we could use some time off. All of us. Chance to disconnect and decompress from day-to-day life, y’know. We should do a movie day—just spend the rest of today together watchin’ some far out flicks, not worryin’ ‘bout anything in particular. Whaddya say, Sixer?

Ford, wavering: All of us, you said? Well … [sighs] Yeah, sure, okay. Why the heck not? What’re we watching?

[under-atomic-skies]

The Crooked Kind. Ch. 1

Welcome Home

Summary:  Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

Warnings: none for this chapter

Word count: 2,594

AO3

Ch. 1 (HERE) || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 || Ch. 4

All my nightmares escaped my head Bar the door, please don't let them in You were never supposed to leave Now my head's splitting at the seams

Snow was beginning to drive from the gray skies suffocating the sky. The weather had been turning gradually colder and colder as winter pressed on. It was nearly Christmas, which also meant the semester was winding down. Finals week was quickly approaching and the impending stress loomed over the young college student. It didn’t help that it was one of his last few years of college and the course work, mechanical engineering, had gotten progressively harder and more complex.

Not that any of that bothered him. He’d been building all sort of robots and improving farm machines for at least a decade. He was doing very well in his classes, but it didn’t change the fact that it was time consuming, and carving out time to study and complete projects in time for the end of the semester was easier said than done.

He technically should be studying now, but he’d been studying all day and he could at least recognize (unlike his roommate) the benefits of taking a break every now and then. What better way to do so then to get fresh air and call his family.

At least that had been his plan. Being a southern boy, he forgot how “fresh air” implied that the air outside was so cold that it hurt to breathe. Remind him why he decided to go to a school where the air hurt to breathe? Wrapping his jacket tighter around his thin shoulders, he continued along his way to where the phone booth stood, quietly stuck in between a nearby building and a mostly empty parking lot.

Opening the door, he let himself in and closed it, realizing sadly that it wasn’t any warmer inside the phone booth. Fishing through his pockets, he retrieved several coins and inserted them before dialing his home phone number. Lifting the phone to his ear (and trying not to think about all of the germs and bacteria living on the damn thing), he waited patiently as the phone beeped in his ear.

Finally, the beeping broke off as a warm voice greeted him through the phone with a thick southern accent, “Hello, McGucket residence?”

A smile tugged at the boys features as he recognized his mother’s voice. “Hi Ma!” he replied back with excitement.

“Fiddleford!” she all but shouted into his ear, earning a laugh from the man at the other end. “Honey, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you? Are you eating?”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Fiddleford laughed again, “Yes, Ma. I’m eatin’, I swear.”

“Good! You’re always so skinny; I don’t want ya wastin’ away!” His mother’s voice was warm, though Fiddleford knew his Ma well enough to tell she was worrying about him. She was always a fretful person, and that only magnified now that her son was hundreds of miles away on his own.

“I promise, Ma, I’m doin’ well. If anything, my roommate is the one who ain’t eatin’.” He laughed fondly before adding, “I guess I also got a protective mother streak in me; I’m always harping on him to eat more, or get some sleep.”

His mother laughed, “Oh, Fiddleford. You’ve always been such a sweet boy. I know I shouldn’t worry about you so, but it’s hard to not worry about your baby!”

Seeing a movement out of the corner of his eyes, Fiddleford turned to watch as a red El Diablo turned into the parking lot and parked a few spots down from the payphone.

“So, how’s your classes going, baby? Finals are comin’ up!” His mother’s voice interrupted him, turning his attention away from the car.

“They’re going well! My roommates been helping me with multivariate calculus. He’s not the best teacher since everything is so easy for him and he can’t seem to understand why I don’t get everything as quickly as he does, but he’s still been helpful.”

A noise not that far interrupted his thoughts as a car door opened. Seeing as this was a busy street, it didn’t seem odd to him so Fiddleford didn’t pay him any mind.

“That’s great, honey! You’re always such a smart cookie!”

She laughed at Fiddleford’s squak of protest.

“You know I’m so proud of my smart boy! Listen sweetie, when are you thinkin’ you can come home for Christmas?”

Fiddleford hummed in thought, briefly glancing at the car as a man emerged from the car. It was fairly dark out so he couldn’t see the man very well. He turned towards the payphone, and seeing that it was in use, strode to the front of his car and sat on the hood, lighting a cigarette that he pulled from a pack.

“Finals week is a week and a half away so probably that Friday after finals.” Fiddleford responded.

“Fantastic! And you’re still plannin’ to bring your roommate home as well, right?” his Ma asked pleasantly. Not for the first time, Fiddleford felt a swell of affection for his kind hearted mother. After explaining how vague his roommate had been about not looking forward to going home for the holidays, and talking about staying in their apartment for the holidays, his mother had offered to open their home to his roommate so he wouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone.

At first, his roommate had been hesitant. Fiddleford suspected it was because he was because he, bless his heart, wasn’t the best at social cues, or socialization for that matter. But at Fiddleford’s insistence (it also helped that he pointed out that the McGucket’s could talk to a dead person), he agreed to go.

“Yep! He’s still plannin’ on comin’! You’re gonna make your homemade apple pie still, right? I’m afraid I talked up a storm about it and he’s lookin’ forward to tryin’ it!” Fiddleford said with a laugh.

“Oh yes, sweetie,” his mom replied, chuckling, “You know I always do.”

Fiddleford grinned, “He’ll be excited to hear that.” After a brief moment, he signed and scratched the back of his neck, “Listen ma, I still got a lot of studying to do. It was great to hear your voice again, and I’ll see ya soon, ok?”

