#mentions fiddauthor

[ferretwhomst]

vampire!ford dump...mostly! spot the shitty dracula reference challenge,… (impossible)

the other day i said "wrow i don't draw ford enough!" and since then ive been gripped by the urge to draw him constantly, each time fluffier than before

[jackyjackdraws]

Happy Fiddleford Friday!

I'm a sucker for Fidds x the twins and since I didn't wanna pick one, I went with both!

[plexiglasssheets]

Pine-ing part 1

Fuck it fiddauthor fic probably will multi part | Cross posted on Ao3 ================================

1982 Dec 17,

F was having somewhat reasonable holiday with drawls. His family away, I could sympathize with him. It had been a long time since I've sat with my family for anything. A homed cooked meal became a distant taste, as my cooking skills are mediocre to non existent. It being a Saturday it seemed reasonable to go into the town for a meal. We went to the diner that he loves, he said their bacon and syrup pair together like no other.

I take his word for it, as odd food combinations were never my thing, Stanley used to do something similar wit-

He went to walk around the town, but I couldn't just drive back home and leave him in the snowy town. I never liked walking about but the trip seemed to be doing F well so what's an hour or so walking around.

There was a library but I combed through that my first month here, to little interest. There was a coffee shop but it was far too populated to give any sense of relax. But then I found it, a book shop.

Empty, Dusty and may have smelled of dead cat. It was fantastic. The lights were old with that nice yellow glow, flickering and loud. The shelves were a dark wood and dusty beyond belief, perhaps a walnut, wood was never my thing. The back was practically made for me, hand written accounts and journals, ecological studies and records that were the only copies.

To say I was excited was an understatement. The cashier was a fine looking young gentleman, most likely my age. He seemed kind enough so I thought nothing of it when he watch me move around the shop. With the state of the shop I can safely assume that he doesn't get many costumers.

I went to purchase my books, and the worker was very friendly. The first person here that shared my intrigue with it oddities. Complementing my book choices no less.

Then F walked in, he had two coffees and his satchel seemed bigger so safe to assume he bought other things. But there was a look to his face the same one he gives me when I talk to my muse for 'too long' in his words. I always took it as him being perhaps unsure of the greater power. I was never good at reading emotions, but have I mistaken his jealously? It would seem so if I knew what there was to be jealous about.

But the coffee he brought me was perfect. The way I love in, black coffee, no sugar, no creamer. Me and F left after I put my books in my own bag.

The cashier asked for my phone number to discuss books later, which I don't have as my equipment interferes with any telephone lines so I had to decline. I would have said I be back but I'd be lying if did, as me and F's schedule wouldn't fit a whole other escapade to town.

I would have explained but F seemed to want to leave so I politely declined.

We made way back to my truck and started to drive up the long rode to my cabin. Another moment I was grateful for the coffee. As my car absorbs what ever weather is outside and triples it.

Bitter caffeine as a hand warm what could be better. I would have played my favorite CD of eurythmics, but F was never a fan. Recently buying me an ABBA's singles when he went to the grocery store last month for that very reason. He was idlily tapping to the music, but he seemed off.

He was upset.

I was never one for emotions or feelings. I was always the logic, that's what I was good at. I can solve equations the length of a room but can't figure out how to ask a frie what upset him. We were a few minutes from my place, I was internally fighting if I should speak, but I understood people enough to know I Should, just I didn't know what exactly to say.

I asked him what he got. Great start, he's engaged and if he doesn't want to talk he doesn't have to. Perfect.

A present for his son.

Shit.

He got divorced last year, as she wanted him to be with them. I didn't know much, its was just messy. He missed his son, not so his wife but it was a touchy subject.

I forgot most enjoy time with family.

Family hasn't been the same for a while so sending holiday letters sufficed any familial need. Meeting F at collage, he is the only other person who hasn't cared about my freakishness, that I'm ever grateful for him. And I can't help but feel guilty about his family problems. He wouldn't have left if I didn't ask. The more to value his companionship.

He asked about my own purchases, and told him. The journals, the record reports, the primary historical recounts. An utter drug to my brain, he seemed to be engaged till I mentioned the book seller.

Off put? Upset? He wasn't happy. Bitter? Maybe, but I suppose that mixed with his family business upset him. But I didn't know how to ask. 'hey F why are you so upset about a bookseller?'

Stupid, I know, but easy to ignore.

We pulled into the drive way and rushed inside and hung our frosted coats. It was my turn to make dinner, F went off to his room to read like he does. But unlike usual he came down while I was still cooking. He seemed less upset which was good, he sat at the table and watch me cook as he read a book.

I was no chef, so I felt so- observed. It was no different then when we worked, me doing a tasks as he read. But this felt, intimate? for lack of better word. The dim kitchen light blub that was in desperate need of a change flickered its orange hue that filled that small room.

It was a Friday, so it was so it was excusable for the two of us to have a beer or two while we watch trash television the living room. F hated them but I had a soft spot for them as they were what plagued the tv set my mother had.

We barely watched the show and more added our own commentary, We cracked much needed dumb jokes in the tv lit room. Its blue filter light our only sources to see.

F had his glasses off, and was sat next to me on the couch.

It felt right.

A feeling that felt long distance that he only seemed to bring.

Its no mystery that girls were a mystery to me. Relationships felt so unnecessary, and I dance around the thought of the alterative. Which- I don't think I'll go into now.

He commented something about some 3? maybe for 4 dramatized way relationship that was going on. His dead seriousness made it possible to not laugh out. Holding my stomach and bending over, sides hurting. One of those that aren't funny but still somehow are.

That night was nice. It was a good refresher, I bid him good night and headed to bed myself. Sleep was different, usually I'm so exhausted I pass out, but tonight I just couldn't. My thoughts were somewhere else.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

thinking about the ship thing i did a while ago and realizing i completely forgot to talk about fiddauthor (said i would talk about regardless of if anyone mentioned it or not and simply. did not do that)

so here we go quick fire

ive said before that they have issues that could make the relationship not really work that well- so here are some of said issues:

-fiddleford has unhealthy coping mechanisms/methods of dealing with problems. he would rather hide/forget an issue than confront it, which directly lead to him hurting himself and ford, and indirectly lead to him hurting the entire town

-both are bad at communicating with each other. understandable, but still something they would need to work on for a relationship to actually, yknow, work

-about the time they meet, ford is absolutely not ready for a relationship. the guy can barely take proper care of himself, let alone an entire other human (everything that happened with stan would likely not help with this)

of course, they are both very fond of each other. ford doesnt seem to hold any resentment towards fiddleford, in regards to the memory gun. likewise, fiddleford immediately forgives ford once they see each other again for the first time in thirty years. they are back on speaking terms pretty quickly afterwards

it could work. it just wouldnt at all be perfect, yknow? (someone who knows more about healthy relationships could probably go into more detail about that, but i am not that someone)

what do i personally think of it?

romantic fiddleford: not something i will ever be interested in

queerplatonic fiddleford: not fond of it all the time, but i have grown to like it a tad more over time

[ifwebefriends]

Breaking Bad but with fiddauthor

[zephrunsimperium]

Okay so I know I just did my Sleeping Beauty FiddAuthor thing but I HAVE ANOTHER IDEAAAAA

FiddAuthor Hercules AU

Fidds would be Meg; the not-so-female fatale working for Bill/Hades to clear some debt. Ford would be Hercules and STAN WOULD BE PHILL

Hades has the blue fire and he makes deals and shit, he’s such a perfect Bill!!

