#But also. I think Ford would find comfort in the idea that Stan would still do it???

[puns-and-musicals]

I headcanon that Ford’s eyesight is really quite abysmal which makes getting his hair cut a huge problem. On top of being an inconvenience and a waste of his precious time, he’s giving complete control over to a stranger for the entire duration, Long story short, Stan got pretty good at cutting hair, before he was kicked out.

When Mabel finds out she insists he cuts her hair, and when he gives in he does surprisingly well, topping it off with a headband of her choice, of course.

Dipper absolutely refuses to let Stan anywhere near him with a set of scissors, which is fair enough all things considered.

During his time through the portal, Ford cuts his own hair when it gets too unruly but never quite gets the hang of it. He spends 30 years on the run in dimensions of varying levels of hostility where the idea of letting someone hold a blade to his head is foolish at best.

When they leave on the Stan-o-War II, Stan packs his clippers and a cheap pair of barber scissors. He isn’t really sure why, but it feels important, somehow.

[mooooonnnzz]

Hi I just wanna say I read the Dad! Stanley hcs you did and it was sooo goood I loved every bit of it.

I was wondering if you could do a bit of an angsty request where Stanley's child is in there late teens an gets possesed by Bill, like what do you think his reaction would be, since when dipper got possesed by bill, bill physicaly injured dippers body a lot and was just genuinely careless with his body. Also I have no idea when the reader would be possesed by bill mabey after Ford is back to make things extra angsty since ford knows of bill, idk do whatever you like with this request I just like angst with for no reason whatsoever.

Also I did try to find if you had any request rules but I couldn't find any so if you do have rules and this request is something you don't feel comfortable writing then please just ignore this request, I hope you have a brilliant day or night :D.

Another thing I just wanted to mention is I'm sorry for how long this request is.

Far From The Weight of The World

Dad!Stanley Pines x Teen!Reader

❀ 9,1k words its a loottt so if ur ready to hunker down and read a whole bunch this is for u!!

❀ guess who finished far from the weight of the world THIS GUYYY

❀ it wouldn't have ever seen the light of day if it wasn't for @raventeen they helped me sm!! like they helped every single step of the way and chose the direction of where this should go so big thanks to them <3

❀ i hope you all enjoy this! :3

❀ possible tw: description of skin melting off, throwing up blood, self inflicted harm, more blood, uhh broken bones? even more blood

❀ gn!reader

❀ i love dad stan pines smmm

❀ requests r still open hehe

“Sweetheart!” Stan’s footsteps could be heard thumping on the ground towards you. You marched forwards, your throat painfully knotted in a ball, suppressing your sobs and swallowing your words. Your head swirled with the word liar, spinning around hastily. Whispers of Mable and Dipper could be heard distantly behind you, their concerned eyes digging holes right through you. Too swept up by your wind of emotions you ignored their worried looks. 

“We can talk about this, kiddo. Just give me a second.” His fingers curl against your arm but you yank it away before he’s able to wrap them around you. “What do you want, Dad?” You promptly turned around, glassy eyes somberly staring into his wide ones. “Can you please give me a chance. Hear me out,” his voice cracked at the end, his hands twitching to desperately reach out to you and prevent you from taking another step further away from him. “I don’t know If I can trust you, Dad.” Uttering that sentence shattered something within you. Not once have you thought of yourself ever telling your very own dad that you don’t trust him. He had never given you a reason to distrust him. To you, all his past lies were seen as truth to you, undeniable facts that couldn’t be broken apart because his word carried high validity, to you at least. But now, you’re not even sure that he’s telling you the truth right now.

Ford’s heavy shoes sounded on the creaky wooden floors, announcing his presence wordlessly. “[Name], dear. Listen to your father.” He adds. He looked at you with an analytical stare, twisting your stomach inside out. You didn’t like how he looked at you like you were one of his captured anomalies, inspecting you and reading your tense body language, anticipating for the second where you’d act out of pure emotion so he’d supply you with meaningless words that held nothing but empty hope to burn out the flurry of emotions that ran rampant inside you.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you, Uncle Ford.” You spat out. He was the last person you wanted to hear anything from. From time to time, you’ve begged him to tell you what exactly is going around here yet he’d always brush you aside, dismissing whatever you’d ask and move on with the next thing that gripped his attention. “You never wanted to say anything to me until now.” 

Ford, not expecting your answer, stumbled with his words. He shakes his head, almost as if he’s expelling his shock with the shakes and regains his composure. “[Name],” he starts off with a stern tone. “You are acting purely on your emotions. I need you to compose yourself and talk to us when you’re relaxed enough to form a proper sentence that doesn’t have you snapping at us.” 

Your jaw gawks open. “So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t be feeling upset over this? 

Ford clicked his tongue, a twinge of frustration oozing out of him. Everything you’re saying is going off the script Ford had curated in his head. He’s rendered useless as he scrambles for words he can put together in a sentence that’ll feasibly flip your train of thought around and convince you that the way you’re acting is irrational. 

