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viceroywrites · 14 days ago

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deja vu - part eight (ford route)

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

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

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

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

part seven | part nine

interested in the stan route? click here for masterlist.

a!n: i owe everyone the biggest apology for how long this chapter took me but it's finally here! thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this chapter and is still reading this series. we've gotten most of the lore/memory heavy chapters done so hoping these next few chapters left will be easier to write! heads up for all my canon compliance peeps, there are parts of this chapter that veer off canon elements from book of bill but they're not too extreme. hope you all enjoy this chapter!

songs to listen to for this chapter from ford playlist:

headlock by imogen heap

ghosting by mother mother

doomsday

chemistry by gigi perez

sweet dreams by eurthymics

the funeral by band of horses

The dim porchlight flickers, illuminating Ford’s path as he paces back and forth with antsy. The porch underneath his boots creaks, the wood starting to wear down after years of being stepped all over as well as being pretty much torn apart when it served as a mech-robot during Weirdmageddon.

The sound of tires rolling over the gravel and grass covered path that led up to the Mystery Shack finally halted Ford’s movements. He looks up, seeing a beat-up pick up truck approaching. Once it stops, Fiddleford hops out of the passenger seat, waving at his son. “I’ll come pick ya up in the mornin’, dad. I’m goin’ back to bed.” Tate grumbles.

“You woke up your son to bring you here?” Ford questions Fiddleford as he walks up to the porch, giving Tate a nod before watching him drive off. Fiddleford looked his old friend dead in the eyes, “If I drove down that hill, you woulda seen a bunch of roadkill the next morning. I’d like to spare the little critters.”

“Point taken, follow me.” Ford says, opening the creaky screen door into the Mystery Shack. Fiddleford walks through, following Ford down into the basement, his heartbeat racing as they descend down the stairs. He could feel the tension radiating from Ford, his posture stiff and jaw clenched, making the cleft on his chin more prominent. Despite mending their friendship and putting the past behind them last summer, Fiddleford had to admit there was a part of him that still felt antsy when Ford seemed upset.

“Listen, S, I know you’re probably awfully mad at me right now-” Fiddleford decides to try and rip the bandaid off before Ford can say anything, but he’s quickly cut off. “F, I’m not mad at you. I’m just perplexed and honestly concerned.” Ford explains, glancing at the monitor, “Tell me, and be completely honest with me, Fiddleford. How many times did you wipe her memory?”

Fiddleford scratched his head, some of his older memories still foggy after years of memory gun usage. “Well, I reckon, it was maybe two times max. There was that one time… oh no, I erased my own memory that time, she was fine with keeping that one.” Ford let out a sigh, realizing that most likely was the best answer he could have heard from his friend. He walks over to the monitor, turning it on, “I have to show you what I witnessed… I didn’t realize… Bill was tormenting the two of you even after you both left.”

Ford winces, having to rewatch now for the third time Bill possessing his body and wrapping his own hands around your throat. The knot in his stomach grew tighter, averting his gaze to address Fiddleford who squirms at the sight, “You couldn’t have built a fast-forward function, Fiddleford?” Fiddleford simply shrugs, “I built this back in the 80s, Stanford. Plus I reckon I wasn’t planning on anyone actually watching their memories back considerin’ I was trying to erase every reminder of those anomalies.”

Ford picks up on how Fiddleford’s left leg thumps against the ground, and his thumbs twiddle together. A nervous tic his best friend had even before coming to Gravity Falls. He quickly swipes a Rubik’s cube off his desk, tossing it over to Fiddleford to fidget with, before pulling up a chair for him to sit down in, “Might as well get comfortable, old friend. We’re going to be here for a moment.”

Since the run-in with Bill, you had been avoiding Ford like the plague.

It had not gone unnoticed.

Any attempts to initiate any form of affection shot down, and Ford was starting to give up.

“Y/N, have I done something? If so, I cannot fix it unless you tell me what’s plaguing your mind.” Ford sighs, holding your cheeks in his palms, his thumb caressing your temple. You longed to lean into his touch, but feeling those fingertips inch towards the chin had you pulling back. “I’m alright, Ford… just a bit exhausted from today. I think I’m going to call it for the evening.”

“Thought you were going to help F and I do some welding tonight? The more hands we have working on the portal, the better.” Ford questions, head tilting in skepticism. You brush his hand away, and give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’ll have to take a rain check on that, maybe next week?” Ford puts his hands up in defeat, “Alright then, good night, my dear.”

Your shoulder bumps against Fiddleford, shooting him an apologetic smile before silently making your way up the stairs. Fiddleford glances back at you in confusion, pulling up his welding mask to quirk an eyebrow up at Ford.

“Ya’ll in another lovers’ quarrel? What’d you do this time?” Fiddleford asked. Ford promptly flicks his friend’s welding mask down over his face, placing a welder in his hand, “Less talk, more welding, F.”

Slipping into bed, sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped, spending most of the evening tossing and turning beneath the sheets. Seeing nothing staring back at you but the neatly made side of the bed stings, a reminder of the gap that was starting to grow between you and Ford.

You could make the case that it was self-inflicted, but a hand on a throat by an interdimensional entity possessing your lover’s body was quite persuasive.

Growing restless, you decide to get some respite by swinging by the kitchen to grab a glass of water and stargazing on the roof. Rubbing your eyes, you glance at the clock at your bedside table.

1:00 AM.

You wonder if the pair were still in the basement, toiling away at the portal. There was some guilt about leaving Fiddleford hanging, knowing he had been restless himself about working on this portal and dealing with the anomalies of Gravity Falls.

As you rounded the corner and made your way to the kitchen, you passed by the living room. A sense of relief flooded you to see Fiddleford sleeping peacefully, but it was quickly replaced with sadness at what was in his hands.

The Memory Gun.

Fiddleford had used it every so often after a harrowing anomaly hunt, seeing disturbing creatures and not knowing how to compartmentalize it.

You gingerly maneuver Fiddleford’s fingers to loosen the grip on the device before taking it from his palms and placing it behind the chair.

“Man, I thought the hillbilly would never fall asleep, gemstone. Whatever that device was, it actually worked. I might have to try it out for a spin next time.” The sound of that voice has you almost dropping the Memory Gun, your blood running cold. You could almost feel the phantoms of those fingers around your neck, but try to push away the image, refusing to turn around to even look at Bill.

Rising up slowly, you attempt to walk past Ford’s body, hoping to continue your original plan. It was wishful thinking, a tight grasp enclosed around your wrist. “Oof, not the cold shoulder, gemstone. That may work on Sixer, but I much prefer direct communication.” Bill tugs you back with some force, your feet losing balance. The hands that you once found comfort in grip your forearms tightly to catch you.

“Listen, Cipher, I’ve stayed out of the way just like you wanted. I just want to get a glass of water and go back upstairs.” You sigh under your breath, refusing to give Bill the satisfaction he craves to see the pain in your eyes as you avert your gaze. His narrow pupils examine you, “Oh, I know you got my message loud and clear last time, gemstone. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to give the same one to your hillbilly friend. Maybe we should wake him up and tell him.”

Your head finally snaps to meet Bill’s sadistic grin, opening Ford’s mouth wide about to yell. You wriggle your arm out of his hold, slapping a hand over his mouth, “Don’t you dare rope Fiddleford into this.” Bill pulls away, grinning down at you mockingly. He releases his grip on you, tapping his chin, “Hmm, I have a proposition for ya, gemstone.”

Your eyebrow raises, a pit in your stomach forming. Whatever his proposition is, it can’t be good.

Bill continues before you can begin to question him, “You keep Hillbilly from interfering with my work with Ford, and I’ll make sure Ford gets the rest you want him to.”

You whip your head up to meet his gaze incredulously, his proposition seemingly contradicting the message he had given you a few weeks ago, “I thought you wanted him focused on working on the portal. Why would you actually give him rest?”

Bill gives a shrug, “I forget you humans have these fleshy bodies that are dependent on things like sleep and food. As a result, Sixer’s work has gotten pretty sloppy. Maybe getting some sleep and an actual meal might do him some good.”

You scoff, “It’s almost like you actually care about him.”

“I’m all about efficiency. I mean some of those formulas were rough, you should’ve seen them.” Bill brushes off the notion, circling you almost like a predator circles its prey before extending his hand out with a wide grin that’s almost cartoon-like as Ford’s gums are clearly visible.

“So do we have a deal, Gemstone?”

You glance at the extended hand with hesitation.

There has to be a catch to this… but isn’t this what you wanted this whole time?

Looking past the entity possessing his body, you see how dark the circles are underneath Ford’s eyes, his chin dotted with stubble, and his skin stripped of any glow.

Your hand reaches to shake Bill’s hand, “You got yourself a deal, Cipher.”

Ford’s expression turns sour, seeing you fall into the same trap he found himself in when he first met Bill. A false hope that the deal would be honored and everyone would get what they wanted. That’s what Bill preyed on.

Humanity’s inner wishes, desires, hopes and dreams for the future.

“Ah jeez that means…” Fiddleford’s foot began tapping against the ground, that old feeling of paranoia seeping back in.

“Bill was able to access her mindscape..” Ford finishes his thought. He reaches over to tap Fiddleford’s hand, reminding him to focus on solving the Rubik’s cube. “Say F, did you ever have dreams like Y/N?”

Fiddleford blinked, shaking his head and causing his long beard to shake about, “Nope, but I used that memory gun till the cows came home, Ford.”

Ford hummed, “Stanley would have them occasionally… vague details but certain faces and parts were just blank or he woke up before he could make them out.” He glances over at his friend cautiously, “Shall we forge on?”

Fiddleford takes a deep breath before nodding, giving Ford the green light to pick up where they left off.

You glance over your shoulder, hearing Fiddleford’s feet pacing around the kitchen.

Ford had just left to get some fresh air after spending another night cooped up in the basement and catching up with his journal entries, stopping by a local diner. This left you alone with Fiddleford for once, his anxieties finally tumbling out.

“And this muse of his gives me the heebie jeebies. Whenever he takes over Ford’s body, it’s straight from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Y/N, I tell ya.” Fiddleford rambles, “Maybe we should put a stop to all this research, I feel like we’re dipping into territory I’d rather not touch. Ya gotta talk some sense into him, Y/N.”

Your eyes meet, your gaze sympathetic as you place the dishes you were cleaning down and wipe your hands off with a rag. Every fiber in your being wants to tell your friend that you agree, that you two should both confront Ford together, and perhaps the concern of the two people he is closest to would sway his desire for answers and to prove his worth.

However, the deal you made with Bill echoes through your head when you see concern etched across Fiddleford’s expression.

