#(where he holds fidds in his arms)
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icarus
#‘dont forget what happened to icarus’. ough. ow. aough. Owwww OWWW#thry make me sooooo sadddd#Ughhh#the text says ‘whats done is done/you know this isnt real’#i was thinking of the tweet talking about the portal incident and how ford remembered it wrong#(where he holds fidds in his arms)#and the two interpretations of it being him viewing himself as a hero and/or as him trying to lessen his guilt#so this was made with all of that in mind#idk why i felt the need to explain that im normal. Promise. normal enjoyer of details#stanford pines#fiddleford mcgucket#fiddauthor#gravity falls#felix art
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Latrotoxin
Stanley Pines & Stanford Pines | 7,586 words | Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
“He checks that Ford is still focused on Fiddleford— he is, completely and utterly— before he carefully rolls up one sleeve of his jacket to check the bite. There’s two messy holes in his arm, bleeding sluggishly. The skin around the wounds is flushed red.
Stan may be the idiot of the group, but even he knows this is bad news. Spiders are usually poisonous, right? Does that apply to alien spiders that are huge? Probably.
The small part of his brain that still cares about logic and being alive says he should tell the Fords immediately, before things get worse. The louder, larger part of his brain stomps it down and kicks its corpse for good measure.”
Warning for injury, poisoning, arachnophobia.
Fic under the cut.
It’s raining on Planet Boring. They’ve seen a lot of things in their short time wandering the multiverse together, but this planet’s pretty high up there in terms of ‘yeah, this is basically just Earth’. Ford is marveling at the size of the plants, but it all just looks like Central America to Stan. Besides, it’s raining.
“There’s a cave up ahead,” Fiddleford says, a hand cupped over his goggles to keep the rain off of them. “Le’s get outta this rain.”
“Sounds good,” Stan says, adjusting his hood to cover his face. It was going to take forever for the damn thing to dry.
Fiddleford leads the way, carefully weaving up the side of the hill until he can scramble up into the cave. Stan follows, once he makes sure Ford is doing the same.
“Well,” Fiddleford says, holding out his prosthetic to push the darkness back a bit further. “Reckon it’ll keep us dry, at least.”
Stan squints as he steps inside. Unlike the hill it’s carved into, the ground inside seems pretty flat. He wanders a bit further in, eyes catching against some white tangle woven across one of the walls.
“Hey, is that—“ Stan cuts himself off as his foot slips, only a small part of it landing on solid ground while the rest drops out from under him.
He stumbles slightly, ankle slamming painfully against rock as his foot lodges itself in the crevice. He reaches out to steady himself against the wall, but pulls away in disgust as soon as he feels it.
“Spider webs,” Fiddleford provides helpfully.
“Won’t you ever watch where you’re going?” Ford huffs, looking at the tangle of webs disdainfully.
“Oh yeah, Poindexter? Wanna tell Fidds here how many times I had to pull you out of traffic because you had your big ugly nose in a book?”
“We have the same nose! And besides—“
“He doesn’t need to tell me, I had to do the same thing for him in college,” Fiddleford chimes in with a smirk. Ford’s face flushes with indignation as Stanley barks out a laugh.
“It’s different when we’re in a potentially dangerous dimension that we know next to nothing about!” Ford huffs.
“Yeah yeah, I’m an idiot, just get me out of this shit,” Stan grumbles, tugging ineffectively at his trapped leg. It’s flexible, but at this point that really just means that it won’t break easy.
“I gotcha,” Fiddleford says, raising his prosthetic. Stan leans away.
“Woah, hey, I dunno if that’s really necessary!” Stan yelps, holding his hands up placatingly.
“The claws, Stanley,” Fiddleford reassures, but there’s a worrying glint of gleeful amusement in his eyes. “I ain’t gonna blast your foot off.”
“Yeah, obviously not,” Stan scoffs, folding his arms. He knew that.
“Hurry, won’t you? The cave opens up further in,” Ford calls, voice echoing. He's far enough away that Stan can barely see the shape of him in the dim light of the cave.
“Don’t you go wandering off!” Fiddleford snaps, and oh yeah, he really does have a kid, because that there’s a dad voice.
“I won’t go far!”
“Darn right you won’t, because you’re gonna turn right around and come back over here!”
Ford sighs, but he turns to face them and doesn’t go any further.
Fiddleford echoes the sigh with a shake of the head that looks pretty fond from where Stan is standing. With one foot in a crack full of spider webs. He directs his attention back to Stan and kneels in front of him.
“Woah, take me out to dinner first,” Stan jokes, hooking a thumb into his belt loop.
“Shut your mouth, Lee,” Fiddleford laughs, steadying his flesh hand against the floor.
Shit, he hasn’t been Lee in years. If Ford hadn’t all but called dibs already, Stan’d be all over that man like a seagull on the fries of an unsuspecting tourist. He laughed at his joke and everything!
What a guy. A guy currently clawing at the spider webs around his leg, even. His palm is a little too big to fit in the crack Stan had jammed his foot into, but he sure is trying his best. Stan sighs and resigns himself to standing there for a bit. For lack of anything better to do, he idly looks around the cave. For the most part, he can see the rough roof of it, but there’s some sections lost in shadow. There’s one pretty much right above them, in fact, the surrounding stone pulling upwards into a deep crevice.
It almost looks like something’s moving up there in the dark, but even Stan knows how much the human eye loves seeing things that aren’t there when you’re staring into pitch blackness.
It really does seem like something’s moving, though.
Stan squints.
“Hey, Fidds, give it a rest for a sec, would ya?” Stan says, wiggling his foot to get his attention. “Pro’lly just my eyes playing tricks on me, but is there something up there?”
Fiddleford hums, standing up. He lifts his arm above his head, and the dim light of his prosthetic pushes the darkness back just enough for Stan to make out what looks like eight dark eyes staring at them from the shadows.
“Huh,” Fiddleford says, voice pitching up slightly. “Yup, reckon you’re right.”
Just as he says that, the thing in the darkness skitters closer. With its head fully lit as Fiddleford rears around to face it, Stan knows it’s a spider, if the eight eyes weren’t enough to clue him in. It’s an ugly one too, eight eyes bulging grotesquely from a dark, shiny head. Two giant fangs protrude from the bottom of its face, with two little legs shifting as it stares at them. Little is a relative description, of course, because they’re about the length of his forearm which is far too large for any part of a spider to be, if you ask Stan.
“What are you waiting for, blast that thing!” Stan demands, and suddenly the spider lunges.
Fiddleford yelps, throwing out his prosthetic to catch it before those fangs can hit something more delicate. They clack against the metal, shifting as they try to dig into something with no give. The sudden weight of the spider knocks Fiddleford off his feet, sending him stumbling into Stan, who’s only there to catch him because his foot’s stuck. Luckily, their combined weight is enough to wrench his foot free, which, unluckily, means all three of them hit the floor.
Fiddleford rolls off of Stan, tugging the spider along with him. Considering the things got eight legs beneath it, the movement does nothing to knock it off balance. Its weird little legs prod at Fiddleford’s chest. Stan rolls to his feet, every muscle tensed.
The spider pulls away, finally getting wise to the fact that it can’t bite through metal. With his prosthetic now free, Fiddleford pulls back just far enough to claw it across the face, catching at least three of its gross eyes. It rears back, legs scrambling to get the threat away from itself, and oh shit, have spiders always had a nasty pair of little claws on the end of each leg?
Stan glances towards the entrance of the cave.
There’s not a lot of force behind the movement, not when it’s just trying to get away, but its claws scramble against the flimsy fabric of Fiddleford’s shirt and tear it with ease. Judging by Fiddleford’s pained yelp, they make it through more than that.
He’s spent a long-ass time looking out for nobody but himself, but there was a time before that when his brother was his first priority. Nothing much has changed, then. Ford would kill him if he let his boy get killed, and besides, Stan kinda likes the guy himself.
Leaving his typical taunting out just this once— it would be lost on a spider anyway— Stan threads his fingers through his brass knuckles and lunges. He doesn’t know what his good ol’ fists will do against a spider as big as he is, but the answer seems to be ‘enough’.
The spider lets out a wet noise as his fist cracks through its exoskeleton. He rears back on instinct, because gross, and that gives the beast enough time to turn itself towards him. Its five remaining eyes don’t have a shred of humanity to them, but Stan still gets the impression of a hateful glare. He pulls back for another blow, straight between those ugly eyes, but the spider lunges before he can. He steps to the side, but a person-sized spider is a lot wider than a person-sized person, and two of the legs catch him, bringing him towards that awful mouth. Those weird little mouth legs grab at his arm, and he struggles against its grip. He leans far enough away that its mouth lands far from his throat, but that’s the best of it. It still lands, fangs sinking into his arm.
Stan grunts against the sharp stab of pain, but the spider made a big mistake— it grabbed his non-dominant arm. He can’t throw his whole body into it like he should, but he can still punch this thing in the head, over and over and over until his arm is covered in bug blood and its legs stop twitching around him.
“Stanley! Fiddleford!” Ford shouts, suddenly deciding to show back up now that the action is over. “Fiddleford! What happened?”
“Big spider,” Fiddleford grunts, sitting up. He’s got a hand pressed over the worst of the wounds, and now that Stan’s looking, there sure is a lot of blood staining his shirt.
“I see that!” Ford says tightly, sparing the spider a glance. His eyes briefly spark with that bright-eyed nerd look, but it’s pretty quickly drowned out by concern. “Come on, there's a place deeper in where we can rest.”
“Are we sure this is the only spider here?” Stan asks, pulling his arm free of the fangs. It is not a graceful dismount, tearing at the skin around the punctures.
“Well, the vast majority of spider species are incredibly asocial, many even resorting to cannibalism if other food sources are unavailable,” Ford says in that enthusiastic lecturer tone that Stan can’t help but roll his eyes at. “Judging by the size and web-building habits of this individual, I have no reason to believe it’s an exception.”
“Alright, pretty sure I caught most of that,” Stan says. “Lead the way, Poindexter.”
“I shall,” Ford agrees, helping Fiddleford to his feet. Fiddleford hisses against the movement, pressing his hand more firmly to the worst of his wounds as Ford swings his prosthetic over his shoulder. He slumps a bit beneath its weight. “I forgot how heavy this thing is. You really wear this every day?”
“Y’know I do,” Fiddleford says. His accent means he’s always shoving words together, but the slur is coming in hard and fast. He’s losing a lot of blood. How much space is between the surface of someone’s skin and the inside of their organs, and how long were those claws again?
Stan isn’t a doctor, and even though the Fords have like, a hundred doctorates between them, he’s pretty sure none of them are medical. Still, it’s not like Stan of all people will be any help.
Ford half-carries Fiddleford into the next room of the cave, even if it’s a bit of a squeeze to get through the narrow passageway. While it’s further from the entrance, there’s an opening in the roof letting the rain trickle down into a shallow pool. That natural skylight is the only opening other than the one they just came through, and the room is small enough that Stan can see all of it, even in the dim light filtering through the clouds and into the cave. It’s a little slice of paradise, other than the giant dead spider a few feet away and the guy bleeding out all over his brother.
Stan’s been in worse places.
Ford lowers Fiddleford to the ground as soon as they enter the room. Ford sits down with him, all but cradling that scrawny little mechanic in his lap.
“Y’kay, Lee?” Fiddleford mumbles, rolling his head towards Stan.
“Are you seriously asking that right now?” Ford sighs, exasperated, before Stan can answer. He was going to say just about the same thing, but it confirms that that’s definitely what he should do.
“You’re the one who got gored by a giant spider, Fidds,” Stan says, waving his uninjured hand dismissively. “You can worry about other people when your blood’s back where it’s supposed to be.”
“Precisely. Now where do you keep those gauze…” Ford’s voice fades out as Stan wanders off. There isn’t anywhere to go, really, so Stan washes off the worst of the bug blood in the pond, then meanders his way over to sit against the opposite wall. There’s a clear view of both the Fords and the entrance.
He checks that Ford is still focused on Fiddleford— he is, completely and utterly— before he carefully rolls up one sleeve of his jacket to check the bite. There’s two messy holes in his arm, still bleeding sluggishly. The skin around the wounds is flushed red.
Stan may be the idiot of the group, but even he knows this is bad news. Spiders are usually poisonous, right? Does that apply to alien spiders that are huge? Probably.
The small part of his brain that still cares about logic and being alive says he should tell the Fords immediately, before things get worse. The louder, larger part of his brain stomps it down and kicks its corpse for good measure.
Fiddleford looks like he’s got more blood outside of his body than in it. He is clearly the first priority for Ford, and with good reason, even if a small, childish part of Stan rankles at the idea. Besides, spider venom probably wasn’t the worst thing Stan’s had injected into his body, and he’s survived everything else.
It hurts, but not that badly. There’s a faint ache spreading up his arm, but it’s probably just from the way that damn thing had grabbed it. He’s fine.
He’ll sneak over and grab one of those awful bottles of whatever Fiddleford uses to keep wounds clean when Ford’s done fretting over all their medical shit. He can take care of it himself. With just a few exceptions, Stan’s been the only one taking care of Stan for the past ten years.
He watches Ford carefully remove Fiddleford’s prosthetic and cleans his wounds, holding him steady even as Fiddleford writhes against the pain of that awful antiseptic against torn flesh. Once Ford has a cap on the bottle and is blotting away the excess blood and liquid, Fiddleford slumps against him. Ford carefully maneuvers around him to bandage the wound properly, mumbling gently all the while. Stan can’t make out the words, but he can guess what he’s saying.
Ford had never been one for reassurances. When he used to patch Stan up all those years ago, he’d run through everything he was doing and why. If he ran out of things to say on that topic, he’d just start talking about whatever else was on his mind. It gave Stan something to focus on other than the pain, so he’d always appreciated that. He can’t tell if Fiddleford feels the same way, can’t read his expression or body language beyond ‘pained’ at this distance.
Once he’s taken care of, Ford leans against the opposite wall of the cave with a visible sigh. Fiddleford carefully maneuvers himself to curl into Ford’s lap, burying his face in his stomach and fisting his hand into the back of his shirt. Ford takes off his coat, and lays it over him. The cave is honestly pretty hot if you ask Stan, but the gesture is nice.
“I’ll take first watch,” Ford calls, loud enough to echo through the cave. Fiddleford flinches at the loud noise, and Stan does the same, quickly adjusting his leg to make sure his arm is hidden from view.
