#fiddleford........thursday..?

[virtkha]

suspiciously steve jobs-shaped hillbilly mechanic

based on this pic

[nerdylittlebugcreature]

talking a friend and I mentioned "Fiddleford Friday" and they asked "whats next? Stanley Saturday?" so I think we should have; Mabel Monday, Fiddleford Friday, Stanley Saturday and Stanford Sunday

Dipper gets Thursday because I think he just gives off those vibes

update! Wendy Wednesday and Soos Tuesday are added

[tazmiilly]

theyre sending me new wires for my tablet all the way from Tennessee...

[imwritingthefout]

after session hangout

basically you fall in love with the dm of your campaign in college: Ford pines, smut ensues

This is crossposted to ao3 so if you wanna go read it there, here’s the link:

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Waking up each day to the same old ceiling was starting to bore you. 

Ever since moving out of your parents house for college you felt like a stranger in the dorm you now called ‘home’, and It didn't help that you refused to decorate it. 

Getting out of your plain old bed, you stand up and push away the blinds with a tug, the light from the early morning sun blinding you temporarily. You glance down at your clock; 6:30am, thursday. The time isn't the part that excites you though, it's the day. Today is the day you look forward to all week: Dd&md day! 

You go to get ready for your morning class, excited for what the future of today may hold. You love dd&md, its been your favourite game since you were a child -even though you had no one to play it with back then, you got creative (no goat was harmed in your past attempts at playing the game).

Your classes went by in a blur. Of course you were taking notes and whatnot, it was important to pay attention! But in secret, you were drawing your character all over the side of your notebook and thinking of strategies on how to defeat the next dungeon your dm set up for you.

And then there was your dm. 

One of the many reasons you adored thursdays was because you got to play dd&md of course, but other than that there was another big reason you liked thursdays.

To put it plainly: your dm, Stanford Pines was Hot. like, capital H Hot. you couldn't get over his warm brown eyes that sparkled with passion whenever he detailed the characters he was playing. His hands that moved with his every word, adding to the description of the imaginary world he was building. God you wanted to feel those hands on you. What would they feel like, intertwined with your own, on your hips while he-

You decided to stop that train of thought. As much as you liked him, you also respected him enough to know that he would probably never feel that way towards you, and you shouldn't fantasise about him like that (even though it was hard not to).

And though he was Hot, that wasn't the only reason you liked him. You liked him because he was smart, compassionate, funny and so very cute.

What can you say? You had a thing for nerds.

As your last class of the day finished finished up, you quickly packed up your things and rushed to the old building next to the dorms that housed your favourite room in the whole campus: the old meeting room you guys used to house your dd&md sessions! 

The room wasn't glorious, it was just an old meeting room that's been out of use for years. But to you, that room was the home of your imagination. It held a special place in your heart, and you were sure it was the same for the rest of your party.

Speaking of which, you saw Fiddleford approach you down the old hallway, little puffs of dust kicking up with each of his steps. “Hey Fidds! You ready for today’s session?” you yelled to him slightly as he approached. “Ready as I'll ever be! You won't believe what I have planned in order to kick that sorcerer's butt!” he gave your shoulder a weak punch and opened the door with his key.

Usually, the old building was out of commission. But since Fiddleford knew a guy who works as campus security and convinced him to give him the key, you had full access to the building to do whatever you pleased. Of course for you, anything just means playing dd&md, not causing a mess and cleaning up after yourselves as much as possible in order to not inconvenience anyone. You knew that other people your age would throw huge parties and wreck the place, but you weren't that kind of person, really. You just liked having a quiet place to play your games and hang out with your friends. Fiddleford was like that too, that's how he got the key in the first place; because his friend trusted him not to mess up the place.

As you walked inside, you saw the table set out just how you guys left it last week: the long rectangular table set up in the middle of the room, with seven chairs set out all around the table, one for each player and one for your dm. A whiteboard behind the dm’s seat that shows the map of the fantasy world you are currently in the middle of exploring, and cork board on another wall with a bunch of graph paper pinned to it.

You walk around the table, taking your regular seat across from Fiddleford. “So what do you think Ford's planning for this session?” you ask Fidds. This is your usual routine: get to the building early, wait for Fidds and ask him if he has any intel for the session since his roommate is Ford. “like usual, i can’t tell you, it'll ruin the fun!” Fidds exclaimed, although the grin on his face told you he likes this familiar back and forth. 

You eased into a casual conversation from there, talking about your days as you waited for everyone else. You liked coming early because then you had more time to talk with Fidds and, of course, with Ford.

You met Fidds on the first day of the semester, when you sat next to each other in the freshman orientation presentation, and hit it off from there. you became friends rather quickly, bonding over the fact that you were both far away from home with no friends in town. You decided to help him move into his dorm after the presentation, and that's when you met Ford.

At first, you were a bit speechless at the guy in front of you. His outfit was the usual scholar's outfit of a white button up shirt with a brown vest on top, but then he was wearing jeans in order to look more ‘casual’ as he put it. His hair was neat and tidy and his glasses framed his face perfectly, at least in your opinion. You introduced yourself awkwardly, and once he introduced himself as Stanford Pines, a parapsychology major with aspirations for 12 phd’s in the next five years, you knew you were in over your head. You can't have a crush on a super-genius! What if he turns out to be an arrogant asshole? But you couldn't help developing feelings for him as you got closer. He wasn't just a super-genius, he was also kind and compassionate, understanding and just a good friend. That's when you decided to just stay friends with Ford, you couldn't afford to lose such a good friend.

Speaking of which, the man himself comes into the room, holding a stack of books detailing the rules and monsters of dd&md, a satin sack full of dice and his dm screen. You can barely see his face behind all of the things he's carrying, and immediately you jump up to help him carry everything. He silently thanks you for the help and starts setting his stuff up while you go back to your seat. “Hey guys, how've you been since last week?” Ford asks you two. “Oh i've been well, you know. Dealing with you every day can be challenging but I manage somehow” Fidds says dramatically and you stifle a giggle. Ford gives Fidds a death glare before turning to you “and how are you?” he asks with a smile that makes your knees weak. “I'm good!” you proclaim a little too loudly and cough to hide your blush “yes i'm good, just the usual classes and such” you say in a normal voice (or at least what you hope is a normal voice, it doesn't help that Fidds looks at you cheekily, already knowing your secret crush on his roomate) “how have you been?” you ask him. 

“Just the usual: doing homework, studying and building up today’s session” you catch on to the last part as a potential way to continue the conversation. “Well, what do you have planned for today?”. “Oh come on now, it wouldn't be fun to just spoil the game for you, would it?” he says and points to you to emphasise his point. “You can't even give us an outline? Something?” you pout a little and Ford gives in “fine… I may have something up my sleeve for today, and I can guarantee you won't see it coming this time! That's all I'm going to say for now though” he jabs his finger at you, trying to seem angry that you caught onto his plans last time, but his little smile gives him away. 

Soon your other party members start filing in and you all start the session. 

It goes as usual, you all mess around for a bit before getting serious. You can confidently say you saw the twist Ford put in this session coming, it was obvious how the wizard was actually a party member’s son, they had so many similarities! After another successful session, everyone leaves for their respective houses, leaving you, Fidds and Ford alone in the room to clean up.

“I can't believe you saw that coming again! I swear you're like a sorcerer in real life” Ford chuckles and Fidds adds “that would also explain how you get here before me every time! I swear I ran to get here today and you still beat me here!” “well what can i say guys? I'm just magical in every way!” you strike a silly but confident pose as Ford and Fidds laugh at your antics. “Oh shoot! I promised my friend i’d go on a blind date today, could you guys lock up this time? Ford you can just give me the keys tomorrow morning if i get lucky” Fidds winks and Ford rolls his eyes “alright, we get it, you can go”. Fidds leaves the keys on the desk and almost sprints out of the room.

You and Ford clean up the mess on the desk in silence before Ford decides to break it “how do you keep predicting my twists anyways? I swear it was supposed to come out of nowhere but you're too smart” you blush a little at the compliment “thank you, i guess i’m just good at guessing twists. But you do make it kind of easy. I mean, a secret relative of someone close? It’s kind of a cliche don't you think?” he pulls at the collar of his button up shirt and you can immediately tell something is wrong.

“Yeah.. I guess it is kind of cliche, but it's what fits the character, don't you think?” he says with a guilty tone. “Ford, what's wrong? I feel like you're hiding something” you get close enough to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder “you can tell me anything, i wont judge” you add, trying to coax him into telling you what's wrong.

“Well… I guess I brought the secret relative from my own life because… well… I have a twin brother….” the sentence doesn’t completely shock you, but it is still somewhat of a surprise “why do you never mention him? Did something happen between you two?” he chuckles a bit before saying “still as perceptive as ever, huh?” you blush a bit as he continues, looking out into the middle distance in thought

“Me and my brother were really close when we were young, we would do everything together. But as time went on, we grew apart. He didn't like the fact that I wanted to go away to a fancy college, especially because he knew he couldn't follow me there. I was working on a machine to impress the college, but on the day of the showing it stopped working. My own brother sabotaged my future. We had a big falling out over it and that’s why I'm here instead….” you empathised with Ford, but you couldn't help but question some things about his story.