“Listen, Fidds, I know things have been tough…” You begin, the words struggling to come out. Your brain echoes the word ‘Liar’ over and over again as you attempt to assuage Fiddleford’s concerns, “But we have to trust Ford. He’s so close to accomplishing his life’s work, and he needs our support.”

“I dunno, Y/N, I have a bad feeling about this portal. Like what if this unleashes some cosmic horror or tears us apart atom by atom?” Fiddleford sighs, sharing the doomsday scenarios that were constantly circling his brain.

You place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him from his thoughts. “Fidds, this is Ford we’re talking about. The man is the embodiment of pure logic. If the portal had any hint of that, he would have caught it by now.” You say, a taste of your own hope on your tongue when you say that. “He needs us… but I get you need a break. The holidays are right around the corner, how about you go and visit Emma May? I can hold down the fort.”

Fiddleford gazes back at you, seeing the desperation in your eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. He gives a wary smile, placing a hand atop yours, “A break sounds like a good idea. Maybe it’ll give me a fresh set of eyes with this project.”

Your shoulders relax at Fiddleford’s response, but you still feel the heaviness on your tongue from the words that felt like lies.

‘I’m so sorry, Fidds… I have to make sure Ford gets some rest.’ You think.

Bill kept up his end of the bargain.

Winter came and went without a trace of his presence. Fiddleford left to be with his family during the holidays. You and Ford spent some quality time together, huddled by the fireplace and reading together in silence, before Fiddleford inevitably returned.

Watching Ford and Fiddleford put up lights to hang onto the portal with a mug of eggnog in hand, it felt symbolic of what you had hoped were new beginnings and putting the past few months of building this portal behind you.

Your hopes were dashed after waking up the following morning, your bare feet barely avoiding the glass from the snowglobe Fiddleford had gifted Ford that laid shattered on the floor. You had woken up to an empty bed, and Ford was nowhere to be found.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally up!”

Your blood ran cold at the sound of that mocking voice that you had hoped you would never hear again. You glance over your shoulder, looking for Ford’s form first. Instead, everything around you is tinted in gray, the world around you eerily still. A low whistle comes from above you, and your eyes lock with the yellow triangle that sits atop the bookshelf, his eye squinting almost with glee.

“... Bill? Where the hell is Ford?” You ask, a bit surprised to finally see him in his true form that you’d seen in tapestries that lined Ford’s office in the basement. Your mind goes to potential worst case scenarios, which Bill almost laughs at, now having access to your thoughts and mindscape.

“Whoa, whoa, quite the active brain you’ve got there, gemstone! Lucky for you this isn’t a Mayan human sacrifice situation, Sixer’s in the basement working on the portal.” Bill says mockingly, circling around you.

“I thought we had a deal…” You mutter, wincing at Bill’s cackle.

“We did, and did I not hold up my end of the bargain, gemstone?” Bill says, flicking you in the nose, “Sixer got a whole month off like you wanted, and now he’s ready to start working on the portal again! Besides, I don’t need you to keep the hillbilly away anymore, turns out a more direct approach worked on Sixer.”

You feel frozen in place, the walls caving in on you as any hopes of being rid of Bill are completely shattered. You can practically envision the massive grin across Bill’s features if he had a mouth as your face deflates into defeat.

“Now don’t be so down in the dumps, gemstone!” Bill says with a light hearted tone, “We’re this close to the finish line,” emphasizing it by squeezing his fingers together, “and you wouldn’t want to pull Sixer away from it when he can just taste it, right?”

Your blood boils as Bill continues to the charade of acting like he’s some benevolent being assisting Ford in his research, that pushing Ford to the brink of exhaustion was somehow benefitting him, “You can’t convince me that you don’t have an ulterior motive to this portal, Bill…”

Bill’s eye narrows at you, his light-hearted facade cracking briefly, and he floats close to your face, “Oh, I don’t have to convince you. I’ve already got Sixer convinced, but go ahead and try to stop me, gemstone.” He cackles and begins to float away, disappearing from your sight and the hues of the room around you finally coming back.

You jump at the sudden sound of Fiddleford calling out your name for a third time. He had stumbled upon you on the way to the kitchen staring down at the snowglobe that was shattered on the floor, almost as if you were fixed in a trance.

“Everything alright? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Fiddleford asks, bending down to pick up the glass shards that were dangerously close to your feet.

Paranoia seeps through your veins, feeling as if Bill is watching you through every damn triangular shaped window in the shack. You gulp, the truth getting stuck in your throat before letting out a shaky, “Y-Yeah… let me help you.”

The two men watch helplessly as Bill makes it his personal mission over the following weeks to get rid of any fight that was left in you to raise your concerns to Ford. Bill had full reign to your mindscape after the deal, giving him access to the darkest depths of your psyche - your fears, your hopes, your insecurities. All of which he used to concoct pure nightmare fuel, night after night. Your evenings were spent tossing and turning in your sheets, haunted by unsettling visions of your worst fears.

The only respite at this point was forcing yourself to stay up as late as possible, sitting on the roof of the cabin. The night sky being the only thing you could rely on as Fiddleford’s anxiety grew worse, and the gap between you and Ford continued to widen, his own paranoia growing.

“All this time, I thought I was the only one Bill had subjected this torture too… if only I had known… if only I hadn’t pushed her away, maybe we could’ve gotten through this together.” Ford reflects out loud, feelings of regret bubbling to the surface, “She had to go through this all alone, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with me at the end of it all.”

“Can’t beat yourself up over the past, S… you couldn’t have known..” Fiddleford attempts to provide Ford comfort before being cut off, “You knew, she knew! Everyone has been able to see through Bill’s sweet talk and deception except for me… all it took was a couple boosts of my ego and he played me like a sucker.” Ford sighs, running his hands through his gray locks.

Fiddleford reaches up to grab Ford’s forearms, “Listen, S, we can’t change what happened back then, but trying to forget and pointing fingers didn’t get us nowhere. All we can do now is learn from our mistakes, and move forward.”

Fiddleford’s rational words calm Ford down for a moment, and he lets out a sigh, “You’re right… I’m honestly surprised after everything, she didn’t ask you to wipe her memories sooner.”

“Even up till the end, she was trying her darndest not to… everything that happened with Bill was what spooked her into considering it in the first place.” Fiddleford sighs, knowing that he’ll have to relive the moment you came to him in tears, begging to have your memories erased.

“Did Bill ever try to enter your mind, Fiddleford? He doesn’t always have to make a deal with you in order to gain access to your mindspace.” Ford asked, mostly out of concern that yet another person close to him was plagued by Bill. Fiddleford shook his head vehemently, “Nope, and I didn’t need no metal plate in my head either like you,” he knocked on his head, “Guess my brain was a bit too scrambled for him.”

Ford lets out a chuckle, “I will admit perhaps the metal plate was a bit overkill.”

The levity is suddenly sucked out of the room when the static clears, Ford’s voice echoing through the room.

“Fine, I don’t need anyone! I don’t need Fiddleford, and I don’t need you! All you’ve ever done is hold me back!”

Ford winces at the bite behind his words. He acknowledged the impact his words had back then, how hurtful they were, but he hadn’t realized how harsh the sting behind them was until now hearing it. He glances to his right, seeing Fiddleford’s expression drop.

You pack up every single remnant of your existence that was in the Mystery Shack, tears streaming down your face. Your hands stuffing clothes into your suitcase without a semblance of care, your vision blurring to the point where you can barely make out what you’re putting in the bag.

You reach aimlessly into your bedside drawer to grab as much of your belongings as possible, the wood jostling around before the frame that sits atop of it topples over and falls to the floor. The glass shatters, and yet you don’t waste any time trying to pick it up and salvage it, leaving it behind much like you and Ford’s relationship.

Your feet carry you out the door, giving one last glance at the Mystery Shack. You stood there for a moment, a part of you perhaps hoping that Ford would come running through the door. That he would chase after you, pull you into his arms and apologize for the painful words that were now carved into your psyche. That he would shut down the portal that evening, and leave this whole ordeal and his so-called muse behind.

The wind howled around you as the last ounce of hope within you died when he didn’t come out.

“You win, Bill!” You yell out at the night sky, “If Ford is what you wanted, then enjoy your fucking prize!”

You could practically hear his sadistic laughter through the wind, watching as you pathetically make your way into town to search for a place to stay.

The screen abruptly cuts to a more serene image of you wearing what looked like Fiddleford’s gray Backupsmore sweater and a pair of pajama pants, walking over to a ringing telephone.

Fiddleford was out for the evening, having left right after dinner to attend a ‘ town meeting’.

You let out a yawn, having been woken up from your nap on the cozy rocking chair to the sound of his phone ringing, the sound piercing through the air.

Your hand picks the phone up off the receiver, pressing it against your ear. Your voice is clearly groggy to the person on the other end, “Hello?”

There’s a pause before the voice lets out an amused chuckle, “Ya know, I was hoping for the hillbilly, but this is even better.”

You blink, pulling the phone away from your face and staring at it in confusion. The voice feels familiar… and not in a comforting way. Is this some sort of practical joke?

“Listen, Fiddleford isn’t here at the moment. I can take a message if-” The voice cuts you off, “No, no, since you’re here, I want to talk to you. See, I’m going to let you decide what I do with Sixer at the end of the night.”

Your eyebrow furrows, feeling a sudden pain in your temple. Why does that sound vaguely familiar? “I’m sorry, but… I’m confused. Who’s Sixer?”

There’s a longer pause. It feels like eternally before the voice on the other end erupts into hysterical laughter, the sound sending chills down your spine. “Oh this is rich… come on, gemstone, I know you’re mad at Fordsy, but that’s just cruel.”

The nickname and the mention of Ford causes the phone to slip from your grasp, the memories flooding back in an instant.

The sunstone sitting on your chest feeling like a slab of concrete, the feeling of hands wrapping around your neck, the same hands that once cradled you tightly underneath the trees.

You hear Bill’s voice mockingly calling for you, stuck in shell-shock to pick the phone back up. You barely pick up what he says last, “Well, I guess that’s my answer, it’s awfully cold tonight, hopefully Sixer doesn’t freeze to death.” The line suddenly goes dead, the dial tone piercing your ears.

Your teeth grit together, knowing that Ford’s fate is now in your hands. Going against your brain’s wishes, your heart propels your body to move. You scramble to grab your winter coat that’s hung up by the door, and make your way through the snow-coated terrain.

The wind pricks your skin, your feet acting off muscle memory back to where you and Ford started this life in Gravity Falls together a few years ago. There’s a brief doubt that maybe it was too easy to assume that Bill would leave Ford out near the shack, but knowing the dream demon’s sick sense of humor, you figured he wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to taunt you.

