#(where he holds fidds in his arms) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

squatch-and-stretch · 17 days ago

Text

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.

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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misteria247 · 1 month ago

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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.

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a-writing-otter · 8 days ago

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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?”

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matrixbearer2024 · 3 months ago

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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.

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fireworksanon · 3 months ago

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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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skeletboi · 1 month ago

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Intridimensional AU part 22!

This one is hella short. Sorry.

First /// Previous /// Next

---------------------------‐-----------------------------

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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fangirlwriting-stories · 2 months ago

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Venting with Best Friends

Summary: Relativity/Reunion Falls AU, Stan shares his Definitely Not Biased and Very Correct opinions on Ford.

Author's Note: I promise the next one will be longer I've had a lot of "proof of concept" scenes I wanted to put out first

Masterlist

...

“I’m gonna be honest with ya Stan, I’m not sure I get what the problem is,” Fiddleford says. He’s sitting on the ground next to the bed fiddling with the device he’s working on. Stan’s still not sure what it is.

“Yeah, no one does, it’s great,” Stan grumbles, from his spot lying face down on Fiddleford’s bed.

“What? It’s hard to hear you if your face is pressed into my pillow, you know.”

Stan groans and drags his face up. “I just don’t know how to talk to him!” he says. “He doesn’t ever try to start conversations, and I don’t know about anything he’d want to talk about. It’s not like he wants to hear about my in-depth plan to hunt down a monster that shows people their worst nightmares.”

“Well, come on, how do you know?” Fiddleford asks. “Have you asked him?”

“Please. A nerd like him? Yeah, I’m sure he wants to spend hours talking about monsters and cryptids. He probably only knows about boring school stuff that he learned about where he’s from.”

“Hey,” Fiddleford says, looking up at Stan and crossing his arms. “What’s wrong with being a nerd?”

“Oh, nothing, come on Fidds,” Stan says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “You know I’m not talking about you. But you’re a weird nerd. He’s a normie. It’s different.”

“How do you know he’s a normie if you never talk to him about it?” Fiddleford asks, turning back to his device.

“I just know, okay? Besides, I’ve got better things to do than try and explain to a twin I didn’t ask for why monsters are cool. Like hunting down those exact monsters. I’ve got Gremloblin stuff going on that I can’t just put on pause. You sure you don’t want to come to that, by the way?”

“Come find a monster who will show me my worst fear? Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

“Your loss,” Stan says, flopping back against the bed. “Now honestly, I didn’t come here to talk about Stanford the whole time. What’re you workin’ on?”

“Oh, it’s that grappling hook that should finally let us ride eye bats,” Fiddleford says brightly, holding it up for Stan to see. “The problem we’ve had is that we’re too heavy and weigh them down, right? This should let us both ride one on each side, rather than hanging off the same side and pull them back down to the ground. See, this part attaches to one side of the wing, this one the other, and it clasps together in the middle.”

“Awesome,” Stan calls, leaning over and turning the clasp Fiddleford is working on back and forth. “You want to go to the cliff tonight and try it out?”

“No, I very much want to test it safely on the ground first.”

“Booo! You’re no fun!”

#gravity falls #stan pines #fiddleford mcgucket #relativity falls au #reunion falls au #my fic

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themachineshepherd · 3 months ago

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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!

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luciferten · 2 months ago

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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”

#LMAOOO #reblog #photo id #comic id #visual description #gravity falls #gf #fiddleford #stanford pines

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thatabitcryptic · 4 years ago

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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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gin-juice-tonic · 2 years ago

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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)

#dont feel like you have to read them its okay #long post #sorta #fidds family

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piningfor-pinestwins · 4 years ago

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Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #grunkle stan x reader #[mr. mystery]#pspspsps come get y'all juice #but also tell me if you like my fic please i like interaction

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misteria247 · 28 days ago

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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.

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mythomagically-delicious · 3 years ago

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Okay so in a better world au ford and fiddleford created the Institute and made up, right? What happened to stan?