"Now you know how it feels to be just like everybody else."

“Well! Gotta blaze, there's a whole cosmos out there with my name on it!"

Not to mention that Go The Distance is the Most Stanford Song out there:

I have often dreamed of a far off place Where a hero's welcome would be waiting for me Where the crowds would cheer, when they see my face And a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be I'll be there someday, I can go the distance I will find my way if I can be strong I know every mile would be worth my while When I go the distance, I'll be right where I belong Down an unknown road to embrace my fate Though that road may wander, it will lead me to you And a thousand years would be worth the wait It might take a lifetime but somehow I'll see it through

Please please talk to me about this concept, I am losing my shit here. 😭

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Hey, y'all! I just wanna say something about a recent post I did about the BillFord ship recently. I mostly want to say this because I am deeply afraid of starting a ship war or something.

So, please, I beg of you! Don't be mean!

Anyways, the BillFord ship...needless to say, I don't like it.

Though, I wish to apologize for any and all misgivings.

I am aware that, as a writer, you can change things up a little even with the slightest evidence of a redeeming/sympathetic quality to a character. Bill, surprisingly does have that on some level, especially if you look into Axolotl's poem about him. The people who I have responded to on that post mostly ship it under the question of 'What if' (like deeeeeeeep down, Bill felt remorseful once he realized how much he hurt the people around him) rather than they actually want them together in a canon sense.

So, yeah, I was more afraid of the latter.

Does this mean I support BillFord? ...No. No, I don't. Not with the knowledge of what Bill has done. (I'd go as far as to say I'm an anti-proshipper)

I guess what ruins ships for me is the fact that there are shippers who go waaay too far with their ships (like death threats far). And that brings me back to a show called RWBY. There are two characters in it, Blake and Adam. They were in a relationship once upon a time and it was confirmed to be an abusive one. And yet, there were people who still wanted them to go back together canonically, even though Adam was still a tyrant and cruel.

Being exposed to that, as well as seeing some cruelty from other shippers, very much ruined it for me.

...Not to mention of the plethora of incest ships I saw once I got into the Encanto fandom...

I do some lowkey shipping (say Fiddauthor), but nothing to write about (literally) or even draw. I'll entertain it, but keep it as that.

Again, I want to apologize if I had made anybody feel uncomfortable. I guess I wanted/needed to explain my reasoning.

I think I should, stay away from talks about ships all together after this. It's honestly a bit draining.

[babybluebanshee]

Mystery Nerds AU Masterpost

So it recently came to my attention that most people don't know about the series that got me most of my followers - the Mystery Nerds AU, a Gravity Falls AU where Ford and Stan reconcile thirty years earlier than they do in canon and actually kinda sorta communicate and have lots of feelings filled moments. So, because I just added a new installment to it and I crave validation like some people crave food, I decided to make a post with links to all the fics on AO3.

All tags can be found here.

Life Support: "It's 1982, and Ford Pines has called his brother to Oregon, in desperate need of his help. Fate keeps Ford in this reality, and forces him to confront some very uncomfortable truths about his relationship with his twin." The one that started 'em all, babey, and arguably the most popular. Posted in 2015. Also got me called problematic by what was probably a bored, angry child for bringing up the AIDS crisis of the 1980s.

Strays: "Stan, in all good conscience, can't leave a stray. He knows that feeling all too well." The third fic I wrote, but the second in the series, as an apology for the angst-fests I'd written before it.

It's Been a Long, Long Time: "Filbrick Pines is not made of stone. Even he has things that scare him. Linger with him. Haunt him." The one in which I give Filbrick some pathos, and make a lot of people scream at me (affectionately) for it.

And Here's To You: "It seems that, even when the Pines brothers make some progress, they always hit another snag. This was all because of that damn pill bottle." An examination of Stan's "loony days" mentioned in the Guide to Mystery and Nonstop Fun.

Seared With Scars: "Ford can't seem to catch a break when it comes to reminders of those he's hurt. He tries to make amends in the only way he knows how, but soon gets himself, Stan, and Helen swept up in the dark secrets of Gravity Falls." My personal favorite installment in the series, and the first appearance of everyone's favorite traumatized hillbilly. This one took me the longest (started in 2016, not finished till 2019).

Two Way Street: "You know what they say about communication. Or, Four times Filbrick Pines' sons reached out to him, and one time he reached out first." Another Filbrick-centric one, and another favorite because I just have a soft spot for humanizing this stupid old man, alright?

Ad Astra Per Aspera: "The Society of the Blind Eye is gone, and the only thing left for the gang to do is recuperate. And maybe deal with those pesky emotional issues waiting in the wings." The most recent installment, which is basically the culmination of me shoving Fiddauthor content directly into my eye sockets for a month.

[unculturedmamoswine]

Forduary Week 3: Insomnia

Post-series Fiddauthor fluff! Sometimes sleeping is hard. (CW for mention of serious bodily injury, and also for a lil bit of Ford’s ptsd)

There’s nothing like falling asleep on a boat, Ford thinks longingly. He never once had trouble sleeping on the Stan o’ War, unless it was because of some temporary problem, like Stan stomping around their room or pain from a cracked rib.

Now that he and Stanley have returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Ford seems only to be able to sleep in fitful catnaps throughout the day, sometimes waking by jolting himself upright, filled with the urge to either punch something or run until he realizes where he is. At night, after trying and often failing to fall asleep, he paces around the Hootenanny Hut like a none-too-stealthy ghost, exploring the cavernous, tacky rooms and their contents.

Ford stands at the end of a spacious hallway. In the darkness, it seems painted in grays and blacks. The window at the end of the hall is so ostentatiously large and multi-paned that he wonders if it was placed there by accident. It was probably intended to be the central feature of a house that cost a mere six figures. The window overlooks a healthy portion of deep, black woods, bathed at the moment in bright moonlight that spills into the hallway and pools on Ford’s bare feet. He winces, suddenly realizing how cold his toes are. He curls them into the thick, artfully patterned carpet. He should have worn socks.

Ford’s eyes are gritty and sore. His head aches. His jaw, too. He’s been clenching it without noticing, an old habit of his that’s resurfaced. His tension ratchets up when he hears footsteps behind him. He whirls around quickly, despite the fact that he knows perfectly well who it will be.

Fiddleford is dressed for sleep in sweats and a t-shirt. He moseys down the hallway, smiling when he catches Ford’s eye, in spite of Ford’s overreaction to his presence. Ford smiles, slightly embarrassed to be caught panicking at nothing.

“Good evening,” he says, feeling immediately re-embarrassed. A lot of formality for a man wearing plaid jammies, he thinks in an annoyingly Stan-like voice. Fiddleford only smiles and steps nearer.