As you approach the shack, you see a figure standing on top of the roof. Your eyes widen, the flurries of snow and the dark sky making it difficult to make out if it was Ford or Bill. Walking up to the steps, you hope for the former. To your surprise, it only takes a push of your hand against the door to give you access to the place that was once your home.

The sound of “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics immediately graces your ears as you pass the living room to ascend up the staircase to make it to the roof. You pay it no mind for now, the only thought in your head is to make sure Ford was safe. Your feet carry you up the steps, finally making your way to the top and pushing the stubborn piece of wood that stood between you and the rooftop.

Your face is immediately met with a cold gust of wind and a smattering of snow hitting your cheeks. Brushing the snowflakes off your skin, you pop your head through the opening, seeing Ford’s body rigid, icicles dangling from his nose and his skin blue in hue. God, he must’ve been out here for hours before Bill even made the phone call to you.

You make your way back down the ladder, grabbing a pair of gloves out of Ford’s room that was in disarray since you had departed. An extra appendage of cloth dangles from the side as you slide them on, taking a deep breath before making your way back up the roof. You drag Ford’s almost lifeless body down with you, almost worried that if you were to drop him, he would shatter into fragments.

Your initial thought was to bring him to his room, but you knew that he needed heat - immediately. Deciding to brave whatever Bill had prepared for Ford, you make your way to the living room. Ignoring the polaroids scattered all over the floor and the cassette tape that is set on the floor, you place Ford in the chair in front of the TV, and make your way to the fireplace. You almost roll your eyes at how a set of matches and fuel for the fire were conveniently left out.

Could this be a rare act of kindness by Bill? Perhaps.

You knew in reality, it was similar to a predator playing with its prey before it went in for the kill.

You strike the match, watching the flames engulf the wood. Pulling your gloves off, you pour the fuel on top to keep the flame going for a few hours at least before Ford becomes conscious. You finally take a look back at Ford, seeing the ice begin to melt and his skin start to become more pink.

There was a part of you that wished you could be here when he woke. Part of you wished you had a fight left in you, and that you could stand beside Ford to face Bill. Finally taking in the surroundings and seeing the twisted game that Bill had in store for Ford, you also knew that you couldn’t have any part of this anymore.

You couldn’t put your sanity, your peace on the line once more.

The taste on your mouth is bittersweet as you walk back out the door, closing it and the life you had with Ford behind you. Your body feels heavy, and yet your feet practically sprint back to the comfort of Fiddleford’s cozy hut. You’re greeted to the sight of Fiddleford still wearing his Society of the Blind Eye cape, his hair askew and his gaze panicked as you burst through the door.

“Sweet sarsaparilla, Y/N! At least leave a note if you’re leaving, you worried me sick! I thought-” Fiddleford is suddenly cut off, letting out a yelp as you run into his arms, tears soaking his maroon cloak. “H-Hey now, what happened?” He stutters, grasping your chin and pulling it up to gaze back at him. You look a mess - tears streaming down your face, and your cheeks and nose bright red from the wind and your sniffles.

You finally let everything out, your sobs echoing through the small space and your body shaking as you recount the last few hours.

The two of you sit in silence as your sobs slowly soften. Fiddleford rubs your back soothingly, his brow furrowing at the mention of Bill and his eyes unbeknownst to you flitting around the hut out of paranoia. He knows the solution that he’s presented to others to forget but he’s reluctant to offer yet again to use the memory gun on you.

It was one thing to erase the memory of the anomalies from his own brain and the brains of several Gravity Falls residents, but asking him to relieve you of every single memory you had of the man you both cared deeply about, he was conflicted. Your time with Ford encompassed most of your adult life, and he would be taking away essentially years of your life. He had attempted to talk you out of it, but when he saw how all sense of joy had been sucked out of you and your eyes puffy from all the tears you had shed, he caved, wanting to take away the pain.

“Fidds, I can’t stay here… I need to go back home.” You finally let out a sigh, “Everything about this place is a potential reminder of Ford… I just want to put this all behind me.” Fiddleford nods, “I understand… do you wanna..” he trails off, getting choked up over the thought of erasing your memories again.

“Yes… and I’m going to need you to erase my memories of Bill too.” You say, “I don’t want him to have any more power over me…”

Fiddleford glances back down at you, uncertainty swimming through his pupils, “And you’re sure about this?”

You nod vehemently, and he lets out a soft sigh, “Alright, let’s get you a ticket back home and then we can do it tonight."

“Hey Fidds…”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you, I know this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

After booking your one-way ticket back home, Fiddleford finally stands up, grabbing the Memory Gun. It feels heavy in his hands despite just spending the evening using it on the residents of Gravity Falls. He first types out Bill’s name before looking back at you sitting on the floor, “Are you sure you want this, Y/N?”

You nod, “I’m sure, Fidds. I spent so many years of my life revolving around Ford… I want to do the things I put on hold, and I know if I still have his memory lingering in my mind, I’ll be stuck for a long time.”

Fiddleford gives one final nod before suddenly hugging you tightly, “Don’t be a stranger now. I expect a letter about your adventures when ya get the time.”

You chuckle sadly, returning the embrace, “I won’t be, Fidds.”

Feeling the cool bulb pressed against your forehead, you close your eyes, envisioning your last conversation you had with Ford, the man that you still had so much love for, getting everything off your chest without a rebuttal, before leaving the Mystery Shack.

“I can’t believe we’re here, Ford. Never thought that when I turned down that job at the National Parks and followed you out here this is where we’d be.” You reach out to brush your fingers over his ice cold ones, “I loved being your number one supporter, encouraging you any time you had your doubts, I loved seeing you blossom… but I didn’t realize I was wilting and I have to put myself first finally, Ford.”

Your voice becomes shaky as tears begin to stream down your face, but your statement is said with conviction, “I’m going to live out my dreams like we talked about… I’m going to get that job at the National Parks, spend my days cataloguing all the marvelous gems and stones that nature creates and my nights gazing up at the stars… and even though I won’t remember you, just know I’ll be thinking of you when I look up at them. Ad astra per aspera, right?” You let out a sad chuckle before you lean forward to press one final kiss against Ford’s lips.

“I hope you’ll think of me when you look up at them, too. Goodbye, Ford.”

The duo were so immersed in what was happening on the screen before them that they hadn’t heard you descending the staircase. Searching for Ford to continue watching your memories, Stanley had told you that Ford wasn’t in his room, and made a passing comment that Fiddleford’s son was out front waiting for him. You came down just in time to witness the last memory laid out in front of you.

Your hold on your journal in hand slips from your grasp, the sudden thud against the cold concrete of the basement causes Ford and Fiddleford to whip their heads to look back at where the sound came from.

Ford’s eyes lock with yours, and before his body can move, yours goes straight into autopilot, unable to sit with these emotions that run wild in the pit of your stomach. Your head reeling, the images of Bill plaguing your mindscape after years of peace from his taunting voice.

“Y/N wait-!” Ford yells out, watching you flee back up the stairs. His body feels stuck in freeze, the antithesis to your flight.

His friend shakes him out of his stupor, “What’re you waiting for, S? Go after ‘er!”

Ford digs his heels into the concrete, reluctant to follow his friend’s suggestion, “What if my presence makes things worse, F? Maybe I should give her some space.”

“Well, ya did that forty years ago and look what happened!” Fiddleford says in exasperation.

Fiddleford’s words ring through Ford’s brain, and the image of you walking up those stairs and out of his life once again pains him more than he can describe. He made this mistake already, he can’t afford to make it again.

Stanford Pines is a man of logic, decisions carefully crafted after running every variable and probability through to the last decimal.

And yet he decides for once to use his heart, and not his mind to make this decision.

His feet finally move, chasing after you like he should have forty years ago.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fic #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #stanford pines #ford pines #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you

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viceroywrites · 20 days ago

Text

Love Language Headcanons [Stanford Pines x Reader]

I stayed up til 3 am thinking about this man. I will be finding a way to integrate these HCs in To Sonder

Ford loved you so reverently, so deeply that it often left you speechless. This man thrives off acts of service and he loves showering you with gifts.

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧*

💙 He wasn't clueless to your affections, but he does have trouble comprehending why you liked him back.

💙 He looks forward to the way your eyes would brighten when you see him. It’s like seeing a comet fly in the night sky, rare and reserved only for him.

💙 Your cheeks would turn an adorable rosy color because of him, and he doesn’t really understand why at first. He does NOT know how much of a catch he is, damn.

💙 He thinks of you whenever he finds a pink flower out in the wild. Whenever the skies turn pink on a hot summer afternoon, it’s you who occupies his mind.

💙 He'd leave you dried flowers in your favorite spots in the shack. At first, you chalked it up to his forgetfulness. He tends to leave unfinished notes and contraptions all around the house.

💙 Whenever you'd bring his supposedly unfinished projects back to him, he merely smiles at you and tells you to keep them.

💙 Eventually, you had enough flowers to fill an album. He'd be really happy if you collected them and stored them carefully.

💙 Stanford's talents weren't limited to science and invention- he was also an artist.

💙 Admittedly, he does sketch you- a lot. Some of these drawings do slip out of his journals or he simply forgets to put them away- they'll fall out of his pocket.

💙 He will wake you up at 4 in the morning to show you a goddamn cryptid- or anomaly, as he refers to it- he plucked off the forest floor from one of his excursions.

💙 It would be something marvelous and beautiful. He sometimes forgets people need sleep, though eventually, he'll learn to wait til next morning to show you pictures or take you where he found the new creature.

💙 He'll make you trinkets!

💙 He can't really sit still for too long. So whenever you tell him to relax and lock him out of the lab and his study, he'll have an impromptu arts and crafts session.

💙 He's made you a tiny terrarium filled with pretty, bioluminescent moss.

💙 He made you a locket! What's so special about it? Well, it may look normal but he engraved it himself with his homemade laser! He nearly lost a few fingers in the process, but hey, he reasoned that had an extra two if it did happen!,

💙 He gave you things that had the color spectrum only shrimps could see.

💙 Sometimes, you'll catch him staring at a blue flower he kept on his desk. A dreamy, wistful expression rested on his face before a huff resembling a laugh would escape him.

💙 One day, he'll tell you that he could see one of those special colors the human eye can't quite comprehend. One day, he'll tell you about the being who named an impossible color after him, the closest he's ever been to having a love letter written to him by an equally impossible being.

💙 This man is so unbelievably touch starved, that he'll never initiate physical contact. You may have to take the lead on this one.

💙 Or maybe, he wouldn't even realize he initiated contact until after it happened.

💙 Maybe that invisible wall Ford built around himself would crumble one rainy day.

💙 You'd be shivering. His Ma raised a gentleman, so he gives you his coat. He holds a small umbrella over you- he didn't really account for being out in the forest with someone else today. So he leans it over your side, making sure you're dry and soaking his shirt to keep you mostly warm.