“I know it must have been hard to deal with the fact you lost your ticket to the college of your dreams, but do you really believe your brother would sabotage you? If he loves you, wouldn't he want to support you? Maybe it was an accident and he didn't mean to destroy your project?” Ford looks lost in thought again before replying “i… it's foolish but i never thought of it that way…” he looks at you with thankfulness in his eyes and you can't help but smile up at him “you should maybe sort this out with him? Talk to him about what actually happened and if he meant to hurt you?” 

“God you're right… Thank you! This changes everything! I'm so glad I could just kiss you!” 

….

It takes him a second to realise what he said and blush at the thought of actually kissing you. You just stare at him dumbly for a second until your brain processes what he said.

He wants to kiss you?

Well this took a turn for the better.

“Do you really mean that?” you ask him with hope in your eyes

“Well… yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t i? Look at you” he finds that it's suddenly very important you understand how much he wants to kiss you. “Wow… i- i didn't know you felt the same…” you say softly and look down. He says your name and puts his hand on your cheek and lifts up your face to meet his eyes “i like you. More than as a friend. Would you… let me kiss you?” he looks at you nervously for a moment before you close the gap between you two and kiss him yourself.

The kiss feels electrifying. As your soft lips meet his you put your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You realise he smells exactly how you thought he would; of old books and aftershave. His hands find your waist and rub gentle circles with his thumbs into your skin. You pull away after a little and touch your forehead with his “you have no idea how long i've wanted to do that” you whisper gently.

“Me too” and he goes back to kissing you, this time he takes the lead. You tighten yourself around him until your chests meet, his hands move down to your hips and he pulls you onto his lap in one swoop. You gently bite his lip as he groans into your open lips. He then moves down to kiss from your jaw to your neck, leaving the occasional love bite. You sigh at his bites until he gets to your collarbones. “Do you…. Want to do this?” he breathes the question against your skin, the feeling of him against you makes you shudder. “Yes. im sure”. He straightens up from excitement and goes back to kissing you collarbone, now more eager than ever as his hands travel past the hem of your shirt and up to your bra. Meanwhile your hands go down to feel him underneath you.

“Someone is excited” you smirk as he breaths heavily against you. 

“Very” his response falls heavy against you as he unclasps your bra (with only a little bit of a struggle) and his hands move to massage your breasts. You moan as he pinches your nipples in between his fingers. You lower your head to bite at his shoulder to stifle another moan from falling out of your lips- “No” he says and moves his shoulder to get you to stop muffling your sounds. “I want to hear you”. The thought of him wanting to hear you like this makes you blush and sends a bolt of pleasure down your spine. “Y-yes’’ 

You intend to start massaging him through his pants but he beats you to it, moving his hand down into your pants. You help him take off your pants and underwear (with a lot of struggle because of your position) and he suddenly picks you up and places you on the table. The cold desk underneath you only adds to the pleasure as he caresses your side before moving his hand down to finally touch you. 

His hand caresses your folds and feels how wet you are, and you moan from the feeling of his thick fingers on your sensitive skin. “Damn, you feel so good” he whimpers at how you feel before kissing your breasts and plunging his index finger inside you. “A-ah~” you sigh as he moves his hand so his thumb is circling your clit. 

He continues pumping his finger inside of you for a second before adding a second one and speeding up the pace. If he continues like this you wont last long. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, he stops and goes down onto his knees, his face in front of your core. “Can I please taste you?” he asks innocently, as if his request isn't the most dirty thing you've heard him say. Thinking about it makes you even more aroused -if that's even possible at this point- and you hastily agree.

Not even a second after he sees you nod does he jump into your pussy, his tongue plunging into you and licking you from the inside. His nose bumps into your clit as he moves to taste and lick you even more. Your breath hitches and you moan loudly as he begins sucking at your clit, toying and teasing it with his tongue. “Please F-Ford” you manage to say in between moans. He groans against you and the vibrations send a wave of pleasure through you.

He suddenly brings his fingers back into you, curling them just right, hitting that spongy spot inside you that sends you over the edge. 

You briefly hear him let out a broken “Fu-uck” as your orgasm ripples through you in waves. Ford helps you ride out your high as he continues fingering you and licking at your clit. You have to push him off of you as it becomes too overstimulating

You try to pull him up to his knees, but he seems embarrassed by something. He looks up at you with his chin and nose glistening from your wetness, a guilty smile on his lips and his glasses fogged up and crooked. You then look down and notice it. A wet spot against his jeans

oh.

He got off on pleasuring you. He turned into a mess from just tasting you, feeling you on his lips and fingers. “That's the hottest thing i've ever seen” you say suddenly and lean down to kiss him passionately. He pulls away “really? You think so?” he looks at you in shock. “Yes! Now let me kiss you” you bring him up and kiss him passionately. He takes the hint, grabs at your hips and grunts. You can feel him already hardening again so you pull at his belt and pull down his pants and underwear. You softly grab him and start moving your hand up and down as he whimpers against your lips. You bring up your hand and spit onto it in order to create less friction when touching him.

“Please Ford- fuck me” you moan into his ear and he leans his head back in pleasure. “But i don't have-” you cut him off “there's some condoms in the front pocket of my bag, please” you emphasise your point by giving his cock another stroke. This seems to fuel him on to run to your bag and get the condom. He opens the packet and rolls it onto his member. He rubs his cock against your folds to collect your juices and as his head rubs against your oversensitive clit you moan. “Please put it inside” you hold onto his shoulders as he follows your request and pushes his tip in slowly.

He slowly pushes himself inside you until he's bottomed out inside you and you both groan. You move your hips experimentally and he whimpers at the feeling of you around him. He slowly starts to pull out and then thrusts back in with a moan of your name. You dig your fingers into the soft skin of his shoulders as he continues thrusting inside of you slowly. 

He continues gently until you decide to whisper in his ear something that changes his attitude completely “harder- please~”. He understands the message and suddenly picks you up and flips you around -while still inside of you- and bends you over the table. You moan at the sudden change of positions but you have no time to get used to it as he starts thrusting into you at a killer pace. He moves his hips sharply into you, with an almost mechanical pace as he pushes your chest onto the table with his broad torso. You can't help the sounds you let out each time he hits that deep spot inside of you. He grunts into your ear at each thrust and it makes your eyes water from all the pleasure.

You're suddenly pushed over the edge for the second time when he wraps his hand around your body and starts playing with you clit. You scream his name as you cum around his cock. His pace stutters a bit and he curses in your ear as he cums too for the second time.

He slowly eases you both down with some gentler thrusts and then exits out of you with a sensual pop. 

You lay down for a little while with your ass out before you gather some strength to get up. As soon as you do, your legs start to shake and Ford catches you in his arms and chuckles a bit with pride. “So…. did you like that?”  

You dead-pan him and say “no. i didn't like that. Of course I liked that you doofus!” he laughs a bit and kisses you again. “I just wanted to make sure!” he says against your lips. You giggle and pull him even closer “well, i enjoyed that a lot” you give him a small peck on the nose and then pull away to put your clothes back on. He disposes of the condom and goes to put on his pants but pauses. “I can't go out with a wet spot on my pants…. What should I do?” he looks terrified at the thought of walking around campus like that.

“Don't worry, i always carry an extra sweatshirt around in case the ac is too much in class” you laugh as he looks at you like you just saved his life “you are an angel!” he comes up to you and kisses you again before going back to putting on his pants. You hand him the sweatshirt and he ties it around his waist in order to hide the evidence of what happened.

He then comes up to you and hugs you. “You know i meant what i said, right? About liking you” you blush and then respond “i meant what i said too”

“Then can this not be a one time thing? I want to -if you’d want of course, there's no pressure if you don't want to do anything more than what happened today but-” you cut him off to spare him from rambling even more “i’d like to go on a date with you, Ford. i want to go out with you and be with you” he sighs with relief. “Great! Are you free tomorrow?” you check your calendar “yeah i should be- do you want to meet up?” 

“I would love that” he kisses your forehead before picking up your bag and the keys to the room.

You go out but as Ford locks the door, he realises something.

“Why do you have condoms in your bag?”

You immediately flush a deep red as you remember the fact that after first meeting him, your horney brain convinced you to put some condoms in your bag. ‘Just in case something happens’ you thought to yourself

“No reason” you yelp out and pull at his bicep so he continues walking and change the subject.

He chuckles at your antics but goes along with you.

He’ll just have to ask another time.

[gin-juice-tonic]

Sarsaparilla Saturday

Scruggs Sunday

McGucket Monday

Pterodactyltron Tuesday

Wife left me Wednesday

Thistlebert Thursday

Fiddleford Friday

[edbydraws]

I could see Stanford and Fiddleford in the SciBlog AU like “This is Stanford and my assistant F, and welcome to jackass” before pulling some crazy experiment that ends with Stanley trying to put out a fire

their average Thursday

[spleenthecat]

mcgucket monday.

tiddleford tuesday.

widdleford wednesday.

thiddleford thursday.

fiddleford friday.

siddleford saturday.

suddleford sunday.