The point of that first post about "the twist" was this: what if Stan and Ford switched bodies and stans was sent into the portal with ford inside, and Stan in Ford's body remained behind. Stan immediately tries everything to turn it back on, to no avail. He went thru hundreds of papers and notes trying to understand ANYTHING and he got some general idea that ford had had a research partner out here who knew things- knew ford, knew the portal, he could help!

Stan in Ford's body races to town instead of staying isolated in the cabin for four weeks, and finds fiddleford. Fiddleford looks confused and stranger than the notes suggested but it matches up. He begs fiddleford to help him, and despite the falling out fiddleford has enough fondness for his old friend remaining that he is swayed. He doesn't get his full mind erased by the society bc he isn't abandoned fully and left wandering the town to be targeted by blind Ivan in his power grab.

Fiddleford and Stan (in Ford's body) go back to the shack and stan starts to take him to the basement when fidds starts freaking out, yelling and crying about the world-shattering consequences. About the things he saw, rhe demon, and more. Stan calms him down, takes him back upstairs. He's frustrated to high heaven and back but he knows he could never do this alone.

(He hasn't told fiddleford who he really is. Yet. He will, he just needs some help first. Who would help a loser like stan? But ford has a friend, he can be ford for a little bit to work the angle and get his brother back.)

It takes time. Way too much time, for Stan, but fiddleford slowly recovers enough of his sanity and calms his nerves enough to go down to the basement and not freak out. Stan admits to anything fiddleford asks him about, anything he saw from Ford's notes and makes it convincing that he's asking for a second chance. Maybe they could rebuild it, better? Without demon assistance?

Fiddleford helps tear it to shreds. They mark every part as they dismantle it and fiddleford searches for the reasons it opened a portal to nightmares. He doesn't follow schematics blindly, any more, no more blind trust to his friend. But he does help. Stan is learning on the job. He isn't convincing in the slightest of being a genius but fiddleford is too frazzled to notice. He's got his own shit going on.

They tear it down. Stan is afraid and angry and desperate but he holds his shit together. Fiddleford regains more of himself as they go. Stan learns more about ford and fiddlefords time together as fiddleford recovers memories and tells them to Stan. Stan makes his own notes, of how to Be Stanford Pines.

In time, they get to a stable place of living in the shack together, Stan trying to learn as much as he can about this science shit, pretending he was hit by the memory gun into forgetting himself when fiddleford questions it. Fidds is afraid to go confront the society, and can't remember where they are anyway. Stan doesn't care about it as long as his cover isn't blown. He hasn't told fiddleford yet. He will! But not yet.

They begin to plan a new, stable trans-dimensional vortex. It takes a whole hell of a lot, but they slowly build it anew. Still in the cursed basement, not even a skeleton of the old machine left after they destroyed it the first time.

Stan is flying less by the seat of his pants. Taking a leaf from Ford's book and staying up to radically terrible hours of the night studying and trying to understand all the science and math shit to make this work, to keep stringing fiddleford into helping him. Fidds takes time for his own projects and Stan doesn't bug him about it, saying if it makes money to split it, and when fiddleford hits a big invention that also happens to patent well and spread? They use the money to help their new portal.

It takes ten years to do it, but they recreate the portal, this time to a place they can control thru careful calibration. Fiddleford writes a scientific paper about it, publishes it with ford as a co-author, and they get international renown. Stan knows how to work a crowd and he uses their leverage to get people invested in investing, so to speak. It's not cheap to fund the energy required to turn it on, so they expand the building and create the Institute of Oddology, given enough time and building and circumstances lining up just right.

Fiddleford runs the teams and the day to day stuff. Stan handles finances and resource allocation and scheduling tours, interested parties, rivals, anything business side. He and fiddleford go to the first stable dimension together , though, and Stan uses all of the science gizmos at their disposal to search for ford while they're there.

He doesn't find him. He still hasn't told fiddleford. Its been too long at this point, right? What if he takes the money and fame and everything and kicks Stan out for lying? He mostly rode fiddlefords genius to get here, there's no way he'd not be mad about this.

They go to many dimensions. Stan takes samples and learns scientific process thru osmosis over the years and contributes to publishibg written works to the greater scientific community.