Ford waved his head side to side, unsure with his answer. Stan noticed the apprehension shrouded on Ford’s face and he silently signaled to him to not say what he’s about to say, already knowing that his poor choice of words was going to send this whole situation right on its back. Too stubborn for his own good, Ford stood his ground and opened his mouth much to Stan’s clear distaste of him speaking his mind. 

“Yes but no.” You grit your teeth together, eyes narrowly staring daggers at Ford who looked seemingly pleased with his response.

Stan gulps nervously, taking a cautious step forward. “Sweetie, don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what–” 

“--You’re telling me that I’m overreacting? I have just found out that my dad has been lying to me since the moment I was born! And to make matters worse, you all are hiding things from me. None of you are bothering to tell me what the hell is going on here. Why are we all so secretive? We all promise to tell each other everything, no more secrets, no more lies! What happened to that? You all know something and I have a right to know as well!”

You heaved out a ragged breath, words spilling out of you in a madden rush. You held down your tongue for too long. Long nights of sneaky meandering had left you scrambling all the pieces they had discarded on secrets of Gravity Falls together, solving and answering all the questions you laid out for them but chose to ignore. All the lies Stan had fed you over the years concerning this supposed lazy town was unraveling right in front of you. What else had he been hiding from you? What other filthy lies had he pushed on you that you so mindlessly believed? 

Stan’s mouth flounders, stammers of jumbled sounds spilled out. His arms are rendered at his side, stunned with your outburst. “I thought I was protecting you.” He whispers, his fingers flexing anxiously. “Dad! This whole summer has been nothing but crazy. I didn’t know that we had half of those monsters in our woods because you lied to me and told me that it’s been my imagination. What if I had gotten close to one thinking that it was all in my head, and the beast mauls my head off. What then, Dad?” 

Stan deflates. Lost for words, he runs a hand down his gray hair. Thinking about finding your bloodied body sent full body chills down his spine and his stomach lurching. He never sat down and thought of the consequences of what he told you. As long as he said that it was all in your head, he thought you would’ve strayed away from them. 

“I’m going outside. Maybe some stupid gnome would actually tell me what’s going on here because nobody here wants to even tell me anything.” The door slammed shut, causing everything on the wall to rattle and almost tip over. “Oh,” Stan drooped his head onto his palms, tears swelling in his eyes. “I really screwed up here.” He whispered to himself, his voice crackly and small. 

Ford patted his back and Stan believed for a quick moment that Ford was going to say something so beautifully uplifting that he’d see the brighter sides of things, but he tells him, “When are you not?” and continues to pat his back.

Stan violently shrugged Ford’s hand off, his hand pushing Ford away from him. “Really, poindexter?” He scoffs, walking off into the living room where Mable and Dipper watched the whole scene unfold. “I thought it would offer some comfort!” He defeatedly argues back, a dejected sigh escaping him when his eyes meet Mable’s watery ones and Dipper’s disappointed glare. “Kids, I—“ Mable swiftly turns her head to the side, mumbling something under her breath as she ambles up to her room. 

“I’m going to find them.” Stan walks in, slipping on a jacket to shield him from the cold. “I’m coming too.” Ford reaches out to grab the doorknob when Stan’s hand stops him from doing so. “I don’t think they want to see you right now.” Stan gingerly shoved Ford out of the way, leaving him to his thoughts as he shut the door behind him. Cursing to himself, Ford rams his foot on the door angrily. 

Venturing far into the lush woods, you grumbled bitterly to yourself. You couldn’t even trust your own family to tell you something so simple. How utterly pathetic is that? 

You fought the urge to punch a nearby tree and continued on, getting yourself lost in the natural maze of the forest. You wanted to get as far away as possible just so you can find time for yourself to cool down. After a while, the cold air started to nip at your exposed arms. The hairs on your body stood up as a cold shiver rippled through you. Hugging yourself to provide some warmth you found yourself sitting on the grassy floor, back leaning against the bark of the tree. 

The soft chirps and squeaks of the animals brought a sense of calmness over you. These woods have been declared dangerous by Stan and for the longest time you never went out here without Stan hovering behind you or Soos mindlessly meandering through the woods with you. Your hands swayed across the green blades of grass, focusing on the itchy feeling that ran through your palms rather than the bitter cold. The faint whistles of the wind swirled around your ears and out around you. Has this forest always been so peaceful? Leaning your head against the trunk of the tree, you closed your eyes shut. Relishing in the comforting nature the woods provided you. 

“Sweetheart?” Your eyes shoot open. “Dad?” Your heart quickens, your head whipping around rapidly. “Sweetie?” Stan’s voice grew closer and closer. The sound of the grass crunching and bending under his steps resounded throughout the quiet woods, his calls becoming more frequent and louder. How did he find you so quickly? 

A shadowy figure, one you’ve grown to recognize, stepped out from the shade and presented himself. “[Name].” Stan sweetly calls out, kneeling down beside you. “Dad? What are you doing here?” 