His attempt doesn’t matter, because Ford isn’t even looking. He runs a hand through Fiddleford’s hair as he burrows his face deeper into Ford’s stomach.
Stan scoffs quietly. He’s a grown man. Stan hasn’t looked for comfort in another person since he was like, ten.
It does look kind of nice, though. He hasn’t trusted anyone to look after him the way Ford is looking after Fiddleford in over a decade; even Ford got too busy to tend to his every bruise and scrape eventually, and Stan learned to stop bothering him. He learned to set his own nose at fifteen and never looked back.
Eventually, Ford will get tired and he’ll wake up Stan to get him to take watch. Once that happens, Stan will grab the bottle of antiseptic and the roll of bandages and patch himself up. Until then, Stanley rolls his sleeve back down, and tries to make himself comfortable.
•••
Stan wakes up to something jostling his shoulder. That never means anything good. Without even thinking, he scrambles away from the touch, kicking against the ground. His legs barely react, and a dull ache rages through his entire body at the movement.
Oh, he’s in a real bad way. Even more reason to get the fuck away. His eyelids feel thick as he forces them open. As expected, someone is looming over him.
His arm twitches towards his pocket, but that’s as far as he gets. His whole body hurts, but his arm’s definitely the worst of it, maybe followed by his chest. It’s hard to breathe. He has no idea how much of that is panic and how much of it is whatever happened to him.
Either way, he’s not about to let himself die here. He doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is. The ground is hard beneath him and the wall is hard behind him and it’s hot. He’s sweating like hell, but what else is new.
“Ge’way,” Stan slurs, raising his other, slightly less painful arm to defend himself.
“Stanley!” a voice scolds, and the hand releases him. Whoever’s looming over him even takes a step back. “What is the matter with you?”
The voice sounds familiar, but that barely even registers. This person called him by his actual name.
“Who the fuck’re you?” Stan says, words coming a bit easier now.
“It’s me, Stanford! Seriously, what is wrong with you?”
Oh, he got into some real bad stuff. As Stan continues to blink blearily at the person, their features resolve into something very similar to his own.
This isn’t the first time his addled mind has conjured up a vision of his twin, but it’s a punch in the gut every time. To make matters worse, there’s someone actually here, and his stupid brain is trying to convince him it’s Ford. It’s not Ford. It’s never been Ford and it never will be. The last thing he could remember is…
Shit.
“… Ford?”
He blinks a few more times. The face glaring down at him remains that of his twin brother.
“It’s morning,” Ford says. “Well, it’s midday, actually, but either way, the rain has stopped and we should be looking for a way out of here.”
“Shoul’ Fidds be movin’ around so soon?” Stan says. Personally, Stan doesn’t feel great about moving around so soon, but he’s not about to say anything for his own sake.
“I shoul’ be fine,” Fiddleford chimes in. “Not lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know the rest of the local wildlife here.”
“Yeah… yeah, le’s get outta here,” Stan agrees. He steadies himself with his uninjured hand and tries to use it to push himself up. He can’t get his legs underneath himself. That's no good.
“Come on, Stanley,” Ford says impatiently.
“I’m working on it,” Stan snaps, trying to sound irritated instead of panicked. “I’m not as young as I used to be, ya know.”
“We’re 27, that’s hardly an applicable excuse,” Ford scoffs.
“Myeh myeh myeh,” Stan mumbles mockingly.
“Y’alright, Stanley?” Fiddleford asks, supporting himself against Ford as he approaches.
“Tch, yeah, of course,” Stan grumbles, and tries again.
His entire body protests, but he manages to stand. His leg spasms beneath him, and he stumbles. He reaches out to steady himself, but his arm doesn’t react as quickly as he hopes, ends up just smacking his injured forearm against the cave wall. Sharp, sudden pain shoots through him, so intense that he feels his stomach lurch. He grits his teeth against the surge of nausea, cupping his other hand over his mouth and telling himself he is not going to vomit until it sticks.
“Stanley!” Fiddleford frets, leaving Ford’s side to reach for Stan. Stan smacks his hand away with a bleary glare. His eyelids still feel weird.
“I’m fine. Just a head rush, you know how it is,” Stan says. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I…” Fiddleford glances between Stan and Ford. Without anyone to hold on to, his hand flutters down to his abdomen, gently cupping it over his bandaged wound. “Y’know, I said I’d be alright, but I’m already feelin’ a little…”
Ford looks to him with alarm. Fiddleford meets his eyes, and there’s something calculating in his expression. He’s aiming for a very specific reaction, and not even trying to hide his search. If Stan could think straight, he’d probably be able to catch onto his game, easy.
“Are you okay? Do you— should I check your stitches? Nothing tore, right?” Ford falls for it without a second thought.
“No, no, I think I just need another day of rest,” Fiddleford says, and there’s a caution to his expression that’s only half-faked. “Is that okay?”
“Of course,” Ford says softly. “I may not have been the most… considerate of your physical and mental limitations in the past, but I truly am trying my best to rectify such transgressions. If you want to rest, we shall rest.”
So that’s his game. Why, though? Is he just testing Ford, seeing how far he can push him until he stops playing nice? He might not be fully lying, it probably is too soon for him to be moving, but he was specifically gunning for this result for reasons beyond his own injury. He had a point, earlier, when he was talking about dangerous wildlife or whatever, so what changed?
He's missing something that’s staring him right in the face, he’s sure of it.
“Thank you, Stanford,” Fiddleford sighs. “Sorry to get you up for nothin’ Stanley.”
Stan grunts, and holds his arm as still as possible to avoid further irritation. Just to spite him, his arm twitches against his will. Pain pulses through him with each rapid beat of his heart. He's not actively panicking anymore, but his pulse is still racing. That's no good.
He tightens his grip on his upper arm. He could swear he feels the rush of toxic blood from the wound to his heart beneath his palm. Spiders have venom, and Stan’s been injected with it.
Spiders aren’t that dangerous, Ford told him that again and again. He was always sticking up for the weird little animals that everyone hates. Only two spiders in the US have venom that could kill a person. Bites are few and far between. Lethal ones being even fewer and farther between. None of that really applies to giant fuck-off big spider in an alternate dimension though. Do bigger spiders have stronger venom? Does that make sense? A bigger spider definitely has more venom, those fangs were as big as Stan’s hand.
How fucked is Stan, on a scale from one to ten? Being locked in a car trunk in the deserts of Nevada during a heatwave was probably a nine, so maybe he’d rank this at a seven. The uncertainty could probably boost it up to an eight, though.
When he ended up in that trunk, he’d already been in plenty of bad situations with a head injury and his hands tied behind his back. He’d even had heat stroke before, knew the symptoms and survived them once before. On some level, he knew what to do and what to expect, and he survived.
Right now, he didn’t know what to do or what to expect. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive.
Maybe it’s a nine.
“Lee?” Fiddleford asks gently. Despite his tone, Stan flinches away, sinking against the wall. He didn’t mean to do that. His legs feel so weak. It hurts. Everything hurts and it’s hard to breathe.
“Stanley, are you alright?” Ford asks, and it’s weird to have his concern again. It’s been over a decade. It was weird to see him fret over Fiddleford, but this is definitely weirder.
“Feel… not so good,” Stan admits. He doesn’t mean to, but most of his body isn’t listening to him, so why should his big dumb mouth?
“Oh, Stanley…” Fiddleford whispers. “What happened?”
“Bit. Nasty lil’… fucker… stupid fangs…”
“Chelicerae,” Ford corrects, seemingly without thinking. He kneels down in front of Stan, holding out a hand. Part of Stan wants to flinch away, but he counts the fingers and can’t bring himself to.
One two three four five, the thumb makes six. The thumb isn’t technically a finger. Is that true? Ford would know. He’s always been called a six-fingered freak, so it doesn’t really matter. One two three four five six.
“Where’d it get you, Lee?”
Lee. Stan wishes Ford still called him Lee. How long has it been?
Fiddleford is nice, but he’s not his brother. He missed his brother so much. He still misses him.
“Stanley, where did it get you?” Ford says, a bit more harshly. No, not harsh, just firm. Stan’s heart stutters anyway. He doesn’t want Ford to be mad at him anymore.
Ford is still holding out his hand. Oh, Stanley gets it now. Even though he really wants to lean forward and press his forehead to Ford’s hand, he extends his arm instead. It’s shaking.
“‘S hot in here,” he says.
“It’s really not, but we should get you outta that jacket anyhow,” Fiddleford says, reaching for Stan.
Fiddleford is nice, but he flinches away anyway, curling closer to Ford. Fiddleford doesn’t push the issue. He takes his hand back, holds it awkwardly in front of his chest. Ford used to do that too, before he got into the habit of hiding his hands. Made him look like a t-rex.
“D’you still like dinosaurs?” Stan tries to say. He’s pretty sure most of the noises come out, but Ford doesn’t respond to him either way. He just carefully starts rolling up Stan’s sleeve.
He didn’t want Ford to see his arm. He doesn’t exactly remember why, he’s having a hard time thinking that far back, but it seems important. He tries to pull away. He’s always been stronger than Ford, but it doesn’t work.
Is it Ford holding his arm?
One two three four five six. In all his time traveling, he’s never met someone like Ford.
It’s definitely Ford. The brush of cloth hurts and he doesn’t want Ford to see, but it’s Ford. He’s really good at secrets, but not when it comes to his brother.
“Shit,” Ford says sharply, hand tightening around his wrist. “Sweet Moses, Stanley, what were you thinking!?”
Oh, right, that’s why Stan didn’t want him to see. He’s mad.
“Tha’s your job…” Stan says, trying very hard to get the words out.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ford continues.
He probably heard him, he just doesn’t care.
He misses when his brother cared about him. He misses his brother.
“Stanley!” he scolds, and Stan swallows back a pathetic noise. He sounds like Pa when he talks like that.
One two three four five six. The grip on his wrist is firm, steadying the shaking, but the fingers tracing the reddened skin around the bite are gentle.
Pa wasn’t always cruel, but he was never ever gentle.
Ma was. Her hands were bony and shook more often than not, but they were gentle.
He misses Ma too. He’ll probably never see her again. She’s getting old. She’ll die and only one son will attend her funeral.
Shermie keeps in touch with her. Stan calls when he can but he loses track of time so easily. Ford does too. How often does he call? Does he answer when she does? Despite everything, he always answered Stan’s calls, even though he never said anything. Because he never said anything, actually. How quickly would he have hung up if he knew who was on the other end?
Ford is talking. He sounds frantic. He can’t decide whether the fear is better or worse than the anger.
“I’m ‘kay,” Stan tries, flailing his injured hand in an attempt to pat Ford’s arm soothingly. His fingers brush against him, but that’s about it.
“No, you’re not,” Ford growls, returning his attention to Stan. It was off him, for a second, he was talking to… “that’s the problem, Stanley, how could you hide this from us?”
“I ain’t happy about it either, but now’s not the time for a lecture,” Fiddleford says, right, yeah, Fiddleford.
“What is it time for?” Ford says, more desperate than combative.
“It’s time to see what all’s goin’ on. If we get an idea as to the toxin, we can figure out how best to deal with it,” Fiddleford says, sitting down beside Ford. “Hey, Stanley, can you answer a few questions for me?”
Stan looks to Ford for guidance. He seems confused, but he nods.
“Please,” Ford requests.
“Mhm,” Stan says, nodding once.
“Alright, thank you,” Fiddleford says, reaching over to Ford and shoving a hand into his coat. He fishes out one of those journals he’s always carrying around, and surprisingly, Ford lets him. He flips to an empty page, clicks the pen a few times, and nods to himself.
“Can you describe your symptoms, or should I give you some yes or no questions?”
Stan shrugs one shoulder.
“I’s hot, and my stomach kinda hurts,” Stan says haltingly. “Everything kinda hurts, actually, feels stiff, an’ it’s a lil hard t’ breathe, an’ my eyes feel weird.”
Fiddleford scribbles this all down quickly. He doubts his notes will be legible to anyone other than himself later. He looks more and more troubled the more he writes, and the expression is mirrored by Ford.
“‘s not so bad,” Stan tries, and the grip on his wrist tightens. Fiddleford huffs unhappily, looking up at Stan.
“Lemme see those peepers,” Fiddleford says, not even acknowledging Stan’s attempt at reassurance.
He leans in close, and Stan leans away. Fiddleford isn’t particularly scary, but he’s got the capacity to be. Stan feels pretty frail right now.
If he’s feeling pretty frail, the last thing he should do is show it. He should push this guy back twice as hard as he’s pushed him.
His free fist curls weakly against the ground. That's about as far as it gets. A painful spasm jolts up his arm.
“Swollen,” Fiddleford says, and he leans away. “How’s his pulse?”
“Elevated,” Ford admits. He sounds scared.
“‘s not that bad,” Stan tries again.
“Stop saying that!” Ford snaps, loud and harsh.
Stan flinches, squeezing his eyes shut.
Fuck. They got into plenty of arguments as kids, but the last time Ford used that tone with him—
“Quit your barking, boy!” Fiddleford scolds, smacking Ford upside the head.
There's no real force to it, more of a pat than a smack. Stan jolts anyway, trying to pull Ford closer. His arm just twitches in his grip.
“Believe me when I say I ain’ happy ‘bout this either, not ‘bout Stanley getting hurt in the firs’ place, not ‘bout him hidin’ it, and not ‘bout his constant downplayin’ o’ somethin’ so serious,” Fiddleford says, accent so thick and words so fast Stan barely catches any of them. “But he’s in a real bad way right now, and you yellin’ at him ain’ helping!”
“I’m not yelling!” Ford yells.
Fiddleford just scoffs and turns away.
“Sounds ta me like a neurotoxin,” Fiddleford says, carefully calm now that his attention is on Stanley.
“Neuro, like, brain?”
That sounds bad. That sounds real bad.
“Neuro like neural tissue, the nervous system at large,” Fiddleford says, and then, a bit more quickly, like he doesn’t want Stan to hear it, “not just the brain, but certainly including it, yes.”
Well.
Shit.
That’s a new form of brain damage for him to blame his stupidity on. Assuming he even makes it out of this alive.
“If it makes ya feel better, I’ve gotten quite a hefty dose of neurotoxin m’self, and the only lastin’ damage was psychological!” Fiddleford says with a shaky grin.
Ford’s grip tightens around Stan’s wrist.