His mum’s voice sounded through the receiver, understanding but still a bit disappointed to have to get of the phone, “Of course, sweetie. You’ll do great! I’ll look forward to seeing ya soon. I love ya!”

Smiling fondly, Fiddleford replied, “I love ya too, Ma. Bye.” he said.

He heard his mother say bye as well before he hung up the phone on the hook. He opened the door to the payphone and as he raised his eyes, his gaze met the strangers, now rising from the hood of his car, flicking the cigarette butt into the growing pile of snow.

“Sorry for takin’ so long.” Fiddleford responded to him kindly. As the man approached, now under the light of the street lamp better, he noticed that the man’s coat couldn’t possibly couldn’t be warm enough to stave off the winter cold.

“No problem.” the man replied, voice gruff. A thin, trail of air coming from his mouth as he breathed. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a quarter, would ya? I wanted t’ call my ma, but I’m one quarter short.”

Fiddleford could obviously tell the man was not happy to have to ask for money from a stranger, and felt sympathy. The man just wanted to call his own mother, and how could Fiddleford deny the man that request. Nodding, he stuck his hands in his pocket and pulled out the rest of the change that he had before offering it to the man.

The man was closer now and as Fiddleford met his gaze, he gasped. The man looked just like his roommate. Or rather, he would if it weren’t for the long hair, scruffy five o’clock shadow, tired bags under his eyes (though Ford was probably sporting a pretty good pair right about now), or strange stains on his threadbare jacket. The man seemed to notice his scrutinizing gaze and appeared to shrink, as if wanting to make himself smaller. Feeling another wave of sympathy, Fiddleford offered a kind smile to the man as he added his coins to the man’s own pair.

“Say, you must be from down south, huh?” He asked. The stranger opened his mouth to reply with a look of confusion before Fiddleford cut him off, “I know how it is. I’m not used to this cold weather either. I happen to have a spare winter coat; how’d ya like to take that off my hands for me?”

The man’s face looked puzzled before he nodded, as if he was hesitating. It was if he didn’t want to take him up on his offer, but his body was too cold and forced him to agree. Fiddleford grinned.

“Thank you! You’re really doin’ me a huge favor!”

The man was starting to ease, much to Fiddleford’s joy.

“I- uh- I really appreciate that, but I really gotta call my Ma before it gets too late. I’m late enough as it is, and if I don’t call her tonight, she’s gonna talk my ear off.” The man said, shuffling his feet.

Fiddleford nodded, “Of course, of course! I gotta get back to studying but I tell ya what, why don’t ya come back here tomorrow afternoon. I can get that coat for ya, and there’s a nice coffee shop a block or two down that has a new drink I’ve been wantin’ to try out.”

The man’s eyes darted away, hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could respond, Fiddleford cut in, “And before ya object, ya know how that southern hospitality is. My own ma will have my head if she ever finds out I don’t welcome a newcomer to the town, near Christmas nonetheless.”

The guy appeared a bit overwhelmed and for a brief moment, Fiddleford wondered if he was over doing it. But how could he not? The man obviously looked like he could use a kind gesture of two, and seeing as he looked so much like his roommate, Fiddleford felt the need to be a bit extra generous to this man.

Slowly, he nodded, “Ok… yeah. Coffee sounds nice.” Ever so slightly, his mouth curved into a hopeful smile. Fiddleford grinned.

“Great. I’ll see ya tomorrow at noon then! Enjoy your phone call with your Ma!” Fiddleford said, turning to head back to his apartment and raising a hand to wave bye to the man. The man waved back, almost hesitantly.

“See ya then!” he called back.

Fiddleford turned fully now, hurrying back to his apartment to get out of the cold, a small smile on his mouth. He could hear the door to the payphone opening as the man let himself inside, and again a few moments later as the door closed. Following the path back to the apartment, Fiddleford noticed that in the short time he had used the payphone, snow had covered the path in a thin layer. His footsteps crunched ever so softly as he climbed the steps leading to his apartments front door before letting himself in. Following down the hallway that led to his tiny apartment, he took his keys out to let himself in.

Unsurprisingly, he found his roommate still at the desk, hunched over as his eyes darted across the textbook he was reading.

“Howdy, Stanford!” he greeted his roommate, who was so wrapped up in his readings that he didn’t hear his roommate. Rolling his eyes with a playful smile, Fiddleford approached his roommate, and leaned his head down to be about level with Ford’s head. He let out a yell which was soon joined by his roommates own shocked yell.

Spinning around to look at Fiddleford with wide, frightened eyes, Fiddleford burst into laughter. His roommate didn’t seem nearly as pleased, not that Fiddleford was all that surprised.

“Ya know, Stanford, I could have been a burglar or a murderer or somethin’ and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

Ford rolled his eyes, leaning his arm across the back of his chair. “I would have noticed! They would have had to break the door down.”

Fiddleford laughed, “Yeah, somehow I’m not confident that you’d notice that.” This earned a stubborn glare from his roommate.

Playfully grinning back, Fiddleford returned to his desk where his book had been left open for him.

“Anyway, how was your ma?” His roommate asked, turning back to his own book.

Grinning, Fiddleford responded, “She’s good. She’s really excited t’ meet ya! Oh! And I met a guy that looks a bit like ya if ya had long hair.”

“Hmmmm…. I’m inspired. Maybe I’ll grow out my hair. Think that’ll look good on me.” Ford teased, carding his six fingered hand through his wild, mouse-brown hair.