Stan smiled, opening his mouth but all that came out was a raspy breath. “Wha–” Your voice hitches in your throat. 

Stan’s skin started melting off in a disgusting mess of bubbling flesh. The side of his face became a drooping mess and a crazed cackle left his lips. “You should’ve seen the look on your face, kid!” He points a boney finger at you, melted flesh sludge dripping from the bone. You scramble back, terrified screams ripping out of you. 

“W-What is going on?” You push yourself up from the floor with your hand, bile coating the back of your throat at the horrid sight of Stan’s bloodied flesh sploshing to the floor. “I’m just playing tricks on you!” With a snap of his finger, Stan poofed away in thin air. What took his spot was an ominous floating triangle with a top hat. “Well, well, well, look who it is, [Name]! I knew we'd cross paths sooner or later. I gotta admit, I'm thrilled!” His eye crinkled in a joyous smile. 

“How…” You blinked dumbly at the floating triangle. “I’m dreaming, right?”

“You sure are, kid!” 

A wave of recognition passes through you. This was the god Ford was talking about in one of his journals. Your knowledge of him was not much, but from the tidbits you have read, Ford had admired this god. He went as far as to calling the triangle his muse. What was his name? Wasn’t it– “Bill?” His name spills out of your mouth. “Ah! So you do know about me?” He tilts a little in your direction, his hands clasped together. “Hear anything good?” A glimmer of forlorn hope shimmers in his eye before it’s washed away with an inquisitive look. “I-I think so? My Uncle really liked you from what I had read in his journals.” You squint your eyes in thought.

“Oh, he really liked me.” Bill’s charmed voice had entailed that there was more to the story than what was told but he didn’t give you time to mull over that thought before jumping into the flow of another topic. “But that’s all in the past now, right?” He snaps his fingers, a comfortable looking chair appearing before your eyes. He floated down on the chair, kicking his legs up and crossing them. 

“I heard that a little someone has been lied to, isn’t that unfortunate?” The corner of his eye pulled to the side, almost as if it was a sadden frown. “How did you know?” The chair poofs away.  “I see everything, kid!” His hands fall to his sides and he slowly leans towards you, his eye pulled wide open. Flashes of images you couldn’t quite comprehend flickered by in a brisk montage. “Everything.” He draws out. “Anyways, I've got a deal for you. You give me, I give you. Sounds fair, doesn't it?” 

You raise a brow. “How can I trust you?” You rolled your fingers around the grass, delicately pulling on them. 

“Your dear Uncle Ford trusted me!” He shakes his hands enthusiastically. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, still not convinced. “You literally pretended to be my dad and melted him right in front of me.” Bill put his fists to his sides, huffing out like a little child. “Can’t a triangle have a little fun here?” He rolled his eye dramatically. You eyed him, skepticism evident on your face. “I don’t know…” You plucked out a few blades of grass from the dirt. “I feel like if you wanted to gain my trust then you shouldn’t have done that.” You crumpled up the grass into a little green ball and tossed it at Bill. The ball passes through his body. 

“Maybe you’ll change your mind once I propose the deal..?” Bill’s eye stretched out and morphed into a mouth with his lips puckered. He whistles out a tune you can’t recognize and innocently kicks the air. “Go on,” You wave your hand out to him. “If you make a deal with me, everything that you’ve been wanting to know will be revealed to you. All you have to do is shake my hand.” He extended out his hand, blue flame engulfing it whole. You blink your eyes in surprise. Was it really that easy? “There’s no catch?” 

Bill’s fingers trembled in anticipation. “None whatsoever!” 

You could trust him, right? Ford had trusted him! Bill even confirmed it himself. And with what you read, Bill had been giving him infinite knowledge. Feeding him thoughts that no one else had thought of before. He did manage to build that portal and come to think of it, wasn’t it triangular shaped? Was that Bill shaped or were you reaching? You think for a minute more, weighing the pros and the cons. Biting your tongue, you looked at Bill. Bill made a deal with Ford and he’s still alive and well, so how bad could it really be?

You bite the bullet and grasp onto his hand, the flame trailing towards you and consuming your hand whole. A maniacal laugh rips through the air and the world stills. The color drains around you, unpleasantly welcoming you to a monochrome world. “That was just too easy!” Bill wipes a tear from his eye, his firm grip on your hand never wavering. “W-What do you mean?” You tried forcefully pulling your hand away from Bill’s iron grip but it felt like your whole hand was encased in stone. No matter how hard you tried prying yourself away from his hold, his hand still didn’t budge. His eye twists into a pleased smile, his fingers thumping against the edge of your palm gleefully. 