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

This is so dumb but I'm stupidly excited to post the next chapter of Engaging Encounter because it's the one that really got away on me with character stuff XD

Sorry to everyone who came for the smut. It will happen soon. I just really needed these guys to have some moments of dealing with their shit first.

(Apparently I had a mighty need for chronic pain Ford who often uses mobility aids and Fidds who uses leg and back braces to mitigate the pain of his posture, too.)

Anyway, there's a chance I might post this one on Thursday because there's a hurricane scheduled for Friday (which is sad because I might have finally had a thing to post for Fiddleford Friday!) and I'd rather post it early instead of late in case the power and internet go down.

It's all completely written though so I'll also be getting back to The Man Downstairs next!

(Also, I apologize for having these on different AO3 accounts. I'm trying to consolidate those two sides of myself into a whole but it feels like my existence has always been multiple very different people trying to occupy one space while being fully aware of each other and still sharing thoughts like a weird hive mind or something. So it just helps to sort things out and actually do something with too many thoughts all at once if I can organize them like this.)

[ask-the-men-in-the-winter-storm]

THURSDAY DECEMBER 16 1982

Hello? Whomever may be reading this, my name is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. For the past year, I have been working as an assistant for a visiting researcher. He has been cataloging his findings about Gravity Falls in a series of Journals. I helped him build a machine which he believed had the potential to benefit all mankind! But something went wrong. I decided to quit the project, but I lay awake at night - haunted by the thoughts of what I've done. In the midst of this, my personal computer began to receive a strange connection. I'm not sure where it's from or what it's for, but the only person who may know would be the researcher. I did not want to go back to him, but I fear I have no other choice if I want to understand what... this... is.

FF

[fantastictrashpolice]

I love that the Gravity Falls fandom is getting a resurgence, but I'm also feeling torn: there are so many fucking good ships and I can't choose between them.

I've finally made up my mind on my headcanons though: Bill is still Ford's toxic ex, but now Ford's boyfriend is Fiddleford on mondays through wednesdays, and on thursdays through sundays Fiddleford dates Stan.

God I'm so indecisive, even that isn't good enough for me... I'm not used to being in a fandom with this many good ships...

[garbagefirelol]

ironically I draw fiddleford typically everyday BUT friday. So fiddauthor Thursday art + scribbles

[yqqug]

hi fiddleford lovers i made a schedule

vvvvvvvvv

society of the blind eye sunday

mcgucket monday

tate’s dad tuesday

whatchamacallit wednesday

thistlebert’s cousin thursday

fiddleford friday

sweet sarsparilla saturday

[tazmiilly]

if only fiddldford friday landed on the day ford calls him 😔 its thursday this year. next year it'll be on friday so it'll be perfect 👍

ohhh that's awesome. I think last year the day fiddleford arrived in gravity falls + the day he got his memory back were on friday so that was super fun.

this year provides no extra friday holidays i dont think..so sad. but it will still be cool :)

[unculturedmamoswine]

Gravity Falls Fic: Sweet Dreams

My fic for day 3 of @polyshipweek! I chose the prompt bed sharing, and the ship Ford/Fiddleford/Emma-May. This extremely self-indulgent fic is Fiddleford’s college life told through beds and how many people can fit in them. (Also it’s a happy-ending au, spoilers lol) You can read it under the cut or on AO3 here.

For one person, Fiddleford’s bed at Backupsmore is just fine. Creaky and squeaky and don’t smell too good, but it’s a perfectly tolerable size. His roommate’s a heavy sleeper and so any tossing and turning Fiddleford might do won’t wake him up. Once he's used to sleeping in a new place, he's pretty happy with it.

A little over a year in, Fiddleford finds his bed just ain’t remotely workable for two people. Emma-May isn’t staying over much early on, of course, but when they might want a bed, they don’t have one that’s guaranteed private. Ford’s not home a lot of the time, though. He’s out late studying and working on his theories and doing other odd things that Fiddleford doesn’t want to call ‘magic’ or ‘witchcraft’ but... Well, anyhow, even though Ford isn't always around, Fiddleford doesn't want to risk being walked in on, so he and Emmy keep it clean in his room.

It would be nice if they could stay over at Emma-May’s place every now and then, but Emmy lives with her mama. And she’s a lovely woman, seems quite nice, but she’s always home at night. She never spends the night anywhere else, which means there’s not a snowball’s chance in heck that Fiddleford and Emma-May could possibly get away with a little time spent alone together except when Emma-May drags Fiddleford home the odd afternoon that Ms. Dixon ain’t there.

One Thursday night when Fiddleford’s twenty, he and Emma-May get a touch carried away in his dorm room for the first time. (Not the first ever time– see above. Just the first time in the dorm room.) After, Emma-May pulls on a shirt from the dresser (one of Ford’s, as it happens) and they cuddle themselves to sleep like young fools who’re falling quick into love.

In the morning, it’s clear that Ford’s been and gone: books on his bedside table switched out, new dirty laundry in the form of yesterday’s shirt shoved under his bed, the smell of his cheap shampoo hovering in the room, and his bed now made when it had been a mess before. Fiddleford blushes at the thought of Stanford seeing him and Emma asleep together; embarrassed, guilty maybe, and even a little annoyed, though he doesn’t have any right to be. If anything, Ford is probably the one frustrated at his roommate having his girlfriend over without so much as a sock on the doorknob.

Ford, though, who whines about Fiddleford’s banjo playing til he’s blue in the face, doesn’t bring Emma-May up to him once. He doesn’t tease or joke or open his mouth to ask a single thing about her staying over.

Thursdays become days when Ford’s regularly out late and comes back to their room real sneakily, leaving before Emma-May or Fiddleford are up. And every other Monday, too. Fiddleford figures it’s coincidence or that Ford is being remarkably considerate of Fiddleford’s need for sex. He hopes Ford is getting what he needs too, and wonders if Ford’s seeing anyone, and why he hasn’t told Fiddleford anything about it if he is. And if he thinks about it a bit more than most men might think of their pals’ sex lives, so what? Fiddleford’s got a girlfriend, so anything any inner voices of his might say about his interest any handsome fellas who know their way around a polydimensional model of theoretical hyper-magnetic waves can go take a hike.

But back to his actual bed– it’s alright for sex, even if it is too loud. And at least during sex folks are pressed pretty close together most of the time so the lack of space ain’t the worst thing. But Emma-May’s a big gal, and Fiddleford might be wiry but he’s tall, and he likes to have a little elbow room when he’s sleeping. When Emma-May stays over, they both have to lie on their sides, usually with Fiddleford’s arm jammed under Emmy’s ribs. More than once he’s awoken to find he can’t feel his hand, and she complains of bruises. It’s overall sweaty and unpleasant, particularly since Fiddleford is often too hot at night even when he’s alone.

He doesn't want to seem ungrateful, but sometimes he doesn’t get a wink of sleep when Emmy stays over.

It’s absolutely not possible, Fiddleford eventually learns, for three people to sleep in one of his dorm’s tiny little beds. When he’s presented with the really dang nice, even downright enviable problem of what to do with the tall, muscly bodies of the two smart, sweet, funny, goofy, good-lookin’ honeys he now has all to himself, he wants to laugh and maybe just tear out his hair. Only a little, just a touch.

(This is, he knows, looking at things through rose-colored glasses. In the fraught time between being ‘a guy with a girlfriend and a best friend’ and ‘a guy with a girlfriend and a boyfriend’, he has his room all to himself more times than he would like. He’s so wracked with guilt and shame that he can’t hardly sleep sometimes, even with all the space his empty bed affords him. He and Ford and Emma-May are all different combinations of embarrassed and hurt and angry, and it’s hard, it’s dang hard to get it all to work. Once it does start to work, the bed problem is a nice problem to have.)

There isn’t room for all of them on one bed, and the way the room’s laid out, there’s no way to push the beds together without blocking the door, so that’s out. The floor’s filthy, and the biggest patch of open space down there is even smaller than one of the mattresses anyway, so they can’t sleep on the floor, either.

One saving grace is that Ford turns out to be a tenacious cuddler. Awake, he can listen to a request for some space. Asleep, he won’t leave a body alone, which Emmy, seemingly, doesn’t mind too much. So when she stays over, which happens more and more as the months go on, she sleeps with Ford a good bit of the time. It’s a boon for Fiddleford, who gets his bed to himself but can still hear the soft noises of Ford and Emma-May shifting and breathing and snoring all over each other across the small room.

Awake, Fiddleford, Emma-May, and Stanford can fit on one bed only if they all sit up and squish themselves together, which they do sometimes, just to spend time all together as a three-man couple, as Emmy calls it. Ford says he doesn’t mind Fiddleford and Emma-May being the public face of whatever it is they are (as Ford calls it) and to his credit, it seems genuine. It is nice, though, to have one room in one building where the truth can be told. Fiddleford likes being able to kick his legs across Ford’s lap in their room as easily as he takes Emma-May’s hand in public.

When it comes to sex with three people, the logistics alone would be difficult enough without the bed problem. (Worth it, though. Phew.) As it is, there’s an awful lot of kicking, elbowing, bruising, and cursing that goes on when they try to all get frisky together.