“Evenin’. Come here often?” They both look out Fiddleford’s window, shoulder to shoulder.

After a comfortable pause, Ford answers, “It’s my first time at this particular window.”

Fidds snorts. “Can’t sleep or don’t want to?” he asks.

Ford glances at him, smiling slightly. “I’d love to if I could. I think I’m just having trouble adjusting to sleeping on dry land.”

Fiddleford nods. “Did all you could to avoid it when we were young and now you can’t sleep when you want to. That’s irony for ya.”

Ford nearly jumps out of his skin when Fiddleford brushes his hand against Ford’s. Before Fiddleford can do more than twitch in surprise and open his mouth to apologize, Ford slips his hand quickly into Fiddleford’s.

“Sorry,” he says before Fiddleford can. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine, honey.” Fiddleford’s frowning up at him, worried. His eyes are full of concern. Ford likes Fiddleford’s eyes. Although Ford can’t see their color in the darkness he imagines he can, his brain filling in the details it knows to be there. He can see/not see the dark blue of Fiddleford’s eyes and the way they scan Ford’s face. Surely, in the poor lighting, Fiddleford must also be relying on memory to fill in Ford’s finer details. He wonders if the Ford Fidds is imagining has rid himself of facial hair in the last day. Or if he lacks the tired circles under his eyes that the real Ford has. Then again, Fidds was with him today– he knows Stanford isn’t looking his best.

It occurs to Ford that he should perhaps say something. He can’t remember what the last thing said was. Is it his turn to talk? He doesn’t know. Could his tiredness be catching up with him? Shameful. He used to be able to go for three to six days without sleeping.

“I’m getting old,” he tells Fiddleford, who laughs.

“Sure are, sugar, but least you ain’t the only one. You plan on looming here at my window for much longer?”

“I can probably loom anywhere,” Ford jokes. Fiddleford squeezes his hand.

“Come on, then. If you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep, and I wanted to show you my stories. Now’s as good a time as any.” He pulls Ford gently back down the hall.

Ford winces. Soos’s Japanese cartoons have cast some kind of spell over Fiddleford, who can’t get enough of them. He can’t say he has any particular interest in them, but Ford has to keep an open mind. Soos is a man of surprisingly good taste; he introduced Ford to FCLORP, a delightful hobby that Ford wishes existed when he and Fiddleford were young. It’s possible that anime has hidden depths.

Anyway, as crappy as he feels, he has a ready-made excuse if he fails to pay adequate attention.

They settle in the TV room, which is not to be confused with the theater. The theater seats sixteen and is lined in red velvet curtains. The day after he and Stan arrived back in town, they watched an old movie in there with an assortment of Fiddleford’s friends from town. The TV room is next to Fiddleford’s bedroom. It was once an identical bedroom, but now boasts a TV at the foot of the bed. Ford has never seen anyone in the TV room outside of himself and Fiddleford.

The bed is one that came with the house, formerly belonging to the Northwests– big and soft, all dark wood and fabrics in shades of blue. Ford flops onto it and crawls to the left side, wishing there was a couch in the room. Being in bed and unable to sleep feels like a slap in the face. Ford feels that the bed is mocking him, like the beds all do in the No Sleep Dimension.

“Alrighty, you all comfy?” Fiddleford asks cheerily.

“Let’s go for it, Fidds.” Ford tries to inject some energy into his voice, but it’s been over a week since he got any more than two unbroken hours of sleep a night. His ability to be energetic is severely reduced.

The opening sequence of Fiddleford’s show is action-filled and blindingly bright. Ford, watching carefully, gathers that it’s about a group of teenagers who possess the power to transform into large, conveniently color-coded robotic bears. Once the show proper begins, Ford quickly loses the thread.

“So he can’t become a bear yet,” Ford confirms with Fiddleford.

“Naw, just watch! This is only the first episode.” Fidds shifts closer and takes Ford’s hand again. “He ain’t found the razor yet that’ll change him into an Ursa Fighter.”

“Oh.”

Ford watches, stupefied, as the teenaged boy, sans colorful friends, discovers a large claw which he confusingly calls a razor and allows him to change his shape, mass, and chemical makeup. (But only specifically into the aforementioned robot bear shape.) He engages in combat with laser-toting androids and ultimately swears to protect the city from the sinister WitchCorp. When the closing credits begin, Ford wonders what he was supposed to have gleaned from this experience.

The next ten episodes clue Ford in slightly to the fact that context and meaning are somewhat nebulous in this fictional world. Occasionally he asks a clarifying question.

“Is he still inside the bear suit?”

“Nope, it’s converted his body into a bear.”

“Don’t his parents notice that he’s gone for hours at a time?” “It’ll come up later, just wait.” “These girls are happy to become child soldiers on the advice of a complete stranger?” “Well, they were destined to be Ursa Fighters just like Daisuke was, y’see.”

By the time the sun lances its horrible rays into the room, signaling another failed night for Stanford, he is now, if not proficient in the ways of the Ursa Fighter, at least an initiate. Ford’s no less exhausted after half a night spent watching cartoons, but is at least content. Sometime after Towa joined Daisuke in his quest (adding the White Bear to the team), he ended up pressed against Fiddleford’s side, head lolling on Fidds’s shoulder.

Fiddleford stops the stream. He wraps his arms around Ford, squeezing, and presses his face into Ford’s hair.

“Didn’t expect you to watch all that with me, if I’m telling the truth,” he says, voice muffled. “I was hopin’ it’d put you to sleep.”

Ford smiles, unsurprised. “But if I did stay awake, I might be inspired to help you try to work out the finer details of human-to-robot transformation by means of an enchanted claw?”

“That’s what we call a win-win!” Fiddleford laughs. “Though as far as transformin’ folks into robots goes, I reckon I don’t need any help– don’t forget you’re the looks and I’m the brains, peach pie.” They snicker together as Fiddleford squirms down to Ford’s level until they’re face to face.

Ford looks at him. He can see Fiddleford perfectly now, so the daylight is good for something, at least. He can see each wrinkle on Fiddleford’s face, the permanent tan that’s the legacy of decades spent homeless, the crooked way he’s smiling close-mouthed. Ford hopes it isn’t out of self-consciousness for his lost teeth and the shape the ones he has left are in. The longer Ford has loved Fiddleford, the more handsome Fidds has become, subjectively. He assumes it’s that way for everyone in love, but he’s never asked.

“We might as well get up.” Ford’s voice sounds like it’s being dragged across gravel. In all honesty, he has another idea regarding what they could do in a bed that they aren’t going to sleep in, but there’s no reason they can’t have coffee before sex.

“Sooner we get coffee into ya, the sooner it’ll metabolize and you can take a nap,” Fidds agrees. “Come on, then. We got frozen pizza for breakfast!” He’s much too full of energy for a man with his severity of caffeine dependency. Before he can rush off, Ford inches his face forward to kiss Fidds gently. Fiddleford puts a hand to Ford’s jaw, presumably to keep him in place, not that Ford was planning an escape.