“Was I an idiot for trusting you?” Your words came out in a quiet whisper. You can feel the life being sucked out of you as Bill drew his hand back. “Yes! Absolutely!” He said with a cheer, yanking his hand back suddenly, pulling you out of your physical form. Bill wasted no time taking over your body. He rose up with a delighted laugh, his hands running down your body, taking in the new but familiar feeling. “Wow!” He pressed your palms on your lower back, stretching out your back with a few gratifying pops. “It has been so long since I’ve possessed someone!” Cracking your fingers, he turned over to your floating form with an eerie smile. The world bleeds back into its colors and the soft tranquil sounds of the forest flooded your ears. “Funny how we switched places, huh?” 

You let out a shaky breath, your mind relentlessly battering you with words. How was this even possible? How could you be so foolish? You couldn’t even comprehend any of this. Bill moving around and using your body was terrifying. That was physically you and right now, he was joyously ramming your fist into the tree. You can see the skin on your knuckles rip and tear, blotchy patches of blood tainting the light bark. A light tingle of pain buzzed on your knuckles but it went away as quickly as it came.

“You’re so easy to injure! How weak are you?” He observes the damage eagerly, making your finger pinch on a frayed piece of skin. He twisted it and pulled it back, lightly chuckling to himself as he watched pearls of blood bead up from the now exposed skin. “Bill, stop!” Out of instinct, your hand went over to swat his arm away. A cold gust of wind flows through you as your hand phases right through yo–Bill. He stopped, plucking off the skin and flicking it aside.  “If you keep hurting yours–, I mean, me! They’re going to wonder what happened.”

“Not if I tell them that you got attacked!” He said in a sing-song voice, his eyes keenly looking around for anything else that’ll harm your body. “[Name]!” Stan’s voice rung in the air, pulling you and Bill from your thoughts. A sinister smile tug at Bill’s lips as an idea fills his head. Your stomach flips inside out. Discreet grunts and groans seized your attention and you whipped your head over to Bill climbing up a tree. “What are you doing!” Your hands fly to your hair, gripping it tightly. 

“Breaking the bones inside this meaty vessel, duh.” He hoists himself up on a thick branch. “Would a fall from this height kill you?” Bill ponders out loud, shakily standing up. “Are you seriously going to do this!” Your eyes darted from Bill sticking out your foot from under you to the direction where Stan’s voice could be heard. Bill lets your question float up in the air and with a child-like shout, he jumps off the branch, keeping your legs straight. You look away, unable to witness Bill carelessly treat your body like a toy. 

A stomach turning snap sounded in the air. “[Name]!” Stan’s distressed voice alerted you.

You whip your head around to see Stan cradling your body. Bile crawls up your throat upon seeing your twisted leg limply hang on the other side. “Sweetheart? What happened?” Stan’s words rushed out in a flurried frenzy. You slapped a palm to your mouth, anxiously awaiting for Bill to slip up and sell out his identity to Stan. “I don’t know…” You hear your very own voice leave your mouth. Bill’s agitating voice was nowhere to be heard. Vomit fills your mouth and you fight every muscle in your body to not spew it out. “I was just laying on the tree, not doing anything when something attacked me. I…” Bill allows a few tears to cascade down your face before continuing. “I thought I was going to die, Dad. I was so scared!” He dramatically sobs onto Stan’s sweater, purposefully grazing your shredded bleeding knuckle on his jacket. 

A gasp swelled in Stan’s chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I-I…” He harshly shuts his mouth closed, his pupils shrinking upon seeing your bloody knuckle. He was at fault for this, if he had never lied to you, if he would have just told you the truth from the start, you wouldn’t be so injured. Silently he carefully picked you up from the floor. To sprinkle a little more dramatics on the show Bill had out for you, he hissed out in faux pain, shooting your hand to your bent leg. Stan cringed, his eyes avoiding the general direction of your broken leg. “I’m sorry, baby.” He weakly muttered, his eyebrows pinched firmly in worry. 

Stan trekked through the thick foliage with your body curled in his arms. He dodged under branches that stuck out and sidestepped the stones that protruded from the ground. The entire walk was in silence, aside from the periodic sniffles coming from Stan and quiet hiccups. All you wanted to do at that moment was wrap him in a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay, but you weren’t even so sure of that yourself.

When Stan approaches the front door of the shack, a wave of conflicted emotion flickers through Bill’s eyes before he closes his eyes abruptly and goes slack in Stan’s arms. 

Stan chokes out a garbled yell for Ford. He heaves your body over his shoulder, twisting open the door with a slam and barging into the shack. “Stanley?!” Ford frantically ran over to Stan, his hands gesturing wildly at the sight before his eyes. “Th-They passed out in my arms! I don’t know what to do, Stanford!” 

You grapple at your face, desperate to make sense of what’s happening. You watch with a heavy heart when Mable and Dipper scramble to Stan’s side, troubled voices speaking over one another trying to understand what happened to you and to ask if you were dead. Their frantic cries and yells chaotically fill the silence in the shack. Ford yelled over their voices, instructing Stan to quickly settle you down on the couch so he could conduct a proper examination on your wounded body. All Stan could do is go along with his commands, mind hazy with borderline delirium as he stumbles towards the living room. 