That’s a problem that eventually sorts itself out, because while Em has graduated by the time Fiddleford and Ford near the end of their time at BMU, she’s working lots to try to save up (for their future lives together, none of them admit.) Stanford is so mired in his own studies that he quits his part-time job in order to keep his nose to the grindstone and get that PhD he’s after. Fiddleford ain’t much better off, spending every free moment in the library or the manufacturing technology building.

The upshot of all this is that, during the ‘74-’75 school year, it’d be easier to find hen’s teeth than a free couple of hours they all three share. They become something closer to three two-person couples than one three-person one. Fiddleford will snatch a night of sleep in Ford’s bed here, a quick lunch with Em there, and he thinks maybe Emmy and Ford have taken to using her bed at her mom’s place for the purpose she and Fiddleford used to, a little afternoon delight when they can manage it.

Ford tells them he’s found a place he wants to go after college when they’re all on their beds, one exceedingly rare Sunday afternoon together. Ford’s seated on his own mattress, looking across at Fiddleford and Emma-May on Fiddleford’s bed, an odd mix of solemnity and anticipation on his face. It’s an occasion that Ford clearly goes into planning for a breakup. If it were just Fiddleford alone with him, it might have ended up that way, but the three of them all together have something different going on, some kind of strange chemical makeup bonding them together, maybe.

Sure, they do a fair bit of yelling. Emmy cries, Ford looks darn close, and they all end up moving from bed to bed as they alternately argue and make up in odd little bursts of frustrated affection and anxiety. For his part, Fiddleford expected this to end eventually just because, when you get down to it, even people as eccentric as Emmy and Ford and him don’t end up in ‘three-man couples’, it’s just not done. Ford calls him out on it, Fiddleford points out that it was Ford, not him, that was planning on cuttin’ and runnin’, and Emma-May says they’re both acting like cowards. Ford reiterates that this was inevitable, seeing as college relationships end either in breakups or marriage and, well, Fiddleford thinks that’s quite an idea.

He and Emmy are already on Ford’s bed, so he tugs Ford down with them and it’s clear that Ford sees what’s coming by the way his eyes get huge. Fiddleford knows he’s got a crazy grin on, and he only gets about four words in before Emmy is crying again.

It’s surely not the most romantic place for a proposal, but, dingy and tiny though the room may be, it’s still the place the three of them have been able to be themselves the most often, so Fiddleford wouldn’t change a thing about the setting.

They finally get a bed big enough for all of them after moving to Gravity Falls. It’s one Emma-May finds for sale from some weird hippie couple in Albany who makes them, probably for people just like the three of them, Ford points out. Em makes a platform for it while Ford and Fiddleford go to pick it up, and when they’ve wrestled it into the house they fall onto the naked mattress together, exhausted and happy and having realized that they don’t have any sheets that’ll fit the huge thing and they’re probably going to have to make their own.

That night is the first they ever spend all sleeping in one bed. Emma-May curls up behind Ford and wraps her arm around him. Fiddleford watches them drowsily from across the mattress until he can’t keep his eyes open.

Probably only an hour later Fiddleford rouses, feeling the mattress move. Ford, still asleep, slowly advances toward him, Emmy’s arm apparently not enough to keep him in one place. In fact, Emma-May is following along behind Ford, who’s trying to take her arm with him. Fiddleford smiles, letting his eyes close again. He inches closer to Ford and Emmy, figuring that he ought to have seen this coming. Fiddleford slings his free arm over them both, palm resting on Emma-May’s ribs. As if they’ve planned it, Ford and Em heave identical deep, contented sighs. Fiddleford snorts at them. He’s signed up for a lifetime of never having a bed to himself again, with these two around.

Oh, well. There’s much worse fates.

[gin-juice-tonic]

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 5: Buffer

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   AO3

Here it is!  The final chapter of my de-aged Ford, FiddStan fic!  Sorry it took me so long to post it, I was busy with thesis things and then I took a nice long break.  But now, “Recoil” is officially finished!  We find out how things are resolved and finally get some nice nice gay FiddStan moments.

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

Buffer (noun): a component that reduces the velocity of recoiling parts

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              Stan continued to watch Ford sleep.  He could feel tears beginning to prick the corners of his eyes.  They’d had to put a nightlight in the room yesterday; Ford was too afraid to fall asleep alone without it.  Luckily, Fiddleford knew where Ford had stored a large, glowing crystal, which even had the added effect of casting a “soothing aura”.

              Whatever the hell that means.  Stan looked over at the crystal in question, perched on the corner of Ford’s desk, filling the room with a faint blue glow.  Sure doesn’t seem to soothe me.  The door opened with a faint creak.  Fiddleford poked his head in.

              “Is he asleep?” Fiddleford whispered.  Stan nodded and gestured for him to come in.  Fiddleford quietly walked over to Ford’s bed.  “Did he go down all right?”

              “Better than last night.  Or the night before.”  Stan looked down at Ford again.  “It feels like Ford’s been stuck as a toddler for months.”  He rubbed his face.  “It’s only been three days.  It’s only been three days!”

              “I know,” Fiddleford said calmly.  He sat next to Stan.  “When ya have a small child, it often seems like time moves slower than it does.”

              “Yeah, but I don’t have a small child!  Or at least, I’m not supposed to!  Not yet.”  Stan could feel tears welling up again.  “Ever since I was a teenager, I wanted to be a dad.  But not- not this way.”  Stan’s voice broke.  “Not this way.”

              “Hey.”  Fiddleford rested a hand on Stan’s shoulder.  Stan typically shrunk away from touches, but right now he sunk into the comfort.  He’d gotten to know Fiddleford over the last few days.  The southern man was annoyingly good at breaking down his barriers. But more importantly, Stan could feel himself coming apart at the seams.  Fiddleford’s calming, grounded energy was the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces.  “This’ll get resolved.”  A troubled look passed over Fiddleford’s face.  “Somehow.  And when it does, well, you’ll get a chance to be a dad the right way.”  Fiddleford squeezed Stan’s shoulder reassuringly. Stan let out a sigh.

              “I dunno.  I don’t know if I should be a dad.  It’s not like I had anyone to show me how to do it right,” he muttered.  He froze, realizing that he had accidentally said aloud what he was thinking.

              Damn McGucket.  Making me feel comfortable around him and shit.  He expected Fiddleford to tsk and talk him down.  To his surprise, Fiddleford let out a peal of laughter. Stan stared at him, not just shocked by Fiddleford’s reaction but also by the realization that he had never heard Fiddleford laugh before.  Wryly chuckle, yes.  But not full-throated laughter.  Not the prettiest laugh I’ve ever heard.  It was higher pitched than Stan would have expected and had a slightly grating tone. Doesn’t mean it’s not nice, though.  Fiddleford’s merriment came through, worming its way into Stan’s sour mood, beginning to lift it like wind whisking away fog.

              “Now, that’s hilarious.”

              “…What?” Stan asked.

              “The idea that ya wouldn’t be a good father.  How can ya actually believe that?  Ya just spent the last month or so provin’ ya have what it takes.”

              “Yeah.  With a kid that’s actually an adult,” Stan snorted.  Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

              “Honestly?  Stanford at eight was way worse than Tate was at that age.  Sure, it ain’t exactly the same sit’ation, and you’ve only handled an eight-year-old and a three-year-old, but there’s no chance you’d screw it up the way yer worried about it.”  Stan opened his mouth, about to make some wisecrack about how he could find a way to screw up anything.  Upon seeing Fiddleford’s sincere expression, though, he thought better of it and closed his mouth.  Fiddleford smiled slightly.  Stan’s heart fluttered.  He cleared his throat roughly.

              “So, how are things going with finding a cure?” Stan asked. Fiddleford’s smile vanished. “Oh.”

              “I- I can’t make heads nor tails of any of this stuff,” Fiddleford said softly. He gripped the edge of the bed. “I’m startin’ to think it was a fluke, everything I did to figure out why Stanford got turned young.  I can’t handle this on my own, I don’t think.” Fiddleford took a shuddering breath. “I keep runnin’ into wall after wall and-”

              “Hey, you’re a genius,” Stan said, putting an arm around Fiddleford’s shoulders.  “You can handle it.  I-”  He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Like you said, I’ve been able to take care of Ford so far.  I can keep on doing that until-”  Stan’s voice gave out.

              “I can tell it’s startin’ to wear on ya.  Stanford callin’ ya his father.”

              “I mean, yeah.  Can you blame me?”  Stan laughed, but the sound had no humor in it.  “He’s my twin brother and he thinks I’m his dad.  It’s not exactly ideal, Fiddleford.”

              “I know, but-” Fiddleford started.  A low glow began to fill the room.  Stan looked around the room, trying to figure out what was giving off light. His eyes landed on Ford.

              “Shit!”  Stan pulled the blanket off Ford, revealing that his entire, minute body was emitting a faint, yellow glow.  “Fiddleford, what’s-”

              “I don’t know Stanley, I-”  The glow became brighter and brighter, almost burning Stan’s eyes, strong enough that he had to look away.  As suddenly as the light had appeared, it vanished.  Stan blinked away the afterimages and looked back at Ford.

              “…Holy hell,” Stan breathed.  Ford was still much younger than he should be, but he was also older than he had been a second ago.  The now very tight pajamas were evidence of that.  Stan looked over at Fiddleford, who was also staring at Ford in shock. “Is he…?”