💙 He frowned at the way you rubbed your hands together and shook under the weather.

💙 He cups a warm hand around your smaller ones. He reassures you you're almost back home as he rubbed smooth, calming circles over the back of your hand.

💙 But in a blink, he'll realize how close he got. He turns into an absolute tomato and starts stuttering. You giggle as he pulls his hand away and shoves them deep into his pocket.

💙 You keep your hand over his, gently guiding the umbrella so that it covers him too. The poor man's gonna catch a cold at this rate.

💙 Eventually, he'll learn to be more forward and show you more affection.

💙 He'll intentionally stand as close to you as he can, hoping you'd hug him or hold his hand.

💙 He'll melt if you reach out and adjust his glasses for him. Leaning his face into the palm of your hand while fixing you with the softest look ever.

💙 Out of the blue, he'd sometimes catch you off guard and hug you from behind. He forgets how quiet his footsteps are, after years of learning to sneak around skittish creatures for his work.

💙 Even when he's distracted by note taking and reading, he'll grope around blindly for your hand. Resting it around yours as he mumbled and crunched numbers for his latest invention.

💙 At night, he definitely is a big spoon. The man's a furnace, and if you're cold, he'll actually enjoy that. It balances him out. Insert nerdy scientific joke about how opposites attract, here!

💙 More to come~

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viceroywrites · 20 days ago

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Hello! :) I wanted to make a request for Stanley x Wife reader or younger Stan x gf reader (Idc you can choose)

My cat ran away a day ago, and I can't find him anywhere. I've been feeling really sad about it, and i'm so worried and anxious cuz my cat is a lil scaredy-cat and a picky eater, SO HES NOT MADE FOR THE OUTSIDE WORLD😭

Could you perhaps write some comfort, please? If not, please feel free to ignore this! THANKS

a/n: hi! i'm so sorry you're going through that. here's some younger stan x gf comfort coming up for you, hope you enjoy it and i hope your little guy comes home safely!

---

it had been a rough week.

internally, you were exhausted and just wanted to crawl into bed and hide, but externally, you put on a smile, keeping up the same energy you normally did.

little did you know there was a certain someone saw through the facade.

you were just about to slide under the covers, ready to call it a night early after a tiring day of putting on a brave face.

plink.

you blink in confusion, turning your head towards the window. you thought you heard something, but once the noise quickly dissipated, you assumed it might have been one of the branches of the tree next to your window hitting the glass from the strong winds that were howling. your back faces away from the window once again.

plink.

putting your blanket back into place, you begin to make your way to the window. your eyes widen at the small rock that clinks against the glass, the source of the sound. your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance, ready to yell at what you assumed was some kids in the neighborhood trying to cause some trouble.

"hey, knock it off!" you yell, cracking your window open in frustration.

it catches you off guard to be greeted by your boyfriend of a few months, stanley pines, grinning back at you. a rock in his hand, the other tucked into the brown leather jacket over his broad shoulders.

"took ya long enough! was getting worried you already fell asleep, toots." stan snickered, discarding the rock onto the ground.

"stan, what're you doing here?" you say with alarm.

"can't a guy come and surprise his girl? i didn't realize i had to schedule an appointment to see ya." stan replies with a playful grin, "come join me for a joy ride, got the old man's keys for the night."

"meaning you stole those keys." you point out with a playful roll of your eyes.

stan simply shrugs, "tomato, toe-mato. same thing."

you glance down at your attire, having already changed into your pajamas. you bite down on your lip, "i'm already in my PJs, stan..."

stan brushes off your concern, "no need to get all dolled up, ya look great. just grab a jacket and come on down. your chariot awaits ya." he grins, gesturing to the red el diablo parked on the curb in front of your house.

you let out a sigh, a genuine smile creeping across your tired features. what the hell? you probably weren't gonna feel any better laying bed.

you walk away from the window, shutting it and grab the jacket on top of the pile of clothing that was growing in the corner of your room. sneaking down the stairs, you quietly close the door behind you, running into stan's embrace as he hugs you tight. inhaling the scent of his woodsy aftershave, you glance up at him.

"the old throwing rocks at your window? kinda cliche, pines." you tease. stan stammers over his words, trying to defend himself as he walks you to the car.

"so where are we going anyways?" you ask, slipping into the passenger side.

"that's surprise." stan grins, closing your door, leaving you confused.

the two of you walk along the empty pier of glass shard beach, most of the stalls closing up for the evening.

"thanks for taking me out, stan." you say with soft smile, figuring you were at the end of the adventure with the end of pier leading to the sand in sight. leaving the house actually did help a bit in clearing your head.

"the night's still young, toots. besides we haven't even gotten to the surprise." stan grins, tugging your hand towards the stairs leading down to the sandy beach. you chuckle at his eagerness, following behind him before he suddenly stops, covering your eyes.

"stan, what are you doing?" you giggle, your hands covering his large palms that completely block your vision. "we're almost there, don't wanna ruin the surprise." stan replies, guiding you carefully down the stairs onto the sand.

you take a few more steps before he removes his hands to unveil the surprise.

"ta-da!"

three beach towels that stan dug up from his mom's linen closet made a makeshift blanket in front of the water, a cooler next to it stocked with pitt cola and your favorite snacks, and a bouquet of flowers laying on top of it.

"stan, this is... amazing, but what's the occasion?" you say in confusion and awe, walking towards the set-up.

"seeing you down in the dumps is enough of an occasion for me." stan says, crossing his arms over his chest with pride at your reaction, "know it's been a tough week for ya, figured it's the least i could do."

you glance back at stan in surprise, not realizing he had caught on your low mood. and here you thought you had hidden it so well, trying not to worry him and everyone around you.

the tears finally well up in your eyes, and you give him a tight hug, soaking the fabric of his white tee. "how'd you know?" you sniffle.

he strokes the back of your head and scoffs, almost offended by your question, "you expect me to not know when you're faking it? i'm no genius like ford, but i've got enough sense to know what a real smile of yours looks like." stan presses a kiss on top of your head as you finally let the waterworks loose, rubbing your back soothingly.

"thank you...." you say through your sobs.

"anything for you, doll." he hums against your hair.

"you set this up all by yourself?" you ask, taking a sip of the pitt cola stan had just opened for you.

"well... i had a little help."

"... is that why we ran into ford at the beginning of the pier?"

"hey, he owed me a favor!"

#gravity falls #request #stanley pines #stan pines #stan pines x reader #young stan pines #proxyeve

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viceroywrites · 1 month ago

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apologies for the delays with the ford chapter and deja vu updates in general.

despite reblogging here and there, my mental health hasn't been the greatest so i've been avoiding writing but i'm getting a bit better and hopefully can get the chapter out soon.

really appreciate everyone's patience. <3

#update

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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HEYY!! DIDN’T NOTICE THE ASK BUTTON UNTIL NOW! IM JUST WONDERING HOW YOUR DOING, AND HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAYYY (I apologize for not saying sooner, just found out how to like idk ask or something)

I SWEAR I DON’T MEAN TO SOUND PUSHY OR IF I ASK TOO MANY TIMES, PLEASE JUST SAY IF UTS ANNOYING, BUT DO YOU HAVE: “Jealous!Stanford Pines x Reader” ? CAUSE IDK IM JUST CURIOUS 😭💔

⋆౨ৎ˚ jealous!Ford x you hcs ˖ ࣪

ahhh, thank u so much sweetheart!! no it's not annoying at all, pls dont say that. and sure, here it is! honestly it was pretty helpful for me too because im writing a fic where Ford experiences jealousy. i think it also depends on what exactly he's jealous of (his own brother, random person, pet, etc) and your stage of the relationship

warning its a bit suggestive at the end

ꪆৎ Ford's jealous streak is most obvious when it comes to your mind, i think. like, if you’re showing too much interest in someone else’s ideas, books, or theories, he’ll be the first to drop some passive-aggressive comments

ꪆৎ you’re talking about some science or philosophy with someone, and Ford’s watching, feeling that tiny gnawing jealousy of someone challenging his brilliance. . . he won’t snap, but you'll catch him slipping in little comments, “well, actually, my research on this subject. . . ah, never mind. not worth mentioning to a layperson” ofc it's not directed at you! but to that idiot who dared to interest you

ꪆৎ later, though, after a long talk, he’ll pull you into his study and try to “explain” why only his thoughts matter <333 “you should know, sweetheart, i have 12 phds, allow me to explain you this properly.”

ꪆৎ “what? i’m not upset. i just think it’s interesting that you laughed at his joke when i’ve been trying to impress you with my brain for three years.”

ꪆৎ he starts touching you more too. hand on your knee during conversations. brushing your fingers when handing you smth. standing behind you, palm at the small of your back when you’re with others. and yet still, he doesn’t say a word because he doesn't wanna ruin anything. but his body moves on its own. “this is mine,” is what he’s trying to say

ꪆৎ Stan has always been the loud, charismatic one. Ford’s the thinker, the quiet one, who would rather bury himself in books than make small talk but he just cant help it. Ford doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like how his heart races with frustration or how his fists ball up, wanting to grab you and pull you away. he wont do it, but it doesn't mean he cant imagine it

ꪆৎ if you wear something revealing, Ford absolutely adores it, but insists on walking right next to you all evening

ꪆৎ he overhears you talking about a celebrity crush and spends ten minutes googling them in secret, furiously comparing their jawlines, yeah

ꪆৎ OMG. i believe he clears his throat when someone flirts with you... you know

ꪆৎ if it’s Stan flirting with you, Ford plays it off like he’s above it “Stanley, can you be serious for once?” but his eyes are laser-focused on you, reading your expression

ꪆৎ lmao, you'll probably hear smth as “i hope you had a pleasant conversation with my brother. he can be. . . charming, when he wishes.” prob says it with the politeness of someone screaming internally. and then he obsessively throws himself into work, convinced he's being ridiculous. you're allowed to have friends. you’re not his. not really

ꪆৎ i mean, he wants you to be. but he's terrified of what he might become if he lets himself act like it

ꪆৎ a lot of phrases like “well, i would’ve helped you carry that, but i assume your new friend has that covered.”

“no, go ahead! ill wait. im clearly not as exciting to talk to.” he’ll say it politely though, you wont even notice. even with a smile. and if you don’t pick up on it, he gets quiet and tells himself he’s just being irrational, but it still eats him alive

ꪆৎ Ford still tries to suppress it, but his eyes give him away. he stares. hard. at the person touching you. at the way your mouth curves. at your hands when they gesture

ꪆৎ and if he lets this jealousy win in the public, which happens like really rarely, Ford will absolutely pull you away from a conversation. six fingered hand at your elbow, “excuse us” and you’ll be halfway down the hall before he spins you against the wall

ꪆৎ but may also say, when you're two alone after you spend whole evening talking to someone, “oh, im sorry, were you enjoying yourself? you seemed so. . . engaged with them. i didn’t want to interrupt.”