“Dad,” you whisper, your fingertips grazing through him. You hold back the sob that scratched at your throat. This can’t be happening right now. 

Cracking an eye open to your direction, you can feel Bill’s sleazy smile draw on your face. Your stomach shrivels up in disgust at the sight. His yellow eyes gleamed under the dimly lit shack as he stared at you. Mable’s rushed steps drew Bill to close your eyes. “Grunkle Stan! Please tell me they’re okay!” Mable has the collar of her sweater pulled up to her mouth, her never ending stream of tears staining the sweater. “Mable. Give him some space.” Dipper murmured, holding Mable back as he tensely watched Stan lay you down. 

Ford eventually came in with a first aid kit. His appearance looked a little more disheveled than before. His hair was strewn about and ruffled, glasses crookedly sat atop of his nose and one of his sleeves was rolled up and cuffed while the other one was untouched. He sucked in a harsh breath upon seeing your split knuckles, dried blood crusted around the wounds and raw skin. The gashes reminded him of his own busted up knuckles when he was possessed by Bill. Alarm signs flared in his face but he batted them away, chalking it up to your injuries being caused by whatever animal had attacked you in the woods when you were alone. He treated the lacerations with antibodies and meticulously wrapped your hand in medical gauze. Gently placing your hand beside you, he looked over to your broken leg, holding a bated breath. Broken bones weren’t his favorite injury to heal since it takes extensive time off from anything physical and you having a broken leg at a time like this wasn’t ideal. He just needed to find ways to heal your leg quickly. 

“I need you all to leave the living room.” Ford clapped his hands together, dragging a hand down his fingers. “W-What, why?!” This was the first time Stan spoke in a while and it surprised Ford. Clearing his throat, he answered: “Because I can’t focus with your eyes hovering all over me. I-I need to think and if I’m going to treat their leg, I need you all to leave.” Against everyone’s wishes, Ford ushered them out,  leaving him alone to fully think about possible treatments he could have you undergo to heal your leg. 

You didn’t have a good feeling about leaving Bill alone with Ford. They had history with each other and having a past with someone like Bill doesn’t seem like a good thing. 

“Fordsy…” 

Ford’s body physically recoiled inwards at the familiar nickname. His head darted around the room, helplessly searching for the owner of the voice. He can’t be here can he? That voice just sounded so eerily similar to yours, but why would you call him Fordsy? Blood pumps in his ear drums, obstructing his hearing. 

“Sixeerrr.” His fingers curl around his arms. The light glow of horrifying unforgettable eyes glimmer in the corner of his eyes. He turns over to see you sat up on the couch, a smile stretched from ear to ear as Bill’s eyes shone into his. Ford’s blood ran cold, his mind swirling like a whirlwind. “Bill?” His heart pounds behind his rib cage. 

“The one and only, Sixer.” Hearing Bill’s voice crackle through your own instilled despair all over Ford’s body. Taking a wary step back, his shaky eyes watched as Bill threw your legs down the couch, your left eye flinching closed as pain shivered through Bill. He severely underestimated how much pain your leg would cause him. To fight against it, he slammed your leg on the floor. Pain jostled through him, a shuddering sigh blowing past your lips. The aching pain overtook your leg for a moment before it relented into a numbing buzzing feeling. “Much better!” He stands up, smiling broadly. 

Ford sucked in a stuttering breath, his eyes fleeting over to the hallway. “What do you want, Bill?” 

“I don’t know…” He rolled your head in thought. “Maybe the rift to the portal? It’s a crazy thing to ask, I know!” He laughs to himself. 

You wanted to bash your head on the wall. This was the reason why he made a deal with you. It was because of a stupid rift. You’ve only heard bits and pieces of the importance of the rift, but you knew it was serious business with how you heard Ford talk about it in passing. You need to find a way to stop Bill. 

Ford sneered. “Try all you want, Bill. But you’re not getting the portal.” Bill rolled your shoulders, earning a few noisy crackles of your bones. Ford tenses up, readying himself for the fight that’s about to pursue when Bill charges towards him, side stepping him at the last second and darting out of the living room. “Haha! I got you!” He teases, hissing out in pain when he applied too much pressure on your busted leg. “Stanley!” Ford yelled out, stumbling over his own feet as he ran after Bill. Hurried footsteps stomp down on the stairs, panicked talking and breaths littered the air. “[Name] is possessed by Bill!” A chorus of “WHAT?” echoes in the house. 

He skids to a stop in front of the open vending machine. Ford tugged on his hair, mumbling to himself in shock. How does he know the password? Wasting no time to dwell on that, he pads down the stairs. His stomach lurches forward when he notices Bill step inside the elevator, a snarky smile on your face as he turns around and waves at Ford. “Bill!” He launches himself forward, missing a few steps of the stairs and landing on the ground near the elevator. He trips over to the closing elevator, his fist slamming on the door as it shuts. 

