#disford secret santa

[inktheblot]

@disford Secret Santa gift for @fordanoia !!

Happy holidays to you, friend, and everyone else who’s made this server such a great place. (feels weird to be slapping such a cheesy sappy sentiment on art that is very much none of those things hahah)

Single image under the cut!

[ceslawrites]

What The Dickens?! A Fiddauthor Christmas Carol

A one shot fiddauthor fic for @tunaraptor, my @disford Secret Santa partner! Enjoy below the cut, or read on Ao3!

To begin with, Northwest Manor had been no stranger to Christmas parties in the days when the Northwests properly owned it. Naturally, those parties were exclusive only to the cruel clan’s wealthiest friends and allies; they were lavish affairs meant only to flout the Northwest’s many possessions. There were feasts consisting of meat from all sorts of endangered animals that had been killed in various nasty ways, presents for the children that had been bought from embezzling Christmas charities, and dull party games that were just thinly veiled excuses to insult each other under the guise of holiday cheer. Not a true drop of good will towards mankind could be found at these splendid affairs, as sparkling and hollow as a crystal ornament dangling from an endangered Redwood’s boughs.

Thankfully, those days were as dead as a doornail now that the mansion belonged to Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Good fortune had smiled down on McGucket in the last few years; his inventions had given him wealth beyond his wildest dreams. This might have made a greedier man miserly, but McGucket loved nothing more than to give his fortune back to his friends, neighbors and loved ones, with Christmas being his most favorite time of all. He too liked to throw a holiday party every Christmas eve, but the guest list included everyone in town, with enough accommodations to satisfy all.

On the night before Christmas, everyone who lived in Gravity Falls, both human and magical creature alike, was at McGucket’s party. Food from Greasy’s Diner was served at the feast, lovingly provided by Lazy Susan (I can say with full certainty that no finer Christmas Dinner of pancakes, omelets and coffee had ever been seen in the history of the Yuletide season). The gnomes had formed a roving chorus of carolers that roamed the halls serenading guests with cheerful holiday carols, afterwards they would then ask for a small donation to the local children’s hospital under threat of bodily harm. Both Dipper and Mabel, who were visiting for the holidays, had taken to decorating the mansion with their friends and Gideon, who refused to leave them alone. Even Stan was in a marvelous mood, having dumped an entire flask of gold ru—I mean, “Happy Jolly Christmas Water with No Alcoholic Properties Whatsoever” into is carton of eggnog.

  While all this pandemonium broke out through the house, Ford Pines was navigating the vast sea of revelers in order to find his husband. He fiddled with one of the wedding bands on his left hand anxiously, Ford never cared much for huge parties with lots of people, preferring to spend his evenings left to his own devices or, at the most, with his family and closest friends. Fiddleford was the one who loved celebrations, and yet he was nowhere to be found.

           “Kids,” Ford called up to Mabel, who was standing on top of a ladder hanging a sprig of Mistletoe above one of the doorways. Her friends Candy, Grenda and even Pacifica Northwest herself were stringing garlands of holly everywhere, not particularly caring where they ended up as long as it looked festive.

 “Hey Grunkle Ford,” said Mabel cheerfully, accidentally dropping the mistletoe on top of Pacifica Northwest’s head. “Whoops! Sorry!”

 “Oooh,” said Candy and Grenda in unison. “Paz is gonna get kisses!”

 “Get this moldy, sexual harassment weed off of me,” Pacifica sneered as she yanked the mistletoe out of her hair. She passed it off to a flying gaggle of sugar plum fairies, who later nestled the mistletoe into the hair of a pretty white haired elf, which lead to another romantic holiday tale for another time. All stories lead into other stories, and this party was a mass of stories waiting to be told, but we must focus on the tale Ford and Fidds for tonight, or we’ll lose ourselves entirely.

 “Girls,” said Ford patiently, “Have you seen Fiddleford anywhere? He’s missing his own party!”

 “I saw him sitting by the tree in the game room earlier,” said Pacifica, pointing down the hall to a slightly ajar door. “He looked like he was having some, I don’t know, old age introspection, so I left him alone.”

 “Thanks Penny—”

 “… Pacifica?”

  “—Right. Sorry,” mumbled Ford absentmindedly as he made his way to the game room. “Honestly though, who names a child that?”

 “Old Money sociopaths,” Pacifica replied as she turned her attention back to decorating.

 Ford found his husband staring up wistfully up at the top of a magnificent Christmas tree, where high above a mechanical angel Fidds had invented gleamed in the dim light of the room.