ꪆৎ you get a pet. a cat, a dog, whatever. and suddenly your affection is going to this creature and not him. Ford doesn’t act out but he gets so still. sits next to you while you pet it, hand on your thigh, but not saying a word. you look over and he finally admits, looking so needy, “i’m being ridiculous but i want to be babied too” so you pull him into your lap instead and he kisses your shoulder with a quiet smile <3

ꪆৎ he gets also weirdly sulky about it. “you let the cat sleep on your chest, when it's my turn?”, “i counted, you kissed it on the head four times. i only got two :(” yes he’s serious. he’s a little unwell

ꪆৎ uhh, u call your pet “baby” and Ford visibly pouts

ꪆৎ if you’re talking to someone “too long” at a gathering, Ford won’t interrupt. but he will appear silently next to you, hand brushing your lower back, and when you finally break away and turn to him like “what’s up?” he’ll smile, as always, so polite. “nothing. i just missed the sound of your voice”

“that person seemed very interested in you. lucky them.”

“did you like the way they looked at you?”

ꪆৎ and the thing is, he’s insecure. so when he’s possessive, it’s always laced with guilt. Ford hates that he wants to stake a claim. hates how it feels to need you so much it makes his skin crawl when you’re focused on someone else

ꪆৎ Ford's jealousy always turns into guilt. he’s always so self-critical, he feels like he should be better than this. Ford knows it’s irrational, that you wouldn’t cheat or leave him for someone else, but it doesn’t stop the surge of possessiveness.

ꪆৎ he can’t help but feel like maybe he’s not enough for you, and that’s what sparks the jealousy in the first place. he feels the jealousy deep in his chest, this irrational, ugly thing he can’t quite stamp out

ꪆৎ he’ll kiss your neck just a little too hard. grip your wrist too long. but it’s always followed by “was that okay?” or “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to get carried away.” and god help him if you ever tease him for it

ꪆৎ “ohhh, baby. you’re jealous, aren’t you?” he’ll bristle, sputter, adjust his coat and glasses, trying to avoid looking into your eyes. “that’s ridiculous. i— no, i simply don’t appreciate disrespect. I’m not. . . possessive.” but when you'll play this game of silence, watching him, waiting him to spill it, oh he will!! “okay. was it that obvious?” he’ll say this so small. you’ll want to eat him alive <3

ꪆৎ Ford doesn’t always keep it all bottled up, so then, when you’re finally alone and he got u all to himself, he’s kissing you, but being more rough about it, not like hurting you, but sometimes, i like when Ford gets more dominant and brave in his actions. hand around your jaw, palm splayed across your back, pulling you in. “you’re mine.” he'll whisper right into your lips because hes lowkey getting turned on by your little gasps whenever he tightens his grip. “no one else gets to hear these sounds from you. please, tell me, tell me im the only one.” he always has to ask, always needs to hear it back

ꪆৎ if you ever jokingly mention how hot he gets when jealous, he will hide his face in your shoulder/neck/hair, very very quietly muttering, “you’re cruel, honey, you enjoy making me lose my mind, don’t you?”

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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I’m writing another story, I’m crazy

Little Talks, Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65156677/chapters/167585917

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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fuck it, gimmie vbros or gravity falls headcanon or drabble prompts and i'll write 'em

(need the writing juices to flow this weekend so i can finish ford's chapter)

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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gary fischer’s love language is acts of service.

this man’s whole life purpose is to serve, why do you think he has hench for life plastered across his stomach?

you run out of something? he will go out of his way after an arch to pick it up for you.

you’re exhausted and don’t have the energy to get out of bed? boom, takes care of any chores or errands you had to do that day.

he knows you had a rough day? he’s at your door with takeout, and a grocery bag filled with your favorite snacks.

“so i didn’t know what flavor of ice cream you wanted so i just picked up three different kinds?” gary explains, emptying the contents of the grocery bag.

“gare, you didn’t have to do all this.” you say in awe, staring down at the pints of ice cream before you.

fuck, he even remembered what three flavors you like the best from this brand.

gary looks up at you in confusion, like you had just told him that the monarch finally let go of his grudge against rusty, “why wouldn’t i? you had a shitty day, and i can’t have you in a bad mood before our DnD campaign tonight. unless you wanna cancel tonight, which im totally cool with.”

you walk over to him, embracing him tightly. your nose nuzzling against his blue flannel shirt as you peer up at him, “you’re the best, thanks gare.”

#henchman 21 #venture bros #vbros #gary fischer #henchman 21 headcanon #henchman 21 x reader #venture bros drabble #venture bros fanfic

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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I think Ford would love to see all the little signs of his partner around the house. If you leave behind a bobby pin or hair elastic, even strands of your hair left behind on his pillow.

It’s a reminder of you when you’re away. He’d actually be upset if you didn’t leave anything behind for him, like your shampoo of choice in his shower or a change of clothes in case you stay over.

And if you have a signature scent you prefer, and leave a bottle of it behind? He’s spraying it just to get a whiff of you. He’ll bury his face in your pillow and just INHALE, deep breaths into it until he’s lightheaded and has to stop. Even then, he considers diving back in for more.

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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I headcanon that post-portal ford would try to impress you by doing really athletic stunt for really mundane tasks.

We all know he'd jump out the attic window for something as simple as getting money back from mothman

Picture evidence below:

But also I feel like he'd show off his strength by lifting heavy equipment to and from the lab without breaking a sweat. He'd be chopping wood for your fireplace even if you didn't ask him to.

He may even abandon his turtleneck to "cool off" but everyone knows he'd wear his usual coat even if there's a heatwave lol.

He'd pick you up and carry you to ned if you're being bratty and doomscrolling too much. OR if he just wants you all to himself fshsgdhsjajwjdh

Idk I just goddamn love this man

GRRRRRR no because im actually gnawing drywall over this. im feral over Ford performing feats of strength like a damn mating display. i swear, if he pulled any of that shit in front of me i’d react exactly like Dipper, screaming internally. but unlike Dipper, i would jump this man and eat his face like pizza. don’t test me

i am so weak for strong Ford its humiliating. yeah baby chop that wood. carry that weird space gun across the shack. grunt a little. wipe ur forehead. take the turtleneck off just to flex those arms and then put the coat back on because you’re still dramatic come on. id faint right there

yes, please carry me bridal style through the woods, saving me from some random dangerous anomaly shit. i’m the distressed damsel now. i’ve twisted my ankle. i need rescuing. let me hold your neck while you save me from smth dangerous

and that line “or if he just wants you all to himself” i smiled like an idiot because YES. YES. FORD POSSESSIVE. like you’re doomscrolling or ignoring him and he just decides nah. scoops you up like nothing, takes you to bed, and doesn’t even say anything at first. just kisses you because he wants to remind you who you belong to.

“you’ve been on that phone too long, sweetheart,” he mutters, already pulling your legs around his waist. “let me give you something better to focus on.”

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viceroywrites · 2 months ago

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Since you are taking in the filthy kind, how about the Stan twins with aftercare?

People really underestimate the importance of it. Aftercare need to be taught more!

˖ . ݁ Stan & Ford aftercare headcanons 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

a/n: oh i adore this request. ur absolutely right, people seriously underestimate how important aftercare is. it’s necessary and honestly deserves way more space both in fics and real life ♡ sorry i got carried away with Stan lol

warning: mentions of sex

۶ৎ STANLEY

ᯓ★ Stan can’t talk for like a full five minutes. first of all because he’s tired as fuck and second because he’s emotionally ruined. just stares at the ceiling and breathes. you’ll be curled against his side and he’ll say, “holy shit ?? fuck, i love you????“

ᯓ★ he’ll beg to make it up to you. “lemme take care of you now, honey. just lay back. lemme kiss you all over. lemme show you how good you are to me.”

ᯓ★ mullet Stan will say smth as “that was better than therapy. and cheaper, too”

ᯓ★ he’s sweating bullets. big panting huffing breaths. “holy shit, sweetheart, we okay? you still here? you still with me? you took it so good, baby. jesus, i don’t deserve you.”

ᯓ★ he’s got the shakes. and he covers it up with jokes. “damn near saw god back there. d’you see me black out for a sec? no? cool, cool. . .” but his hands are trembling as he strokes your hair. he needs to feel you against him to steady his own pulse

ᯓ★ Stanley immediately runs to grab a towel or his softest shirt. he wipes your skin so carefully. but you can tell he’s holding back, he’s afraid to hurt you more, even though a second ago he was absolutely rearranging your guts. silly guy

ᯓ★ he’ll sleep belly to belly with you, one leg thrown over your thigh, his hand splayed protectively over your heart. he breathes with you, tries to sync his exhale to your inhale. you’re his home now. and he needs you warm and close and real

ᯓ★ he’s obsessed with putting clothes back on you. even if it’s just his old t-shirt. you’ll be lying there naked and he’s already tugging it over your head, muttering “you’ll get cold, c’mere, lemme wrap you up“ because he needs you covered and safe!!

ᯓ★ he feeds you :) always. digs out whatever snack he can find. his hands and legs are still trembling but he cant help it, he needs to take care of you. and for Stanley sharing food with someone is caring. because for most of his life, it was food that he lacked

ᯓ★ no, you don't understand. listen to me. he insists you eat smth >:( like physically brings you snacks and bottle caps soda and says, “don’t argue. i fucked the calories right outta you. now open up.” he’ll feed you bites with his fingers if you let him

ᯓ★ uhh yeah. Stan (mullet Stan too) absolutely cries in secret when you fall asleep on his chest. it's silent tears more than all. he’s not used to this. not used to being trusted, loved, held. he wraps both arms around you and buries his face in your hair. “how’d i get so lucky?“

ᯓ★ he’s an expert at holding you. no lie. he won’t move unless you do. you say “gotta pee,” and he groans so dramatic “you leavin’ me already?? i just got my baby where i want them!!!“

ᯓ★ idk why i imagine mullet Stan doing this more than all, but he peels off his undershirt and uses it to clean you up, even if it’s gross for u. “here, lemme, uh, just— there. that better?” he’s blushing even though you just had your mouth on his cock for 10 straight minutes.

he says “hope it didn’t get in your eye” you laugh and this guy melts

ᯓ★ Stan asks for “just five more minutes” of cuddling. every time. doesn’t matter if you’re sweaty, sticky, crushed into a single bed in 90 degree heat. he needs your body on his

ᯓ★ he plays with your jewelry. if you wear any, of course. rings, earrings, necklace, he fidgets with them after sex like a nervous habit. rolls your ring between his fingers. traces your earlobe. kisses your collarbone where your chain sits

۶ৎ FORD

ᯓ★ Ford needs to say your name after. several times. “you’re alright, y/n?”