“Ford, what is going on?” Stan pants out. Ford rapidly presses the elevator button, anxiously watching as the elevator dinged on down to the bottom. An idea passes through your head. Mumbling a self-motivating sentence Mable had showed you, you dived straight through the floor, phasing through the other two rooms and landing in the lab room. As stupid as it sounds, you’re going to repossess your body back.  

“Bill, he–he has [Name]!” Ford delivers a punch to the buttons, knocking the plate off its screws. Stan’s face contorts into a mixture of anger and concern. “He has what!? How the fuck does Bill have [Name], Ford!” Ford rested his forehead on the wall. “Now’s not the time to freak out, Stanley!”

Stan clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together. “It’s the perfect time to freak out, Stanford! Bill has my kid!” 

“Bill has [Name]?” Mable’s shrill reverberated through the empty staircase. “Kids, you can’t be here!” Ford warns, shooting out his hand to stop Mable and Dipper from getting any closer. “We want to help, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper sternly said. “That’s a funny joke, kid.” Stan chuffs out dryly, his attention snapping towards the elevator that was now rising up the shaft, dinging with each stop. “It’s not a joke!” Dipper dipped under Ford’s arm and stood in front of the elevator, Mable following in suit. “Stanley, do something!” Ford gestures to Mable and Dipper who are unmoving from their spot. Stan scoffs, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. “They’re already here, Stanford. There’s no point in stoppin’ them now.” 

With a loud chime, the elevator pulls back its doors. The twins were the first to step inside, whispering to themselves as Ford and Stan walked in. Mable rushes over to the panel containing three buttons and using her tippy toes, she slams the last button with the palm of her hand. The elevator registers the destination with a slight rumble and shuts the door closed, leading them down to Ford’s lab. 

Ford could see Stan’s harsh breathing and clenched fists out the corner of his eye. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, he steels both him and Ford with: “We’re going to save them, Stanley.” Stan breathes out, teetering his head back with his eyes shut. “I hope you’re right about that.” 

The elevator quivers to a stop, the doors creakily pulling open. The four of them step out of the elevator and into the lab. “I was expecting it to be destroyed down here.” Dipper comments. 

Through the protective window, Ford could see Bill fighting with himself, your body laying limp for a few seconds before revving back up to life. He watches the cycle repeat for a few more times before shaking his head. “He’s outside.” He advises everyone. 

In a blink of an eye, Stan was already out into where Bill was, blowing countless angry questions at his face, his eyes shifting everywhere but at you. “Woah, woah, woah!” Bill took a cautious step back as he watched everyone circle around him, caught off guard with the sudden intrusion. “Don’t get your underwear in a twist, haha, am I right?” 

Pure and utter silence. 

Bill’s smile falters. “Okay, touch crowd!” 

“Cut the crap, Bill. Give me back my kid!” Stan grunts out. “I can let them talk to you! After all, they’re up here.” He taps the side of your head. “Stop messing around!” Ford takes a step toward Bill. “Don’t come any closer!” Your own voice filters through Bill’s interdimensional voice. Ford hesitates in his steps, sharing a cautionary glance with Stan. Shuffling your hand behind you, he pulls out the shimmering rift. “I will break this!” He threatens, flipping it upside down. 

Ford narrows his eyes at Bill. “You would’ve done so by now. What’s stopping you?” He motions Dipper and Mable to sneak past Bill and hide behind him, just in case he decides to do anything that’ll compromise the rift and you. “Nothing!” Bill strains out, trying to wiggle the rift out of your grasp. Ford takes notice of your white knuckles and connects two and two together. You’re somehow fighting against Bill for your body. “Fascinating…” 

“Aghh! Why can’t this stupid kid let go!” Bill grumbles, using your other hand to scrape at your clenched hand. He scratched and clawed until the skin on your hand was red and raw. “Is [Name] currently fighting against you?” Ford inquires, a delighted smile on his face. “W-What? No!” Bill plucks your pinky finger off the rift. “See! I’m in total–” Your body jerks forward, and for a slight second, your eyes glinted back, only for you to be propelled backwards. With a shake of your head, your eyes blink and Bill’s eyes are back on you. “[Name] is a fighter, that’s for sure!” He awkwardly laughs out, still regaining control over your body with how he waverly stumbled side to side. 

Taking advantage of his vulnerability, Ford sent a quiet signal to Mable and Dipper. The twins tackle Bill from behind. A startle yelp leaves his mouth as he falls forward. “Stanley the–” Stan was already swooping in and snatching the rift out of your hands in one swift motion. Bill's face planted on the floor. “This stupid weak body!” Bill whines out, having your hands buckled tightly to your back by Dipper and Mabel. “Get something to tie their arms together with!” Stan said, jogging back into the lab, discreetly hiding the rift away from Bil’’s prodding eyes.