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Fiddleford chuckled curtly, “Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’d suit you.” He paused for a few minutes, deciding to mention his plans for the next day. It wasn’t like he thought the man would do something, but just in case, at least Ford would know where he was, “I’m gettin’ coffee with the guy tomorrow. I dunno what his deal is, but he looks like he doesn’t have much, so I figure a cup of coffee and my old winter coat will help ‘im out a bit.”

By this point, Ford seemed to be wrapped up in his textbook. For a moment, Fiddleford thought he hadn’t heard him and was about to repeat himself when Ford replied, “Just be careful, alright? He’s probably not well off for a reason.”

Pressing his lips together to keep himself from retorting something back, Fiddleford merely hummed. He didn’t agree with Ford’s sentiment, but he knew they were both too tired with too much studying to do to engage in an argument. He was finding it hard to concentrate on his classwork with that man in his thoughts. He was probably done or wrapping up the phone call with his mother. He hoped it went well; if his ma was anything like Fiddlefords, it’s always good to have one person like that in your corner. It soothed Fiddleford to think that the stranger wasn’t entirely alone. He might not have any clue about this man’s life, but it wasn’t hard to deduce that if he was on his own, or, god forbid, living out of his car, he most likely didn’t have many friends or acquaintances.

Fiddleford could only hope that the man wasn’t just passing through. If he was planning on staying for a while, Fiddleford wouldn’t mind getting to know the man. He wanted to know more about this mysterious drifter who he could see had a kind, if not worn heart. The following afternoon could not come fast enough.

With this thought in mind, he marked his place on the book and told Ford that he was taking a shower and heading to bed, and that he should think about doing the same. Ford didn’t respond, too wrapped up in his studying, not that Fiddleford actually expected an answer. He’d come out again after his shower to remind him.

As he climbed into bed several minutes later, it didn’t take long for the exhaustion to catch up to him, and within moments, he was deep in sleep.

[malisonquill]

Apparently I'm not the only one who rewatched Gravity Falls while also playing God of War, and I'm beyond happy to find out this :D Your art is awsome, and I'm so curious about your Gravity Falls God of War AU! But I don't know how to even start, what's the story about? I mean, how does it work with Stan being Kratos and Dipper and Mabel being in Atreus' place? And where's even Ford in all of this? XD

@guardianoflightanddarkness Thank you! :D Glad I wasn’t the only one either. I had a bit of an idea for how the story would work. I’m not sure on who all the characters equate to but I know a fair few. Below is basically the entire story as it is right now. Might change/ add things later. Hope this below will answer your questions but feel free to ask more!

Major Spoilers for both the God of War Series and Gravity Falls Below!

So to understand what’s going on in the God of War 2018 part of the story, I gotta start at the beginning.

Obviously it all starts in Greece.

Stan’s dad/ Filbrick takes the role of Zeus, and I think Stan’s mum is a Jotnar Giant like Fey who moved to Greece, possibly to avoid Odin (or whoever his equivelent is, maaayyyybe Bill im not sure) but she keeps this a secret from everyone. She and Filbrick have Shermy, Stan and Ford with Filbrick just thinking she’s a mortal. Ford is born with both his 6 fingers and birthmarks (which look like Krato’s tattoos). Stan’s Mum raises the kids with Filbrick keeping an eye on them, and when he notices Ford’s smarts in his early teens, he takes him to Olympus. There Ford learns of his God-like nature and learns his powers. He studies all the magical things of the Greek world, starting on a journey to become a God of knowledge. 

Stan meanwhile is outraged and furious that his father, who his mother confesses to be the king of Greek Gods, has taken his brother. He then leaves his home for a number of years, training to fight and to find a way to Olympus, along the way getting tattoos in honour of his brother. 

After several years when Stan finally gets to Olympus to find his father, he discovers that Ford has left to go gain knowledge of magical things and Gods of other lands. Stan demands to know where Ford is, but Filbrick will only tell him if Stan proves himself, and that’s how Stan gets the blades of Chaos and takes on duties as God of War for about a decade or so. 

During his time as God of War, he goes back to his home, only to find his mother and Shermie are gone without a trace. This helps fuel his fire of hate to make him more like younger Kratos. 

Eventually Stan confronts his father, saying he has done so many deeds that he must have proven himself worthy by now and demands to know where Ford is. His father states that he doesn’t actually know. Ford went off without ever saying exactly where he was going. Filbrick was leading Stan along this whole time to use him as a puppet. Stan gets mad and fights with his father, but he doesn’t win and is sent to the underworld.

It’s at this point where the story of the original God of War games comes into play, where Stan goes on a rage filled journey of revenge, eventually gets the Titans and defeats his father and destroys the Greek pantheon. 

So with the pantheon destroyed, and no sign of Ford, Shermie, or his Mother in Greece, he travels to other cultures to find them. I think maybe along his journey his mother left Stan a clue that sends him to Midgard and the domain of Norse mythology. 

There Stan would find Shermie and his kid (Stan’s Nephew). Stan gets to know him as he grows and becomes a bit gentler. Stan makes a home near to Shermie’s but tends to keep his distance. 

Stan is happy when Dipper and Mabel are born and takes a shine to them. But around this time, their parents (who are part giant remember) are killed by Odin’s Gods as they thought the parents could lead them to Jotunhiem. So Shermie raises Dipper and Mabel. 

12 years pass, and then Shermie dies (for the same reason Fey does in the game) and so Stan takes over caring for the Twin’s in Shermie’s cabin (which looks like the Mystery Shack). 