“Really?” Stan asks. He’s not sure if he’s curious or seeking reassurance. Probably a little bit of both.
“Spent a solid day barfin’ my guts out, so you’re doin’ better than me.”
“… that does kinda make me feel better, actually.”
“Happy t’ help,” Fiddleford says, faintly amused. “I’m gonna go get my bag. I know it’ll hurt, but we gotta clean out those wounds.”
Stan’s shoulder aches at the mere thought.
“It would have been easier and more effective if we cleaned it out when these wounds were first opened,” Ford mumbles angrily. The fingers poking around the wound get a bit harsher, and Stan’s arm jerks. His fingers go soft again, an apology he refuses to actually voice.
“But we didn’t,” Fiddleford says. “It’d be easier if none of us got hurt in the first place, but that didn’t happen either. We just gotta make the best of what we ended up with.”
“You’re being incredibly permissive,” Ford grumbles.
“I ain’t his dad,” Fiddleford scoffs, grabbing his bag. “I ain’t about to go lecture him when he’s already sufferin’ for his choices.”
Stan mumbles something about his own dad and insult to injury (further injury to injury?) and Fiddleford’s parenting, but even in his own head it doesn’t end up making any sense.
Fiddleford returns, and Stan is suddenly reminded of what they were doing in the first place. As Stan tries to shy away, Ford’s grip tightens around his wrist, and the other grips him at the elbow. One two three four five six fingers wrapped around his arm. Counting them is the only thing that keeps him from kicking away. Well, that and the stiff ache of every part of his dumb body, but he’s even less likely to admit to that.
“Sorry, Lee,” Fiddleford mumbles, carefully wiping away the dried blood with a damp cloth. “Shoot, it really did a number on ya, huh?”
“It’s…” Stan suddenly remembers Ford’s reaction to his earlier dismissals, and decides on, “yeah, guess so.”
Fiddleford starts to rub at the scabs, gently wiping away what little protection had formed there. It certainly hurts, but Stan knows it’s only going to get worse.
“So, we just clean it out and hope for the best?” Stan asks between gritted teeth.
“‘fraid so, ‘less we find a horse and a couple months of free time before you recover.”
“A horse?” Stan echoes, baffled.
“Yeup. You synthesize an antivenom by injecting a horse with a small dose of the relevant toxin over time,” Fiddleford explains, wiping away the blood that wells up to replace the scabs. “It builds up some antibodies that can be isolated and injected alongside an anti-inflammatory… which I suppose we also don’t have.”
“Why a horse?” Stan asks, watching wearily as Fiddleford rings the cloth out and soaks it again with the antibiotic. Antiseptic? Which was it? Was there a difference? There’s a topic to distract them with once they’re done talking.
“… y’know, I don’t rightly know.”
“I suppose it may work with any mammal,” Ford muses, glancing towards the way into the body of the cave.
“Don’t even think about it, fella,” Fiddleford snaps, and Stan feels himself lose track of the conversation. “Stanley’s gonna be just fine without you doin’ anythin’ stupid.”
“Obviously! It’s just… something to consider in the future.”
“It absolutely ain’t. If any of us get poisoned, none of the rest of us are gonna start poisoning ourselves to try an’ fix it!” Fiddleford insists. “And besides, if we did, I would be the one to do it since I’ve already been dosed with neurotoxins!”
“We have no idea how chemically similar this spider’s venom is to that of the Gremloblin, despite the somewhat similar symptoms!” Ford protests, releasing Stan’s arm like he’s about to start gesturing before he puts it back. “Any antibodies you developed, supposing that they haven’t already been lost, may be entirely irrelevant!”
“And besides, it’s a gradual process that wouldn’t be of any use to us now, we have no way to isolate the antibodies, and injection without an anti-inflammatory could cause an allergic response that’d only worsen the condition,” Fiddleford agrees. “So this ain’t a particularly useful line of thinkin’ at all.”
As the period to that particular conclusion, Fiddleford finally presses the wet cloth to Stan’s wounds. For a split second, he thinks, huh, that’s not so bad, before the pain sets in quickly and very, very intensely.
The bite has hurt like hell ever since he first got it, and it’s only been getting worse. The gradual increase in pain spikes, so intense and sudden that Stan can’t muffle a cry as his vision goes white. He tries to breathe in, but his chest locks up, his entire body seizing.
Oh fuck, Stan thinks, and that’s the only thing he can think for a long time. Maybe not so long. It could last anywhere between a few seconds to several hours, Stan has no idea.
Fiddleford and Ford are talking, but it’s just noise to him. Stan grits his teeth so hard he’s certain he can hear them creaking. He wonders if his partials or his actual teeth are tougher. He feels like both of them are seconds away from shattering. He’s seconds away from shattering. Ford’s grip on his arm is tight enough to hurt but it’s nothing in comparison to the white-hot agony between his hands.
He thinks he might hate Fiddleford, actually. He can’t keep getting away with this.
•••
He comes back to himself eventually. For some reason, he’s laying down now, no idea when that happened. His head in Ford’s lap and his arm propped up on a small stack of stones blanketed in Stan’s jacket. It still hurts like a bitch, but at least he can think straight. Straighter. Still not entirely straightly.
His arm is all bandaged up now, which is nice. As Stan glances around what little bits of the cave he can see without moving his neck, he realizes he can’t see Fiddleford. Stupidly, that’s a bit of a relief.
Ford has held him in place while Fiddleford poured white hot acid all over his wounds, but it’s Ford. Ford could dissect him alive without anything to help with the pain and he’d still trust him with his life. That’s his brother.
He blinks blearily up at Ford’s face. He’s not looking at him. He’s looking down at a book he’s got sitting on the ground next to Stan’s head, tapping a five-fingered rhythm against the pages.
Stan hums, just because he can. Ford jolts, and Stan hears the paper wrinkle beneath his fingers. Oops.
“Stanley! Hello, are you— how are you feeling?” Ford says, looking down at Stan like he’s a weird bug. A cool weird bug that he cares about, maybe, but there’s that bright-eyed scientific curiosity.
Bad. So so bad I feel terrible, part of him wants to respond, loud and stupid and childish. Do you remember how you used to run your fingers through my hair when I was sick, even though Ma and Pa told you to stay away so you wouldn’t get sick too? And then you would get sick, and I had to take care of you. I miss that, I miss you, I love you.
I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse, another says, practical and honest. Probably feeling a bit better than I was last time I was conscious.
Totally fine, another part insists. Let’s get outta here.
“Mmmgh,” he settles on. “Could be worse.”
“How would you rate your current pain on a scale from zero to ten, with zero being no pain at all, and ten being such severe pain that you can’t move, think, or speak?” Ford asks. “Well, I suppose it’s not a ten, since you’re speaking mostly coherently.”
Ten! Ten! We’re dying, you have to save us!
Maybe a seven. My brain’s a scrambled egg but most of it is saying ouch.
Zero, we’re fine, let’s go.
“Eh, a five I guess?” Stan says, rounding down.
“I see, so about a seven,” Ford muses, followed by the scrape of a pen against paper.
“Hey!” Stan barks.
He’s kind of mad that Ford doesn’t believe him, but the rest of him is so, so happy. His dumb genius of a brother remembers him, he knows him, they still speak the same language.
“You’ve always been this way, Lee,” Ford says, and his eyes return to Stan’s face.
Lee. Lee Lee Lee. Ford stopped calling him that in what, high school? Even earlier? The sudden return of their childhood nickname stirs such a flurry of emotions that he stops breathing. His chest hurts in general, but there’s suddenly a pleasant edge to that pain.
He huffs out a breath that sounds dangerously close to a whine. He’s embarrassed by how emotional he’s feeling, but he can’t stop staring up at Ford’s face, even as his vision starts to blur. He blinks to clear it, ignoring the wetness running down his cheek, and gets to watch as Ford’s eyes go wide.
He’s got dark circles. He always does. Bill can’t follow them everywhere, but Ford still avoids sleep whenever he can.
“Why are you crying?” Ford asks, then immediately winces. Stan huffs out a laugh. He’s so bad at being comforting.
“‘m not,” Stan scoffs, and he doesn’t even care if Ford believes him. “It’s cave dust, genius.”
Ford’s lips twitch, even as his brows remain furrowed.
“Yes, alright,” Ford says placatingly. “Do you think you can sit up?”
“Pfft, yeah, easy, done it a million times before,” Stan says, even as his stomach rolls in protest to the muscles flexing around it.
Ford helps him up anyway, one hand on his back, the other holding his arm steady as he props him up against the wall of the cave. Now that he’s up and able to see more than what’s directly above him, he can see Fiddleford tinkering with some scrap metal on the other side of the cave. He’s staring over at Stan, but as soon as their eyes meet he just gives him a tight smile and looks away. For all of his usual fretting, he stays where he is.
“Some water,” Ford says, drawing Stan’s attention.
He’s holding out a packet of water, the lid already twisted off. They’re running low, and Fiddleford hasn’t finished his water filter, hasn’t put together everything he needs for it.
Stan hesitates to take it, but Ford just shoves it into his hand. Stan doesn’t really have the energy to fight it. The moment the water hits his tongue, he realizes just how thirsty he is.
He hums appreciatively, slumping against the cave wall. Fiddleford told him something about drinking slowly at some point? Eh. If he’s going slow, it's only because holding up his arm for long enough to drain the packet is kinda a pain.
As soon as he’s done with the water, Ford exchanges the empty packet for a food bar.
Stan frowns down at it. His stomach rolls, but he can’t really tell if it’s hunger or nausea.
Moses, he’d kill for some plain crackers to test the water. Acid. Stomach acid.
He really does not want to eat this thing. He’s fairly sure the only thing that kept him from throwing up earlier (yesterday? He has no idea how long he’s been out) was his empty stomach. An empty stomach that’s only getting emptier. Stan should know better than to turn up his nose to a free meal.
Ugh.
Stan sighs, but tears it open and nibbles at one corner. His stomach tenses in anticipation, and a dull ache laces through his jaw. It tastes fine, and his stomach doesn’t hurt any worse, but he finds himself exhausted by the time he’s done.
It must be pretty bad, because even Ford seems to pick up on it. He eases him back down. He’s still sweating like a hog, but his skin has erupted into goosebumps and he misses the familiar comfort of his ratty jacket around him. He’s glad it’s nearby, at least. He means to run the fingers of his injured arm along the fabric of his jacket, but can’t manage much more than a twitch. So that’s still beyond his capabilities. Noted.
“Hey, Ford…?” he mumbles.
“Yes, Stanley?”
Thank you. I love you. Why are you being so nice to me?
“Shouldn’ we get a move on?”
“We will,” Ford says softly, and he runs his fingers through Stan’s hair. “As soon as you’re feeling better.”
#fiddleford mcgucket#stanford pines#stanley pines#gravity falls fic#silver scribe (writing tag)#mystery trio through the multiverse au
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can u pls pls pls 🙏 write a young fiddleford x reader oneshot where the reader has a panic attack
ask and you shall receive!! sorry if it’s a bit shorter than my other works, life is life-ing and i haven’t had much time to write a lot (´ ∀ ` *) anyhow, hope you like it!!
Warnings: Descriptions of panic attacks
Pairing(s): Young!Fiddleford x Reader
You’re not sure what started it. It could be the stress of building the portal, the late nights and lack of sleep, or literally everything else happening.
Your heart is racing in your chest and you can’t exactly pinpoint why, and it’s hindering your ability to work on the portal. You’ve been slipping up all evening on small things, accidentally knocking things over or messing up the structure because your hands won’t stop shaking.
“Hey,” Fiddleford’s voice is soft as he comes up behind you and places a hand on your shoulder, “y’alright?”
You jolt and whip around, startled. Fiddleford takes his hand off your shoulder in surprise and you stare at him for a moment, heart pounding in your ears. Everything suddenly seems blurry and muted, like it was underwater. You bring a hand up to your face and run it through your hair as your other grips the front of your shirt.
Shutting your eyes you attempt to take a deep breath, but your shaking lungs don’t let you. It hits you all too suddenly that you’re struggling to breathe, which only serves to make you panic more. Fiddleford catches on quickly and reaches out to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and gently guiding you to sit down.
“Hey, you’re okay,” he keeps his arm around you and you lean into him, “s’okay, you’re safe.”
You press your face into his chest, hiccuping quietly as tears begin to well in your eyes. You reach out a shaking hand and grasp his shirt to try and ground yourself, and he wraps both arms around you, pulling you closer in a comforting embrace. He gently threads his fingers through your hair and holds you close, attempting to calm your shaking form.
“Fidds,” you choke, tears now flowing down your face and wetting the front of his shirt, “I’m sorry, I..”
Fiddleford hushes you and gently strokes a hand through your hair. “Don’t apologize, darlin. You’re okay. I gotcha.”
You shakily nod, taking a couple short breaths and trying to focus on getting the room to stop feeling like it’s spinning. Fidds stays with you, soothing you by rubbing your back gently and holding you tightly.
You calm down a little after what feels like forever, loosening your grip on his shirt slightly. A sigh escapes you and you move to pull Fiddleford into a proper hug. He hums and pulls you closer, stroking your hair.
“Ya feelin’ any better?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest. You nod slightly, resting your face against him.
“Mhm. Thank you, Fidds.” You mumble. He smiles softly and gently presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Of course,” he keeps holding you for a little while, “I love ya.”
You hum contently, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Love you too.”
thank you all for your support!! i appreciate you all so so much <3
#gravity falls#gravity falls x reader#writing#ao3 writer#blurb#young fiddleford x reader#fiddleford x reader#young fiddleford#gravity falls fiddleford#fiddleford mcgucket
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WIP Wednesday - Relativity Falls AU
In that moment, there are a million things going through his head. Stan Pines, who’s prided himself for years on protected his big brother, can’t move. There’s something lion-bird …lion-thing barreling towards him and all Stan can do is stand there.
How’s he going to tell Grauntie Mae?
How he’s going to tell his mom?
What’s he going to do?
One summer away, Stan’s in charge, and he gets his brother killed. They’re outlasted everything this dumb town has thrown at them, but now Ford is going to die to a bird and Stan can’t do anything!
Fuck!
“Ford—!”
The thing charges at where Ford and Bill are crouched on the ground, then a beam of blue light flashes across Stan’s vision. He thinks that maybe, maybe, the twin-telepathy thing is real and that, because Ford is dead, Stan is dead too.