Since the age of twenty, Ford has been of the opinion that Fiddleford is a very good kisser, though whether that’s due to the act of kissing just being generally pleasant or to Fidds’s natural talent, Ford doesn’t know. He used to entertain himself in college by imagining finding everyone Fiddleford had ever kissed and having them fill out a questionnaire, with the goal of determining the objectivity of his conclusion. “On a scale of one to five,” he would imagine writing, “how would you rate subject’s use of tongue during a kiss?” In spite of himself, Ford laughs, breaking away from Fiddleford’s mouth. He hasn’t thought about that in years and years.The lack of sleep must be making him giddy.

“Ain’t sure if that’s a compliment or not,” says Fidds, laughing too. “Be honest, now, does the beard tickle?”

Ford explains his secret, hypothetical study of Fiddleford’s past romantic interests, only a fraction as embarrassed as he would have been to talk about it thirty or forty years ago. He’s rewarded for his honesty by the thing Fiddleford’s face does as Ford explains his proposed methodology. His eyes shimmer with emotion, his mouth trembles, and his cheeks flush deep red.

“Ford!” He grabs Ford’s face with both hands. “That’s the most romantical thing I ever heard in my life! I can’t believe you never said anything about this before!” He kisses Ford again, then pulls back, looking almost irritated. “Dangit, if you weren’t so pathetic all sleep-deprived I’d say phooey to the whole notion of gettin’ outta bed and keep you here all day.”

Ford snorts. “Keep me here doing what, Fiddleford? Watching you sleep? Even when we were young you were always out like a light about twenty seconds after–” Ford interrupts himself by huffing when Fidds shoves him unceremoniously back onto his own side of the bed. He always was startlingly strong for his build.

“You can go ahead and talk yourself out of havin’ any fun with your old pal Fiddleford if’n that’s what’ll make you happy, Stanford. I’m gonna get me some coffee.” But he smiles when he says it, not really angry of course.

Ford reaches out a hand to him, only half as a joke. “I hope it goes without saying that I think of you as more than an old pal,” he says, pressing his free hand to his chest. Fiddleford pulls him out of bed and onto his feet. “You’re an old pal with an unparalleled technical mind and a very pleasant accent,” Ford goes on, putting his arm around Fidds.

“Oh yeah, the country charm always worked wonders on you, don’t think I don’t know it,” Fiddleford says, mouth curling at the corner. He removes the arm from around his waist and takes Ford’s hand again. Ford isn’t sure what’s gotten into them lately. Thank god Stanley isn’t here to witness Ford and Fiddleford acting like idiot honeymooners. “C’mon, hon, you look dead on your feet. Coffee.”

Ford grinds his teeth. He wishes he could hang on to his good mood, but it plunges at the reminder about coffee. Coffee means committing to another few hours awake. Or less. Maybe less. Worst case scenario, he will wander off to one of Fiddleford’s labs or workshops and climb into a cupboard to sleep, as if he’s on the run from Bill’s forces and can’t sleep openly in an undefended room.

Best case scenario, he’ll end up in Fiddleford’s bed, dead to the world. And, as long as he’s wishing for things, he might ideally sleep for a good four hours. (The middle case scenario for sleep, incidentally, is falling asleep in one of the mansion’s several sitting rooms. Fine, but not great for his back. A cupboard floor is more supportive.)

Now that he’s standing, Ford’s joints feel like water. Loud, popping, grinding water. His left thumb aches fiercely from his arthritis. His right fares better, the right arm having been cut off at the shoulder and regrown when he was fifty. Each time Ford blinks, his eyes click loudly. He can’t believe that a mere few minutes ago he was considering doing something as energetic as having sex.

In Fiddleford’s vast kitchen Ford sits at the scuffed table and mismatched chairs Fidds has crammed inelegantly against the breakfast counter as Fidds makes coffee and preheats the oven. He realizes he’s closed his eyes when he hears Fidds sigh but doesn’t see it.

“I was thinkin’ about pickin’ your brain over a robot I been fiddlin’ with, but somehow I think your brain may be slim pickings this mornin’.”

“Luckily I’m just the looks,” Ford mumbles. Fidds chuckles. 

“Well, you ain’t holdin’ that side up, neither. No offense, darlin’, but you look like ten pounds of shit in a two-pound bag. If you don’t get some sleep soon, Stan’ll think I’m mistreatin’ ya. ”

Ford grimaces at the thought of being passed back and forth between his brother and his lover to be looked after, as if he can’t do a thing for himself. He opens his mouth, thinking naively that it will express the thought in his brain, but instead it says “Is it a bear?”

“What’sat?” Fidds calls.

“The robot you want to build,” Ford calls, propping his forehead on his hand. God, what he wouldn’t give to be in his bunk right now. Why can’t he sleep in Gravity Falls? It was his home for years. He’s slept peacefully in a miniscule bed with Fiddleford more times than he can count, so the gigantic piece of real estate Fiddleford calls a mattress should pose no problem. There’s just nothing that accounts for Ford’s failure in this department.

Ford feels a hand in his hair, hears the thud of a large mug of coffee being set on the table before him.

“Not every robot and elixir I rustle up is inspired by cartoons. I was actually thinkin’ bout something that’d take care of the Mystery Shack’s roofin’ problems. Poor Soos’s got his hands full, and Mabel told me she and Dipper did the retiling last summer.” Fidds takes a slurping sip of coffee, reminding Ford to do the same, savoring the burning feeling as it pours down his throat and into his belly. “And no offense to those two, but they’re no kinda roofers. Somethin’s gotta be done.”

“That’s kind of you,” Ford says, leaning into Fiddleford’s hand.

“I try,” Fidds says fondly.

[mymanyfandomramblings]

👛🗝️

I'm going to answer this for Gravity Falls

👛Favourite Rarepair?

I feel like any ships that don't involve the twins or Pacifica and aren't Fiddauthor are considered rarepairs, so I feel safe saying that if Stan x Lazy Susan counts, I am attached to that. Also TheYoungThousand on AO3 has Wendy x Thompson in their fic series and I have been growing oddly attached.

🗝️Favourite Antagonist

Gideon! As I mentioned before, I find him to be such fun and such a distinct, unique, hilarious and terrifying character.

[sweet-potato-42]

Im a dedicated tubbling. I enjoy QSMP but its kinda dying rn. I watched foolish a lot before.

I pretty much only post about tubbo stream stuff and some qsmp things.

I rewatched gravity falls. Im obsessed with fiddauthor and fiddleford mcgucket.

I become feral at any mention of: soulfire team, madoka magica, pony designs and dnd

I really like physics and science in general. I like reading comics as well

Hablo español pero escribo medio mal

[sleepsentry]

Every other post or mention of fidds or ford is fiddauthor. It's so hard to stay neutral about something that petty-

Like- imagine you like chocolate donuts. And most people like strawberry jam donuts, and every other minute someone's shoving a strawberry jam donut down your throat while lecturing about how strawberry jam donuts are the best and all the other donuts are fine, except chocolate donuts specifically, wich are horrible and disgusting, but you know people are allowed to have bad taste it's fine. :>

I'm so tired of caring about something so petty and stupid.