“I was so close!” Bill pressed your face into the dirt. The sharp tiny stones cut into your cheek and all Bill could do is focus on the itching pain rather than the humiliating feeling of being pinned down by two twelve year olds. Ford grabs the rope and securely binds your wrists together. The twins finally shuffle away from your body, watching Bill struggle under the restraints. “I’m going to be traumatized by the end of this.” She lets out a dejected sigh. “I feel like nothing can phase me after this.” Dipper adds. 

“How are we going to get them back into their body?” Stan questioned Ford who was double checking the bindings on your wrist, making sure they weren’t too tight to burn your skin off but tight enough to keep Bill detained “I think I have an idea on how…” He breathes out, looking over to Stan, face full of unease. “But it might not work if everyone isn’t present.” 

Stan found himself staring dumbly at the diagram that Ford had etched into the dirt with a stick. “What is this?” Ford finished the final symbol within the diagram, discarding the stick behind him. “A zodiac diagram.” He says, dusting off his hands. “And what does this have to do with saving [Name]?” 

Ford spares a quick glance over to you. Mable and Dipper sat on each of your sides, keeping a careful eye on you as you alternated with yourself and Bill. Dipper’s face contorted into a painful expression whenever you’d jerk your head upwards, a random assortment of words spilling out of you before your head flies back down. That agonizing process continues for what feels like an eternity and he could clearly see the toll it’s taken on your body. Stan couldn't make himself  watch you suffer, biting his lip so hard blood builds up on his lip.

“Yes.” Ford curtly nods his head. “I had always hypothesized what this would be used for but It never occurred to me until now that it could be used like this.” 

Stan doesn’t like the slight sound of uncertainty in Ford’s tone. How could Ford be so sure that it works? “So, you’re telling me that you have never done this before?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” He shrugs, pushing up his glasses that were sliding down his nose. “Don’t worry about whether it works or not. We don’t have time to think about what if’s.” Curiously eyeing the symbols on the floor, he pondered in his head. Who could possibly stand on what zodiac?

Mable had walked right next to Stan, she looked like she had something to say when her eyes fell on the diagram, her eyes shining. “That one reminds me of Wendy.” She points at the zodiac that was an ice bag. An idea dawned upon Ford. “Does it now?” He kneels down to Mable’s height. “Mable, dear. Can you look at these zodiac signs and tell me who they remind you of?” 

Mable was quick to point out and tell Ford each symbol that reminded her of a person. Jotting down all the names in his head, he began calling each and every one of them, stringing Mable along to help him convince them to come over to the Mystery Shack. One by one, they all started pooling in. Questions sprouted from one mouth to another and every single time, their questions received answers when their eyes landed on your struggling form.

“Okay, everyone stand in your respective spots and hold hands!” Ford’s voice was quiet in the distance. Stan had found himself kneeling in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes carried a deep sorrowful guilt to them. “Feeling guilty, Stanley?” Bill drawled out, pulling your heavy head up, only for it to be knocked down to the side. Your body was growing weak and Bill was tirelessly fighting against it. Unbeknownst to Stan, you were right next to him. Your unrelenting attempts to gain your body back had caused an aggressive strain on your body. You couldn’t stay in it without feeling utterly exhausted, allowing Bill to abuse your weak spot and take over your body. But that weak spot had also applied to him as well. You were trying to regain your breath before you’d try again. 

“Can it, Bill.” He scoops you up from the floor, walking towards the diagram. 

“You don’t have to do this!” Bill aggressively barked out, throwing himself around in Stan’s hold. “I do have to do this. You’re in my kid's body.” He grunted, throwing your body over his shoulder. “They made a deal with me! I won this body fair and square.” Bill argued, hammering your head down on Stan’s back. “Look, I just found out about you not too long ago. But for someone who was supposedly this all powerful demon, you pathetically really weak.” 

He approaches the diagram, setting your body down in the middle. “That’s because I haven’t revealed my true potential yet!” He struck the back of your head hard on the floor, causing your vision to go bleak for a moment. “Do you really need to do all of that?” You grumble, rubbing the back of your tender head. “I do what I please.” He mumbles to himself, rolling over on your stomach. 

Standing in his spot, Stan locked hands with Ford and Soos. “It’s most likely going to feel weird! Stick it through and don’t, I repeat, don’t let go!” A blinding blue light shoots up from the middle and travels through the lines of the diagram, illuminating the place in a bright blue light. 

“No!’ Bill writhed around. He could feel himself slipping away. Your forehead makes direct contact with a rock. He smiles at it, knocking your head against it again. “Oh, Billy! You are just full of ideas today.” He whispered, shuffling over to the stone to the point where he was hovering over it. He laid your head down, feeling the cold stone press against the middle of your forehead. Breathing in through clenched teeth, he raised your head up high. He nailed your head down on the rock, splitting through skin. You could feel the ghost touch of blood trickle down your forehead. 

He laughed crazily as he continued to bash your head onto the rock. With each blow, the rock was painted with more and more blood. He was going to kill you at this rate. Bill lowered his head back down on the rock and you shut your eyes closed. You weren’t going to see Bill crack your head open. But the blistering pain never registered, peeking your eyes open you saw Stan had caught your head in his hand. 