Except his vision does clear out and then something thuds against his shoe. Looking down, there’s a large, beaked head with empty, lolling eyes, pouring blood from the places that a neck and shoulders had been previously.
Apparently then he can move because he shouts and jumps backwards into Fiddleford who’s still holding his wrist.
His worry of who did that, how they did it, and what is immediately put to bed when he looks up, takes a step forward to try and go to Ford when he stops.
Because something else is between him and Ford.
To call it “human” is an insult to humans, but that’s about the closest thing Stan’s got. It’s tall and spindly, but has two arms and two legs, jet black limbs, to be specific, and its dressed in some weird golden suit that eventually stacks into a giant golden pyramid floating on its shoulders, a singular eye in the center of it. It’s looking down at Ford with a squinted eye as it brings a hand shaped like a gun to the eye. Stan lets out a nervous sound as the eye shifts into a mouth and it blows out the tip of the finger that, Stan realizes now had been smoking.
“Ford, get away from that!”
“…Bill?” Ford asks, looking up at this thing that is decidedly not Bill. Great, he survives the animal and gets a concussion.
Grauntie Mae is going to kill him if they have to go to the hospital.
“Aw, Fordsy, you do recognize me,” the thing trills, reaching a hand down to help Ford up. Stan makes to tell him not to, but it’s too late. Ford grabs his hand, stands, and stares up at the thing that called itself Bill in wonder.
The pyramid-thing looks over at Stan, but his eye slides slightly to the side and its shoulders sag.
“Oh, come on, don’t give me that look.”
Stan gets ready to say he’ll give the thing whatever look he wants, but Fiddleford interrupts him.
“You ain’t serious right now.”
“…Fidds?” Stan asks, looking at Fiddleford who is standing there, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What in the hells did you want me to do?!” The pyramid asks, gesturing to Ford. “Did you want me to let him die? Was that it?”
“No, I— You didn’t have to—!” And Fiddleford gestures to all of the creature.
“Yeah, alright, Specs, what makes more sense—Bill Cipher, the dreamy counter boy can shoot fire from his finger, no big deal, or there’s something, dare I say it, weird happening in Gravity Falls?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” Fiddleford, Ford, and the thing all look at Stan who is sidestepping his way over to Ford. “Did you say you’re Bill? You’re actually Bill?”
“Geez, slow on the catch up here,” Bill mutters, arms across his chest before looking at Fiddleford then jerking a thumb at Stan. “You like ‘em dumb, don’t you?”
Both Stan and Fiddleford bristle at that.
“And you,” Stan is halfway to Ford now, pointing at Fiddleford, “knew about this?”
“Oh, I can do you one better, kid,” Bill cries, taking two steps over with his long legs before throwing an arm around Stan’s shoulders in a way that makes Stan immediately try to push him off. For looking like a stack of twigs, Bill is a lot sturdier like this. “Show ‘em, Specs.”
Fiddleford puts his arms across his chest, shrugs his shoulders, and looks away.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, come on,” Bill deflates. “You’re not doing this to me.”
“You got yourself into this mess, Cipher, I’m not getting you out.”
“Really? Really?”
“If you want to blow your cover, you can. That’s your decision.”
“Oh, for the love of—“ Bill shakes his… pyramid a little before raising a hand the way he did before. Index extended, he makes a ‘pew’ noise with his… head and then fire shoots out again.
Fiddleford lets out a nervous noise and dives to the side. Stan immediately grabs for Bill’s arm to stop him, but something blue and spherical surrounds him.
“Just— Just trust me, Pines, I’m not going to kill your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend! And fucking knock it off!”
The fire keeps shooting at Fiddleford and Fiddleford is doing a valiant effort to dodge it. All things considered, he’s never seen the hillbilly move like that before.
But finally, Fiddleford is backed into a tree, his eyes are wide and—
And this time Stan’s legs work. Sprinting forward, he dives in front of Fiddleford as another beam of fire shoots out.
What happens next is quick succession: Ford cries out “Stan!” and Stan is touched that he sees Ford dive for Bill to probably stop him; Bill curses loudly and tries to move his hand away, but it’s too late; and Stan, Stan accepts he’s probably going to die, but he had a good run, and his only regret is he didn’t beat that Robbie guy’s score on Fight Fighters. …and some other things.
What happens after that is that, well, nothing happens. Or, at least, he doesn’t die. Which, like, is great for him.
There’s an arm fierce around his shoulders, pulling him back into a very steady body. In front of them both is a massive shield wider than Stan and nearly as tall. Fire fans across the front of the shield and then disperses as Stan stares ahead in shock.
Silence resounds afterwards before everyone is talking at once.
“Stanley, are you okay?!” “Ha! I knew that’d work!” “So help me, Cipher, I’ll skin you!”
And Stan belatedly realizes that that last voice is from behind him. That should be Fiddleford.
It doesn’t sound like Fiddleford.
Pushing the arm off of him, Stan takes a few steps away and is hit in the eyes by blinding light.
Another figure out of some comic book stands there, jet black, too, in appearance, but somehow glowing. Stan can’t look up at where the face is supposed to be for long, it’s like trying to look into an eclipse (he did that once and Ford chewed him out for an hour). But it’s dressed in a white suit, like a lawyer in one of those old films about the south. Talks like one too, but wrong.
Which is to say, it sounds like there’s a bunch of Fiddlefords talking all at once.
“We didn’t have to do it this way,” Bill says, waving his hand and appearing a cane that he plants into the dirt and leans on. “But we’re here, so we might as well. Boys, let me re-introduce ourselves. I’m William Diaphodos Cipher, lovingly known to all as Bill, host of the spirit of Bacipherous, lord of chaos, and that there is Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, host of— What is it? Serenity? Compassion? Some other lame virtue?”
“Felicity,” Fiddleford corrects icily before looking to Stan and Ford. “I’m still Fiddleford, now, I’m just also host to an angel named Felicity. Or, well, it’s translated to mean ‘felicity’. Angels don’t speak English, funny enough.”
At this point, Stan is trying to inch his way back to Ford, who is trying to inch his way back to Stanley.
“…so you’re possessed?” Ford says slowly, to which Bill makes a halfway gesture.
“Eh, kind of.”
“Not kind of!” Fiddleford balks. “We ain’t possessed! We’re just… host bodies for these spirits and, sometimes, we’re given the ability to call upon their powers and forms when necessary. And only when necessary.”
Fiddleford is glaring at Bill when he says that. Or, at least, Stan assumes he’s glaring because his voice got hard and he faces Bill, there’s no eyes or face to be seen with the whole glowing ball of black light.
“Give me a better time to do what we can do than then.” Bill takes another two steps and grabs Ford by the shoulders who stiffens immediately. “Our little Pines twins were in trouble and, if I hadn’t taken care of the griffon, it might be their bodies we’re cleaning up.”
“…you didn’t have to transform to do it.”
“Fascinating.”
Stan looks over, Ford is gazing up at Bill, and Stan knows he’s lost Ford immediately.
“So, what, your parents made a deal with the devil or with god to get you possessed?” Stan asks before turning to Ford. “I told you Catholicism was a load of creepy shit.”
“Stanley.”
“No, I— This isn’t through the church,” Fiddleford says slowly, clasping his hands together. The shield he’d been holding before is now strapped to his back somehow. Like this, Stan can see that he also has a substantially sized sword hanging from his hip. “It’s through— Well, mine is through something called ‘The Society of the Blind Eye’.”
“And yours as well?” Ford asks, still not looking away from Bill who is now hugging Ford’s shoulders in a way that Stan can see is making Ford blush. Gross.
“Me? Oh, no. That bunch of sanctimonious freaks would never call on demons. They think they’re better than that, as if we’re not made from the same stuff—“
“We’re not!”
“No, Bacipherous is his own cult.” He shifts his arms to hold up his thumbs and pointer fingers together to make a triangle in front of his eye. “Traces back centuries, but the first known instance of it is in Ancient Egypt.”
“Like the pyramids?”
Bill makes another halfway gesture before dropping his arms and putting them around Ford again, his eye squinting when Ford stiffens.
“I’m not going to tell you that the pyramids are pyramidal because of Bacipherous, but I will tell you that his worship was easily integrated because triangles are the superior shape.”
“Not at all biased about that, huh?” Stan asks from across the way. “That doesn’t explain anything though. Why the fuck are you here? What are you doing here?”
Bill and Fiddleford exchange looks before Fiddleford sighs.
“That requires… a lot more explanation. Here.” Fiddleford takes a deep breath and then, as he exhales, his figure starts to shimmer, the light goes out, and he shrinks back into his human form, sword and suit and shield all gone until he’s the spindly little nerd in small glasses with that ugly teal shirt. “Why don’t we go somewhere private? The four of us can talk and we’ll explain it all.”
“We’re in the woods,” Stan points out, gesturing around them. “Can’t get anymore private.”
“Something you kids need to know,” Bill starts, shrinking back to himself, still holding onto Ford and dragging Ford down a few inches when he’s back to his human self, “is that you’re never safe from prying eyes and ears anywhere in Gravity Falls except for one place.”
“Where’s that?”
#gravity falls#relativity falls#relativity falls AU#billford#FiddleStan#Stan pines#Stanley pines#ford pines#Stanford pines#bill cipher#Fiddleford McGucket#my writing#WIP Wednesday#hey I’m not dead :)#been rotating this piece in my head for a few days now#and i think I’m going to try a relativity falls au when I’m done with trasdobc#WHICH IS STILL HAPPENING I PROMISE I AM ALMOST DONE WITH MY CURRENT CHAPTER#this one ended up longer than it was supposed to#again#which like yay more chapter#but I’ve actually really been soft on the idea of a relativity falls au#i think it’s kind of fun#i see everyone’s take on it and I’d like to do a version of it#so here have a little teaser
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"There is no record of a Pacifica Northwest. I looked it up F, there's not even a birth certificate or even a death certificate."
He wasn't a stranger to words that would cut deep. Being the town crazy hick for 30 years made him used to the pain of words. But these words, these ones cut deeper than most. They cut straight into his heart, deep and fatal.
"Ford.....Ford please there's, there's gotta be some mistake.....there's just, there's no way..."
Fiddleford tried to speak, voice breaking and unable to even bring to being this horrifying reality. So close to his own back home but a nightmarish version of it. His friend only gave him a concerned, pitying expression. And wasn't that just the final nail in the coffin for Fiddleford H. Mcgucket.
'This isn't real. This is a trick, something that monster would create to hurt me. There's just no way....!'
He thought feeling that consuming panic, denial and rage building inside him. It had to be a joke, a joke where his daughter would come out. Smiling and mischievous and he'd scold her something fierce because this isn't funny. Pretending to not exist wasn't funny. Not to him. Never to him. And yet the lab remained the same, silent and damning and it made Fidds' jaw clench. He noticed Ford stiffen as a growling noise filled the air and Fiddleford realized that the noise was coming from none other than him. And not some furious, mother raccoon who was just itching to sink her fangs into someone's neck.
"Fiddleford, I'm....I'm so sorry I may not know this Paz, but I can see she's important to you. Just remain calm my friend."
Ford spoke, voice steady and non threatening. In an effort not to push the mechanic to possibly do something rash. Fiddleford meanwhile wasn't listening, lost in his head as he tried to make sense of this awful situation. Of trying to process that Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket was just gone. That she didn't exist. And he was failing, miserably. Because the very thought of his sweet youngin not existing was just something he couldn't comprehend. For Fiddleford Mcgucket, there was no reality where Pacifica Northwest wasn't there with him. Whether it be as a stranger or as his own. It was like a hole was in his chest, oozing and bleeding out as he fought back his anger and frustration and grief. A grief that was threatening to consume him and drown him. A grief that he was barely keeping from letting out.
His daughter was gone. His Paz, with her smile and smart remarks and bright shining eyes was gone. The world seemed so much darker without her in it. Like the sun was taken and he was left to blindly continue on with his life.
'Why couldn't it have been him? Why her? Why his little girl? Hadn't he suffered enough for his sins?'
Apparently not if he was now without his shadow right beside him.
Fiddleford didn't even realize he'd started to collapse until Ford had grabbed him to keep him from hurting himself. Fidds thrashed against his friend's hold, a howl of sorrow and loss escaping him as he broke. Ford never let him go, even when he felt Fidds nails dig into his arms, he refused to let go. Holding onto his friend tightly as he screamed and swore and cursed and howled brokenly at the world and the unfairness of this dimension.
Fiddleford Mcgucket had officially been broken. And he didn't know if he could ever recover from this.
#oli talks#ooc#muns ramblings#mindless ramblings of a madman#my writing#gravity falls#gf#gravity falls au#gf au#gravity falls fiddleford#gravity falls stanford#gravity falls bill#gravity falls pacifica#gf fiddleford#gf stanford#gf pacifica#gf bill cipher#fiddleford mcgucket#stanford pines#pacifica northwest#bill cipher#haha i told some Discord friends that i wouldn't think more and this and i lied I'm so sorry#they're probably gonna wring my neck shsgdgdgsgsgf#aka what if Paz didn't exist? spoiler Fidds doesn't take it well#ooc maybe i apologize
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I currently have two AUs that I don't exactly know what to do with or what to properly call them LMFAO- I'll probably write something on Ao3 for it eventually since there's a ton of BillFord and FiddStan in there but yeah-
1st AU: Timelord Stanford (Dr Who what if)
This case was inspired by an RP I had with someone's Bill Cipher on @gftimelord where the triangle starts to be on the mend with Stanford after their ruined past. This to me makes sense because the Doctor is inherently very lonely despite the savior god complex. In that AU where Ford is functionally immortal and Stan and Fidds both at some point die due to his complacency and arrogance— he searches for a companion that can actually keep up with him.
So when Bill visits him during one of those window hours set by the Theraprism, they talk about the triangle's impending demise with their plans to essentially erase him from existence. It's not an outlandish idea given that any inpatient seen as a lost cause would or could be disposed of when it comes to cosmic entities. It's simply the easier option.
The doctor(Ford) is more impulsive, nonchalant, and egoistic compared to his counterparts because he does have the walk to back his talk(this man has been broken by the nightmares and guilt he carries from the deaths he caused; also time war) problem being he doesn't fear death as much as he fears being alone. He's had a fair share of close calls with the grim reaper, but always like some horrible twist he survives. After all, it is a saying that we covet the most what we don't have.