[jacky-rubou]

random ass prompt idfk: Ford drunk flirting a tipsy Fiddleford in a bar at a sunday night

Ford and Fiddleford were at the local Gravity Falls bar, celebrating the completion of the portal. Though they didn't say that out loud while there, for fear of catching unwanted attention. Ford doesn't normally drink, as he feels it would ruin his brilliant mind if done too often, but this was a special occasion. They were on the cusp of something great that deserved to be recognized with some drinks.

Well it wasn't too long before it was evident that Ford was right to avoid alcohol. After only a few drinks, he had his hands on Fiddleford and was flirting something fierce. Fiddleford could only down one before he stopped, so while he was a little tipsy, he wasn't nearly as drunk as Ford.

"Have I ever told you....." Ford hiccuped, then went on, "how kissable your lips are?" Ford was now holding Fiddleford's face as he said this, ever so slurred. Fiddleford could hardly stop blushing as Ford moved in closer. Ford gave him a passionate, sorta slobbery, kiss that Fiddleford just had to return.

Eventually they had to leave, Fiddleford calling a taxi to take them to the road that leads to the lab house. There, Fiddleford assisted Ford down the road and finally to the house, where they crashed on the couch. This has been quite the celebration that Ford and Fiddleford would hope never to repeat. Ford completely put off alcohol, disliking the inhibitions it removes. Too unprofessional.

Though that isn't to say he didn't love Fiddleford, just that he didn't like the bad flirting and slobbery kisses Fiddleford described to him afterwards. He can show his love in other ways. Ones that are less... chaotic.

[mychlapci]

just woke up from a fucked up dream where there was a gravity falls spin-off novela which happens in like a different universe where instead of gravity falls, ford and fiddleford have a research set in the arctic (since they are old in the story, it must be happening after the show? idk it was a dream) and it's very brokeback mountain-esque, as the main story line is that the two are tormented by their gay feelings. the novela got a live action movie which i also watched in my dream, and i remember that ford was played by some famous guy named 'david rittenburg' who im not exactly sure whether is real or not. it was called 'twisting peaks'.

the reason i'm mentioning this is becouse, one - it was really good. the movie slapped, so did the novela, well written, well directed, welll made. two - this 'david rittenburg' guy looked just like ford, excellent casting. three - the novela has been showing up in my dreams for some time now and four - it was a wildly hyperrealistic dream, out of which when i woke up i was like 'ugh, twisting peaks was such a good movie i cant believe it' and it is in fact, not a good movie (because its not real)

[savetheearthbros]

"why did you lie to me?" fiddlestan

this is a lot longer and a lot more angsty then i meant it to be but enjoy!!

Tw:

Blood, scars, abuse mention

It had been three months since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls. Three months since he pushed Ford into the portal in the basement. Three months without being able to sleep. Two months since he started giving tours of Ford's house.  Three more months for self hatred to add to the ten years he had under his belt. 

    He spent all of his free time out in the town looking for the other two journals. In the forest, near the lake, he even got yelled at by the police for lurking around the elementary school. He’d looked all around the town and came home empty handed every single time. 

    The snow on the ground was finally melting as he was looking for spare parts in the junkyard. He pulled scraps of metal off one another looking for anything that could possibly help with the portal. 

    He opened the hood of one of the many cars that scattered the junkyard only to find a gnome starring him in the face. The gnome hissed at him before scampering off. Stan just rolled his eyes and continued looking for parts from the car. 

    “Stanford?” he heard a voice behind him say nervously. He turned around quickly putting on the persona he used for tours.

    “Yes?” he said, trying to put more confidence behind his words then he had. He turned to see a tall thin man who looked like he had been through hell and hadn’t slept for a week afterwards. His hair was a mess, he had bruises scattering his arms, and a glazed over look in his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked the stranger who only chuckled in response. 

    “So that’s how it’s going to be. Just gonna pretend you don’t know exactly why I’m here.” The man threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “I don’t know how to deal with you anymore, Ford.”

    “Look man, I honestly don’t know what you want from me.” The man pushed him back a lot harder than Stan thought someone of his size could manage. Stan fell against the car behind him. 

    “You’re an asshole, you know that! You spend months working on that portal refusing to let anyone near the house and then all of sudden I leave and you open the place up?” He knew about the portal? “You ruined my life and that’s when I decided enough was enough? Not when I stayed up for three nights straight writing up the work we’ve done in gravity falls? Not when I begged you to shut down the portal?” The man was crying now, clinging onto the front of Stan's coat. 

    Stan stared at the man crying in front of him. He knew something about the portal and from the sounds of it he knew Ford pretty well. He needed his help. Stan racked his brain for something he could say to get the man to help him. 

    “Hey looks… I'm sorry , ok?” the man looked up at a wide eyed Stan. Stan paused for a second trying to come up with an excuse that Ford could have for doing whatever he did to apparently ruin this man's life. “I just got stuck in my research, you know?” the man chuckled dryly.

    “‘I got stuck in my research, I could taste the end result and i didn’t want to let it go’ isn’t that what you told me when i got attacked by the gremloblin?” Stan nodded wondering what a gremloblin is in the back of his head. “Come up with a better fucking excuse then that, you mother fucker!”

    I can’t let him leave. I need his help. Stan thought to himself before grabbing the man's arm. “Please… I need your help.” The man pulled his arm out of Stan's grasp.

    “Of course you do! Why else would you even be talking to me? Why the fuck would you be anywhere fucking near me! You only ever want me when you need my help!” the man screamed. His voice gives out every so often. What had happened to him?

    “You know that’s not true.” Stan assured him, against his own knowledge trying to fix the situation. 

    “No? Then name a fucking time Stanford. You only wanted me when you needed help with the portal or you wanted to pretend someone loved you! Guess what, Stanford? I did love you! I loved you more then anything and you just fucking used me! I left my wife and gave up my son for you! And you just threw me away!” Stan just stared at the man, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening.

    “You… loved me?” he ended up asking under his breath. The man ran a hand through his hair and chucked again softly. 

    “No, Stanford. I just gave up everything to be with you. And I've spent every night with you since I arrived here. I just chose to sleep in your bed rather than mine. I just kissed you ever possible opportunity I possibly could just fucking because.” Stan looked at the man shocked. 

     Stanford and this crazy guy standing in front of him had been dating? He always knew Ford was gay but really were his standards really this low? To go for some crazy lunatic that doesn’t look like he’s showered in weeks. 

    “But if you have to ask it just proves to me you were using me.” Think Stanley! he told himself ``you're losing him “It doesn’t matter, anyways. I’m done with you.” The man turned to walk away and before Stan could think he grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss.

 It was the only thing he could think to do. The man clearly loved Stanford and the best way to get his help is to use his feelings against him. He knew it was a shitty thing to do but it’s not like he hadn’t done it before.

The man froze for a second before melting into the kiss and threading his fingers in Stan's hair. Stan wrapped his arms around the man's waist to pull him in. the man made a content noise against Stan's lips before pulling back to catch his breath. He looked down sadly and dropped his hands to Stan's shoulders. 