(Hey now we’re finally at the start of the game!! xD)

So like the game, Shermie marks trees for his burial which leads to Baldur(’s GF equivalent) mistaking Stan for a giant aka for Shermie. They fight, and so Stan decides he and the twins must leave and go on the journey to deliver Shermie’s ashes to the highest peak in all the realms. 

Atreus’ roles are split between Mabel and Dipper. Mabel has Atreus’ bow and arrows and Dipper has the knowledge of Ciphers and languages, as well as a sword cause, he has to help in combat too. Maybe they have different summons and elemental attacks too. Like Mabel has light and Dipper has electricity. I think both have the ability to talk to animals too. 

Stan also inherits Shermie’s axe. 

So the story is fairly similar to the game, except Stan is maybe a bit more gentle at the start than Kratos? But he still changes from ‘grumpy old man’ to ‘gentle and cares a lot about the kids’. 

 Brok and Sindri are replaced by Fiddleford McGucket and his son. So their arc is about a father and son coming back together and caring for each other. I thought they’d be a good replacement.

And then finally, we have Ford. And who is he in this AU? 

He’s Mimir. 

Stan and the twins find him at the top of the Midguard mountain stuck in the tree. Stan and Ford have a verbal fight. Stan is mad at Ford for leaving him in Greece and going off wondering the world without even caring about his brother or the fact he never tried to find him, when Stan spent so much time trying to find Ford. And of course Ford is mad that Stan destroyed the Greek pantheon and their father. 

The kids calm them down a bit, and tell Ford why they’re there. Ford informs them that the highest peak is actually in Jotunheim and to get there, they need Ford out of the tree. So instead of decapitation, they go find a spell or item, maybe in one of the other realms that frees Ford. 

So then the four of them are on their journey to get to Jotunheim. Stan and Ford are mad at each other, but through their journey and through the kids, they grow closer, mend their bonds a bit. 

Eventually they get to Jotunheim. It’s there they find the carvings that reveal that Stan and Ford’s mum was actually a Giant, and Shermie inherited her abilities, knowing about what would happen and leaving markings and clues to guide his family and bring them all together. The kids find out they’re also part giant, and that’s where their abilities come from. 

So in the end, the four of them are united together, spread Shermie’s ashes at the same place where his mother’s were spread, and they return home. 

Just in time for an accelerated Fimblewinter to signal the oncoming Ragnorok/Weirdmageden. :)

And that’s pretty much all I have so far. I don’t know where to put Soos, or Wendy. Maybe Soos is Jormungandur??? Maybe Wendy could be Freya with her Dad as Baldur? and their beef is about a ruined father-daughter relationship that mirrors Stan and his dad in some way? Maybe if Bill = Odin then Gideon is Thor? im not sure, would love to hear others thoughts. :D 

and sorry this was so long :P

[brightdrawings]

Breakfast and Catch-up (Theme: Love/Bonding)

It’s time for @stanuary week 1! Love/bonding. have some classic Fiddstan Set in the mystery Trio au!

(also on ao3!)

Stanley looked up from the stove in time to see Fiddleford rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he walked into the kitchen. The engineer gave a non-committal nod as he took his seat at the kitchen table. The smell of eggs filled the air and the sizzling of bacon made Fiddleford’s stomach grumble something fierce.

“Breakfast will be ready in a couple of minutes,” Stanley said. He flipped a pancake onto a plate next to the stove.

“Well it smells divine.” Fiddleford said. His sandy blond hair was a mess that he couldn't  be bothered to fix this early in the morning.

Stan reached for the coffee pot and poured out two steaming hot mugs. “How many sugars?” he asked.

“Two please.” Fiddleford rubbed the last grains of sleep from his eyes.

“Coming right up,” Stanley put in two spoons of sugar into the mug with gear pattern. He walked over to the stove and placed the mug next to a plate stacked high with pancakes, with a side of bacon and eggs. Stanley set the plate and mug in front of fiddleford. He pecked Fiddleford’s forehead before making his own breakfast.

“How’d you sleep Fiddlenerd?” Stanley asked. He took a seat opposite Fiddleford.

“Refreshing,” Fiddleford got to work at his food. “You really outdid yourself this time darling.”

Stanley beamed. He started up with his own meal. It had been quite a while since he was able to sit down and enjoy a meal without having to worry about some magical beast bursting through the window and declaring war against them for stepping on some ancient flower of ultimate power or something.

He had met fiddleford a little while before Ford had called Fiddleford over for some help with some interuniversal portal or something. With nothing better to do Stan agreed to come with. Firstly to help with heavy lifting that might come up, and secondly to stare in awe at his boyfriend’s work. However meeting his estranged twin upon arriving wasn’t what he had expected. If Fiddleford hadn’t stood his ground and forced both Pines twins to talk out their issues Stanley wasn’t sure what would he would have done.

“So how did you meet the nerd?” Stanley asked after a beat. He rested his head in his hand, his elbow sitting against the table.

“We’ve been dating for how long and you’re only asking how I met my boss and got my job now?” Fiddleford raised his eyebrow.

“We’ve been busy,” Stanley replied. “What with the whole ‘making up for ruining his chance at his dream school’ and that goblin attack.”

“Gremloblin,” Fiddleford corrected.

“Yeah, that. Now back to the question, how did you meet my brother?” Stanley pressed.

“If you must know, we were roommates in college.” Fiddleford said. He took a sip of his coffee, making sure not to meet Stan’s eye.

“Roommates eh? Did you two ‘study’ together? What did you ‘study’? Nerdomics? Klingon? “ Stanley waited for Fiddleford to be halfway through his gulp of coffee before making his next assumption. “Biology?”

Fiddleford spat out his coffee. “Stanley Pines! Just what in the lord’s name are you insinuating?”