 “Everything all right, Fidds,” asked Ford, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fiddleford smiled as he placed his own hand on Ford’s.

 “I guess I was just feelin’ a little blue,” sighed Fidds, “seeing the kids having a good time… I cain’t remember what Christmas used to be like when I was young. I didn’t want to spoil the party, so I just came in here to act all pensive and melancholy on my lonesome. Ya don’t have ta stay—”

 “Of course I do,” Ford whispered. He took Fidds’ hand and kissed it tenderly. “Why don’t we sit on the couch together and watch the fire, maybe that’ll make you feel better?”

 “Aw, I don’t wanna keep ya cooped up here,” said Fidds, gifting Ford with a smile, “They’re gonna start playing A Christmas Carol out on the TV soon, ya don’t wanna miss that.”

 “Oh yes I do,” said Ford disgustedly. “Charles Dickins’ A Christmas Carol is the most trite, sentimental story in the entire canon of British Literature, and only hacks with no imagination whatsoever rely on it whenever they want to tell a Christmas story.”

 … And then Ford slapped himself in the face for no apparent reason.

 “Ow!”

 “What cha do that fer?” asked Fiddleford, startled.

 “I’m… not really sure,” said Ford, rubbing the place where his hand had struck. He smiled apologetically to Fidds, and then set his sight on an old record player sitting across the room. Suddenly hit with inspiration, Ford made his way over to the machine and put in an old album

 “Truth be told,” said Ford with a warm smile as the first few bars of the Arabian Dance began to play, “I was always fonder of The Nutcracker myself.”

He offered his hand to Fiddleford.

“Would you like to dance?”

Fiddleford took Ford’s hand without a drop of hesitation. The slow, sultry sounds of woodwinds and cymbals filled the room as they danced a sort of tango across the game room floor. It wasn’t long before Fiddleford unshackled the gloom that had weighed him down like great chains of lead, losing himself completely to the music and Ford’s gentle touch.

“Where’d ya learn to move ‘round like that,” Fidds giggled as Ford lowered him into a sudden dip.

“The Dance Dimension, the one where everyone communicates through dancing,” Ford said before kissing the tip of Fiddleford’s nose.

“Y’ought ta show off them fancy moves off at the party,” said Fiddleford.

“Soon enough,” Ford shrugged as he pulled up his partner, “but I want to finish this one first.” Ford spun Fiddleford around as the music began to slowly fade away, finishing it off by pulling his partner close into a passionate kiss. It was a perfect moment.

Pity that’s the exact time the ghost showed up.

The fire in the hearth blew out as an unearthly chill engulfed the room, the door slammed itself open and closed, drawing the attention of the girls decorating in the hall. The walls rattled ferociously, knocking several of the mounted animal heads onto the floor, all while an ominous moaning began to fill the air, louder and louder until it was an unbearable pitch.

“What’s going on?” shouted Mabel over the commotion.

“I don’t know,” Ford cried back as he held a frightened Fiddleford close to his chest. “But it’s possibly a category ten ghost—you girls stay back just in case!”

The apparition finally manifest itself into physical form, bound in chains that clasped in the middle and weighed it down miserably.

“PRESTON NORTHWEST,” wailed the creature, its gruesome face frozen in rigor mortis even as it spoke in a horrible, hoarse voice.

“… What?” Fiddleford blinked in confusion.

“Ugh, Uncle Marley, dad doesn’t live here anymore, now stop bothering Mr. McGucket,” said Pacifica, making her way into the room with the rest of the girls.

“Uncle Marley?”

“Yeah,” said Pacifica, rolling her eyes, “He was Great-Great-Grandfather’s business partner a hundred years ago who died stealing Christmas from all the children of townspeople who owed him money, and now every Christmas he’s stuck warning every new generation of Northwests that if they don’t change their ways, they’ll be trapped to the same fate he earned.”

“Ohhhh, that’s so festive,” cheered Mabel.

“It gets old quickly,” said Pacifica with a scowl.

“Well,” Fiddleford stepped toward the ghost nervously, “I’m awful sorry mister, but Preston Northwest don’t live here no more. And don’t bother the girl neither, she’s a good kid.” Fidds clapped a protective hand on Pacifica’s shoulder, which made her smile. “Ain’t anybody haunting anybody here tonight. Although, yer more than welcome to join the party downstairs, there’s plenty of ghosts ya can hang out with there if’n ya want to stay.”