              “I don’t know.”  Fiddleford ran his hands through his hair.  “I don’t understand anything that’s happening.”

              “Think we should wake him up?”

              “Uh, no.”  Fiddleford gently blocked Stan from reaching out to shake Ford.  “I don’t understand anything that’s happening, but I do know that wakin’ a child as young as he is will only result in everyone cryin’. Let’s go wait in the kitchen until he wakes up on his own.”

              “Yeah.  That sounds good.  I could use a drink,” Stan said decidedly.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “I think I could, too.”

----- 

              It felt like waking from a very deep sleep.  Ford fought his way out of the solemn darkness and blankets, only to land on the floor.  He sat up, taking in his surroundings.

              To be fair, I did just wake from a very deep sleep.  Ford got to his feet.  Though I feel as though I’ve woken from more than just slumber. He looked down at himself, dreading what he would see.  His mouth dropped open.  I’ve grown.  Either Fiddleford found a cure or a significant amount of time has passed. Ford swallowed.  Time that I don’t remember.  He took a breath.  Calm down, Stanford.  Find Stanley or Fiddleford.  They can explain what has happened.

              Thankfully, the door was ajar, saving Ford the indignity of having to struggle to reach the handle properly.  He pushed the door open the rest of the way.  Faint voices could be heard coming from somewhere else in the house, along with the distinctive twang and jangle of Fiddleford’s favorite country music station.  Ford headed in the direction of the sounds.  As he approached, he could distinguish individual words.

              “Ya don’t strike me as the kind of feller who’d like John Denver,” Fiddleford’s voice said.

              “Oh, is that the guy’s name?” Stan’s voice responded idly.

              “Yes.”

              “You’re right.  It’s not my kinda music.”

              “Then how do ya know it?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford arrived in the entryway of the kitchen.  From where he stood, he could now see that Stan and Fiddleford were doing dishes, Stan scrubbing them clean and handing them off to Fiddleford, who dried and put them away.

              “It plays on country stations nonstop, genius.”  Stan handed a washed plate to Fiddleford.  “And when you’re driving through Midwestern Nowhere Hell, the only radio stations around play country 24/7.”

              “Still, I’m surprised ya bothered to learn the words.”

              “It’s catchy.  Sue me,” Stan said dismissively, wiping his hands dry on the seat of his pants.  “I wonder if Ford’s up yet.  Think we should check on him?”

              “That’s prob’ly the appropriate course of action,” Fiddleford replied. Ford cleared his throat.  Stan and Fiddleford looked over.  “Stanford, yer up!” Fiddleford said in surprise.  He seemed relieved, while Stan’s expression was carefully guarded.

              “How are you feeling?” Stan asked cautiously.  Ford shrugged.

              “All right, I suppose.  I don’t feel particularly ill or weak.”  Naked relief broke across Stan’s face.  “Why?”

              “Just wondering.”  Stan looked at Fiddleford meaningfully.  Fiddleford shrugged.  “So, uh, quick question.  What’s the last thing you remember and when did it happen?”

              “Um.”  Ford had to think for a second.  “Fiddleford examining me in the lab on Thursday.  Why?”

              “You were right,” Stan said in a low voice to Fiddleford.

              “Right about what?” Ford asked.

              “That ya wouldn’t remember the last few days,” Fiddleford said.  He put away the last clean and dried dish.  “Ya seemed to be in some sort of fugue state, and folks don’t usually remember things from while they were in one of those.”

              “Last few days?” Ford squeaked.  Stan and Fiddleford nodded.

              “It’s Monday,” Stan said.  Ford’s jaw dropped open.  “Honestly, I think it’s for the best you don’t remember everything that happened since Thursday.”  Fiddleford rolled his eyes.

              “Sure, now yer all fer forgettin’ things,” he said to Stan. Despite the sharpness of his voice, the words lacked any venom.  Instead, the comment bore the cadence of a joke.  Ford raised his eyebrows in surprise.

              Did Fiddleford just joke about the memory erasing gun with Stan? Something has happened between the two of them.

              “I’d ask what happened during those days that I can’t remember,” Ford said, “but I’ll trust your judgement that I wouldn’t like to know.”

              “Maybe when you’re back to your old nerdy self,” Stan said.  Ford shrugged.

              “Maybe.  When will that be, by the way?  Fiddleford, I assume you discovered a cure?”

              “Uh, no.”

              “Pardon?”

              “I couldn’t come up with one.”  Fiddleford looked down at the counter, his jaw set in agitation.  “No matter how I approached the issue, it was like bangin’ my head into a wall.  But less fun.”

              “Then why am I older?” Ford asked.

              “No clue,” Stan said cheerfully.  “You started glowing earlier, while you were asleep, and when you stopped glowing, you were older.  Magic, amiright?”

              “I…”  Ford looked down at himself again.  “I think I want to run some tests.”

              “Absolutely,” Fiddleford said.  “With yer help, we should be able to get some good results.”

              “I also think I could use some new clothes,” Ford added.

              “I’m on it,” Stan said, already exiting the kitchen.  Fiddleford shook his head.

              “If that boy steals ‘em, I swear…” he mumbled.  Ford frowned thoughtfully at Fiddleford.  Fiddleford noticed his expression.  “What?”

              “Nothing.  Just…observing.”

              “Observing what?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford’s frown deepened.

              “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

----- 

              On Tuesday, Fiddleford was in the lab, running test after test on Ford, who was more than happy to help Fiddleford when his memory failed him. Fiddleford felt like his mind was beginning to settle, but he didn’t want to jinx it, so he kept that hope to himself.  He frowned at the latest printout of data.

              “This is interestin’,” he remarked softly.

              “What?” Ford asked, standing on his tiptoes to see over the table.  He seemed to have settled back into a primarily adult mindset, but with a youthful energy that either drained or invigorated Fiddleford.  Right now, it was doing the former.  Fiddleford handed the printout to Ford with a soft, tired sigh.  Ford’s brow wrinkled.

              “Hmm.  I’m still giving off magical energy.”

              “Yep.  Which I think is a good thing, since yer not to yer proper age yet.  And we might not know exactly what happened with that plant, but fer sure it was what brought ya up to yer current age.”

              “Yes,” Ford mumbled, distracted.  He looked up at Fiddleford.  “Could I see the results of the latest test on the plant?”  Fiddleford glanced over at the plant.  It was currently in a microwave that Fiddleford had repurposed ages ago for fine-detail magical analysis.

              “It’s still goin’.”

              “Ugh.”  Ford sat down on the ground with a scowl.  “How long has it been in there?  It feels like forever.”  Fiddleford checked his watch.

              “Fifteen minutes.”

              “Really?  That’s it?” Ford sighed.  “My internal clock must be off.”

              “Yer internal clock has always been off,” Fiddleford said idly, picking up a piece of paper that summarized what they had learned about the plant so far. He scanned it, despite knowing that he had gone over it a hundred times and would learn nothing new from reading it again.

              Genus: Salvia.  Species: Unknown.  Emits a strong aura of magic that is closely affiliated with this dimension.  Whether it is innately magical or magical due to exposure from a separate source is unknown.

              “Yer also a kid,” Fiddleford continued, setting the paper down.  “Kids have a dif’rent perception of time.”

              “Hmph.  I- what’s that sound?”

              “What sound?” Fiddleford asked, looking at Ford.  His eyes widened.  Ford was beginning to emit a glow like he had the previous day, before he aged.  “Uh…”

              “It’s- it sounds like a school bell,” Ford said.  He seemed not to have noticed he was glowing.  Instead, he was staring off into the distance thoughtfully. “Like one that rang when Stanley and I were in elementary school.”  Fiddleford grabbed a spare piece of paper and a pen.  “Why are you writing that down?”

              “Yer glowin’ again,” Fiddleford said, hurriedly scrawling what Ford had told him.  Ford looked down at himself.  He yelped.

              “How did I not notice?”

              “You were too caught up in the memory, I s’ppose,” Fiddleford said.  He paused, gears beginning to turn in his head.

              Stan said that Stanford was talkin’ ‘bout cinnamon donuts from their childhood, when Stanford first ate that plant.  The bakery stopped carryin’ those donuts when they were about four. Fiddleford chewed on the end of the pen. Did the plant bring him to the age he was when he most remembered eatin’ those donuts?  If so, does that mean that Stanford will be ‘bout the age of an elementary school student soon?  Fiddleford whipped his head around to look at Ford.  Ford didn’t seem perturbed by the glowing.  Rather, he had one finger stuck inside his ear.

              “I’m still hearing that ringing,” Ford said, frustrated.  The glow grew brighter and brighter, until it was so strong that Fiddleford had to close his eyes.  When he opened his eyes again and blinked away the afterimages, Ford was older. More precisely, he was eight again.

              I was right.  But what does it mean? Fiddleford pursed his lips.  He shook his head.  Never mind.  Tackle what matters most right now.

              “How are ya feelin’?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford inspected himself carefully.

              “Like an eight-year-old,” he said flatly.  Fiddleford chuckled.  Ford sighed. “Scan me again.”

              “What’s the magic word?” Fiddleford said on instinct.  Ford pouted.