“What? My brother studies fairies and trolls, he’s obviously have to study how bodies and stuff work.” Stanley blinked innocently. He’d have to clean up that coffee stain from the floor but the look on Fiddleford face was worth it.

“Right-right. Well, not necessarily. I didn’t study biology myself, but Stanford did need some help with his studies and assignments. And if’n I was able to help I would,” Fiddleford recalled. “And in turn he’d help me out with my engineering studies.”

“A bit of ‘I scratch your back you scratch mine?’” Stanley smirked.

“If you call staying up until 3 am for three nights in a row ‘scratching his back’ then yes.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know, that sounds pretty productive if you ask me.” Stan smirked.

“If you’re trying to ask if your brother and I were in a relationship you can just say it,” Fiddleford said flatly.

“Aw, but I wanted to tease you more,” Stanley pouted. He took a sip of his coffee.

“Your dancing around the bush was about as subtle as a baseball bat to the face,” Fiddleford said. “And It’s way too early to be dealing with any of that.” He took a very quick sip of his coffee. He didn’t want a repeat of earlier.

“Fine fine, so that's how you scratched his back, how’d he pay you back?” Stanley asked. “From what I’ve heard, your dorms were terrible in winter. Did you two find an ‘economical’ way to stay warm?”

“Ya got me once Stanley, it ain’t happening again.” Fiddleford said. “And let me answer your question with a question, do you ever wonder why your brother always wears long sleeved shirts?”

“Because he somehow thought that Carl Sagan was a Fashion pioneer instead of the nerd he really was?” Stanley asked.

“For someone who claims to enjoy having fun you sure do like to suck the fun out other people, you know that?” Fiddleford asked.

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Stanley smirked. “But because I’m nice I’ll take the bait. Why does Ford wear long sleeved shirts all the time?”

“I don’t feel like telling you anymore.” Fiddleford look away childishly.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that,” Stanley said. He walked over to Fiddleford’s side to coddle him. “You know I was just kidding, right?”

“Well i don’t want an inattentive audience when i’m telling my stories,” Fiddleford turned his head away and crossed his arms.

“Come on Fiddlesticks, I really mean it,” Stanley took the seat next to Fiddleford. “I promise I‘ll listen this time.” “Your words are as empty as your stomach, Stanley Pines,” Fiddleford said dramatically. He stared Stanley down, but was thrown off by his boyfriend’s grin. “What’s so funny, Mr. Heckler?”

“Empty as my stomach eh?” Stanley asked. He nodded to his empty plate of pancakes. “You sure about that one?”

“That doesn’t prove anything. You’d put the the bottomless hole we have outside to shame,” FIddleford said.

“It’s a gift,” Stanley beamed.

“At least I don’t have to worry about throwing away food scraps anymore,” Fiddleford said.

“So, you were going to tell me a story about my brother hiding something with shirts?” Stan asked. “I’m not sure if I’m willing to tell you.” Fiddleford smirked.

“Hmm, maybe I could make it worth your while?” Stanley asked.

“Stanley, are you suggesting a bribe?” Fiddleford asked in mock shock.

“I think I might have something to fit the bill,” Stanley grinned. He leaned forward and kissed Fiddleford’s cheek. The engineer giggled as the scruff on Stan’s chin tickled him.

“You were right.” Fiddleford said. He scooted his chair closer so that he could lean against stan’s chest. “That definitely fit the bill.”

“So can I hear the story or not?” Stanley asked after a beat. Fiddleford gotten half way through his pancakes and hadn’t said a word.

Fiddleford took another bite of his pancakes.

“What are you waiting for a kiss on the cheek?” Stan asked.

“Another one wouldn’t hurt,” Fiddleford grinned.

“You set me up,” Stan frowned.

“And they said it’s impossible to out-con a conman,” Fiddleford smirked. Stanley rolled his eyes before kissing fiddleford’s cheek.

“Happy?”

“Very,” Fiddleford grinned.

Fiddleford finished off his breakfast before diving into his tale.

“I was low on parts for my engineering major, and my deadline was breathing down my back,” he began. “Your brother had helped me test out the prototypes but those… didn’t turn out too well.”

“Did they explode?” Stanley asked.

“Not in any way that would be entertaining. Half the time they just started to smoke and we’d have to get the fire extinguisher.” Fiddleford said. “Anyway, we got wind that the science department were planning on throwing out some equipment. And that stuff just happened to have the parts I needed. So Stanford and I got suited up, you should have seen your brother, he got a black sweater and beanie for the occasion.”

“You’re saying that as if you didn’t have a mask and a striped black and white shirt as well.” Stanley accused.

“I thought it would have been appropriate to dress to fit the occasion,” Fiddleford said. “As I was saying, we made our way to the science building in the dead of night.  It was so dark we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces. Stanford was saying something about anti-theft lights that made everything hard to see. Turns out we were just in the shadow of the building.” “Ha! He would think that.” Stanley said smugly.

“Well we walked into the building.” Fiddleford said.

“You just walked in? No security? No security guards? No cameras?” Stan asked.

“Our college advertised ‘roach free dormitories’.” Fiddleford scowled. “This was granted by handing out a free can of insect spray on our first day.”

“Sounds like my kind of place.” Stanley smirked.

“Let’s just say they probably didn’t have the budget for any kind of serious security detail.” FIddleford said. “A I was saying, we walked in, no problem. In fact the equipment was right by the door in the hallway.”

“Sounds too convenient,” Stanley said.