“Alas,” said the ghost mournfully, “I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere—”

“Didn’t stop you from ruining my fourth grade Christmas sleepover,” mumbled Pacifica under her breath.

“I must admit this is most inconvenient,” said the ghost, scratching his chin pensively. “I was sent to herald the arrival of the ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Yet To Come, they’ll be quite put out that they won’t be able to perform their duties tonight.”

“Wait,” said Ford with a bright smile that began to glow in the darkness of the room. “Perhaps we could work something out…”

The Ghost of Christmas present was, in his entire jolly splendor, a welcome edition to the party, providing a surplus of food and comfort for all to enjoy. He and Mabel became fast friends as they lead the party to new heights of merriment, to the point where even Pacifica couldn’t help but crack a smile.

The formidable Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come wanted nothing more than to haunt Preston Northwest with visions of his terrible fate if he were to continue to be a jealous, greedy jerk, but the specter was content to postpone that frightful encounter as Candy and Grenda quizzed him on such pressing matters as whether or not Marius would give Grenda another palace for Christmas, and who Candy should kiss on New Years Eve.

Of the haunting trio, however, the Ghost of Christmas Past was the one Ford had most wanted to see.

“Can you show him a few Christmases from his childhood,” he indicated Fiddleford with a gesture of his hand, “It would mean the world to him.”

“Of course,” said the luminous child, taking both old men by the hand.

In an instant, they were transported into a series of faded memories: young Fiddleford ice skating out on a pond in Tennessee, then another scene where little Fidds unwrapped a new banjo underneath a Christmas tree, Fiddleford tucking his young son into bed and reading The Night Before Christmas to help the child fall asleep soon. Old McGucket could barely hold back his tears of joy as each scene danced before him in an instant.

“Is this all right,” said Ford nervously, “do you like it? We can stop if you want–”

“I love it,” Fiddleford croaked, throwing his arms around Ford’s waist. “Thank you… thank you so much…”

Ford gently kissed the top of Fiddleford’s head.

“Screw it,” he whispered. “God bless us, every one.”

[fordanoia]

A sea grunk adventure fic for @cthulhu-of-the-night - a @disford Secret Santa gift!!

I hope you enjoy it!!

Ford said they were docking here for convenience, which wasn’t necessarily a lie. It was conveniently a good stone’s throw from a corner of the Bermuda Triangle after all. Stan had gotten woken up more than once in the middle of the night when they were little. Killer whirlpool this and Emily that. Ford was obsessed with it for a while. Pretty sure he wasn’t over it.

That’s why he’s surprised when Ford gets absorbed in a conversation with someone at the pier about floating lights near the marsh.

“Orbs?” Stan questioned, one side of his face scrunching up.

“Orbs.” The man continued, as Ford (not so discreetly) made notes. “There were these glowing orbs in the middle of the night, nowhere near anywhere. Not far off either. I could see it hovering over the water, not a soul by it.”

“Did you try to go after it?” Ford asked.

He made a face. “Are you kiddin’? No. Folks don’t go after those lights. Say what you want, but there’s been plenty rumors, mostly about them being witches. Did have a friend who said they led you to buried gold.” He shrugged then. “Can’t find anything in the middle of a marsh if you ask me though.”

“Where did you see this at exactly again?” Ford asked.

He gave them specific directions, which Ford gladly took before they went down the dock.

“... Ya really think they lead to buried gold?” Stan asked casually. “I thought orbs were, you know, ghosts or whatever.”

“That’s the thing.” Ford started up happily. “There’s a wide range of rumors over floating lights. Ghosts, witches, will o’ wisps. Leading to buried treasure, or doom. There’s really no way of telling for certain unless-”

“Unless we check it out for ourselves.” Stan finished for him.

Ford smiled, pen tapping at his small notebook. “Buried treasure is a possibility here, you know.”

“You don’t have to convince me here. I’m already in, Sixer. We’ll get a canoe and check it out tonight.” Stan said.

They’d attached a light to each end of the canoe and he’d personally made sure whatever they had in there with them had been tied to the canoe. If it flipped for any reason he didn’t want them losing everything.

Ford insisted on keeping their own lights low so they would be able to spot the orbs. The light wasn’t enough to even reflect on the mangroves around them, but the little moonlight that was there was just enough to see the shape of the gnarly branches and roots that sunk into the water.

They gently paddled through the water, skimming across the black water. In the dark of the night Ford got the distinct feeling like they were sneaking into supernatural territory despite not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“What do you think it is?” Stan’s voice pulled him back a bit from his calm search.