He looks for Ford. He finds nothing. He tells no one his true purpose for everything he's achieved to that point. He lies and wears Ford's face and shakes hands and is a sham.

One day Fiddleford races to his office, frantic and eyes wide and hands shaking slightly like Stan hasnt seen in years. It's been 30 years since ford was lost to the portal. And fiddleford comes to him and says there's a parallel you, Stanford, in conference room B, we need to send him on his way immediately, you remember what happened to Ernie on that trip 8 years back?

And Stan ignores this, heart pounding, and knocks fiddleford out, locking him in the office, racing to conference room B.

He bursts in, and sees a version of his brother. One he doesnt see in the mirror. A real Stanford Pines, 30 years older than the kids they were when they fought beside the portal. Apparently no universe is fair, if ford ends up inside in multiple dimensions.

Stan is speechless. The portal!ford is on the defensive, but interest is clear in his face. He keeps his distance, cognizant of parallel!fiddlefords warning from before. Of counterparts meeting in a dimension of origin. Annihilation.

Stan cries. Ford looks shocked to see his own self in such a state. He doesn't know what to do. Stan surges forward for a hug and Ford tries to dodge, afraid of the consequences. Stan traps his hands to his sides and sobs on Ford's mysterious black coat, calling him brother. Ford's inner alarm bells go off even as he clenches his eyes shut against the incoming total destruction.

When nothing happens except for a wet patch to grow on Ford's clothes, he opens his eyes and studies himself. They look scarily similar, truth be told. His counterpart heartier than he, an interdimensional fugitive. That makes sense. Parallel ford is apologizing into his jacket and clutching him hard enough to leave bruises.

Ford dodges out of the grapple his counterpart has him in. He demands answers in a clipped tone. Stan does his best to reign it back in as he confesses what transpired in this dimension to this dimension traveling ford. How he hopes his own brother, trapped in stans body, is still out there, still surviving, still where Stan can find him.

Ford starts a fight. Stan defends himself but it gets physical and he doesn't have the same instincts to take down he did when he was younger. He remembers the last fight he had with his brother, and doesn't want that to happen again.

Fiddleford eventually gets free of the office and runs in to see parallel ford beating the shit out of his ford. He stuns ford with a device on his belt and brings things back to some semblance of order, getting a first aid kit out to tend to them both. P!Ford's knuckles, mainly, and stans face.

The truth comes out, ugly and stained and fiddleford forgives Stan immediately. He turns to parallel ford and helps him out of the room, promising help with his weapon and more, later.

Stan is left with the knowledge that all these years later, no matter what he does, his brother hates him.

Fiddleford helps ford with his weapon. If ford can destroy bill cipher, more dimensions will open up to be explored. If his and stans ford is still alive out there, they'll have a better shot if Bill is out of the picture. They send parallel!ford off a few days later. Fiddleford goes to Stan that night and calls him by a name that hasn't been spoken in 30 years. Stan can barely look at him. Fiddleford gives him time and space, but tells him he understands.

A month and a half later, a ripple is felt thru thousands of dimensions at once, the death of Bill cipher in every iteration is making its way thru the multiverse. Celebrations are happening as people cheer and laud thr name of the one who saved them, spread in a cosmic understanding by some greater power. Stanley Pines, shatterer of Bill Cipher.

4 years later, they find Ford. Ford in Stans body is old, ragged. He's missing an eye and an arm and so much more of who he used to be. But they bring him home. He doesn't want to switch bodies back.

Stan feels guilt eat at him, but ford is different than the other traveler they'd met. He's more settled. He thanks Stan for finding him. Doesn't blame him for how long it took. Didn't think he'd be come for anyway.

It's strange and rocky but slowly strides are made to bridge the gap of decades and become people they want to be, again. Brothers, friends, explorers. They never body swap again, but they settle into themselves and own who they are.

#stanley and stanford #fiddleford mcgucket #parallel ford #a better world au #but with a twist #gravity falls #flash fic #i wrote this on my phone #electron carpet #body swap au

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