“You know this doesn't prove anything right? This is just another way you decided to use me...” he trailed off at the end of new tears following the trails left by the past dried ones.

“Please.” Stan mumbled softly under his breath. “I need you.” It was true. He might not have needed him in the same way as Ford did but he did truly need him. He was the only he could possibly get help from. The man looked up into Stan's eyes before sighing softly.

“Fine. But you have to promise me that Bill is gone and ain’t coming back.”  Bill? Who was Bill? Was he another guy Ford knew? Did he cheat with him? Is that how Ford ruined this man's life? 

Stan thought for a second before answering “Bill is gone for good. I don't want anything to do with that monster after what happened.'' Stan saw hope flicker in the man's eyes only for a second before he leaned in and kissed Stan softly.

“It’s just us again.” the man confirmed. Stan nodded. This was going to be easier than he thought. This man was talking his word as gospel. Pretending to be Ford was gonna be a sinch even with this guy around. 

“Should we go back to the house then?” Stan asked and to his delight the man nodded. The man started walking in the direction of the shack and stood close behind him. 

There were still a few problems that Stan was going to have to figure out. For instance if this man was truly wanting to start a relationship with him he’d have to figure out the six fingers thing. And he was going to have to figure out how far he was willing to go for this project because the man was going to want to have sex eventually. What were his excuses for not doing it for long amounts of time or ever at all? But most importantly how was he going to figure out his name. 

Fidds had been living with him at the shack for 24 hours now and he’d been hiding his hands in every way possible while he tried to figure out what to do about them. He finally decided on what he was going to do but he dreaded it.

He sat at Ford's desk staring at the knife in front of him trying to work up the courage to slice the sides of his hands. 

“Come on Stan you can do this. You’ve had to go through worse stuff than this. This is just self inflicted.” He tried to force a laugh to convince himself he was fine but it just came out broken.

He pulled out his lighter from his pocket. The most convincing way to do this would be to cauterize the wound afterwards but god was it going to hurt. He picked up the knife and held it against the outside of his pinky and took a deep breath. 

Later in his life Dipper and Mabel would ask about the scars and he would make something up off of the top of his head about a bear fight.

The conversation with the man went well. He was heartbroken that Stanford would do that but apparently when Ford got drunk for the first time with Fidds he had taken a knife to this extra finger so it wasn’t hard for the man to swallow.

He was running out of nicknames he could call the man without sounding suspicious and he needed to find a way to figure out his name. He had been writing words on a page in random order pretending to work on something for almost an hour when he had a brilliant idea.

He looked up the man sitting across the table from him. “What’s your name again?” the man looked up in shock and for a second stan doubted his decision. 

“Fiddleford?” he paused as he watched stan write it down “How can you not remember my name? We’ve known each other since college and we’ve dated for three years.” The heartbreak in Fiddleford's voice was enough for Stan to scramble for an explanation.

“I meant your last name! I just figured I’d write it down anyways since I needed it too.” Fiddleford relaxed in his seat, but he still seemed on edge.

“You should know my last name too. '' he pondered. “Esspecically since you agreed to take it the second gay marriage becomes legalized.” he added jokingly. They both laughed at that idea for a second before Stan added 

“I was asking how to spell it.” Fiddleford laughed softly

“It’s like bucket but with ‘mc’ in front of it” he answered before returning to the computer he was tinkering with in front of him 

“McBucket?” Stan asked, writing it down as he said it out loud. Fiddlford laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes my name’s Fiddleford McBucket. Nice to meet you.” Stan looked up at him expectly “McGucket you nerd. You better learn it soon because even if we can’t get married you promised me you’d be Stanford McGucket by 1990.” Stan jerked his head up from where it had been while he was writing and Fiddleford seemed to get a good laugh out of it. “You did! You were drunk but you did.”

Ok so get the portal up and running before 1990 Stan thought to him shit the portal. I gotta ask about that “hey um” he trailed off thinking of the right words to say “how would you feel about helping me get the portal operational again?” 

Fiddleford looked up at Stan, fear coloring his features. All the blood had drained from his face and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “No.” he snapped, Stan's face fell as he realized this was going to be the hardest part of all of this.

“Why not?” he asked. He was sincerely hoping the man would say something easy to fix like ‘we don't have the right tools’ or ‘you have to secretly be your own twin brother posing as Stanford’ but the chances of that were slim. 

“Because I almost died trying to get that machine up and running and I don’t want to have to go through that again.” He looked down at the computer. No longer tinkering with it just staring at it. 

“I promise we’ll be safer with it. I won’t let it happen again. I just need to get it opened.” Fiddleford looked up at him and sighed.

“Fine but I'm out of here the second it stops working.” Stan had to hide his excitement. He didn’t want Fiddleford to think he was using him, despite the fact that he was. 

“You’ll come back when I shut it down, right?” he asked honestly, not caring about the answer.

 Fidds looked up at him and smiled lovingly at him. Stan didn’t want to admit it but it made his heart skip a bit with how loving he was. “Of course I will.” he grabbed Stan's hand from across the table “You’re stuck with me for good this time.” 

    Stan couldn’t help but smile at the comment. He stroked Fiddleford’s hand with his thumb and tried not to think about the fact that Fiddleford thought he was holding hands with Stanford and not him. 

    Stan had traveled around the country for ten years of his life. He thought himself to be a well cultured man. Someone who could deal with pretty much anything. But that was before he walked in on Fidds sitting on the ground with what looked like a funky gun to his head. 

    “Fidds. What’re you doing? What-” He stopped himself before asking what it was. He was sure Stanford would know and therefore he couldn’t ask. Fidds dropped the gun from his temple and looked up at Stan. His eyes were puffy and red and he was trembling. Before Stan knew it he was sitting on the ground next to him pulling him into a hug. 

    “I'm sorry for I know you told me to destroy this and I'm sorry I just couldn't. I just want to forget… the memories of that thing  you worked with… the memories of Bill… they just keep popping up. I just want to forget...“ he sobbed against Stan's shoulder. Stan didn’t understand any of it but if Ford thought it was dangerous it probably was. 

    He held out his hand silently asking for the gun. Fidds pulled it into his chest like it was a teddy bear. “Fidds, please.” Stan begged softly. Fiddleford reluctantly hands over the gun and stands, sets it down on the ground behind him and pulls Fidds into the hug again. 

    “Whatever happens, I'll protect you. I promise.” Stan assured.  He wanted so badly to have meant it. He wanted to be there if Fidds ever had to face Bill. Hell he wanted to rip Bill apart piece by piece, but he knew one day he was going to be one of the things Fidds wanted to forget so badly. 

    It had been a year since he had started working with Fidds. Everything had gone smoothly since the incident with the gun, which Stan now kept in the basement under lock and key. Fidds had started working shifts with Stan and the tours of the house. He complained about it at first but grew to love it over time. They spent everyday working together, every evening working on the portal, and every night curled up in their bed together.

    Stan was the closest he had been to happiness in years. He had everything he ever wanted. There were only two problems. His brother was still trapped on the other side of the portal and his boyfriend was only dating him because he thought he was his brother. Stan tried to ignore those facts unless he had too. 