So yeah, he jailbreaks Bill essentially and whatever power limiter is stuck on the triangle get tied to his sonic screwdriver instead and they simply go around the multiverse doing whatever. Most of the reason why Ford isn't caught yet largely has to do with how scared most entities are of him. The doctor is never armed, but it doesn't mean he won't kill.
2nd AU: Modern Era AU (Set in 2024)
This one is more of a shitpost thanks to the young trio I drew a little while back, I'll draw more of them for this at some point while I also try and figure out a decent human Bill design that I like in my artstyle.
But this AU heavily features these four idiots as Undergrad students fucking about college life as they would. This AU is supposed to feature like a more cultivated genius Stanley based around my own dynamic with my brother since I do like me some happy Stan twins.
It just so happens that Ford is also a very much EQ negative idiot and falls for an upperclassman(one year his senior) in BSSE[Software Engineering] who is a close friend to Fidds. He goes by 'Cipher' as an alias since he's a prodigy for his age and very young ethical hacker.
So yes, that's where Bill comes in. Haven't figured out what I want his full name to be yet shoot me some ideas! Ford is very shy when it comes down to talking with Bill whereas Stan is completely chill.
Both Stan and Bill get along very well in this AU because they're similarly chaotic the same way that Fidds and Ford get along because they're the ones holding the other two back from doing something undeniably stupid for shits and giggles.
All of them share some fundamental subjects together(i.e. Math, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Statistics, Research, History, etc.) or take elective courses just so they could chill together. Stan is typically the one who adjusts to the schedule of the other three since he takes BSBA[Business Administration] and is the odd one out when Ford does BSCMB[Cellular Molecular Biology] and Fidds does BSEE[Electrical Engineering].
The FiddleStan in this AU is gonna be c r a z y mostly due to Fidds in this AU is the heir to his family's computer company, so lowkey spoiled nepo baby but also on a very tight leash with his parents. Stan is the kid where 90% of his childhood was parents either forgot him or straight up did not give a flying fuck. So these two kinda work as complements and it's why I decided to pair them together after chatting with a friend about the group dynamics.
So yeah, simpy and adoring Ford and silently aware but shy Bill + rebellious Fidds and supportive Stan. All the more when I actually plan for this AU to have some typical gravity falls shenanigans anyway thanks to a place on earth called the Oregon Vortex.
[I'll likely make fics and comics of these AUs, reply to this post if you want to be tagged for whenever I post something]
Yeah I need to properly name these AUs.
#gravity falls#gravity falls stanford#stanford pines#gravity falls ford#grunkle ford#ford pines#gf stanford#stanford#gravity falls au#gf stanley#stanely pines#standford pines#stan#gravity falls stanley#stan pines#grunkle stan#stan and ford#stan twins#stanley pines#bill x ford#bill x stanford#gf bill cipher#gravity falls bill cipher#bill cipher#gravity falls bill#billford#bill cipher gravity falls#fiddlestan#fiddleford mcgucket#fiddleford hadron mcgucket
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Atychiphobia
Masterlist
Chapter Six:
It doesn’t take long for Grunkle Dipper to get captured and Stan to end up on the run. After seeing Grunkle Dipper get captured, he starts to make his way back towards the shack, though once the eye bats show up, he kind of doubts he’ll make it there.
He’s right, he doesn’t, but he does run into the next best thing. Literally.
The second he slams into something Stan puts his hands back, pushing himself up before he can hit the ground behind him.
He hears a terrified familiar scream, though, and looks at what he hit, now sprawled out on the ground covering his head with his hands.
“Fiddleford!” he calls, relief swelling in his chest.
Fiddleford uncovers his head and looks up at him. “Stanley! Oh, thank goodness, I thought— what’s happening, have you seen Ford?”
“Yeah,” Stan says, trying to ignore the panic in his chest as he reaches down and pulls Fiddleford up. “Bill has him.”
Fiddleford’s eyes widen. “No,” he whispers.
“It’s okay,” Stan says, trying to believe it. “It’s okay, it’s— I’m gonna find him. I’m gonna find him and everything’s gonna be fine, we just—”
“Stan,” Fiddleford says, his gaze shifting up to something over Stan’s shoulder.
Stan turns, and finds it not hard to figure out what Fiddleford is looking at. A giant red X is opening up in the sky, and things that definitely do not look friendly are coming out of it.
Fiddleford grabs Stan’s arm and squeezes it to the point that it hurts, but Stan doesn’t stop him. “What do we do?” he whispers.
“I— I don’t— um— run,” Stan ends on. He grabs Fiddleford’s hand and pulls him into the woods, away from the X. Fiddleford holds on tightly and runs after him, and they both try to put as much distance in between themselves and the X as they can.
As they run, the world around them starts to shift. Trees start to scream and move. Animals start breathing fire and spinning until they shoot off into the air like a top.
“Stanley!” Fiddleford screams.
“Don’t think about it, just— just run!” Stan cries back, dodging a squirrel that’s spinning rapidly towards them through the air. He has no idea if anywhere is going to be safe, but Fiddleford sounds terrified behind him and he has to get away and find Ford somehow, so Stan just tightens his grip on Fiddleford’s hand and keeps running.
Eventually, they come up on the edge of town, which, while there seem to be quite a few more screaming people and destruction, has less fire-breathing cats and screaming trees.
“Stan, let’s stay in the woods,” Fiddleford says, starting to pull him back.
Stan holds firm and turns to face him. “We can’t climb those trees,” he says. “I need to get to higher ground to find out where Ford is.”
“But—”
“Fidds, please,” Stan begs. “I’m scared too, but we have to find him.”
Fiddleford takes an obviously shaky breath, but nods.
Stan turns back around and scans what’s in front of them, and after a moment of debate, decides the best option is probably the mall in the distance.
“Okay, this way,” he says. He turns back into the forest, and they both run along the edge of it as far as they can. More and more trees start screaming as they pass, but they only have to dodge two eye bats, and they make it to the back door of the mall.
But as soon as Stan looks inside, he knows this plan won’t work. There’s people running screaming from eye bags that are turning everyone to stone. They’re going to have to hide out for a bit.
Before anything can spot them, Stan turns and pulls both of them back into the woods. He runs forward and waits until the trees are screaming the loudest, then pulls them both under a nearby bush.
“Right here?” Fiddleford says, shoving his hands over his ears.
“It’ll give us more cover,” Stan says. “Just— just wait.”
Fiddleford nods, and after a second turns and buries his head in Stan’s chest. Stan holds onto him tightly and tries to manage his own breaths.
They stay there for far too long.
…
Stan gives it as long as he can bear, though he really has no idea how much time has passed. Fiddleford doesn’t move from his spot tucked up against his side, but eventually he pulls his head up and looks for threats along with Stan. Thankfully, they’re fairly well hidden, and there aren’t many of them.
Finally, after what feels like days but is probably closer to hours, Stan turns to Fiddleford and nods out at the space around them. Fiddleford looks obviously terrified, but he nods.
So, carefully, they both make their way back to the mall. There aren’t as many eye bats to dodge this time, and Stan’s not sure if that’s a good sign or not.
When they reach the mall, it definitely looks more abandoned and destroyed than it did last time, and when Stan looks inside, he doesn’t see anyone.
“Okay,” he whispers to Fiddleford. “Let’s go.”
They both creep inside, and after a brief search, find the stairs to the roof.
Stan peeks outside the door that leads there first, and when he doesn’t see anything, pushes it open and steps cautiously outside. He holds up a hand to tell Fiddleford to wait, then peers over the edge of the roof towards the town.
It only takes a moment for him to freeze in horror.
If he hadn’t been absolutely positive that this is still Gravity Falls, he wouldn’t have recognized it. The buildings are in shambles. There are monsters running rampant in every direction he looks. He can’t see any people he recognizes, which doesn’t feel like a good sign. The water tower is sitting in the middle of the town, with teeth coming out of it. The sky is bright red, and the giant X hasn’t disappeared. Now that there aren’t any trees blocking any part of the way, the wind is blowing the smell of something burning and rancid right towards him.
“Stan? You okay?” comes Fiddleford’s voice, shaking and scared.
“Y-yeah,” Stan manages, and then he clenches his hands into fists and shakes himself. “It’s okay,” he amends, glancing back at Fiddleford. “It’s bad, but there’s no one here. Come on.” He holds out his hand, willing it not to shake.
Fiddleford still looks terrified, but after a second he reaches for it. They both walk towards the front of the roof, Stan scanning the sky for any bats to duck down to avoid.
“Do you see anything that looks like a giant evil bubble?” he asks Fiddleford.
“I— I don’t think so,” Fiddleford says. “I— Stanley—”
“It’s gonna be okay.” Stan squeezes Fiddleford’s hand tightly and tries to will it true. He’s not sure how it can be, though. How are they going to find Ford in this mess?
“How are we supposed to find Ford in this?” Fiddleford asks.
“We can do it,” Stan insists, both to himself and Fiddleford. “We just need—”
Something roars off to the right, and they both turn to see the water tower stand up and start walking, revealing right behind it a gold bubble with a six fingered hand on it, hanging right in the empty space between the cliffs.
“Ford,” Stan whispers.
“Oh no,” Fiddleford says. “All the way over there?”
“We can do this,” Stan says. “Nothing in the universe is gonna keep me from my brother, Fidds. We’ll stay here tonight and get some sleep. First thing tomorrow, we’re heading for that bubble.”
…
They manage to scrounge up a couple of cloaks to wear as some cover, and every time they’re approached, Stan uses the size-changing flashlight to enlarge whatever piece of rubble is close to them, so that they can hide behind it. It’s terrifying and dangerous and takes way too long, but they make it to the cliffs. After a climb up the chain that Stan is pretty sure he’s going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life, they make it to the bubble.
“Well, that’s just beautiful,” Stan mutters, tapping the triangle lock that all of the chains lead to.
“You’re tellin’ me we have to go back out there and find a key in that mess?” Fiddleford asks.
“No, I think I can do this,” Stan says, setting his backpack down at his feet. “Just give me a second.”
He digs around in the bag for a second and pulls out a paperclip. He enlarges it just slightly with the flashlight, then heads over to the lock.
He puts his ear up to the lock and sticks the paper clip inside, trying to channel his definitely-still-developing lockpicking skills. Thankfully, after a bit of time working at it, he hears the lock click, and steps back to watch the chains fall away from the bubble.
He turns with a relieved grin to Fiddleford, who smiles back.
“Okay,” Stan says, turning back towards the bubble. “Let’s go get Ford.”
“Are you sure about this?” Fiddleford asks nervously.
“Nope. Let’s go.” He reaches out and grabs Fiddleford’s hand before he can second guess himself and pulls them both right into the bubble.
He’s not sure what he was expecting, but as soon as the outside world disappears, Stan opens his eyes to find himself in a fancy, science-y lab.
“Careful,” he says quickly, putting his hand out in front of Fiddlford. “We don’t know what Bill’s game is here.
“It just looks like a lab,” Fiddleford says. “And— and we can breathe in here. And nobody’s screaming.”
“Yeah, it looks like all that, but it’s definitely not that,” Stan insists. “Remember, Bill made this place. Just— stay close, okay?”
“Yeah,” Fiddleford says. “Okay.”
That doesn’t really make Stan feel any calmer, but he nods anyway, and starts walking forward, putting himself in front of Fiddleford just to be safe.
He doesn’t see any obvious monsters or threats, though. He just sees a bunch of very important, old, smart-looking scientists bustling about doing various things. No sign of Ford either, but he has to be somewhere in here.
Stan casts his gaze around, looking for any kind of tell as to where Ford might be. He keeps a close eye on all of the scientists, and after a second, realizes they all seem to be heading in the same direction.
He gives Fiddleford’s hand a tug to get his attention and nods towards where all the scientists are heading, which seems to be the center of the room.
A brief moment of nerves flashes over Fiddleford’s face. Stan squeezes his hand in reassurance, but pulls them both after the scientists without any hesitation.
His instinct pays off, because as they approach the center of the room, he hears a very familiar voice.
“No, no, you see, you forgot to take into account the different gravitational pull in that dimension. If you add that in here, that makes your math work out.”
“Of course! I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Just happy to help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to—”
“Sixer!” Stan yells, pulling himself and Fiddleford through all of the scientists, who are huddled around the same table. As soon as they both reach the middle, there’s Ford, sitting in a huge chair that the other scientists are hovering around like hawks. He’s wearing a lab coat with a name tag that says “Head Scientist.”
Ford looks up, and upon seeing them, a huge grin stretches across his face. “Stanley! Fiddleford! Thank goodness, I was starting to think you’d never get here!”
“Never get here? Where’s here?” Fiddleford asks, looking around.
“Our laboratory, of course! I named it ‘Stans and Fords Laboratories’ because that fits part of all of our names, but if you want something different we can talk about it now that you’re here!”
“Okay, that’s great, but Sixer, we didn’t come here to stay,” Stan says, taking a step forward.
Pure blind panic flashes across Ford’s face, but before Stan can figure out what that means, he turns around and starts ruffling through a desk behind him.
“Why wouldn’t you want to stay here though, this place is perfect!” he calls. He’s probably hoping Stan won’t pick up on the fear in his voice if he’s not looking at him, which, he really should know better.
“Ford,” he starts. But before he can continue, Ford spins around and holds something out at Fiddleford. It looks like a simple box with a bright red button on top.
“This is for you, Fiddleford!” he calls happily. “I made you a huge room full of all sorts of stuff you can build robots with! And if any of it ever breaks, you just press this red button, and it’ll immediately fix itself! So you never have to worry about your dad telling you to stop! And you can make anything you want, every idea works exactly how you think it will here!”
Fiddleford stares at the box for a minute, wide-eyed, and after Ford pushes it closer at him, he reaches out and takes it.
“Fidds,” Stan hisses.
Fiddleford looks at him for a second, then back at the box. “Um,” he says. “I think we actually need to—”
“Come on, just give it a try! I even got you your own lab coat!”
He reaches back and holds it out, and Stan sees the moment he loses Fiddleford.
“Fidds, come on!” he exclaims.
“Sorry Stan, I just— just a couple minutes, okay?” Fiddleford says, giving him a sheepish look. “I mean, it can’t hurt anything to rest for just a bit, right? We’ve been running all day.”
“But—”
“Awesome!” Ford calls happily. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is!”
“Wait, stop!” Stan yells. But as Ford turns around and leads Fiddleford away, one of the older scientists grabs his arm, then squeezes and twists so hard Stan yelps in pain. He tries to yank his arm free, but then another scientist grabs him from the other side, and both hold onto him tightly until they hear “Have fun!”