              “Please,” he mumbled.  Fiddleford fought back a smile.  He picked up the device that measured magical auras and scanned Ford.  His eyebrows went up at the results.

              “Huh.”

              “What?”

              “Yer still givin’ off magic, so you’ll prob’ly keep growin’.  Most likely in these growth spurts.”  Fiddleford cracked a small grin at the pun.  “But the amount of magic in yer aura is less than it was.  I assume you’ll stop growin’ eventually.”

              “Ideally, when I return to my appropriate age,” Ford said.

              “Yes.  That would be ideal,” Fiddleford agreed.  There was a ding from the analyzing microwave.  Ford jumped to his feet, filled to the brim with energy again.

              “Results!”  Ford raced over to the microwave.  “F!  We have more results to go over, more data to decipher!”  Fiddleford rubbed his face tiredly.

              “Yes, but you should prob’ly change yer clothes first.”

              “No need!  I can look over the printouts in tight clothes.  I could probably look over them in no clothes.  Clothing is immaterial in the grand scheme of things, Fiddleford.” Ford trotted over, carrying the papers of data spat out by the microwave.  “We need to begin work immediately, before Stanley insists on making us stop for lunch.”  Ford huffed impatiently.  “Food isn’t nearly as important as science.”  With a sigh, Fiddleford took the piece of paper Ford was handing him.

              From what Stan’s told me, Stanford’s always been like this.  How did their mother survive?

----- 

              By Thursday, Ford was sixteen and proud of it.  He strutted into the kitchen and clapped his hands.

              “I have some excellent news!” he announced in a booming voice.  Stan turned a page in his newspaper without looking up.

              “We get it, you’re glad your voice isn’t cracking every other word,” Stan said lazily.  “You don’t have to shout all the time.”  Ford flushed. After the last growth spurt, his voice had dropped to his regular baritone, something he’d been over the moon about.  Fiddleford, who was wiping down the counters after breakfast, rolled his eyes.

              “Ignore him, Stanford.  What’s yer good news?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford beamed.

              “I’ve discovered why the portal malfunctioned,” he said.  That got Stan’s attention.  He set down his newspaper and looked at Ford.

              “And?” Stan asked expectantly.

              “It was sabotaged.”

              “Sab-”  Stan looked at Fiddleford, who seemed just as confused as him.  “How the hell did someone sabotage it?  Whatshisname, the demon, he wanted you to build it, and he seems like the only guy who could have access to your creepy basement.  Except for you two nerds.”  Stan frowned thoughtfully.  “Is whatshisname a guy?”

              “I don’t know the gender politics of demons from other dimensions,” Ford said dryly.

              “Demons from other dimensions,” Fiddleford muttered darkly.  The day before, Ford had finally come clean about Bill’s involvement with the portal, and Fiddleford was still bitter about the whole affair.

              “Lord above, Stanford Pines, you got yourself into a deal with a demon? How could ya think it was a good idea? I know yer not as religious as I am, but that don’t mean you never heard someone say before that demons were bad!” Stan stifled a chuckle at the memory. Since Fiddleford was still using kid gloves with Ford, the whole scene had felt more like Ford was being scolded for staying up late, not summoning an interdimensional demon.

              “But you are correct in that the portal had very limited access,” Ford continued.

              “Then who sabotaged it?” Fiddleford asked.  Ford raised an eyebrow.

              “You did.”

              “I-”  Fiddleford put his hands on his hips.  “I think I’d remember sabotagin’ somethin’ that I sunk far too much of my life into!”

              “Would you?” Stan asked quietly.  Fiddleford’s eyes widened.

              “The sabotage was clearly your handiwork, Fiddleford,” Ford said.  “I recognize it.  No one else has your talent for rewiring.”  Fiddleford sunk into a chair at the table, his expression blank.  “My thought is that, after sabotaging the portal, you either erased your memory of the event or that memory was a casualty of a separate memory wiping session.”

              “Those seem like the only two options,” Fiddleford said, his voice creaking. Stan watched Fiddleford in concern.

              “You all right there?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “Yeah, I just- gimme a mo’.  I ain’t mad at myself, I’m just- it’s a bit disconcerting to have forgotten somethin’ as major as that.”

              “I’m grateful you did it,” Ford said solemnly, sitting at the table as well. “If you hadn’t, who knows where I would have been?”  A chill ran down Stan’s spine.

              “You sure as hell wouldn’t be here,” Stan whispered.  Ford nodded.  Fiddleford took a shaking breath.

              “Yes.  I’m aware.” Fiddleford rubbed his face.  “And I’m glad I did it, too.  A tad bit peeved I don’t recall it, but glad.”  He looked up.  “And relieved to finally have an answer to that particular question.”

              “Same here,” Stan said, picking up his newspaper again.  Ford clasped his hands.  Stan recognized the gesture.  He set his newspaper back down.  “What is it, Ford?”

              “We need to prepare for when I return to my proper age.”

              “Okay.  Whattaya mean by that?”

              “The house needs to be protected from Bill’s influence,” Ford said.  Stan nodded.

              “How do we do that?”

              “The first step would be to create a barrier that will prevent him from entering.  I’m already brainstorming ideas to settle things with Bill once and for all, but the barrier will ensure that I do not get possessed by him.”

              “Sounds like a plan,” Fiddleford said.  Ford sighed.

              “Yes.  But unfortunately, we’ll need unicorn hair.”

              “Unicorns are real?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford and Ford looked at him.  “Yeah, yeah, weird magic shit is here all the time, I shouldn’t be surprised, whatever,” Stan mumbled.  “Is it hard to get the hair or somethin’?  You’re acting like it is.”

              “Yes, it is very difficult,” Ford said with a small groan.  “Difficult, nigh impossible.  I have yet to peacefully obtain some.”

              “Then it’s a good thing those unicorns like me,” Fiddleford said, upbeat. He winked at Stan and got up from the table.  “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

              “Of course unicorns would like you,” Stan muttered.  Fiddleford whapped him over the head playfully.  Stan grinned at him as he left the room.  He turned his attention back to Ford.  “What else do we need?”  Ford steepled his fingers thoughtfully.

              “What was that about?” Ford asked.

              “Huh?  Oh, nothing. What do else we need to protect the house from Bill?”

              “Materials I’ve already collected,” Ford said, waving a hand. “Don’t concern yourself over it. Now, is something going on between you and F?”

              “Me and Fidds?” Stan asked.  Ford nodded. “What- what would make you think that?”

              “Besides the fact that you’ve started calling him Fidds, instead of Fiddlesticks, Fiddlenerd, and Fiddledork?”

              “I still call him that sometimes,” Stan mumbled.

              “Yes, but in an endearing way.  A playful way.  Not in frustration.”

              “Whatever.”

              “The other piece of evidence was the way that you looked at him just now. Very reminiscent of how you used to look at Carla.”  Stan could feel a warm flush beginning to spread across his face.  “And as for the look Fiddleford gave you, well…”  Ford tapped his chin.  “I’ve only ever seen him make it once.  At his wedding, when he lifted his wife’s veil.”  Some small hope that Stan hadn’t realized was rising plummeted.

              Right.  He’s got a kid.  Of course he’s married.  Ford shook his head.

              “Sorry.  His ex-wife.”

              “Ex?” Stan asked, that hope beginning to grow again.

              “Yes.  They got divorced shortly before F moved here to work for me full-time.  As I understand it, they have split custody of Tate.”  Ford frowned. “Did he not tell you he was divorced?”

              “He didn’t tell me he had been married, period.”

              “Ah.”  Ford leaned back.  “Well, that could be because he was rather ashamed he couldn’t get it to work out. His family’s Catholic, you know. Very anti-divorce.”

              And probably anti-gay.

              “Don’t get me wrong.  They’re supportive of him.  They weren’t happy he was getting a divorce, but they considered his happiness to be most important.”  Ford was now watching Stan carefully.  “It’s a very loving family.  His younger brother came out as gay not that long ago.”  Stan’s heart stopped.  “There was an initial adjustment period, to be sure, but again, they wanted Fiddleford’s brother to be happy.  And pretending to like women wasn’t making him happy.  So they adjusted their mindsets.”  Ford shrugged.  “F claims it’s because of their ‘southern hospitality’ or some such thing.”  He met Stan’s eyes.  “Funny thing, though, F had no issues adjusting to his younger brother being gay.  He took it far better than anyone else in his family did.”

              “Why- why did you tell me that?” Stan croaked.  Ford cocked his head.

              “Isn’t it obvious?”  Ford grinned. “You should make a move.”

----- 

              Footsteps sounded on the stairs.  Stan didn’t bother looking up from his magazine, dreading the conversation that was about to happen.

              “I take it F has left?”

              “Yep,” Stan grunted.  “Something about how he wasn’t ready to see you as an adult yet.”

              “Ah.  So he went to his house?”

              “Nope.  California. Said this whole thing made him realize how much he misses his son.  He’ll be back in a coupla days.”

              “I see.”  Stan continued to stare resolutely at the pages open in front of him, rereading the same line over and over, not a single word sinking in.  “Stanley.”  Stan swallowed and looked up.  Ford stood in the entryway of the living room, back to his proper age.