Ford blinked, thinking to himself.

“The glowing lights.” Stan clarified during his silence.

“Right... well. I don’t think they’re ghosts.” He said. “Witches aren’t that unreasonable a theory. However, I think it’s a fae of some kind. That reminds me,” Ford turned back towards Stan, “don’t eat or drink anything.”

“Huh, there goes my plans of drinking dirty swamp water tonight.” He said, pausing to rub a hand under his chin.

Ford scoffed and lifted his paddle out of the water to hit against Stan’s side. “If there turns out to be food and drink, Stanley.”

Stan lifted his arm to block it. “Hey, come on.” He said, stretching out his legs. “I’ve been around the block enough to know eating some rando stuff isn’t the best idea.”

“All the same, avoiding mythical stretches of time would be preferable.” He said, turning back and beginning to paddle.

“Ehh, alright.”

They fell back into silence for a little while. Stan had started to say something when Ford spotted a light in the far distance.

“Hey, so of everything to check out-”

“Stanley, look!” Ford whispered urgently, pointing in the distance. “Do you see it?”

“Spooky orb at three o'clock, I see it.” Stan replied, dipping his paddle into the water to help them turn.

As they paddled closer, Ford was able to pick out minor details. He pulled out a journal, quickly sketching.

A low teal light. Spherical shaped. However, it seemed to have a wispy tail that almost seemed to be touching the water itself. There obviously wasn’t anything it was hanging from, the light was enough to see that. As well it was in the middle of the water, rather than nearby one of the trees. Were those flickering, dark blue flames possible facial features or-

It disappeared like smoke, floating up and quickly fading to nothing. Then in the distance, another popped up, gently bobbing over the water.

Ford smiled broadly, putting the book away. “It’s leading us somewhere.”

“Here’s hoping it’s buried treasure.” Stan murmured.

They followed after these floating lights that would appear and disappear as they got close.

Eventually they came up to land, and Ford stepped out onto mushy grass, pulling the canoe far up enough so Stan could get out as well. He tied it over to one of the trees, making sure it was secure.

“So not be a downer or anything,” Stan said, “but what’s the whole ‘doom’ option again?”

“Generally, a trap of some kind. Sometimes a party of sorts that’s unintentionally well- let’s just say we’d have to be careful with that.” Ford thought out loud. “It could also be to lure us into being hunted. That one would become quickly evident though. Come to think of it, this could be a sacrificial ritual.”

“Okay. So,” Stan scratched at his head, gesturing over to the light that was still waiting for them. “Just gotta ask here, how many good options are there compared to the bad ones?”

“Oh, there’s far less ‘beneficial’ options.” Ford answered easily. “Of course, legends are commonly retold as cautionary tales for children. It’s why several of today’s myths specifically mention children.”

Stan groaned behind him, crossing his arms. “Everything gets remade for kids.”

“Well they also get eaten in most of these tales.” Ford said, moving off towards the light, Stan turning with him.

“So, getting eaten alive is up there on our possibilities here, huh.”

Ford waved a hand. “Ah, we’ll be fine.”

The lights eventually lead to a marshy clearing that seemed to be lit up with varying lights, though whenever he tried to look at where the light came from he just got disoriented. Potentially glamour! This led further to the fae theory.

“You’re not seeing anything, right?” Stan muttered to him, glancing around.

Just as he was about to respond though, the air seemed to shake, like they were stepping through plastic wrap. There were different creatures and glowing fires moved around, directionless. Then there was a low rumble of sounds, mostly conversation but also a lot of odd rustling sounds.

Several of them appeared to have feathered forms with curling limbs. They had multiple beaks, a few of which seemed large, but the more he looked the more Ford realized they had smaller ones poking up. Maybe some of them were just spikes? It could be a way to disguise which one was the real beak. Or a defense mechanism that fully activated when a threat presented itself.

The attention of a few seemed to turn onto them, craning necks limbs twisting in their direction. Nothing aggressive though, which was all Ford needed.

Ford walked towards a nearby grouping that had a green fire hovering over them. He greeted, being careful not to get to close.

Stan followed after him, and he saw him give a short wave to one of the creatures they walked past. “Uh, nice feathers, love what you did with the moss and everything.”

The little attention that was on them moved on, save for the group that did look over to them.

“Ah, hello,” Ford started.

“It is safe here.” One replied, a beak opening up in a watery voice.

Stan coughed into a fist beside him.

“What do you mean it’s safe?” Ford asked.