They both let go immediately, and Ford runs back up to the table. “I have something for you too!” he says to Stan, obvious excitement in his voice.
“Ford, we really—”
“Hang on!”
Ford turns around and pulls open a drawer in the desk behind him, then reaches inside and starts to pull something out.
“I’ve been working on this for half the summer,” he says. “But once I woke up here I was finally able to make it work!”
He sets down a large metal machine with two metal balls attached to the end, then steps back and flips a switch. The balls both start spinning.
Ford beams at Stan like this is supposed to mean something to him. “It’s for you!” he calls. Then he ducks behind the machine and spreads his hands out on either side, as if displaying it. “Ta-da!”
“Oh,” Stan says. He moves around to the other side of the table to catch Ford’s gaze again. “Uh, that’s cool I guess. Listen, Sixer, we really need to talk.”
But there’s that flash of panic across Ford’s face again, and he turns around to face the desk and starts rifling through papers and notebooks.
“Don’t worry if you don’t understand it yet,” he says. “That’s what the presentation is for! You’ll get how amazing it is then!”
“Presentation?”
Ford snaps his fingers, and the laboratory shifts around them into some kind of auditorium. Stan’s standing suddenly on a stage, in front of a display that includes both the machine, right behind Ford, and a chalkboard on the other side of the stage, with all sorts of pages of notes taped to it.
“Now,” Ford adjusts a bowtie that hadn’t been there before and steps right next to the machine. “I am sure you are all wondering what this fantastic device does.”
“No,” Stan says plainly, crossing his arms. “I’m wondering when we can go somewhere to talk.”
“Please save all questions until the end of the presentation!” Ford says, a note of desperation in his voice that he can’t seriously think Stan doesn’t hear.
“Ford.”
“Anyway,” Ford says, turning around to face the chalkboard. “This is a perpetual motion machine! You’ll notice that it’s not plugged into anything and there are no batteries, but ever since I’ve flipped the switch, the balls on top haven’t stopped moving! This is because—”
Stan looks up at the ceiling and holds in a groan. Why is Ford being stupid? There’s obviously something bothering him, there’s obviously been something bothering him for a while now, and if it’s gotten to the level of “Bill has used me to start an apocalypse and locked me up in a problem-avoidance bubble”, they obviously need to talk about it!
Ford, however, either doesn’t know this or doesn’t care, because he continues talking in a whole bunch of science jargon that Stan is half convinced he just made up.
Finally, he finishes gesturing at the machine and turns to face all of the other scientists, this time ignoring Stan entirely.
“I will now take questions!” he announces with a bright smile.
“Great, I got a question,” Stan says. “Can we go—”
“How did you balance the weight of the balls with the poles keeping them attached to the machine?” one of the scientists interrupts. Stan glares at him. Rude.
“Great question!” Ford says. “I had to take into account—”
“Hey,” Stan says. He tries to push his way past the scientists around him, only for one of the ones behind him to grab his arm and yank him back harshly. Stan glares behind him, but Ford keeps talking, not even seeming to have noticed.
“Ford,” Stan says, turning back around, but Ford just barrels past him and keeps talking about weight distribution.
Stan tries once again to push past all the scientists, but the one behind him just tightens his grip and holds him firmly in place. Stan groans in frustration and tries to yank his arm away to no avail.
Another scientist from the other side of the group asks a question Stan can’t hear, but that draws Ford’s attention. Ford turns to face the scientist, which puts his back to Stan, and one of the scientists immediately grabs his other arm.
“Hey!” Stan snaps, and then another one shoves a hand over his mouth. Stan gives a muffled cry, but all of the scientists just start grabbing and shoving him, jostling him in all different directions until Stan loses track of where he is.
When they finally stop, he’s standing at the back of the large group. He tries to step forward and force his way through, only for a scientist to turn around and shove him back, dangerously close to the edge of the stage.
Someone from up near the front of the group says something that results in all of the group starting over towards the other side of the stage with the chalkboard. Stan clenches his fist, nerves and irritation swimming together in his gut. He can’t just let them take Ford, not after he finally made it here. But there’s no chance he can find Fiddleford without those stupid scientists getting in his way, and Ford’s not listening to him. How is he supposed to get Ford to listen to him?
As if in response, the group of scientists shift, splitting into two separate groups on either side of the stage, and giving Stan a direction path to the machine sitting on the display.
And yeah, that’s definitely suspicious. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t think it was going to make things worse. But he’s all on his own now, and he has to do something, and, well, that’ll work.
So Stan grits his teeth, marches through the scientists and up to the machine, hefts it up over his head, and hurls it at the floor.
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A LITTLE DRABBLE I DID FOR @stupid-mega-pro-max !! a wonderful request from my friend :33
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Fiddleford & Child!Borrower reader ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
warnings: talk of blades and small description of scars, and some description of panic!
if he's out of character, i am SO SORRY
☆
The first thing they noticed when they woke up is how warm they felt. The absolute comfort; encased in complete warmth. The second thing, was of course, the hand currently resting over them, and the fabric underneath their back. The warmth was accompanied by the soft rising and falling of what — or who, in this case — they were sleeping on.
They turn over a bit, rubbing sleep out of their eyes. They didn't want him to wake up just yet, they still wanted to bathe in the comfort and peace and safety, something that used to be so rare for them.
Fiddleford had rescued them the previous month, from his partner in science or whatever. They had been in a jar, and any attempts of a plea, escaped as whimpers and sobs out of their throat. Until, of course, Fiddleford swooped in for the rescue. He had meant to release them, he really had; but the little borrower grew on him.
He'd call it southern hospitality; a simple excuse to wave off any other claims. But it was clear to the teenager. He missed someone. Someone that had been a lot like themself. His son? A sibling? It didn't matter. What mattered was that they felt safe.
The morning sun was pleasant. It cast a warm blanket over the two of them, and looked like the spitting image of what comfort was in the borrower's mind. Too many cold nights spent, shivering in their makeshift home in the walls. A home they had not seen in a few weeks.
They had the house to themselves, as the other scientist would be holed up in the basement for a few days building.. whatever it is they're building. Not that the borrower minds.
The warmth of the human hand is something very often overlooked by the beings themselves, but to a creature as small as a borrower, it was heaven. Depending, of course, on what the human is to you.
Even bugs must pray for a kind saviour.
Fiddleford’s hands — they were the perfect safe space to hide away. A few scars littered the skin, from misjudgements on welding or saws, stopped right in time to spare his digits, though not completely safe from the blade.
The hand, currently cupped over them, holding them close to his heart, was extraordinary. They had seen Fiddleford lift incredibly heavy things, push and shove the scientist in the attempt to save them, they've seen his knuckles turn white with how strong his grip was on a piece of machinery when he got mad.
And yet, they were always gentle. Not a single touch too hard, too invasive; he had always been careful with the little borrower.
They feel Fiddleford stir under them, and they relish in the warm comfort for a moment longer, before springing up and making their way to his face.
He had fallen asleep on the couch in his room again, so it was a bit of a hassle to climb up to where hid head was. But once they were there, they clambered onto his face. They were careful not to discomfort him, but pokes his nose to wake him up.
“Mr. Fidds. Psst. Wake up, we need to eat breakfast.” They poked his nose again, and he eventually opens his eyes with a soft laugh. “Mornin’ sweet pea. I take it ya had a good night's rest?” The borrower is gently lifted off of Fiddleford's face by his hand, the same one that was cupping them earlier, and they're encased by his fingers.
The loose hold allows them to grab hold of his thumb, linking their arms around it as he sits up. “I did! And I'm hungry.” The put on their best pouty face as he puts on his glasses, and he huffs a laugh. “Well, that just won't do! Let's get some food in ya.” They're lifted onto his shoulder, where they immediately cling to his shirt collar and sit as close to him as they can.
The trip to the kitchen is short, and the little teenager still can't believe how things look from this perspective. The fact that humans could see from this high up all the time made them a bit nervous, in all honesty. Sounds like a headache.
Not long after, the sweet smell of pancakes filters through the air, and they’re just about ready to jump at the plate when Fiddleford sets it down on the table.
They get set down on the plate, and he slices off a bit of pancake and pushes it to them with the knife. They eat breakfast with joyful chatter, and plan out the rest of their day. They would probably work on some general maintenance in the house, then go out to the shops looking for things to spruce up the little borrower’s new living space in Fiddleford's room.
But for now, they would just eat breakfast. The world could wait for a while.
#gravity falls g/t#fiddleford mcgucket#gravity falls & reader#screamer writes ✍️#this was a teeny bit rushed and I AM RUSTY!!!!! KEEP IN MIND!!#I love describing hands#its great#borrower!reader#they're his kid btw he misses tate#author is autistic btw#so to that one joke in the replies uhh ur an example now USE TONETAGS PLEASE
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Intridimensional AU part 22!
This one is hella short. Sorry.
First /// Previous /// Next
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Ford and Stan glanced at each other as Fiddleford took off towards the barn in the distance.
“We should probably make sure he doesn't get shot.” Stan said.
“Agreed.” Ford said tiredly, heading after Fidds with Stan right on his heels.
Fiddleford looked back at them as they caught up and smiled.
“Betcha they got a tractor. I can make practically anythin’ with some good tractor parts.”
“We breaking and entering?!” Stan asked excitedly.
“We should probably be cautious…” Ford started to say, but Fiddleford and Stan ignored him as they started to open the large barn door.
“Looks pretty abandoned to me.” Stan said, walking towards the back wall where some old rusty tools were hanging on the walls.
“And they got a tractor!” Fiddleford said, running over to look at it curiously. “Mind givin’ me a hand here, Stanford? Can't really pop the hood with one arm.”
Ford gave in and joined Fiddleford, popping open the front of the tractor and frowning at the motor.
“There isn't much here to work with.” Ford noted as he leaned down for a better look.
“Sure there is. I jus’ gotta access some a’ the other parts from under that seat there. Ya see a phillips head screwdriver over there, Stanley?” Fiddleford asked, leaning around the side of the tractor to look over at Stan.
Stan looked around for a second before finding one and tossing it over to Fiddleford, who tried to catch it with his non-existing hand.
“Shit. Sorry.” Stan said, grimacing.
Ford leaned down and picked up the screwdriver as Fiddleford laughed it off. Ford was not exactly happy with this quiet, technology-void dimension, but he was happy to hear Fiddleford's laugh again so soon after the whole loosing-an-arm incident. He handed the screwdriver to Fiddleford and smiled softly at the excited gleam in his eyes.
Fiddleford got right to work, dropping down to a sitting position next to the tractor and taking screws out with impressive efficiency. Ford left him to his work and walked over to where Stan was digging through drawers in a work bench.
“Find anything good?” He asked.
“I don't know about good, but I won't say no to more weapons.” Stan replied, holding up a large hunting knife.
“Those tools will probably be useful, too. Might as well grab some for Fiddleford so he can make us some better weapons going forward.” Ford said, leaning down next to his brother to get a better look in the drawer.
“You'd know better than me.” Stan replied, glancing over his shoulder. “I bet there's some kind of bag around here, too. My pockets are not going to hold a full mechanic shop.”
“Right.” Ford said, straightening up and glancing around. “I'll see what I can find.”
He spotted a small staircase towards the back of the barn and took it up to the next level. The upper level was dim, but he could see enough to spot a few old boxes stacked against the back wall. He made his way over and opened the closest one, finding clothes and, thankfully, a leather satchel, not unlike the one Fiddeford used to carry around in college. Ford set the box aside as useful and moved onto the next one, then the next, then the next.
He had a whole pile of potentially useful things to show the other two by the time he heard someone coming up the stairs.
“Ford, you up here?” Stan asked.
“Over here.” He responded without looking up.
“It's been like forty minutes. I suddenly understand how you and Fidds built that portal- your focus is exhaustingly intense.” Stan said, coming up beside Ford and glancing in the boxes he'd set aside.
“We do have a tendency to lose track of time.” Ford mumbled. “I did find us all bags, a tool belt, and some less tattered clothes, though, so it was a productive 40 minutes.”
“Not bad. But I think Fidds has you beat. He practically has a full robot arm built out of tractor parts. Not sure how it'll work- but after he built me this leg in less than 24 hours I'm not even surprised.”
“Fascinating.” Ford said, finally looking up at Stan. “Want to help me bring these boxes down? I'm curious to see his arm design.”
“Sure thing, nerd.” Stan said with a laugh.
“Being a nerd is the only reason you have a leg.” Ford deadpanned.
“It's also the only reason I'm in some weird ass barn in another universe. So, ya know.”
Ford grimaced.
“That was a joke, Ford. I don't think that gang can catch up to me here, so it's not so bad. Not ideal, sure, but hey! This is the most we've hung out since high school!” Stan said, patting him on the back before picking up a box and heading back towards the stairs.
Ford watched him for a moment, then shook his head, grabbed a box, and followed him back down the stairs.
-----------------------------------------------
Hella short frfr.
Next part will be about the arm, then probably some more random time-skipping bits since that covers a lot of the main backstory. It'll be more random adventures and less plot heavy after this, but I've also said that before, and wrote more backstory anyway. So ya know... could go either way. Lol.
I need a nap. We throw house shows at my house and it is exhaustingly full of humans right now. 😭 I've done this to myself. But still.
Anyways. See ya for part 23 y'all!
#Intridimensional au#gravity falls#stanford pines#fiddleford mcgucket#fiddauthor#gravityfalls#ford pines#stanley pines#gravity falls au#bill cipher#youngcles#researcher ford#young stan pines#young fiddleford#skeletboi tag#skeletboitag
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Creatures in Heaven
RRRRIIIIING! RRRRRRRIIIING! RRRRRIIINGG!
“Ah, Fidds, could you turn that thing off!? I’m trying to sleep…” a gruff, sleep-deprived voice grumbled from across the dorm room.
“Oh my stars! I’m sorry, Ford!” Fiddleford exclaimed, rushing to the alarm clock and smacking it until it finally fell silent.
“Augh... It’s alright, sweetheart. Just had a long night with exams. How did you sleep?” Ford groaned as he slipped out of bed, clad only in boxers.
“I slept well, hun! Ohhh, look at you,” Fiddleford chuckled, “Looking good, Ford!” He crossed the room to his lover, pressing a kiss to Ford’s cheek and handing him a steaming cup of coffee.