    They haven't made much progress with the portal and everyday that Ford wasn’t on their side of the portal he got more scared that he wasn't coming back. He tried to push that thought from his mind whenever he could but it was hard to forget when that was the only reason he was doing what he was. 

    “Ford?” Fidds asked from behind him, tearing Stan from his thoughts. “I have bad news.'' Stan's heart skipped a beat and he turned around. “Your father passed away...” Stan tried not to sigh out of relief. Thank god it wasn’t something with the portal. 

    “Ok.” he said calmly. “Thank you for telling me” He turned back to his work unphased by the news. Fidds came up behind him and rested his hands on stnas shoulders. 

    “You’re allowed to be upset.” He assured as he started to rub his shoulders. Stan leaned back into the contact. It never really crossed his mind that Ford might have taken the news badly. He didn’t know Ford's relationship with their father. He decided this was going to be one of those times that we talked more as himself then as Ford. 

    “Good riddance honestly.” he huffed. Fidds took a step back and Stan sighed softly at the lack of contact “Hey, I was enjoying that '' he turned around to face Fidds who looked extremely upset. “What’s wrong F?”

    “What’s wrong is you should be more upset!” Oh, shit! Ford did have a good relationship with their father. “You and your dad talked constantly! What changed?” Stan didn’t have a good answer. He was trying to dig himself out of a pretty deep hole. So instead of talking he just shrugged.

    “Man’s always been an ass it just got worse when I started the tours.” Fidds didn’t seem satisfied with that answer but he dropped it anyways. He probably thought that Stan would come to his senses and admit to his feelings but honestly Stan couldn’t care less that the old guy was dead. He had beat him and Ford their whole lives and kicked him out over a stupid mistake. 

    He wondered why Ford had kept up to date his dad. He wondered if he had forgiven him for everything he did to them as children. Then again Ford didn't get beat nearly as often or as bad. Maybe it was easier for Ford to brush it off. Maybe he forgave his dad when Stan was kicked out. 

    That thought made Stan’s blood go cold. Stanford might have fixed his relationship with his father because he kicked him out. Maybe Ford just wanted Stan gone.

    He couldn't get himself to work on the portal that night. Instead he and Fidds just watched mindless tv until they fell asleep in each other's arms. 

    Stan has screwed up. He had screwed up big time. He didn’t think he would ever be able to dig himself out of this hole. 

    Fidds and his relationship had been going great for the last year and a half. They were comfortable with each other, So it was no wonder that Fiddleford wanted to be intimate. But Stan had issues with that idea. For starters, he’s not the person Fiddleford wanted to have sex with and the idea of having sex with someone who thought you were your brother wasn’t the most appealing thought.

    But when Fiddleford started kissing his neck and sliding his hands under his shirt while they were watching some random romcom Stan had a hard time holding back. He pulled Fidds into his lap and kissed him until they both were breathless. He pulled off Fidds’s shirt and kissed down his chest. He wanted nothing more than to worship Fidds and never let go of him. 

    Fidds threaded his fingers in Stan's hair and pulled him up by it, earning a moan from Stan. Fidds pulled him into a kiss and pulled his shirt over his head. If Stan would have been thinking he would have stopped him. He would have told him he wanted to stop. Anything to get him not to take his shirt off but he wasn’t thinking. He was drunk off Fidds's kiss.

    Fidds kissed his neck and ran his hands over Stan's chest before stopping abruptly and looking down at the myriad of scars scattering Stan's torso. Scars that Ford didn’t have. Fidds brow furrowed, trying to figure out what he was seeing. He looked up at Stan looking for the answer. Stan didn’t have one.

    “You didn’t have any of these last time.” he stated. “And there’s no way you could have gotten some of these without me knowing” he ran his fingers over a bullet wound scar on the side of Stan’s torso. “So what the hells going on Stanford?”

    Stan swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a good enough lie  that could get him out of this. He was panicking. He tried to say something but he could only stutter out ‘um’s and ‘well’s. 

    Fiddleford stood up. Stan expected to find anger but all he saw on Fidds’s face was confusion. He wished more that he could lie himself out of this situation but he couldn’t see a way out. So he settled with honesty.

    “I’m not Ford. And I haven't been for awhile.” Fidds laughed softly. Clearly trying to convince himself this was a joke. 

    “You have to be Ford. I mean who else would you be? I mean look at you!” Stan looked at him sadly. Realization hit Fidds like a truck. “Stanley...” he said softly “Stanford used to mumble that in his sleep… I always figured it was the brother he used to talk about. I never thought it could be his twin.” Stan stood up, reaching for Fidds’s hand. Fidds pulled his hand away like he had been burned.

    “You lied to me!” he screamed. Stan only looked down and nodded at the ground in response. “Why?” Stan looked up unsure of how to answer “Why did you lie to me?” he yelled tears now streaming down his face.

    “There was an accident,” Stan tried to explain. “Ford ended up on the other side of the portal. I need your help to save him.” fidds only stared at him in shock.

    “You mean to tell me you’ve been Ford since the portal broke?” he snapped. Stan nodded again and Fidds laughed dryly, tears streaming down his face. “It’s been almost two years! You’ve been pretending to be Ford for almost two years!” he was sobbing in between his words. Stan wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him everything was going to be ok. 

    “Fidds I’m sor- '' Stan was cut off but Fidds’s fist collided with his nose. He fell back onto the ground holding his nose. He looked up at Fiddleford whose expression had gone dark. 

    “Dont fucking apologize to me!” he screamed “You. Lied. To. Me. For. Two. Fucking. Years.” He kicked Stan in the stomach after every word. 

Stan took each blow. He deserved it. Fidds didn’t deserve to be lied to, let alone for two years. Stan looked up at Fidds, tears mixed with blood from his nose dripping down his face. 

Fidds kicked him in the jaw before leaning down and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Stay the fuck away from me you hear? I don't want anything to do with you.” He stormed out of the house slamming the door behind him. 

Stan turned so he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. He made no move to get up for hours. He just stared into space and thought about everything that had happened in the past year and a half. He regretted all of it and yet he regretted none of it. He regretted hurting Fidds but he never wanted to give up the memories they had made together.

Stan sobbed as he realized he had fallen in love with Fidds over the year and a half they had known each other. The love of his life now wanted nothing to do with him and it was all his fault.

When he did get up he got a stack of napkins for the bleeding and headed down into the basement to bury his face in work and try to forget about the man he loved all but spitting in his face.

Dipper and Mabel had been living in Gravity Falls for over three months now. Ford had come out of the portal , Weirdmageddon had already come and gone, and their birthday was coming up soon. Dipper had solved all of the mysteries he had wanted to solve but one of the mysteries Mabel was trying to solve never came to be.

Why did Grunkle Stan seem so sad whenever he looked at Old Man McGucket?

[kingofthewilderwest]

So I’m speaking from my own personal spin, but I love how Fiddleford McGucket can feel like such a musician.