“you did so well, y/n. . .”

“youre so, so good to me, y/n”

ᯓ★ he’ll get very quiet and just trace your lower back with his fingertips. slow circles. sometimes writes his initials with a dumb smile. he won’t say what he’s doing. but it’s so soft you melt into the bed.

ᯓ★ Ford gets so tender he’ll read to you after. pulls out a worn book, props you against his chest, and reads soothing, slow-voiced excerpts about galaxies or old poetry, he loves these and he knows you do too. he does it to calm himself too

ᯓ★ after intense sex, he won’t let you walk afterward. Ford scoops you into his arms even if you protest. “you’re not to stand on those legs yet. they’ve worked enough tonight.”

you get carried to the bath. the bed. the couch. wherever. you're his tiny galaxy to transport<3

ᯓ★ ahhh he’ll sit you in his lap and wrap his coat around both of you

ᯓ★ he apologizes even if you liked it. he’s so guilty but so reverent. “i shouldn’t have let myself get like that. youre— youre precious. i mean, youre not meant to be handled like— like a thing“ but if you tell him you liked it, he’ll go feral all over again, this time with his mouth on your pulse and his hands stroking your trembling calves <3

ᯓ★ he checks your temperature. again not consciously. his hand cups your cheek, your collarbone, your thigh. “are you warm enough? still breathing okay?”

ᯓ★ he’ll ask “are you alright?” in five different ways. “did i push too hard?”, “can i hold you closer?”, “you’re not sore, are you?”, “let me get you smth.”, “say anything. please.”

ᯓ★ this man is terrified you’ll regret it. he hides it well, but his fear of being too desperate makes him quiet, shivery

ᯓ★ Ford doesn’t sleep until you do. again, it’s not even conscious i think. he watches you breathe, your eyes flutter closed, and only then lets himself soften too. he pulls the blanket higher around your shoulder. kisses your forehead

ᯓ★ he needs to say “thank you.” after sex. every time. and he means it. hes grateful you trust him. Ford says it with his lips pressed to your temple. sometimes he tears up. doesn’t tell you

ᯓ★ if you suck him off especially sloppy though he’ll wipe your mouth with his sleeve so gently you feel like royalty aahahahha murmurs smth as “there. now you’re perfect again.“

ᯓ★ he’ll hold your foot in his lap and rub slow circles into your ankle

ᯓ★ he wants to journal what happened. but not to be creepy, he just wants to remember it all and my boy just loves journaling okay?? your sounds. your body. your little laugh. it’s sacred to him

#nsfw #recs

286 notes · View notes

viceroywrites · 2 months ago

Text

deja vu - part eight (stan route)

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

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

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

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

part seven | part nine

interested in the ford route? click here for masterlist.

a!n: woof, this took me a hot minute to complete this chapter but i finally got it done! this chapter is very memory-dump heavy so i hope it's worth the wait. i truly appreciate everyone's patience with this series and i hope you enjoy this chapter! ford's chapter should be up for sure by the end of this month!

With each creek of the wooden floorboards beneath his sock-clad feet, Stan winces as he passes by his brother’s room. His hand carefully turns the door knob, peeking through the crack. His breath that he’s been holding in the entire trek down the stairs finally escapes his lips at the sight of his brother laying in his bed, his limbs dangling off the edge and the book he was reading before dozing off dropped to the floor.

Stan quietly closes the door before making his way to the vending machine, looking behind him cautiously. It was like deja vu from last summer, sneaking around in the middle of the night while everyone sleeps as Stan punches the code to give him entry to the basement below.

In his hand, he holds the cold metal of the capsule he had found days ago, having forgotten about it until his dream sparked a memory that Stan could not ignore.

Y/N Memories 2.

Stan grabs the office chair, taking a seat in it before wheeling over to the gold plated monitor that Ford and you have been using to watch your memories back this past week. After carefully placing the capsule into the slot, he sits back, the screen fizzling to life.

You stare at the family photo of the Pines family, a younger Ford with his arm wrapped around another boy who is the spitting image of him, having found it after digging through his wallet to grab a tip for the pizza delivery guy.

As you walk back down the hallway to Fiddleford and Ford’s dorm room, your thumb runs over Stan’s face, seeing the huge boyish grin across his features. Despite having the same features as your boyfriend, there was a distinct difference in style and even personality that showed through in the worn-out photo. Opening the door to Ford’s room, you take a seat on his bed silently, placing the pizza box down.

Ford is preoccupied with the textbook in front of him, jotting down notes as he starts to say, “Thanks for grabbing me food, dear. You know how I get during midterms, I promise we’ll eat once I-”

You cut Ford off, holding up the photo, “Ford, who is this?”

Ford finally looks up from his textbook, the color in his face draining at what you are holding up. He quickly snatches it from you, tucking it into his cardigan pocket, “T-That’s Shermie, of course. Remember you met him when we visited New Jersey last summer?”

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, the person in that photo with you is clearly your age, Shermie would’ve been a baby in that photo. Unless you somehow figured out how to clone yourself at age fourteen, which we know if you did, you wouldn’t be at Backupsmore of all places.” You point out. Your gaze is full of skepticism, waiting expectantly for an answer.

He winces at your usage of his full name and lets out a deep sigh of defeat, getting up from the desk chair. Taking a seat next to you, he pulls the photo of his cardigan pocket, “I knew this day was going to come eventually. My so-called clone,” Ford runs a finger over his brother’s face, “is my twin brother, Stanley.”

You look back and forth between the photo and Ford, jaw dropped in disbelief, “And you failed to tell me this? Stanford, we’ve been together for almost two years now, I would expect something like this to come up.” Ford places the photo in your hands, the sight of it causing conflicted feelings to rise to the surface, “Well, there was a reason for that. My brother and I aren’t exactly on talking terms…”

You see the sadness etched across Ford’s features, and reach over to place your hand over his, “What happened, Ford?”

Stan watches his brother share with you his side of the story, wincing at the bitter edge in Ford’s voice when he mentions how Stan ruined his perpetual motion machine. It feels surreal to watch this play out, hearing the frustration and anger but also sadness his brother’s voice over things that they had put behind them last summer.

He waits for your response with bated breath, almost expecting you to default to defending and comforting Ford like everyone else had done at the time.

“Ford, why didn’t you go after him? That’s your twin brother.” You say in surprise.

“Y/N, did you not hear what I just said? He ruined my chances at getting into my dream school!” Ford sighs in exasperation, a pang of guilt running through him, “Besides… what was I supposed to do? Even if I did stand up for Stanley that day, I would have ended up on the streets with him.”

You decide to let the protest in your mouth go, seeing how uncomfortable the conversation was making Ford. You also figured he already felt bad enough that he couldn’t do more for his brother at the time without risking his own future. You glance back down at the photo before standing up to slip it back into Ford’s wallet, “Listen, I know you two aren’t on talking terms right now… but when you’re ready, you should at least check up on him. See how he’s doing.”

Ford chuckles, “Now, you’re sounding like my mom.”

“Well, she’s a wonderful woman so you should listen to her more.” You say, pinching Ford’s cheek affectionately before opening the pizza box.

Stan watched the static fizzle to transition to the next memory, but his mind was still reeling from the revelations.

Despite the fact that you had never met him and your first impressions were all coming from Ford, you came to his defense.

The last glance Ford gave to Stan before he was thrown out actually was one of regret, a silent wish Ford had that he had spoken up and defended his brother.

You met his mom, the only person who showed up to his fake funeral.

He continues to watch as each year, you encourage Ford to reach out, attempting to bridge the gap between the brothers. Stan rolls his eyes, arms crossed defensively almost out of reflex when hearing his brother tear apart one of his infomercials, but can’t help but smile as you come to his defense.

“I mean you gotta give him credit for trying, Ford. He actually really knows how to sell a product.” You say, sitting next to Ford on the arm of the chair that was in front of the TV. The two of you were unwinding for the evening after a long day of anomaly hunting, flipping through the channels before seeing a familiar face pop onto the screen, selling a new product called the Rip Off.

“He’s always been like that, trying to come up with some sort of get rich quick scheme.” Ford scoffed though it was less venom, almost laughing at the sight of his brother with a ridiculous mustache.

The phone rings and Ford shoots up, “That might be Fiddleford returning my call!”

Just as Ford exits the room, your eyebrow raises as Stan begins to rattle off a number to place an order for his product. As the number appears on screen, you grab a nearby scrap of paper and pen, jotting it down.

Later that night, when Ford is asleep, you creep downstairs, wincing each time the floor creaks. You dial the numbers scrawled on the piece of paper you kept tucked in your pocket.

The phone rings for quite some time and just as you’re about to give up and hang up, you hear the line pick up.

“Hello?” A gruff voice, slightly deeper from just being woken up, answers.

“Is this Stanley Pines?” You ask, hoping you got the right number, not realizing that Stan was using a different alias in the infomercial, Steve Pinington.

There’s a pause, Stan staring at the phone in confusion and panic. He hadn’t gone by his real name since he left Jersey, being chased from state to state after his scams had failed.

“Listen, if the debt collector sent you to get money from me, tell him I need at least another week.” He answers, catching you off guard at his response. You blink owlishly for a brief moment before responding, “Look, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m calling about Ford Pines, your brother.”

The phone practically slips from Stan’s hold in shock at the mention of his brother. It had been years since he heard from any of his family, and now there was a random stranger calling him in the middle of the night, mentioning his brother. His heart felt like it dropped into his stomach, fearing the worst may have happened to Ford and he quickly dropped his guard, “Did something happen to Ford? Is he okay?”

You hear the concern in Stan’s voice and quickly explain, “Nothing happened, he’s fine! Listen, I know this is quite unorthodox and you two haven’t spoken in years but I saw your number on an infomercial and figured this may be my only chance to reach out on his behalf. To maybe get you two talking again.’

Stan quickly relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized Ford wasn't in danger but it in turn led his defenses to go right back up, “Listen, if Ford wants to finally talk to me after all these years, he can do it himself. He didn’t have to send his… what are you his secretary, lab assistant..?” Stan questions.

You let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m his partner.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence, so long that you almost think the call dropped. Stan finally speaks, “You sure you’re not pulling my leg here?”

“No, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I am dating your brother.” You reply, shaking your head in disbelief that you are having this conversation. It’s clear the brothers had differences in personality, and yet there were some similarities that you could pinpoint.

Their shared stubbornness being one of them.

“I take it my brother has no idea you’re calling me considering you decided to call at…” There’s a pause, Stan leaning over and squinting to check the time on the digital clock by his bedside, “2 AM.”