“Oh, quiet, you.” Ford smirked, shaking his head as he took the cup. “Always flirting with me, hm?”
“I just love you, silly goose! Can’t help it that my boyfriend is the handsomest man in the galaxy!” Fiddleford beamed, turning to grab some fresh clothes. Stanford wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him into a warm embrace. “You don’t get to flatter me and then run off! Come here, you!” The two laughed as Ford spun Fiddleford around.
“Let me go! I have to get dressed, Ford!” Fiddleford laughed, wriggling to escape Stanford’s hold. “Alright, alright. Go ahead, honey. You’re free!” Ford released him, letting Fiddleford make a beeline for his closet.
“You just wanted me to stay half-naked, didn’t you?” Fiddleford joked, winking at the dark brunette. Ford rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile.
The couple was deeply in love, having been together for about six months at the time, existing in perfect harmony.
That was 30 years ago. After college, Fiddleford’s family forced him to marry a woman, and they broke up.
Years later, Ford needed Fiddleford’s expertise to help with a portal he was building. Unfortunately, something went wrong with the portal, and Fiddleford was thrown into it, witnessing unspeakable horrors on the other side. Fiddleford begged Stanford to shut it down, but Stanford refused. Fiddleford abandoned the project, leaving Stanford and disappearing into obscurity.
As the years went by, Ford was haunted by regret. How could he have lost his first love?
As Fiddleford vanished, so did Ford, traveling across dimensions and realms. During his travels, he sought out alternate versions of Fiddleford, apologizing and expressing his love, but none were the Fiddleford he had lost.
“I’m sorry, but I ain’t your Fiddleford, Mister. I don’t understand why you did what you did, but I feel mighty sorry for him,” one alternate had told him, deepening Ford’s guilt.
One day, the portal was operational again, and Ford found himself back home. He began mending his relationship with his family, especially his brother, Stanley.
His great niece and nephew shared their paranormal adventures with him, and he listened intently, smiling as Dipper discussed his theories of the unknown.
To Ford’s surprise, Fiddleford’s name came up. The twins mentioned the robotic gobblewonker he had built earlier that summer.
“Excuse me, what did you just say?” Ford asked, his six fingers nervously tapping the table. “Fiddleford? Gobblewonker? You’ll need to be more specific, here” Mabel said, her face had confusion written all over it.
“Where is he?” Ford’s voice grew stern, laced with concern. The twins exchanged intrigued glances.
“Gravity Falls dump. Why?” Dipper asked, narrowing his eyes. “That’s not relevant… How is he?”
“Well, he’s kinda gone kookoo crazy! But Dipper and I helped him recover his memories after he lost them from getting a bit too trigger-happy with a memory gun!”
“I…” Ford’s voice faltered, “I need to be alone for a while. If you’ll excuse me.”
Ford headed downstairs to his lab, his mind racing. Fiddleford was alive, and he was at the dump. Ford had ruined this man’s life, and there was nothing he could do to make amends. He had to see him again, but when? He needed time to think and prepare.
Weeks later, a catastrophic event known as “Weirdmageddon” turned Gravity Falls into a nightmarish landscape.
Amidst the chaos, Ford decided it was time to visit Fiddleford in the dump.
Ford walked towards the dump, his heart racing with every step he took closer to his destination. Upon entering, he scanned the area, searching for Fiddleford’s makeshift “home.” “
Fiddleford?” he called out. “Fidd’s? Are you here?”
Suddenly, a loud rustling came from a small, broken shed constructed from discarded materials.
“Hm? Who’s there!? You’ll never take me alive, demons!” an elderly Fiddleford emerged from the clutter and rushed towards Stanford. He paused, eyes widening in disbelief. “H-Huh? Ford? What… what are you doing here?.. Have I finally gone mad?”
Both men’s eyes welled up with tears. The sight of his former lover, now frail and disheveled, broke Ford’s heart. “I’m here for you, Fidds. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to find you. You must hate me.” Ford began scanning the other man’s face, looking for any remnants of the once witty man.
Fiddleford tried to suppress his emotions, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “I’ve tried to forget, I really have. But I don’t think I realized just how much I miss you sometimes.” He chuckled softly, glancing down at the dirt beneath them. Ford’s heart ached as he saw the toll time had taken on the man he once loved.
“Oh! Sorry, got lost in thought!” Fiddleford said, breaking the heavy silence. “Come on in, have a seat! We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Ford nodded and followed the now diminutive Fiddleford inside. As he did, he took in the horrid state of Fiddleford’s living conditions.
Fiddleford gestured for Ford to sit next to the fire. “So, what brings you to my neck of the woods, hm?” he asked with a smile, though his eyes betrayed a deep reservoir of emotion from the years they had been apart.
“I needed to see you. I’ve been thinking about you since the day you left,” Ford confessed with a sigh. “I tried to find you in everything I did and everywhere I went.”
Fiddleford’s eyes softened as he felt the same aching love he had in college. “I’ve wanted to apologize for so long, to reconnect…”
Fiddleford placed his hand over Ford’s, gently rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of Ford’s hand. “I forgive you, Stanford. You don’t need to worry,” he said, his voice tender and soothing. “I still love you. I’ve always loved you.”
Ford let out a muffled sob, grasping his lovers hand tightly, “I don’t understand why, I don’t.. I ruined your life, I destroyed everything you’ve ever worked for! I made your life an unending hell, and for that, I can’t ever be forgiven.” Ford looked into Fidd’s eyes, “I hurt the only one I’ve ever loved, I’m a monster, Fiddleford..”
“No you ain’t, darlin’. Ya made some terrible decisions in yer life..but you feel remorse. You’re here now apologizin’, bein’ honest with me..” Fidds wrapped Ford in a tight embrace, “That’s more than some folks do..I forgive ya, honey.”
Ford had never held Fiddleford so closely, so tightly, in his entire life. He finally had his soulmate back, and that’s all he could have ever hoped for.
The two later moved back in together after the events of weirdmageddon, and after Ford was done traveling the world with Stanley.
Their wedding is in 2 weeks.
へ ♡ ╱|、
૮ - ՛ ) (` - 7
/ ⁻ ៸| |、⁻〵
乀 (ˍ, ل ل じしˍ,)ノ
Creatures in Heaven received the most votes! So, here’s a FIC!!! it’s definitely my most lengthy one! I’m going to also be creating an ao3 tonight and going to upload some of my fics there as well! (I will be going under banjopolishh still!!)
enjoy!
#fiddauthor#gravity falls#banjoportal#fiddleford mcgucket#stanford pines#ford2#fiddlesix#ford pines#fiddleford hadron mcgucket#stanford filbrick pines#fanfic#fiddleford x stanford#stanford x fiddleford#gayyyy#this took me so fucking long !#i edited the shit ojt if this one#YARP#gravity falls stanford#gravity falls fandom#Spotify#mabel pines#dipper pines#ford x fiddleford#gravity falls fic
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HEYYYYY TOXIC FIDDLESTAN MY BELOVED I HAVEN'T MADE ANOTHER POST ABT THIS ONE IN A WHILE SOOOO TW REFERENCED RAPE/SA TW TOXIC RELATIONSHIP actually I think this is one of the tamest drafts I've done in a while and there's a gun
Waking up to a warm hand on his cheek was the kinda sappy crap he never saw himself doing even a year ago. It was the kinda shit saved for sappy romance books for lonely housewives, not shlubs like him. But here he was, with long, boney fingers gently playing with the hair in front of his ears - Fiddleford had mentioned him growing his sideburns out, but after Rabbi Morris accidentally set one of his on fire at Stan's and Ford's Bar Midzvah, Stan refused to risk it.
Stan peeked his eye open to see what Fiddleford was doing, barely paying attention to the weird lamp he set down on the bedside table. Then both hands were cupping either side of his face and Fiddleford, sappy fucker he was, kissed the tip of his nose. "That better, darlin?" He asked.
"Better n' what?" Stan slurred out, voice more raw than he expected, but his partner just smiled at him.
"Nothin', sugar." He said, kissing Stan softly but it tasted a bit like blood.
He broke away and noticed Fidds' split lip. Stan brought a hand up to rest his thumb next to the little cut. "What happened here?" He said, voice scraping its way out of his throat.
Fiddleford grabbed his wrist - the touch burned, but he didn't know why. "It's nothing, just - just your brother, again." He said, eyes not meeting Stan's. "You know how he is about that project of his."
The science fair project? But Ford had forgiven him. Hadn't he? That's why he'd invited him to Gravity Falls in the first place - maybe Fiddleford just meant some other project. The hand on his wrist was gentle, he didn't understand why it stung so much.
Stan hummed non-committally. "I can talk to him."
"No no no! Don't you worry a bit, sweet thing. I'm more than used to your brother." He said, hand finally leaving his wrist and going to scratch at his scalp. "Besides. Don't you just want to stay in bed this evenin'?
Stan hummed, leaning into the touch. Evening? Was it evening? Stan had always been an early riser, and he can't remember taking a nap. Where had the time gone?
It didn't really matter, though, Fiddleford was being so sweet on him - whatever he'd done to get here, he wouldn't question it.
Then Fiddleford kissed him again, and again. Then one of his hands slid down to the side of Stan's neck and he physically recoiled because the touch burned.
"Shit - I gotta, uh." Stan sat up - his shirt was ripped but at least he had a shirt. Fiddleford was looking annoyed and Stan's gut twisted - if he can't get it here he'll get it somewhere else - but his throat hurt and he must be coming down with something and that warm fuzzy feeling was gone and all that was left was the ache on his neck and he nearly tripped over one of the boxes of Fiddleford's shit he hadn't unpacked into their apartment yet and he couldn't think of a reason why he was on his feet. "Gotta. Bathroom." He said like a fucking idiot while Fiddleford sat in their bed like a normal god damn person, arms crossed and away from that weird fucking lamp he was holding earlier - but now Stan's stupid brain was screaming that it was a gun even though it had a lightbulb.
He stumbled out of the room like a fucking putz, pants falling down and walking sideways like his tiny twig of a boyfriend would chase him down if his eyes left the door too long, scrambling into the bathroom like a run-over raccoon. He slammed and locked the door and put his whole weight on the shitty hollow plywood, breath rattling out of him like he was throwing up thumbtacks.
Then he saw himself in the mirror.
His shirt was ripped in two places and covered in dirt stains, his belt was gone, there were red circles of rope burn around his wrists, he had a bruise on his cheekbone and a split on his own lip. The thing that drew most of his attention, though, was the fact that almost his entire neck was purple and black, scabs in a very obvious band around his entire neck. He couldn't even tell what he was choked with, but this sure as shit wasn't an accident. Now why the fuck couldn't he remember the fight for his life he'd probably just been in?
His brain thought of that stupid sorta-lamp-maybe-gun Fiddleford had. But Fiddleford told him about his projects, took the time to explain shit to him because he was the sweetest fucking asshole ever. So why didn't he know what the hell that thing was?
Fiddleford's lip was split. He could have been hiding other injuries under the blankets.
He said it was from Ford. Did he do this to Stan? Did he do this to Ford, too?
A knock on the door behind him made him jump like a scared fucking kid. "Stanley?" Fiddleford asked. "You okay, darlin? You been in here a while."
"Where the fuck is Stanford?" He demanded more than asked, back still against the door, voice like glass shards.
"Stanford? He's probably just in his cabin in the woods, you know he doesn't get out much."
He had to call him, so with a heavy hand he grabbed the doorknob and opened it - worst case, Fiddleford couldn't hold him down.
But when he swung the door open he saw that weird definitely-a-gun thing pointed right at him, with Fiddleford on the other end looking annoyed more than anything. Stan, like any death-fearing individual, immediately put his hands in the air.
Fiddleford looked him up and down before snorting. "Of course! How silly of me - how could you not remember when I left you in those dirty clothes. How silly a' me - Stanley, would you be a doll and strip for me? You're heavier than you look." He said like he wasn't holding a gun - was it even a gun? Fiddleford wasn't acting like he was pointing a gun at him. Either that or he was normal crazy to go with the mad scientist crazy. Stan didn't wanna find out but also he'd promised himself in Tijuana the next time someone put a gun to his head and told him to get naked he would let the gun go off.
But Fiddleford wasn't like that. He couldn't be like that, he was a ray of fucking sunshine, especially after the portal incident (what portal?) and this wasn't happening. "Fidds - listen, I dunno what's going on, I just wanna call Ford - that's all."
Fiddleford looked unamused. "Course', it's a call to Stanferd, then it's a walk down to his cabin, then it's me dragging you home because you walked around his woods with his face and got a few well-intentioned people all confused. Now strip, Stanley."
Stanley took a second to take that in. He was beat up because people thought he was Stanford. Those people were probably still out there, looking for the real one. He needed to go.
He started walking forward, eyes on the hopefully-not-a-fucking-gun, but Fiddleford just sighed.
Moving fast, Fiddleford turned the gun to a pile of empty packing boxes, firing and burning a hole through them in a flash of blue light. Stan froze.
"Darlin. Make this easier on me and strip, or I can strip you after."
Stan was gonna throw up, heaving and looking between the gun and what was left of the boxes dilapitating and burning. For a second, he really considered it, considered stripping and waiting for an opportunity to run away again, blood and jizz staining his car again, find a different country. But Fiddleford wasn't an idiot, and he said he was shooting Stan no matter what he did.
And if Stan had to pick, he'd rather die first.
His lips trembled around his grit teeth. "Go fuck yourself--" And the world
went
white.
...
Waking up to a warm hand on his cheek was the kinda sappy crap he never saw himself doing even a year ago. It was the kinda shit saved for sappy romance books for lonely housewives, not shlubs like him. But here he was, with long, boney fingers gently playing with the hair in front of his ears - Fiddleford had mentioned him growing his sideburns out, but after Rabbi Morris accidentally set one of his on fire at Stan's and Ford's Bar Midzvah, Stan refused to risk it.
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[Photo ID: A six panel, sketched fan comic for Gravity Falls. Fiddleford's speech is written by hand, printed letters. While Fords speech is typed in cursive font.
Panel 1: Ford excitedly shaking Fiddlefords hand. Fidds carries a back pack.
"*It's so god to see you after all these years, Fiddleford!"
Fiddleford, one hand hooked to the strap of his bag, "Feelin' 's mutual, pal."
(At the bottom of the page: *I'm not writing in cursive.)