              But now he’s not practically a ghost.  Ford crossed over to the armchair Stan was sitting in and balanced himself precariously on the dinosaur skull next to the chair, crossing his legs to do so.

              “I should start getting my things,” Stan said.  He scowled at the break in his voice.  “That’s what I said I’d do.  I said I’d leave once you were back to normal.”  He set aside his magazine, about to get up.

              “You- you aren’t even somewhat curious about why the plant returned me to normal?” Ford asked.

              “…Sure.”  Stan settled back into the chair.  “Go for it, Sixer.  What was the deal with that?”

              “Well…”  Ford cleared his throat.  “I’m still not certain as to where the plant originated from.  Regardless of its origin, however, the immense radiation it gave off was unique to this dimension.  I belong to this dimension-”

              “Debatable,” Stan mumbled.  Ford ignored him.

              “-however, my cellular components were aligned with an alternate dimension. As a result, I was drawn towards a source of immense, familiar energy,” Ford continued.  Stan chewed on his lip.

              “Like a beacon.”

              “Exactly.”  Ford sighed and uncrossed his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor. “Instinctually, I was driven to consume the plant, as an attempt to realign myself with this dimension.” Ford gestured to himself.  “And obviously, it worked.”

              “Why’d it take so long for you to get all the way back to normal, then?”

              “I had to build up the energy to do so, which meant it could only happen in spurts.  After all, I require energy for basic function.”  Ford frowned.  “I’m still uncertain as to why I began to experience sensations I associated with specific ages before each growth spurt, as well as why I regressed before I could…progress.”

              “Fidds didn’t talk to you about his theory?” Stan asked, surprised.  Ford looked at him.  Stan looked away, avoiding eye contact.

              “No, he didn’t.  What was his theory?”

              “We were talking about stuff he could do while he visited Tate, and shooting came up, since he apparently used to go hunting with his dad when he was a kid. And he was going on and on, explaining the mechanism behind why guns have a kickback.  I got lost after about five words.”  Stan grinned slightly at the memory.

              I’m used to guys way smarter than me talking at me about things that go over my head.  I kinda missed it.

              “And then he stopped mid-sentence and just stared at me with his mouth wide open.”  Stan shook his head.  “And he said, ‘Stanford got younger ‘cause the plant had a recoil!’  I guess he got it into his mind that, in order to send you forward, it had to send you backwards, first.”  Stan shrugged.  “You’ll have to ask him to explain it in more science-y words when he gets back. That’s about all that I can explain.”

              “Hmm.”  Ford leaned back thoughtfully.  “I most certainly will have to speak to him.”  Ford cleared his throat.  “Did- did you have any questions for me?”

              “Not really.  Just seems pretty damn lucky that this all just dropped into our laps,” Stan said dryly. Ford let out a soft sigh.

              “My knee-jerk reaction is to be doubtful of this stroke of good fortune as well.”

              “Yeah, your buddy Fiddlesticks isn’t as cynical as we are.  He told me to be happy that things worked out so quickly and easily.  I was like, ‘Quickly?  Ford was a kid for over a month!’  And he said, ‘Could’ve been worse.’”  Stan spoke Fiddleford’s words in a slow drawl, attempting to approximate his southern accent.  Ford let out a small chuckle.

              “Have you asked him out yet?” Ford asked quietly.  Stan whipped his head around to glare at Ford, who seemed startled by the aggressive movement.  “What?”

              “Come on, Sixer, that’s just-”  Stan huffed.  “First off, stop trying to get involved in my love life.  Second, don’t try to fucking set me up when you’re still pissed at me for something I did over ten years ago!”  A moment passed.

              “I’m…not sure that I am pissed anymore,” Ford said finally.  Stan snorted.

              “Really.  That’d be the discovery of the century.  Fuck the thing in the basement, you learned how to give up on a grudge.”  Ford scowled.  “See?  You’re still pissed at me.”

              “Maybe- maybe I am,” Ford said, straightening his posture and almost falling off the dinosaur skull.  He held his arms out to steady himself.  “But I’m not pissed enough to ruin your chance with Fiddleford.  He’s- he’s a good man, he deserves someone who would treat him right.  And under that playboy façade of yours, you’re a hopeless romantic.  You always have been.  You never got over your high school sweetheart.”

              “Shut up,” Stan muttered.  He rubbed his face.  “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t make a move, okay?  He’s- he probably wouldn’t be into a guy, and-”

              “That’s not true.”

              “How the hell would you know?” Stan demanded.  He groaned.  “Holy Moses, don’t tell me you guys dated.  I said that as a joke, I didn’t-”

              “No, no!” Ford said quickly, holding up his hands.  “Fiddleford and I never had romantic intentions with each other. My one true love is science, Stanley.”

              “Yeah.  That old chestnut.”

              “Before we fixed some issues in our roommate agreement at Backupsmore, he had a tendency to bring sexual partners back to our dorm room.  He didn’t seem to care about the gender of the person whatsoever.”

              “…Fine, he’s into guys,” Stan said.  “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be leaving soon.”

              “You…you will?”

              “Well, yeah.  I told you I’d leave when you were back to normal, and you’re back to as normal as you get, so…”  Stan gestured vaguely.  Ford looked down at the ground.  “You were all for kicking me out before all this happened and now you want me to stick around?”

              “I-”  Ford grimaced.  “I’m not very good at articulating my emotions.”

              “I’m in the same fucking boat, Poindexter.”

              “I-”  Ford took a deep breath.  “I’m still pissed at you.”

              “We went over that already.  I know this.”

              “Yes, well…just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I want you gone. Or that I want to have it out with you right now.”  Ford spoke in a rush, each word tumbling out faster than the other.  Stan merely watched him.  “It’s- I’d forgotten what it was like to have you around.”  Stan chortled.

              “Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.  The last month?  That was nothing like how it was when we were kids.”

              “Yes, yes.  Still.” Ford looked away.  “I’ve…missed you, Stanley.”  A silence fell.  After what felt like an eternity, Stan spoke.

              “I missed you too, Stanford.”  Stan could feel his throat getting thick with emotion.  He coughed to clear it.  “It was…it was pretty great to not be mad at you for a while.”

              “Yes,” Ford said softly.  Stan then put a word to how it had felt for the last ten or so years during which he’d been homeless, furious at Ford, but also desperate, craving some scrap of an interaction with him.

              It hurt.  It hurt to be so angry at him, but also know he used to be the one person I could count on.

              “I don’t know if I know how to be a good brother,” Ford said.

              “Me neither.  Obviously, I know how to be a damn good dad, but-”  Ford laughed and playfully punched Stan’s shoulder.  Stan rubbed the spot, chuckling.  “Do you think we can get through this?  Through all the bullshit we dealt with the last ten years?”

              “It would take work.  But I think it’s feasible,” Ford said carefully.  He eyed Stan.  “Of course, you’d need to stick around for that…”

              “Yeah.”

              “You know, I could really use someone to act as muscle for my research.” Ford feigned a casual tone. “There are a lot of dangerous things in the woods around here.”  He raised an eyebrow at Stan.  Stan’s breath hitched in his throat.

              “Are you- are you-” he croaked.

              “It might be a bit awkward at first, but if you’re willing to work for me, I’d love to have you join my research team.”

              “As long as you don’t make me do any team-building exercises, I’m in,” Stan said.  Ford beamed.

              “Excellent.”  Ford leaned closer.  “Now, when are you going to ask Fiddleford out?”

              “Wh- son of a bitch, Sixer, why do you keep pushing this?”

              “Because the only reason you asked out Carla McCorkle was because I dared you to.  You need a push when it comes to forming a meaningful relationship.”  Ford nudged Stan.  “Here’s your push.  Go for it.”

              “I think you’re still stuck in kid mode.  I’ve heard kids of single parents trying to get them to go on dates.”

              “Please.  I may have been a child, but I never once thought you were my father,” Ford scoffed. Stan looked away guiltily. “…Stan?”

              “…I should probably tell you about those coupla days you can’t remember.”

              “Oh-”  Ford pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Sweet Moses. Maybe we won’t be able to work past this.”

              “Nah,” Stan said confidently.  “Like you said.  It’ll take some work and a whole lotta time, but we’ve got this.”  Ford managed a small smile.  “What are you gonna do for dinner?”

              “What am I going to do for dinner?”

              “I cooked for you for a month.  You owe me a lotta meals.”

              “…I don’t know how to cook.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan got up and stretched.  “Let’s order some greasy, shitty pizza, then.  It’s been a while since I’ve clogged my arteries.”  Ford shook his head, hiding a smile.

----- 

              Stan didn’t bother to turn around when he heard the back door open.  He took another drag of his cigarette, relishing the ability to indulge in the vice in the open.

              Couldn’t smoke around Ford when he was a kid.  Someone coughed.  Stan looked over.  It was Fiddleford.

              “Oh, hey Fidds,” Stan said.  Fiddleford walked over and sat next to him, his gangly legs dangling over the edge of the porch.  Stan offered him his cigarette.  Fiddleford looked at it longingly before shaking his head.

              “I shouldn’t.  I don’t want Tate to smell it on me.”

              “Tate’s in California.  Go ahead, have a puff.”