“He has no clue.” You mutter, twirling the phone cord in your finger. It dawns on you how impulsive this plan was and perhaps it was naive of you to think that Stan would even want to talk to his brother after everything that’s happened.

Stan runs a hand over his tired face, still perplexed by the situation. Never would he have imagined that the next time he would hear about his brother would be through his supposed partner. After all, the last image of Ford he had in his brain was the geeky, lanky teen whose closet consisted primarily of sweater vests and stuffy turtlenecks.

“Hey, uh, what has Ford said about me?” Stan asks, “Not that I expect him to rave about me at all.” He muttered, a bit embarrassed to admit that he still cared to this day what his brother thought about him.

“Not… all bad things.” You say with a slight hesitation, wincing at how that sounded. “He told me everything that led up to you two not being on speaking terms, how you were always hot-headed and always stirred up trouble.” You admit, trying to dance around the topic of Stan getting thrown out and causing Ford to lose his opportunity of getting into his dream school.

“Ha… not sure what I was hoping for by asking, but thanks for being-” Stan chuckles bitterly, but you interrupt him before he can finish his thought. “But if you ask me, I think it’s all a front. I mean the man literally has a photo of the two of you in his wallet… that’s how I found out you existed in the first place.

Stan’s heart feels full after hearing those words come from you. After all, he was starting to give up any hope that Ford would want him to be a part of his life again after the mistake he made those years ago. A sense of relief washes over him, and for once after all these years, he feels like he can breathe easy.

Hearing you yawn breaks his train of thought, and Stan clears his throat, “Hey, uh, I realize I didn’t catch your name.” You share your name with him and he commits it to memory, “Thanks for reaching out. I get why Ford wouldn’t want to talk to me yet, but if he ever is open to it, tell him don’t be a stranger.”

You smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep bugging him, he’ll cave eventually.”

Stan laughs, taking enjoyment in someone bugging Ford in his absence, “I like your moxie.”

Stan knew deep-down when he first ran into you on the side of the road that there was something special about you. He wasn’t able to name it until now, but as he walked around the Mystery Shack, giving you a tour, your presence was strangely comforting, almost like the two of you knew each other for years.

Watching the two of you exchange late night calls back and forth over the next few months, his fond smile quickly dissipates, seeing your features grow more and more weary and tired despite the chipper tone you try to fake over the phone. Each time you hang up, you walk back upstairs, looking wistfully at the entrance of the basement as you pass it before heading back to an empty bed, the sheets on the other side perfectly made and untouched.

Once Fiddleford had arrived, you had opted to write letters to be more covert since Ford and Fiddleford were often up late working on the portal. Seeing you open the letters in excitement, laughing over Stan’s amusing stories about his life as a door to door salesman, sparked a memory of Stan’s, and he quickly begins rummaging through the drawers, rifling through the various papers, books, and knick-knacks that mostly belonged to Ford.

Stan pauses, hearing his brother’s voice on the tape and looks up, wincing as he gets a glimmer of what you and Ford’s fights were like. In all honesty, he tried to avoid asking either of you too many details about what happened all those years ago, especially given the tension that was continuing to rise with every memory you got back. Yet here it was in front of his eyes in fuzzy definition.

“Y/N, will you please stop fretting over me?” Ford sighs in exasperation, his eyes bloodshot from the countless all-nighters he had been pulling the past week. His brown locks are askew, having run his hands through them in frustration over and over again.

You stand at the doorway of the basement, a thick blanket draped around your frame. A frown is set across your features, seeing Ford neglecting basic needs like food, sleep and even hygiene this past month to work on the portal. You had hoped things were starting to turn around - after all, it had been ages since Bill had paid him a visit, and you, Fiddleford and him actually spent a wonderful Christmas together, drinking eggnog and reminiscing about college days.

“Ford, you’ve been at this for days. You’re not a super computer that can crank out equations day in and day out, you’re a human being that needs to sleep and eat.” You say with a stern tone, approaching him from behind. He hadn’t even spared you a glance, eyes fixated on the equations before him that were key to completing the portal that loomed past the glass.

Trust No One.

The words that his muse told him right after the holidays resonated in his mind for days on end, wary of Fiddleford and you. The insomnia was not helping his growing paranoia, wondering if the two of you were slowing down his progress on purpose.

You attempt to place a hand over his shoulder, but he shrugs it off, knowing he will cave the moment he feels your touch. You recoil your hand, feeling the burn of his rejection.

“I’m finished having this discussion with you, I would expect you of all people to realize how important it is to me and why I cannot take any more breaks.” Ford says with a dismissive tone, “I already wasted too much time over the holidays putzing around.”

Your eyes narrow, and Ford can practically feel your glare burning a hole in the back of his head. “Do you really think that Christmas we all spent together was a waste of time?”

“Well no but-”

“Bill came back, didn’t he?”

Ford’s shoulders tensing gives you the answer you need. Your feet carry you back up the stairs, not turning back around despite Ford’s protests.

“Damn it all.” Ford curses under his breath, his hands slamming onto the desk, the equations beneath his fingertips crumpling. He looks up, the inverted triangle mocking him in the distance. “Forgive me, Y/N, but I must set my eyes on the prize. Once I make this breakthrough, opportunities await us.”

You attempt to fight back the sudden wave of emotion. You pass the living room, the glow of the TV illuminating Fiddleford’s figure passed out on the couch with his banjo still in his hands. You walk up to pull the instrument from his fingers and wrap the blanket draped over the back of the chair over him. “Is he still workin’ away?” Fiddleford asks groggily, half-asleep. You wipe the stray tear that had dropped from your lash onto your cheek, swallowing down the lump in your throat before replying, “Yeah… get some rest, Fidds.”

Just as you’re about to head back up the stairs, you pause at the steps, hearing the phone ringing in the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder cautiously, relieved to see Fiddleford fast asleep before scurrying over to answer it. You know the only one that could be possibly calling at this hour had to be Stan, but it had been quite some time since you two called one another.

“Stan?” You answer the phone. Stan twirled his finger around the cord of the pay phone, eyebrow raising at the shaky tone of your voice, “Everything okay, doll?” You clear your throat, letting out a bit of a dry chuckle, “I should be the one asking that considering that you’re calling.” A smile finally spreads across Stan’s face in what seems like ages, “Look at you turning the question back on me, clever gal. But really, is everything alright over there? Ford do something stupid?”

You let out a sigh, not wanting to burden his own brother with the details of your ongoing fights, especially considering the man was constantly on the run, practically living out of his car at this point, “Something like that… but seriously, why’re you calling? I thought we were sticking to writing to each other.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back as he heard police sirens in the distance, “Well, that’s why I called. I’m skipping town, just wanted to let you know just in case I didn’t write back for a bit.”

You blink at the sudden news, “Any plans on where you’re heading to next?” You ask, a silent yet slightly selfish wish that he might be heading towards Oregon. “Oklahoma, not sure exactly where yet. Gotta scrounge up some cash first before I can find a place to stay.”

“Oh Stan, are you sure you don’t want me to-” Stan interrupts you before you can finish, “No, I’ll figure it out.”

Ah, there’s that shared Pines twin stubbornness again.

“Are you sure? I just want you to have somewhere safe and warm to stay for the night at least instead of sleeping in your car tonight.” You sigh. Stan can hear the disappointment in your voice and attempts to quell your worries, “I’m sure, doll. Promise I’ll shoot you a letter once I’m settled.”

You decide to not push further, wrapping the blanket tighter around your frame as a sudden breeze rushes through the kitchen from a crack in the window, “Alright, stay safe, okay? I don’t want to wake up to hear I’m your one phone call if you land up in a jail cell tonight.”

“No more Tijuana nights for me, I promise.” Stan chuckles, wishing you a good night before hanging up the phone on the receiver.

“Aha! Found it!” Stan exclaims to himself, finding a stack of crumpled up letters he had stuffed in an overdue bill envelope. He unfolds the letters, spreading them across the table and skimming through the contents. With each word he reads, the memories start to piece together, recalling several nights where the only genuine connection that he experienced was seeing a letter from you slide through the bottom of whatever motel room he was staying at.

The tape almost becomes background noise to him, fixated on the content of the letters. It eats Stan up at the realization with each letter that passes that you were subtly hinting through your words for him to come visit, desperate to find someone that Ford would listen to.

Despite all logic telling him that it may not have made a difference, there is a tiny voice in the back of his mind that wonders if he just put aside his ego, his stubbornness, his pride, would things have been different?

He finally gets to the letter from his dream, eyes snapping up to see that he’s finally caught up to the tape as he watches you write and send out the letter.

That’s the last letter in his hand and Stan expects the static to fizzle out, signalling the end of your memories with him.

It doesn’t.

The scene reveals you storming up the stairs of the basement, flinging the door wide open as Ford’s voice, arguably with more venom than Stan has ever heard in his life, yell,

“Fine, I don’t need anyone! I don’t need Fiddleford, and I don’t need you! All you’ve ever done is hold me back!”

The words sting for Stan despite not being on the receiving end of them, a hauntingly familiar insecurity rising to the surface.

The wind howled around you as the last ounce of hope within you died when he didn’t come out.

You walk aimlessly for a while before finally making your way into the small town, its atmosphere quiet and calm with most of its residents fast asleep. You wander over to the local inn, taking the key from the innkeeper and making your way to the room. Dropping your bags to the floor, the weight of Ford’s words and the reality of your relationship’s end finally sinks in, and you collapse onto the bed.

Days pass before you muster the strength to even leave the room, the grief making your limbs feel heavy to the point where you only get out of bed to go to the bathroom. You finally realize you can’t survive on granola bars and water bottles after the fourth day, mustering enough energy to change your clothes and make your way into town for a decent meal.

You grab a photo on top of your pile of clothes, turning it around reluctantly and expecting to see a photo of you and Ford. You freeze, seeing the Pines twins staring back at you. Brown eyes looking at each other, full of hopes and dreams of a future beyond their beachside hometown.

Stanley.

You clutched the photo in your hands for a while, conflicted on what to do. Would it cause you more pain to keep in touch? Did you have any right to stay in contact with Stan, the brother of the man that broke your heart?

Blood is thicker than water, and despite the brothers’ distant relationship, you knew that with enough time, they would be closer than ever.

The growl of your stomach interrupts your thoughts, and you decide to make a decision about how to proceed with a clearer head after a much needed meal and some coffee. After hoovering down way too many stacks of pancakes at the local diner, you take a stroll through the town. During your entire time in Gravity Falls, Ford and you kept to yourselves for the most part, rarely venturing into town unless for bare essentials. The townspeople of Gravity Falls were quirky to say the least, but they were warm and welcoming, almost oblivious to the anomalies that Ford has been chasing and cataloging for the past few years.