“It was a stroke of luck!” Fiddleford said, pretending that he hadn’t heard Stan’s comment. “But lo and behold the night guard was on his patrol.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any guards,” Stan squinted.

“To be fair, in hindsight they were probably a janitor. But I’m the storyteller here and I decide the roles.” Fiddleford resumed. “Stanford was panicking but didn’t know squat about what parts I needed, so I had him to hold the flashlight for me while I quickly pulled the equipment apart for what I needed. And just as I got the last part free we heard the nightguard walking close by. So using our brilliant minds we dove behind the equipment just in time to avoid their spotlight.”

“Stanford was that daring? Now I wish I was there to see that.” Stanley smirked.

“Just as we heard them walked past; we made our way to sneak past the nightguard. Unfortunately Stanford, the old butterfingers that he was, dropped his flashlight.” He waved his arms as he spoke. “And to make things worse, the parts in my bag had leaked oil on to the floor. His flashlight cracked on the ground and was covered in oil. And when he turned it back on KABLOOEY! It blew up, setting his black sweater on fire and burning his arms terribly.”

“Ha! That’s rich.” Stanley wiped a tear from his eye while slamming his hand on the table. “Fidds you’re a riot,” he said between chuckles.

“And he’s been hiding his arms in shame ever since,” Fiddleford said.

After he finally caught his breath Stanley clapped Fiddleford on the shoulder. “Fidds, that was amazing. But one problem.”

“What’s that?” Fiddleford asked.

“We both saw Stanford with his sleeves rolled up,” Stanley said. “And if memory served we both teased him for having such smooth arms that pixies could use them as a slide.”

“Well I never said it was a true story,” Fiddleford pouted.

The tipped Stanley over the edge. He erupted into laughter once more. He kicked the ground and slammed his fist on to the table, knocking the utensils around in his hysterics. His barking laugh filled the air, Fiddleford himself couldn’t stop himself from joining in. And in a few short minutes the pair had fallen off their seats.

“That was a good laugh.” Stanley said.

“I needed that,” Fiddleford coughed. He wiped away a tear.

“My little Fiddlesticks out conned me. Twice! I’m so proud.” Stanley said. He placed his hand on his heart. “I think that deserves a reward.”

“My my, what have you got in mind?” Fiddleford smirked. He crawled over so that he was sitting on Stan’s lap.

“There’s that sci-fi flick that came out a while ago. We could go check out together,” Stanley offered.

“I thought you hated sci-fi,” Fiddleford said.

“It’s also a horror flick. I’ll get to have you cuddle up to me when the big monster jumps out,” Stanley said with a smirk.

“After the hunts that Stanford’s had us go through? I doubt some goo-covered rubber costume will get my goat,” Fiddleford said.

“Wanna bet?” Stanley asked.

“Who ever screams first has to be the winner dinner,” Fiddleford declared. He offered his hand to Stan.

“You’re on McGucket,” Stanley shook fiddleford’s hand. “I hope you’re not too attached to your wallet.”

“We’ll See Stanley, we’ll see,” Fiddleford smiled.

[dubsdeedubs]

An Outreached Hand [3/?]

Summary:  On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

Notes:  A sort-of Ghost Trick AU, but requires no previous knowledge of that whatsoever to read.  I greatly underestimated how long this fic was going to be, because this is going to be A Long One.  Not exactly for Stanuary anymore, but started as something for it!

[AO3]

It started off the way this kind of story always does: a John Doe got brought in one day, no identification, nothing on him but the clothes on his back and a couple bills in his pocket. Had a bit too many holes in him to be anything other than dead.

His face didn't match that of any missing persons, not that anyone looked particularly hard. People who got shot up in these parts don't have family or friends looking for them.

This was an odd event, not because of the death or the anonymity - neither was particularly uncommon then and there, especially combined - but because this corpse was, as it was, not entirely dead.

There was no rigor mortis. No rot. But what really sealed the deal was when the coroner finally showed up, and quickly realized that the incisions he made wouldn't stay open long enough for him to do the autopsy.

There was no avoiding the fact then. Something terrifying was going on - or something truly miraculous.

(Then again, the only difference between the two had always been about who made it happen.)

This was the exact sort of discovery that got arrangements made and people interested, in the way that never led to anywhere good.

If the body had stayed lying under that sheet for just a few days more, this story would be told very differently indeed.

Because, before anything even gets the chance to happen, the body goes missing.

The security cameras don't catch anything but a stray cat or two before they go down - by chance, their wires bitten through several hours earlier by some rabid wild animal. Between that and the inconsistent time stamps of entry, it's embarrassment for everyone involved. The whole thing gets forgotten pretty quickly.

As far as people were concerned, the corpse might as well have stood up and walked right out of the morgue.

1982

Stanley looks up at the portal for one long, quiet moment. There's an intensity in his unblinking stare that made Ford feel more than a bit uncomfortable.

"I understand exactly nothing about this," he says at last, voice flat.

"It's a trans-universal -" Ford catches his brother's blank stare, "Ah, a sort of - door to other universes. A hole in the walls of our dimension, you could say."

"Huh. And what's this hole in the universe doing in your basement?"

Ford opens his mouth, and shuts it again. "I created it," he says at last.

Stan just looks at him, flat judgement in his eyes.

He colors slightly at that. "To unlock the secrets of the universe!" Ford defends himself, waving a frantic hand. "I assure you, there are plenty of valid reasons to construct a trans-universal gateway. Scientific innovation, yes, but also -"

"Huh," Stan grunts.