Characters are often incidentally musicians. Writers throw it in there without thought to how music interplays with their life. You could blink and miss it. It doesn’t frame the character’s interests or personality, and if not for one minor scene, you wouldn’t think they had musical background. 

But irl, I often meet people who have (as I affectionately call it) “Musician Brain.”

For some diehard musicians, music is embedded in our personality. You can’t take the musician out of us. We’re constantly thinking and acting out music even when there isn’t an instrument near us. Music gets entangled in quirks, subconscious behaviors, habits, actions, life choices, thought processes, and more. I feel like most fictional musician characters lack that “vibe” or “quirk”. But one thing that entertains me about McGucket is that he can be read as a That Dork With Musician Brain.

I mean like...

The two things Ford buys when McGucket arrives in Gravity Falls are microchips and banjo strings. Sure, Fiddleford might’ve said he needed them. But Ford’s charging to the store because he’s excited and grateful Fiddleford is here, and wants to purchase gifts to make him feel at home. Apparently, the comforts of home aren’t complete without music. That banjo came to the dorms back in the day, didn’t it? Ford probably saw that banjo in the dorms.

It was Important Enough(TM) to be mentioned in Journal #3: Ford set up the ground rule “no banjo playing after eight.” Why? Because otherwise, there would be banjo after eight. Wonderful, beautiful, skilled banjo music. Late at night. When Ford wanted to fucking sleep. There’d be that musician. Still playing. The fucking banjo. After eight. The fact Ford mentions this information early in his journals also means... this was dealt with right away. It had to be dealt with right away. Either because Ford had already experienced this phenomenon ahead of time (college), or because they’d already run into this problem in Gravity Falls... of banjo being played... after eight.

Have you noticed that at all of McGucket’s work stations, the banjo is there? He sets it up beside him during the journal research period. He has it by him in his Palo Alto garage. He’s even got the freaking banjo with him inside the gobblewonker. The banjo is literally part of his work environment. If Fiddleford wanted a real break from work, he could store his musical instruments anywhere. He’d leave the work station, play music, come back. But the instrument needs to be IN EASY REACH. That’s no accident. It’s there to fiddle with while he’s working, while he’s mulling over a problem, while he’s taking a one minute break... etc.

Fiddleford, while idly thinking, automatically starts doing MUSIC THINGS. For instance: hamboning on his knees while doing math calculations. (I know GF made hamboning quasi-linguistic, but if we wanted, we could suggest that before shit hit the fan, Fiddleford used hamboning as the musical thing it is.) No wonder Ford commented in the journal he could “put up with” Fiddleford’s eccentricities. It would be something that needed... tolerance. I’m imagining a quiet day in the lab, and then... whack-a-whack-a-whack-whack-a-whakkk. Try concentrating on your mind-grueling advanced research while the guy next to you is smacking up a rhythmically complicated groove using himself as a drum! Did Fiddleford get glares for that? I’m betting Fiddleford got glares for that.

Granted, flashbacks with Fiddleford don’t cover his happiest life period. He’s tense, on edge, anxious, not smiling. But maybe there’s something to be said that the one and only time we see young McGucket at ease smiling... is when he’s playing his instrument. 

By the way. It’s not just one banjo. In Palo Alto, McGucket didn’t have one instrument he could play in his “home office.” He had two, set up, right there. Two instruments. One garage. I can tell you for a fact, once the instruments start multiplying, you’re usually a lost cause.

SPEAKING OF BANJOS MULTIPLYING. When you open the front cover of Journal #3, you get blueprints labeled “From the Desk of Fiddleford H. McGucket.” Most is professional. The raccoons are eyebrow-raising. But most is professional. And then we get to the Gideon Bot, which, for NO REASON AT ALL, has a storage chamber dedicated to a “prize banjo collection.” What. What is that doing there, Fiddleford. I know that wasn’t Gideon’s idea. Why are you amassing banjos in a giant tyrant robot? 

Need to keep this guy awake through a long night? Drown him in coffee and blast those bluegrass records.

The science bros plan a serious expedition to an alien spaceship crash site. This will be an aweing experience, especially for Fiddleford, who’ll be seeing it his first time. The expedition is serious work, key to their endeavored scientific breakthroughs. It’ll be a several day rigorous hiking trip through uncivilized wilds, through forests and caves and more, through dangerous paranormal areas. They’ll only be able to carry bare essential supplies with them. There’s no room for anything besides bare essentials. What’s a bare essential? That Fiddleford can’t live two and a half days without? That he absolutely needs to bring? Apparently? His fucking banjo. He brought his fucking banjo.

Speaking of bringing banjos where no banjo should go... let’s try “parachuting through the air into the evil layer of a dream demon for a last stand apocalyptic rescue mission.” Yeah, McGucket uses the instrument like a weapon. That hurts my soul - musical instruments aren’t weapons. You could suggest it’s for self-defense that the instrument came. But... there would’ve been three hundred other things in the Mystery Shack better equipped for self-defense. And yet you parachuted hundreds of feet through the air with a banjo on your back. 

No apocalypse shelter is complete without your musical instrument!

Can’t move into the new home without the banjo, either! Basically the only thing he brought, too.

Ever thought about how, post-memory loss and life collapse, the one quality possession he manages to keep with him... is his banjo?

And he still plays and practices music consistently! He mentions in “Land Before Swine” he has an “hourly hootenanny.” It’s a self-scheduled time for music that he’s presumably repeating most days. 

Speaking of “Land Before Swine”, McGucket says he loses musical spoons to a dinosaur. It’s to note that spoons are sometimes used as percussion, including in American folk music. This isn’t McGucket speaking nonsense. This is him knowing stringed instruments and percussion.

Mental health struggles, self-inflicted memory loss, and a poor living situation have taken their toll on McGucket through the decades. But that can’t destroy how music sings through his soul. When he plays, “the age lift[s] off his face,” and Ford can see “the Fiddleford who had been [his] friend so many years ago.” McGucket is relaxed, happy, and at peace with his instrument, so much that his identity sings together with the strings. Ford recognizes his friend of old - his friend back before shit hit the fan - because that man playing banjo is who Fiddleford is.

In a way, music is what demonstrates resolution to Fiddleford’s character arc - both his growth arc, and his relationship with Ford. He starts the story as a man smiling on his instrument, playing music contently. He goes through many issues once he starts research in Gravity Falls. And then he ends the story as a man again smiling on his instrument, playing music contently. Smiling on the banjo is the bookmark start and the bookmark end, showing he’s grown back emotionally after all the struggles. Not to mention... music’s sorta the resolving moment where two old, close friends find peace. Ford and Fiddleford have had decades of guilt, pain, and consequences from their mistakes. A key symbolic moment of their relationship being mended - fully mended - is when the two can listen to the banjo together.

Again, this is my own spin, but I live for how Fiddleford McGucket comes off as so musicianny to me. As a composer who’s constantly carting a pennywhistle in my satchel... who hums with my electric toothbrush because it vibrates on middle C... who curses the fact I have apartment neighbors because otherwise I’d have my viola out at 4 AM... I’m damn charmed to encounter a fictional character who I feel emanates musician vibes, musician quirks... Musician Brain.