It seemed almost like a luxury, the ability to be unaware of the strange happenings that occurred in the surrounding woods. A luxury that you were beginning to envy.

You shake the thought, stopping by the local post office before heading back to the inn. Your fingers gingerly pick up the photo, and you take a seat at the desk, taking the pen with the inn’s worn-out logo and twirling it in between your fingers, a habit you had subconsciously picked up from Ford. You catch yourself, stopping before flipping the photo over and beginning to write.

Hi Stan,

I really wish I was reaching out in better circumstances, but unfortunately, that’s not the case.

Ford’s gotten too deep into his research, and I can’t continue to sit by while he destroys himself and everything around him to reach this goal.

I had to walk away, but he’s all on his own, and I know he’s much too stubborn and prideful to ask for help. I’m sorry to put this burden on you, but please go see him, Stan. He needs someone to talk some sense into him, and if anyone can get through to him, I know it’s you.

I really wish we could have met, that we could have teased Ford together, seen the two of you back together thick as thieves. Even though we’ve only talked through letters and over the phone, I know you’ve got a heart of gold underneath that rough exterior. I have to admit that you brought out lightness in a really dark time for me.

I hope life treats you kinder, I hope things turn around, and you get to take all the adventures in the world one day with Ford. I’ll be rooting for you.

Please take care of yourself.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Droplets of water hit the photo, slightly smearing the ink. Wiping them away with the back of your sleeve, you tuck the photo into an envelope and seal it with a sense of finality.

The memories flood back to Stan just like they did last summer, and everything seems much clearer like the time he realized he needed glasses after jokingly putting on Ford’s to imitate him.

It dawns on him that he never got your final letter, only Ford’s postcard.

Maybe he narrowly missed it, having packed his belongings the moment he got Ford’s plea for help.

Maybe it got lost in the mail, laying amongst a pile of letters that would never be opened.

Whatever the reason, it tore him apart that he went all those years thinking you forgot about him, tossing him aside in your mind without a second thought to even reach out for a goodbye. His brain having lumped into the same category as every single person in his hometown that thought he was good for nothing, his twin brother being the only reason why anyone would want to be around him.

Yet there you stood, all those years later, your car stranded on the side of the road, back in the woods where it all started. Neither of you having a clue there was a reason why your banter and interactions seemed so effortless. It was like you picked back up right where you started.

“Stanley, what are you doing down here?”

Ford’s voice startles him, almost causing him to topple over in the chair. Before he can explain himself or even come up with some excuse, one last scene fizzles on the screen for both brothers to watch.

You wander through the aisles of the convenience store, having a basket cradled in the crook of your arm.You were in the small town of Gravity Falls, visiting an old friend from college who was here doing research. Fiddleford had sent you to grab some basic staples, and you happily accepted, needing the walk to clear your strangely foggy head.

Staring at the list that Fiddleford had scrawled on a piece of paper as you squint to make out his chicken scratch, you don’t catch the hooded figure with his head down walking directly towards you. You collide with one another, falling on your butt and the contents of your basket spilling out.

“S-Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You apologize, scrambling to grab the contents of your basket. “You’re fine, I wasn’t looking either.” A hauntingly familiar voice replies back, reaching for the loaf of bread and handing it over to you.

Your eyes widen, and you look up, seeing a man who had the same face of the person you wanted to forget staring back at you. The brown locks that you remembered were longer, hitting the nape of his neck, the furry lining of the beat-up hoodie adorning the top of his head. Tired eyes gazing back at you.

The world stands still around you, not realizing the crowd that was beginning to form after hearing the sound of your basket crashing to the ground.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Stan says, staring at you with concern as you continue to gape at him.

“Stan…” You finally say, the memories of Ford beginning to seep back into your consciousness.

Stan’s eyes widen when you say his name. Not Ford’s but his.

Before he can react, he watches you stand up suddenly, abandoning the items on the floor and pushing past the bodies to bolt out of the exit.

You don’t think, your feet carrying you back to the hut that Fiddleford was staying in. Slamming the door behind you, Fiddleford jumps, his hypervigilance still activated as he picks up his banjo to start swinging it. He relaxes when he sees it’s you, placing the instrument down, “Sweet sarsaparilla, you scared me, Y/N!” He lets out a surprised yelp, feeling your embrace tight around him.

“What’s the matter? Somethin’ happen while you were out?” Fiddleford says with concern, his spine rigid at the thought of you encountering one of the many anomalies that disturbed him during his time in Gravity Falls. You mutter into his shirt, “I saw him, Fidds… and all the memories came right back… it hurts so much.”

His eyes widen, and he pulls you away briefly to stare into your tear-soaked eyes, “You saw S?” You shake your head back and forth, “No… his brother. He’s in town.”

“Ah shucks, did he recognize ya?” Fiddleford asks, guiding you over to the rocking chair before taking a seat on the floor in front of you. “No, I don’t think he knows what I look like. I did say his name though.” You pause before letting out a sad chuckle, “They really do look alike, apart from a few differences.”

The two of you sit in silence, Fiddleford reluctant to offer yet again to use the memory gun on you. It was one thing to erase the memory of the anomalies from his own brain and the brains of several Gravity Falls residents, but asking him to relieve you of every single memory you had of the man you both cared deeply about, he was conflicted. Your time with Ford encompassed most of your adult life, and he would be taking away essentially years of your life. He had attempted to talk you out of it, but when he saw how all sense of joy had been sucked out of you and your eyes puffy from all the tears you had shed, he caved, wanting to take away the pain.

“Fidds, I can’t stay here… I need to go back home.” You sigh, bringing your legs up to your chest and rocking in the chair, “Everything about this place is a potential reminder of Ford… I just want to put this all behind me.” Fiddleford nods, “I understand… do you wanna..” he trails off, getting choked up over the thought of erasing your memories again.

“Yes… and I’m going to need you to erase my memories of Stan too.” You say, extending your hand out, feeling Fiddleford’s fingers rest on your palm.

“Hey Fidds…”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you, I know this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

That evening, you and Fiddleford have one final dinner together, going through old photos and memories from the past. After today, all the pain would be gone so why not open up some of the wounds to at least have a final farewell to your life with Ford and Gravity Falls?

After booking a one way ticket back to your hometown, you sit on the floor, watching Fiddleford configure the Memory Gun. “What’s his full name again? Just gotta make sure… it’s accurate.” Fiddleford asks a casual question for such a heavy task ahead of him.

“Stanley Pines.”

Fiddleford finishes typing out the name before sitting down in front of you, “Are you sure you wanna do this, Y/N?”

Fiddleford gives one final nod before suddenly hugging you tightly, “Don’t be a stranger now. I expect a letter about your adventures when ya get the time.”

You chuckle sadly, returning the embrace, “I won’t be, Fidds.”

Feeling the cool bulb press against your temple, you close your eyes, envisioning Stan’s face from earlier. You have one final hope that his presence means Ford finally let someone in.

‘Goodbye, Stanley… at least one of my wishes came true and I got to meet you.’

The scene cuts, the screen goes black, the two brothers’ crestfallen expression reflecting back at them.

Ford places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Stanley… is this the end of her memories?”

Stan shakes his head, his head buzzing from the memories coming back to him. God, he felt like his brain was about to burst from all the information flooding back to him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales, “There was a second capsule… I found it in the basement of the museum earlier this week but I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t want to complicate things.”

Ford’s eyes widened at the revelation, “So the second capsule was…”

“It was her memories of me. Guess you weren’t the only one she wanted to forget, Ford.” Stan says, hating the bitter tone on his tongue, “My memories of her started coming back, I guess, after we hung out yesterday. Started having a dream just like hers.”

“You know we need to tell her about it…” Ford stated with a softer tone, slightly pressing but not being too demanding. He understood what it was like to feel erased, the same questions likely circling in his brother’s head.

Was I insignificant enough that you erased me?

Was your life better off without me in it?

“No, not yet!” Stan says frantically, “She’s already struggling with her memories with you, I don’t wanna make this worse for her.”

Ford sighs, trying to reason with his brother, “You know she’s going to find out eventually. If your memories of her were starting to come back, I’m sure the same is happening to her.”

Stan mulls it over, his brother having a point. On the other hand, he heard what Ford’s last words were to you, and they weren’t pretty. Was it right for him to throw another curveball at you just when you’re so close to getting to that fight?

“I’m willing to take the risk… I just want her to focus on what’s up ahead with your memories with her.” Stan says with a sense of finality.

Ford nods, knowing after so many years, not to argue with Stan when he speaks with conviction. “Alright… I’ll let you handle your memories with her, and we’ll keep forging onward with her memories with me.” He walks over to the machine, removing the capsule and placing it back into Stan’s hands. His eyes glance over at the letters strewn across the table, watching Stan quickly scoop them into his arms.

“Stanley… did she write you those letters?” Ford asks. He wasn’t completely oblivious to your efforts in the past to keep in touch with his brother, mostly turning a blind eye to it as he was so focused on the portal. He hadn’t realized though you two had been in communication much more consistently than he had realized.

“She did… since someone was too stubborn to reach out himself.” Stan snorts, grinning as Ford huffs in response, “You’re one to talk! The phone goes both ways, Stanley, and I never heard anything from you either.”

“Hey, I did try calling one time!” Stan defends himself.

“Oh really because I don’t recall you ever doing so?” Ford says.

“Well, you picked up… I just didn’t say anything and hung up.” Stan mutters.

“Stanley, that hardly counts!” Ford protests.

“Am I interrupting something?” Your voice cuts off the brothers’ bickering, watching in amusement with two coffee mugs in your hand.

Stan quickly stumbles, fumbling to hide the capsule behind the papers as Ford approaches to take the mugs from your hands, “Thank you for bringing these down, we’ve got a long day ahead of us if we want to get back on track.”

“Sorry, Stan, I would have brought you coffee if I knew you were down here. Thought you were still sleeping when you weren’t in the kitchen.” You apologize.

Stan shakes his head, using this as an excuse to slip out, “I’ll go grab myself one, don’t sweat it. I’ll get out of your guys’ hair.” He begins walking towards the stairs, pausing mid-way up the stairs to spare a glance at you.

You lean against the work station, watching Ford carefully place the capsule back in its slot. You pass him his mug, Stan’s eyes lingering on the brush of each other’s fingertips despite neither of you or Ford reacting to the touch.

Being twins, many would presume there would be a lot of things the brothers would share in common. Despite the similarities in appearance, they were two distinct individuals, with different goals, hobbies, interests, and personalities.

While there was friendly competition here and there, there was rarely a moment where Stan coveted something that Ford had aside from a few instances of fighting over a favorite toy and the one time in 5th grade where he and Ford had a crush on the same girl, Niki Marino.

This was one of those moments.

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