Ford falters a bit at that. "But, ah, it does have the potential for... terrible destruction. Possibly, the end of the known universe and everyone living in it. That's - that's actually why I called you up here," he says weakly, turning his lips up into a weak grin. "I needed someone who I can trust entirely, and - well, the decision was quite obvious, after that."

For the first time since they had left the cats in the living room, something like emotion flickers in his brother's eyes. "...Yeah?"

"I shut down the portal," Ford says, all in a rush, "and I have to be sure no one else can activate it again. All the instructions, the plans, are in my journals. And - God forbid - if someone with malicious intent got their hands on all of them, it could mean the end of everything." He swallows. "I've been hiding them the best I can, and I... just have one left."

He pauses, steeling himself to say what needed to be said. His fingers clench hard around his journal for one panicked moment before he succeeds in forcing himself to hold it out to Stan.

"I need you to take this book and go far, far away," He finishes breathlessly. "As far away from here as you can. Somewhere you will never see me -" and by transition, he thinks, never come into contact with Bill "- ever again."

His brother looks at him quietly.

"Please," Ford begs.

Stan glances down at the journal in Ford's trembling hands, and for a moment, his face is cast in shadow. He doesn't speak, or move, or even seem to breathe for a long and terrifying moment that seems to stretch towards infinity.

Ford can't predict at all what his brother will say or do, and that sudden realization hits him harder than it really should.

"Sure," Stan says easily. "I can do that."

And he plucks Ford's journal right out of his frozen hands and tucks it under his arm, as casually as anything.

Ford just stands there for a moment. He can't even begin to process the reason behind his own startled hesitation.

He... didn't expect this to be easy. He didn't expect this to go like that.

"Stanley, are you -" sure? Ford doesn't say, can't say because he needs his brother to do this for him. There is no one else who can. Still, there's something heavy in his gut and painful in his chest that makes him want to, more than anything else.

Maybe he's hoping Stan would change his mind.

His brother shrugs, slow and languorous. "I have time," he says, something deeply bitter in the tone of his voice.

Ford feels lost. This was exactly how things were supposed to go with Stanley, which meant it was also entirely unexpected. He lowers his hands and clasps them behind his back so he doesn't have to see them shake, and clears his throat.

"Do you," he tries, "do you need anything before you go? Food? Money? I... don't have much of either in the house, but if you need it, I can -"

"It's been a long trip up here," Stan interrupts, shifting ever so slightly. "The kids are tired, even if they didn't show it back there. We could do with a few days settled down. Some food and water for them, maybe. I can swing by the town grocery store and get it myself."

Despite himself, Ford recoils, his mind already conjuring up dozens of different consequences that would come from his brother staying that much longer here, the vast majority of them starring the demon that possessed his body whenever he slept.

"No," he blurts out without meaning it, his thoughts whirring incoherently in his head. Because Bill had hurt him as much as he could while keeping him functional, because he needed him like that.

Fiddleford had not been nearly as lucky.

He doesn't want to think what the demon would do to Stanley and his ki - cats if he had the opportunity. Without any knowledge of Bill and what he was, they would be easy prey. They had no idea who or what they were even up against.

He hadn't thought this through at all. And just like that, he makes the decision.

Stan blinks once. "I wasn't asking," he says bluntly.

"I - nevermind that," Ford whispers hurriedly. "There's one thing you need to know, now." He keeps his voice low and his words quick, even though he knows that would do nothing to stop Bill from listening in if he really wanted to. "You cannot trust anyone with yellow, slitted eyes."

His brother goes still.

"Check for them on everyone," Ford continues, and he doesn't even realize he has moved closer, that he is holding onto Stan's shoulders like their lives depended on it. "On everything you might encounter. Even - even if that person is me. Stanley, do you understand?"

Stan just looks at him. "This guy with yellow, slitted eyes," he says finally, voice unreadable. "He happens to laugh like a lunatic? Likes violence a bit too much?"

The ball drops. Ford lets go and scrambles backwards to a safe distance.

"You - know him?" He asks weakly. "You've met Bill?"

"So that's his name, huh?" There's a dangerous quality to Stan's voice as he takes a step forward. "You got a current address for him too?"

Already, Ford is fitting together the pieces he has into a picture he does not like at all. Bill had made some sort of contact with Stan, and while it was clear that the contact had been minimal - considering his brother hadn't even known the demon's name - it did not bode well for either his or Stan's chances at a future without Bill's manipulations.

There's a heaviness in his gut that might just be guilt. He never wanted his brother involved in this way. He never wanted to his brother in this kind of danger.

"Stanley, you can't go looking for him."

"Yeah, and why not?" Stan demands, baring his teeth. "Does it have anything to do with how you know this guy?"

Ford flinches. His brother is obviously angry, and he would have felt relieved at seeing the familiar way that emotion twisted Stan's face if it isn't so directed at him.

"I can't tell you anymore than I already have." He knows too well the dangers that came with forbidden knowledge. "You just need to get as far away from here as you can. This isn't your battle to fight. This - this has nothing to do with you."

Stan chokes out a disbelieving laugh. "This has nothing to do with me? Sixer, you have no idea."

He's moving closer, taking a confident step forwards for each and every one that Ford stumbles back. There's a glint in his eye, something about the way he looms, how it suddenly feels so much harder to keep stumbling backwards that terrifies Ford beyond logic.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about, Stanley," he stammers even as he tries to make sense of his brother's outburst. "You need to -"

"You don't know anything about me, Ford," his brother hisses.

The light in the basement flickers.

"You haven't known anything about me for the last t̷e͏n ye͠a̛rs."