              “Tate’s actually not in California right now,” Fiddleford said slowly. Stan raised an eyebrow.  “Emma-May and I worked out an agreement.” Fiddleford sighed heavily.  “Took some convincin’.  My absence didn’t exactly make her heart grow fonder.  But so long as Tate calls every night, she’s willin’ to let him stay with me fer a week.”

              “That’s it?”

              “It’s a trial run of sorts.  She ain’t willin’ to let Tate be in my care any longer than that yet.  Once I’ve earned her trust, we’ll revisit the custody arrangement.”

              “So if Tate’s in Gravity Falls, who’s watching him?” Stan asked. Fiddleford quirked a half-smile.

              “Stanford.”

              “Really?”

              “He was a boy himself recent enough.  Figured it might have helped him figure out how children work.”  There was a clatter and a shout from inside.  “Though I’m second-guessin’ that right now.”

              “Eh, Ford’ll be fine,” Stan said, waving a hand.  “I was telling him yesterday about all the tips I used on him while he was a kid.  He shoulda remembered some of ‘em.”  Fiddleford chuckled.

              “He should, but sometimes, things go in one ear and out the other with him.”

              “Heh.  Yeah.” Stan finished off his cigarette. He ground the butt underneath his heel as he exhaled the last puff of smoke.

              “I’m surprised yer still here,” Fiddleford said abruptly.  Stan looked at him.  “Didn’t you say you’d leave once Stanford was back to normal?”

              “Yeah.  I did. But that plan changed.”  Stan winked at Fiddleford.  “I’m gonna stick around to help Ford with his research. He said he needed some muscle.”

              “…Oh.”  The sound was small, disappointed.  Fiddleford cleared his throat hurriedly.  “I was just…I mean…”  Fiddleford looked at the forest, avoiding eye contact with Stan.  “There’s…there’s no other reason yer plannin’ on stayin’ in town?” Stan felt like he couldn’t breathe. A silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of wind through the trees and Ford trying and failing to watch Tate inside.

              “I, uh, I don’t have a lot of options-” Stan started.  Fiddleford’s shoulders tightened; he hunched in on himself.

              “That’s why?  ‘Cause yer only other choice is to be homeless?” Fiddleford asked quietly. During the time span in which Stan and Fiddleford had worked together, Fiddleford had worked his weird, southern charm to convince Stan to talk about his life.  Specifically, what his life had been like since he’d gotten kicked out of the house.

              “I mean…” Stan mumbled.  Fiddleford was silent.  Stan could practically hear the gears turning in Fiddleford’s mind as he grappled with the decision to be more upfront about what he was asking.  “Fidds.”  Fiddleford looked at him, wary.  Stan managed a cocky grin.  “I’m not as much of a dumbass as Ford.  I get what you’re asking about.”  Doubt remained in Fiddleford’s eyes.  Stan scooched closer.

              “Would I have left if Ford didn’t tell me I could basically crash on his couch?” Stan said.  “Yeah. Probably.  There’s a lotta bad blood between me and Ford.  I don’t think I’d be able to handle the stress of being in the same state as him, let alone the same town, if he wasn’t willing to try to bury the hatchet.  Or bury at least one of the hatchets.”  Stan saw Fiddleford roll his eyes the tiniest amount.  The meaning was clear.

              “Get to the point and address what I was implying.”

              “But I wouldn’t have been happy,” Stan said softly.  “And not just ‘cause things would still be bad with me and Ford. I- you-”  Stan took a breath and tried to line up the words he wanted to say. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to open up to about my shitty, fucked-up life.  Ford, I never needed to tell him, he was there for most of it. The people I met while I was homeless? Didn’t matter to me.  I knew I’d see ‘em a day and be gone the next.  But you…”  Stan shook his head.  “Despite my best attempts to push you away, you kept clawing your way back in, you little southern shit.”  Fiddleford was smiling now.  Stan could feel his heart pounding in his chest, so loudly that he was sure Ford and Tate would be able to hear it above the ruckus of whatever was going on inside.

              “You need a push when it comes to forming a meaningful relationship.” Stan leaned in, his eyes filled with the light of the setting sun, reflecting off Fiddleford’s reading glasses.  “Here’s your push.  Go for it.”  His lips met Fiddleford’s.

              He was expecting Fiddleford to shout some southern swear and shove him away. But nothing of the sort happened. When they broke apart, Fiddleford looked away quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the redness of his face.

              Wouldn’t have helped anyways, Stan thought, noting that Fiddleford’s flush snuck down his neck, disappearing behind his shirt collar.  There was a dead silence.  The wind had stilled, even the commotion in the house had stopped.  C’mon, Fiddlesticks, say something!

              “I, uh,” Fiddleford stammered finally, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his shirt, a nervous habit Stan had become familiar with.  He slid his glasses back onto his prominent nose. “That was…”

              “Hey, the moment was right,” Stan said with a shrug.  His attempt to feign a lack of concern was marred by the crack in his voice.  Fiddleford pursed his lips, looking down at his feet intently.  “Look, if you didn’t like it-”

              “No.”  It was a whisper.  “I- I did.” Fiddleford took a shuddering breath. “My folks, they- they’ve backed down from their original opinions, but it’s still- it’s-”

              “It’s hard to fight the programming,” Stan said softly, thinking back to his own childhood.  Filbrick’s disdainful sneer as he snarled slurs at anyone who didn’t fit in. Fiddleford nodded.  “If you don’t want-”

              “I do.”  Fiddleford looked up at Stan, his eyes shining with unshed tears.  “I do.  More- more than I would’ve thought possible, given we’ve known each other less ‘n a month.”

              “What can I say?  I’m a charmer.”

              “No, you aren’t,” Fiddleford said, a tease in his tone.

              “What?”

              “I doubt the av’rage Joe would consider yer baggage, build, and general behavior to be as charmin’ as you think it is.”  Fiddleford grinned.  “But I ain’t the av’rage Joe, now, am I?”

              “No, you’re not,” Stan said.  “For one thing, it’s definitely not normal for someone to insult a person that they said they want to be, ah, romantic with.”  Stan filled the word “romantic” with as much subtext as he possibly could. The effort was rewarded promptly – Fiddleford turned an even deeper shade of red.  “I don’t mind abnormal, though.  Especially when abnormal kisses like that.”  Fiddleford covered his face with his hands.  “Really, Fiddlesticks?  You’re embarrassed?  You were the one using tongue!”

              “Oh, Lord,” Fiddleford wheezed.  Stan decided to back off for the moment.  Silence fell again, but more companionable.  Less strained.  Fiddleford shook his head.  “I- you-”

              “Take your time,” Stan said, amused.

              “I was- before you started sayin’ that, I was ‘bout to say that you weren’t the only one who had a rare chance to open up,” Fiddleford finally said, his face blotchy.

              “I thought you were close with your family,” Stan said.

              “Well, sure.  But I don’t want to drag ‘em into the nonsense I got myself into here in Gravity Falls.”  Fiddleford smiled slightly at Stan.  “You, though, got dragged into it by someone else entirely.”

              “Yup.”  Stan let out a long sigh.  “I did. Same person that dragged you into it.”

              “Yessir.”  Fiddleford chewed on his lip.  “I- Stanley, I think I’d like to- to try this.”

              “This?”

              “U-us,” Fiddleford stammered.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “No doy.  Figured that out when you used tongue on a first kiss.”

              “Stanley, please!” Fiddleford shrieked.  Stan merely grinned at him.

              “I wanna take a stab at it, too,” Stan said reassuringly.  “I-”  Stan scowled. “Ford says that deep down, I’m a hopeless romantic.”

              “Are you?”

              “Fuck if I know.”  Stan sighed. “But I wanna try something that I think could last.  With someone I’m close to.”  He looked at Fiddleford.  “Someone who, despite being made of twigs, manages to be attractive.”  Fiddleford blushed again.  “So when do you wanna go out?”

              “I, um…”

              “If you don’t wanna go out in public, we can always come here.  Or the woods,” Stan added as an afterthought.  “Never done it in the woods before.”

              “I need more than one date ‘fore I’ll do ‘it’,” Fiddleford mumbled.  His disgruntled tone didn’t mask his smile, however.

              “Okay, no woods.  Where, then?”

              “There’s a campground just outside of town.  Isolated, secluded.  Perfect spot fer a picnic.”

              “I think I can handle a picnic,” Stan said with a slow nod.  Fiddleford’s smile widened.  There was a loud crash from inside, causing them both to jump, startled. Fiddleford looked back at the house.

              “I should prob’ly go make sure Stanford hasn’t put Tate in danger.  Or vice versa.”  He stood up.  Stan got up as well.

              “Yeah, I think it’s high time I met your kid,” Stan said confidently. Fiddleford blinked at him in surprise. “Hey, you were the one who brought him over.”

              “Yes, but…”  Fiddleford shook his head in a fruitless effort to hide his growing smile.  “Still.  Wantin’ to meet someone’s child ‘fore you’ve even gone on a first date?  That’s mighty bold.”  Stan leaned over to kiss Fiddleford on the cheek.  He let out a small squeak and turned red again.

              “Thought you woulda figured it out by now, Fiddlesticks.  I am bold.”