“It is safe to shed.” They said simply, a different beak opening up.

Stan coughed louder this time, bumping his arm against him. When Ford looked over at him, he was purposefully looking at him.

He put a hand up in silent acknowledgement. So, it wasn’t the most comforting phrasing, but so far they hadn’t been attacked or otherwise.

“Well, we prefer our coats on, but the thought is appreciated.” He said back to them. “Is this where you all stay? What is this place, exactly?”

“A protected spot... for tonight.” Another said. “What are you two, friends?”

“Uh, what are you?” Stan asked, gesturing to them. “No offense, but can’t really tell what’s going on there.”

“We’re adumerbs. What are you?”

Stan snorted. “Adumerbs? Really?”

The feathers on them started to bristle, which was obviously aggression even if he’d never saw these creatures before. “This is some sort of hub then, right? It’s not strictly your home.” Ford tried. “We’re human.” He said gesturing between the pair of them.

There was an almost blank silence in response, and he could feel some of the others starting to look towards them again. “What else?” They eventually asked. “Only the strange can get through to here.”

Ford shot a wary look to Stan, who already seemed far ahead of him in that area already.

“Sorry, pal, but we’re strictly human.” Stan told them. “Just followed some lights. Maybe it’s best if we just go-”

He was interrupted by several of them uttering the same word, “rude.”

“Oh, wow - see at least we didn’t scream into your ugly mugs.” Stan said gesturing between them. “If we wanted to be rude, we’d talk about all the mud and who knows what else on your feathers. I’ve seen things that let mushrooms grow on them that didn’t look that bad.”

“I don’t think that’s mud actually,” Ford told him, “I think that’s their natural forms.”

“You know what - doesn’t make them any less hideous.”

Several angry squawks rose up in a horrendous cry, and sharp toothed beaks opened over the bodies of the ones nearby.

Ford took a step back, but Stan quickly pulled on his shoulder - tugging with him into a run as a few quickly chased after them.

Stan had been the one to reach the canoe first, quickly untying it and pushing it towards the shore before hopping into it. Ford was quick after him, pushing him fully out into water before expertly jumping towards his seat. Show off.

“Cya, you overgrown geese!” Stan shouted with a grin as they paddled off. He didn’t really care if they were there or not. Well, he cared if they were gonna try to chase them into the water and eat them.

After a few minutes and getting around some bends though, he felt it was pretty safe.

Ford pulled out his journal, quickly scribbling away. “Well, that could have gone better.” He said, not actually sounded disappointed. In fact, he seemed rather content writing down notes.

“I mean, they could also have tried to eat us. So it could have gone a lot worse.” Stan let out a breath, relaxing a bit as Ford wrote. “I mean, to be honest I thought you were gonna try sailing out.”

“We just docked though.” Ford said, briefly flashing a confused look to him.

“Well, yeah, but, you know-” he gestured with a hand, “Bermuda Triangle and all that. I figured that was the first thing you were gonna jump to.”

Ford hummed, non-committedly. “People disappear in there too much.” He muttered.

“You used to be crazy about that stuff though.” Stan said, surprised. “Woke me up probably a couple dozen times about your new theory on what was happening there.”

Ford frowned, before giving a light laugh and shooting a half smile to Stan. “What can I say? It’s really not an appealing idea to me anymore.” He said, closing the book, and putting it away. “I had us dock here so we could sail around it.”

“Why?” Stan watched his expression.

“Well- well, it’d be pointless for us to just crash our ship, wouldn’t it?” Ford said, shrugging.

“... Yeah, okay, that’s true.” Safety didn’t exactly stop Ford before though.

Ford picked up his paddle again. “Come on, we should probably get this back before they notice it’s missing.”

“You mean before they notice it’s been stolen?” Stan asked.

“Technically, we simply borrowed it. We’re returning it after all.”

“Real nice line,” Stan said with a smile, “don’t try it in court though, trust me.”

[bees-nest]

Bbggguhhhh how do you draw people again

[novantinuum]

~ w a n d e r l u s t  ~

Disford secret santa for @alouvr (phoe)! Have a lovely rest of December, my friend!

[bare1ythere]

Here’s my @disford Secret Santa drawing! Ford at the science fair for @tea-and-tipulidae!! 

[snakepalm]

A finished Secret Santa piece for @crystallizedblossom from the courtesy of @disford ! Hope you enjoy, my dude. Asked for Mystery Trio, so I deliver to you karaoke with the old men.

[disford]

disford secret santa? result: stress