Stan's close, too close. "Stanley," he tries, voice cracking. "I didn't... I'm -"

"Is it in this journal of yours?" Stan demands, brandishing the object in question.

Ford's heart sinks.

"Don't look so surprised, Sixer. That's what you've always done, right? You trust your books and your secrets more than anyone else." His tone is biting. "More than me."

"Don't open that," Ford pleads, voice hoarse. "Stanley, you don't understand, you can't read that!"

Because the moment he does, its contents will become a part of his brother's memories. And Bill didn't need the actual physical book, being the creature of the mind that he was. All he needed was access to someone who knew what was in it.

If his brother read that journal, he would be a target for the rest of existence.

"Make me," Stan growls, and flips the journal open.

Ford lunges forward before he's even thinking, driven by a heady mixture of adrenaline and terrified panic.

He collides hard with his brother's torso but he doesn't even feel the pain or shock of impact, he's too busy grabbing for the book, frenzied and manic, like a life - Stan's life - depended on it.

And just like that, they're brawling on the ground.

It's entirely undignified and certainly a ridiculous thing for two grown men to be doing, and while Ford knows he's landing some punches and definitely feeling a few punches as well, for about five whole minutes he has no idea what's actually happening on a higher level.

Maybe it's the element of surprise or the power of adrenaline, but at the end of it, he gets his hands back on his journal.

Ford clutches it to his chest protectively, his breath coming in with big ragged gasps, and watches Stan pick himself back up into a kneel.

His brother's teeth are bared as he stares Ford down. His eyes glint an eerie pale blue in the light of the portal's machinery lights.

"I didn't want to do this," Stan says, voice cold, and reaches forward.

And suddenly, Ford can't move at all.

He's practically pinned to the ground by some kind of invisible, oppressive force that's almost physical in its strength. It's the same feeling from the doorstep, and just like then, he doesn't know what it is or why it's happening.

(...But he does, doesn't he?

After all, there's just one common factor.)

Stanley's hands close on the journal.

There's only one thing that he can think to do.

"I'm sorry, Stanley," he says quietly, and his brother goes deathly still. "I shouldn't have let Dad kick you out."

Ford takes a breath. "I shouldn't have tried to leave you behind."

Stan's eyes go wide with disbelieving surprise. The pressure alleviates for a split second.

It's just enough time for Ford to kick Stan squarely in the chest and send him careening wildly backwards. He catches a glimpse of his brother's face, just enough for Stan's look of furious betrayal to sear itself completely into his memory.

His brother crashes heavily into the side of a piece of portal machinery, and -

- there's a sizzling sound.

That's his first clue that things had gone horribly wrong.

And then his brother lets out a kind of pained wail, keening and desperate in a way that fit an injured alley cat more than a human being. He lurches forward, clutching at his shoulder with a single hand, and there's something strange about the unrestrained, unnatural way his limbs swing.

Ford can see now the vivid red brand on the pale skin of Stan's back. He gags at the combination of that sight and the moist, acrid smell of burnt human flesh-and-hair that had so quickly filled the air.

"You hurt me," his brother rasps as he stumbles towards him, his steps loose and helpless like he's losing control of his body entirely.

But when he catches the expression on his brother's face, he realizes with mounting horror that it isn't of anger or fear. Instead there is a kind of wonderment, and - a strange kind of joy.

Ford takes an involuntary step backwards. He's not sure what he's seeing, but something tells him that it's something he will be seeing in his nightmares for years to come.

Then, Stan goes still. He stands quietly, swaying slightly.

Maybe it's the light, but it looks as if his eyes are glowing - the same pale blue from earlier, the same pale blue of the activated portal.

"What did you do to me, Sixer?" His brother asks, voice hollow.

And then he slumps over, his frame crumpling like newspaper in the rain.

For one long moment, the basement laboratory is entirely quiet but for the click-clacking of machinery and the hitching gasps of Ford's breathing.

Only Ford's breathing.

"Stan?" He asks into the silence, voice trembling. "Stanley?"

There is no reply. The dark heap on the ground doesn't move at all.

The next few minutes are a blur. Ford remembers running forwards and kneeling down next to his brother. He remembers landing hard on his sore knees. Most of all, he remembers that he gets no response when he shakes his brother by the shoulders, and distantly registering that Stan's skin is cool - too cool - to the touch.

"No," he says out loud, voice trembling. There's no one to hear it, but he says it anyways, repeating it over and over to himself like some kind of a prayer. "No, no, no -"

It isn't possible. That couldn't have been enough to - not for someone like Stanley.

(he looked half-dead already, whispered a voice in his head, he must had been so tired.

and the human body could be so, so fragile -)

When he reaches out with a trembling hand and feels for a pulse with two fingers, there is nothing.

Ford doesn't know how long he stays there bent over his brother's body, even after his legs had lost feeling and the cold had penetrated through the thin layers of his wrinkled coat. He's too numbed by shock to even cry. There's just a stinging sourness in his mouth and a weight at the base of his gut that gets heavier by the moment.

And then, a lightbulb shatters without warning, its glass pieces sprinkling onto the ground like rain. It's entirely unexpected and impossible, but it's just enough to break Ford out of his trance.

They can't stay down here forever, he realizes.

Even if he wants to.

It takes effort to haul his brother's body up and over his back, but much less so than he expected. Stan is surprisingly light, and it makes his mouth go dry to realize that while his brother had always been so much bulkier than him when they were both children and then adolescents, it is no longer true.

If Ford doesn't know better, he would say that Stan still had the frame of a teenager.

He stands up, swaying only slightly, and tries not to think about the dead weight on his back.

"Let's go, Ley."