Panel 2: Ford, smiling cheekily and gesturing with his hands, "And I see you've tied the knot?!"
Panel 3: He shows off his ring, "Sure did! And—"
"Where??"
Fiddleford continues, "Southern California"
Panel 4: Ford holds his chin in his hand and rests his elbow against one arm, "Fascinating! I didn't realize they had passed that l—"
Gripping his bags strap with both hands, Fidds says flatly, "I'm married to a woman, Stanferd."
Panel 5: They stare at each other, Ford especially wide-eyed.
"..." between the two of them.
Panel 6: Ford with his hand removed from his chin, and brows furrowed and sweating, "Really?"
Fiddleford squints, "Yes."
–End ID.]
“Oh,,, WELL LETS GET YOUR THINGS INSIDE”
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Grunkle fidds’ design for when they get out the portal :D
(His colours are under the cut for reference thanks future me for being a dumbass and most likely losing them, I got you and also the kiddos are there)
#it’s pretty much the same he just has a hat now#oh and a beard#:))#but lmao it’s not really that important because as soon as they leave the portal room he will drop the sci-fi outfit#and he becomes a ‘refined’ hillbilly#also yes his robo arm is bigger than his other#(not me doing that because I feel like ford would sometimes get self conscious of his big hands and fidds makes it so he feels better)#(so instead of ford always holding his hand he can hold Ford’s)#not sure if that makes sense but if not it’s for sappy romance reasons#if you are wondering where his whip is it’s in his beard#man stored a laptop that was described by dipper to crush his legs when he sat it on his lap#my guy can put a whip in there no problem#portal husbands#fiddleford mcgucket#mabel pines#dipper pines#gravity falls#gravity falls fanart#fiddauthor#my art
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Fiddleford never in his life thought he'd ever get a chance to do something like this. Then again, there were a lot of things he didn't think he'd ever do, but somehow, he'd managed to experience them. All thanks to the woman standing next to him. The older man looked at her, the blonde who had changed his life. She was holding onto his arm, her flowing white dress clinging to her. A bouquet of flowers was in her grasp, and her hair was pinned up behind her veil. She looked beautiful, which made sense, giving it's her big day.
The day when she was officially becoming Mrs. Pines.
Fiddleford felt his chest get a bit tight with emotion. It felt like just yesterday he'd met her, the awkward, slightly mean 12 near 13 year old. When she'd been quiet and suspicious of the world and people around her. A girl who had decided to accompany him on one of his trips to the junkyard and, as a result, changed his life forever. At that moment, as he stared at the woman Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket was, he recalled all the firsts he had with her.
He recalled the first time when she called him dad. A slip of the tongue, in a moment of peace and domestic calm. They'd been working on a project together, with Fidds focused on a piece of delicate weld work.
"Hey Paz, can you pass me that there tool?"
Fidds gestured towards said tool. Paz got up, making her way to it, grabbing it and bringing it back to him.
"Here you go dad."
She said, not thinking about it. Fiddleford about dropped the tool she just gave him, and Pacifica froze, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.
"I....I mean-"
She scrambled, trying to save face. However, it wasn't necessary when she caught sight of the fond grin.
"Thank you hon. I appreciate it."
He said smoothly, not calling attention to it. Knowing how Pacifica could be. It was that decision that opened up the gates. Before he realized it, she was calling him dad all the time. The word sounding like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was meant to be. It wouldn't be until months later, when he was working on making her a pair of new welding gloves that the weight of the word finally hit him. That despite everything he'd done in his life and out of everyone in the world, Pacifica had chosen to call him dad. The tears that were shed that night were of ones of gratitude and happiness unlike anything he'd experienced in a very long time.
'She really did brighten up my world, this little lady.'
He thought fondly and affectionately as he recalled another first he'd had with her. The first time she'd come to him, crying and distraught and seeking him out. An argument, harsh and cruel, had happened between her and her biological father. Upsetting her so badly that she'd run away from her house. Heading straight to the manor where she knocked on his door. Startling him awake. When he'd opened the door, the sight of Pacifica being so broken and covered in tears had just about shattered his heart right there and then. He brought her inside, concerned and agitated to figure out a way to fix this. To bring back the confident, intelligent, sassy teen he was used to. He was broken out of his rushing thoughts by two small arms wrapping around him.
"Fidds...am.....am I a disgrace....?"
Pacifica asked, sounding so small and broken. The world seemed to stop as he processed her question, and with it, a burning fire of red hot rage piercing his chest. How dare that man make this girl feel like that? How dare he tear this bright, sharp, witty girl down because he couldn't control her? How dare he even have the nerve to call himself her father when all he did was hurt and crush her?
"Pacifica Northwest, you are not a disgrace. You wanna know what you are?"
The hick asked, not even waiting for her to respond before he continued. Fired up something fierce.
"You are talented. You are bright and smart and funny. You are kind and loving, and you bring so many people so much joy. You are loved, and you are wonderful just the way you are. And I couldn't be prouder to have you as a daughter."
Pacifica broke down at that, clinging to Fiddleford like a drowning person would with a life vest. And the inventor clung back just as tightly. Holding her together and protecting her from the world as she broke down. Finally letting out all the hurt and misery she'd kept inside for so long. When she was done, she'd spent the night sleeping in Fiddleford's bed while he took the small sofa. Watching her sleep, he vowed to protect this girl with everything he had. Because she was his now.
The older man returned to the present moment when he felt Pacifica grab his arm a bit.
"You alright honeybee?"
He asked her, his voice soft. He watched as she bit her bottom lip, nervous.
"What....what if Dipper gets tired of me dad?"
Paz asked, her voice shaking slightly. Fidds eyes went wide, understanding shining in them.
"Paz sweetheart, that boy is head over heels for you. If he was tired of you, we wouldn't be here right now. Remember when you first started dating? You thought the same thing back then."
The mechanic said as his daughter's flashed with recognition. For Fiddleford, it was still fresh in his mind that day. Another first, he noted that he once again shared with her. She'd been 16 at the time, and she and Dipper had finally became official. It'd been a long time coming if you asked anyone who knew the couple. Fidds had spotted it way back when they were young, when he would go to help out Stanford and Stanley with something, and Pacifica would tag along. It was so obvious that Dipper and Pacifica were smitten despite how young they were. So it was no big shocker to him when she'd come to him one day saying she liked the Pines boy. However, what did surprise him was when Pacifica came over one day, looking nervous and uneasy, and before he even greeted her had been met with.
"Dad, do.....do you think that Dipper really likes me? I know we're dating now, but what.....what if it's because of me being a Northwest? What....what if he doesn't actually like me?"
Fiddleford reeled, stunned. Did she not see the way he looked at her? Did she not notice the way Dipper always wanted to be by her side? Did she not have a clue that Dipper was so smitten with her that everyone and their grandmother could tell? Collecting his thoughts, he gave her a stern but fatherly look. Gently rubbing her upper arm to comfort her.
"Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket. That boy is head over heels in love with you. You know, as well as I do, that Dipper Pines isn't the type of man to go after something unless he's absolutely sure about it. And I can promise you sugar bear, you ain't got nothing to worry about. Heck, I'd bet on my old banjo that it wouldn't be much of a stretch if one day he might marry you, I reckon."
The genius hick said serious and confident. Pacifica went red, embarrassed, but the sparkle was back in her gaze, and her confidence was no longer waning. And that was all that mattered to him.
"Oh good lord, I remember that conversation. You always look so smug still to this day being proven that you're right...."
Pacifica also said, recalling that day. The father, daughter duo, let out a few chuckles, feeling warm at the memory. Fidds gave his daughter's hand a squeeze, gaze soft and full of fatherly love and pride.
"And I still am right sugar cube. I rarely ever wrong."
Fiddleford watched as her own gaze softened, love and fondness shining bright. The once quiet insecurities now silenced by the reassurance of her father. The two were broken out of their moment by the sound of the tune of 'Here comes the bride'. He felt her shimmy a bit, her arm intertwined with his as she took a deep breath to prepare. Looking at her father once again, she gave him a small look.
"Well, how do I look dad?"
She asked.
"You look stunning hon. You ready?"
He asked smiling a bit wider.
"Yeah, I'm ready......promise you won't let go till we're up there dad?"
Paz asked. And in that moment she was once again 12, and he a younger old man, intertwined by the very stars.
"Promise darlin'."
With that sentence Pacifica Northwest-Mcgucket and her father Fiddleford Mcgucket finally took their first steps towards her future. Where the love of her life stood at the end waiting for her.
Fiddleford never expected to experience these moments. If you asked him way back when he was younger if he believed he'd ever experience fatherhood. He would have told you no. But if asked now....he'd smile the most bright smile, eyes twinkling with a light that wasn't there before and tell you yes. And he couldn't wait to experience even more firsts in this perfect future with the one girl who made it all worth while.
#oli talks#ooc#muns ramblings#mindless ramblings of a madman#my writing#gravity falls#gf#gravity falls fic#gf fic#gravity falls fiddleford#gravity falls pacifica#gravity falls dipper#gf fiddleford#gf pacifica#gf dipper#dipper x pacifica#dipcifica#fiddleford mcgucket#fiddleford hadron mcgucket#pacifica northwest#preston northwest#dipper pines#dipper mason pines#kay byeeeeeee
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More things about Fiddlefords siblings
-Rixon and Gus are close, Fiddleford and Winnie are close, Ashley and Merley are close, Durley gets along well with all of them -Unfortunately this means Durley plays therapist and mediator a lot
-Fiddleford is closer to his sisters than his brothers
-Fiddleford gave Merley a piece of his shirt to use as a patch for his overalls before leaving for college
-Merley likes to switch which eye peeks out of his hair when people aren’t looking. If anyone acknowledges it, he pretends he doesnt know what they’re talking about.
-Gus is the quiet type, sort of like Tate but even quieter. He doesnt talk much to people outside his family, and tends to bring Durley along with him to places to talk for him. Except when gambling is involved.
-Gus and Merley usually sit out social situations outside the family (Gus because he doesn’t talk, and Merley because he cant change clothes). They spend this time together.
-The hogs like Ashley and Gus the best
-Winnie and Fiddleford used to wear matching clothes when they were little, and had similar hairstyles up until Fidds left for college
-Merley and Ashley both need glasses but refuse to wear them
-Fiddleford tried to teach Ashley and Merley banjo as soon as they were old enough to hold the instrument
-Fiddleford claims he took 3rd place in a “Mr Pig Trough” contest. It was actually “Misses Pig Trough”, and Winnie came ahead of him in 2nd.
-Durley and Rixon regularly arm wrestle.
-All the siblings like to regular wrestle Durley. It usually ends up in a dogpile on him.
-Rixon is a lesbian and she would give advice to Fiddleford on how to sneak girls around.
-Rixon is the only one old enough to remember what happened to Gus’s hand -If you ask her or their parents what happened they’ll just tell you not to go stickin your hands where they dont belong -if you ask Gus he’ll ignore you. On rare occasions he’ll say they got up and walked away
-Gus met Ford once. He suggested Ford should give him one of his fingers.
-Gus was an accident, Rixon, Durley, and Fiddleford were planned. Winnie, Ashley and Merley were accidents again.
-Winnie and Ashley are aware they’re accidents. They like to say being ‘born out of a moment of passion’ is what makes them more passionate than the other siblings -Gus knows he was an accident, but doesnt agree with the girls assessment of their situation. Merley doesn’t know, and no one is going to tell him.
(first post)
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"Uh… hold on. I’d offer that you could stay here, but I don’t exactly… own this apartment. Neither does Sixer here."
*Stanley nudged his brother, catching that all-too-familiar glint in Ford’s eyes— the one that appeared every time he spotted a new piece of tech or gadget he’d never seen before. It was like watching a kid in a candy store, except the kid was about to take the store apart and see how it worked.*
"I'll hit up Fidds and we can ask him."
*Stan couldn’t help but smirk at his brother’s reaction. He wasn’t the ‘stupid’ twin, but sometimes, Ford’s brilliance made him feel like a second-rate circus performer in comparison. It wasn’t that Stan was dumb, it was just… Ford had an alarming tendency to take broken appliances apart, and somehow fix them with half a dozen spare parts.*
*Mind you, nobody even had any idea where he got those spares.*
"What? I wasn’t going to do anything…"
*Ford was pouting now, arms crossed in a huff. He’d wanted to ask to look at the device— he always did when it was something new— but knew damn well once he laid hands on it, it was as good as disassembled. It was hard to resist when his mind started buzzing with the mechanics of it all.*
*Stan rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this was going.*
"Yeah, right. Like you weren’t already planning to pull that thing apart like a kid with a new toy."
*Ford groaned, sinking further into the couch.*
"I’m a biology major, Stan. I should’ve chosen in physics. But no, I got distracted by… you know, living organisms."
*He shot Stan a quick look of mock annoyance, but deep down, he preferred working with specimens anyway. At least with those, when things went wrong, you could always label it a ‘happy accident.’ Machines, though… they either worked or didn’t, and he never got to just call it a coincidence when they broke.*
*Stan could only chuckle and shake his head.*
*a flareon pops out of nowhere*
Uri: Wow, a universe where stan and Ford aren't baby boomers? Dang, you are one of the lucky ones! Believe me, I met many Stan and Fords! Anyways, how's life going for yall?
*Stan and Ford stood frozen, staring at the bright colorful creature in front of them. Its voice— clear, articulate, and entirely unexpected— hung in the air like an impossible riddle. Each twin reacted in their own way, though both were clearly struggling to process what was happening.*
"Woah… you can talk?"
*Stan took a step back, his hand reflexively moving to rub the back of his neck. His brows shot up, and his tone was a mix of shock and awe. He blinked a few times, half-expecting the Flareon to vanish into thin air. It didn’t.*
"Who are you? Actually, what are you?"
*Ford stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his surprise. He adjusted his glasses, squinting slightly as if trying to make sense of the scene before him. His tone was calm, analytical, the excitement of encountering something new bubbling just under the surface.*
*Stan glanced at his brother, noticing that Ford was already falling into scientist mode, completely ignoring the initial question. Realizing he’d have to handle the social side of things, Stan sighed and turned back to the Flareon.*
"Well, uh… we’re doin’ just peachy. For the most part anyway."
*Stan’s tone was casual but still tinged with disbelief, his attempt at politeness barely masking the fact that he was still reeling. He gave the Flareon a slight, awkward nod, as if that would somehow make the situation feel more normal.*
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