Ford yelled out Stan’s name but Stan ignored it. His chest rapidly heaved in and out as he fell to his knees, resting your dazed head on his lap. You had noticed that Bill was slipping out of your physical form. Darting over to him, you grabbed his hand and ripped him out. Before you could hear Bill’s flurry of cries, you dove right in, repossessing your body once again and hopefully for the last time. 

Grumbled groans escaped you as you regained all your senses. You jolted up in striking pain. Everything hurt, even more than the last you took over. Your stomach rumbled, a flood of whatever liquid shot up into your mouth. You leaned to the side, expelling the fluid. Peeling open your weary eyes, you felt yourself grow nauseous at the pool of blood in front of you. “[Name]!” Stan grabbed your face, directing it toward him. He looked at your eyes and a look of relief settled on his face. “Dad?” You groggily said, your whole world spinning. “Are you okay? Is that demon gone? Where is he?” The massive load of questions made you want to vomit all over again. 

I’m still here! Bill’s grating voice grinding against your brain. You crumble under Stan’s hold, your head thumping in pain “No. He’s still in my head.” You felt another rush of blood clamor up into your mouth. You meekly shove Stan’s hands away from your face, hurling another dump of blood. Cautious voices sounded all around you, your vision distorting in a blurry mess. “Dad?” You forcefully focused your eyes on Stan’s face. “I think there’s something wrong with me.” Talking was enough to strip you away from all the energy you had left and you weren’t sure you had enough time to say anything else before Bill took over again. 

“I know, baby. I know. We’re goin’ to get help, stay with me. Please.” Stan said something to Ford you couldn’t quite catch.

You felt his arms wrap around you and lay you down back on his lap. I’m going to kill you. You scratched at your aching head. “His voice hurts. Hearing it hurts so much.” You murmured, feeling a hand run down your arm up and down soothingly. “Stay strong for me, sweetheart.” A light kiss was pressed on your forehead. 

You cried out, feeling yourself being pulled away. 

“Stanley! Come back now!” You could make out Ford’s scream at Stan. The world was fading before you and you couldn’t help but break down as you heard Bill cackle in your head. Stan saw your eyes flicker to yellow and he delicately placed you down on the floor, running back to his spot. Bill seamlessly takes over, blinking himself awake as he’s shuffling your body up to your knees.

“This is all your fault, Stanley Pines. [Name]’s death will be on your hands!” He bellows, purposely allowing your voice to break through. The strenuous action causes him to tremble forward, blood splattering on the grass. Bill started yelling nonsensical blabbers, anything that would make Stan budge from his spot, to stop the whole process but he stayed put, directly staring Bill down. Bill fell to the side, coughing up bile and a random assortment of fluids. 

In a flash of blue, you feel yourself fully grounded back into your body. A feeling you feel like you haven’t felt in forever. 

A grinding yell echoed in your head. You are so disgustingly weak! Bill screamed in your head. Another splitting headache bore into your head but all you could do is lay there and take it in, feeling so worn-out and droopy that you weren’t able to physically react. I didn’t do much and you’re dying! I did all of this for nothing, for nothing! And it is all your fault! I should’ve broken every single bone in your body and twisted your neck. At least I would’ve gained something from that! You are so useless! 

He was wreaking havoc in your mind. The blinding pain subsided to a lingering pain, black dots swarming your vision. He seems to be doing last minute damage before he’s left with no other choice but to leave your body. With a rugged distorted babble from Bill, your whole world went dark. 

The waiting room was cold, so numbingly cold. Stan casted his gaze down to his hands. Your blood had stained them. He couldn’t tell if it was the blood from your forehead, or the blood you vomited out. But your own blood had been smeared all over him and it made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t erase the image of your cold limp body laying on the grass, face covered in streaks of blood. This was all his fault. If he had just told you how things were from the start, this wouldn’t have happened. You would’ve been next to him, chattering his ear off about something irrelevant while asking him multiple times if he was listening to you. Despite his thoughts, your soothing presence wasn’t there to console his mourning heart. 

Your doctor had came in earlier to share the state that your body was in. Everyone listened intently to her words as she described the damage that Bill had caused to your body. She said doctors were so mortified with your condition, labeling it as one they have never seen before with how many injuries you sustained on the outside and inside. Stan and Ford had to dodge some questions that had the doctor fired at them, excusing your evenstive wounds with a slip off a mountain, silly teenage activities that almost cost you your own life. She didn’t buy it. 

The doctor's slight graphic description of your injuries only cemented the guilt deeper into Stan. He was a bad father wasn’t it? The only thing he prided himself in for doing right was so easily taken away from him in a blink of an eye. He really was a screw up. Ford and his Dad were right. 

“Stanley.” Ford’s hand on his shoulder withdrew him from his thoughts. “We need to go home. It’s late.” He looks briefly to the seat next to him. The twins had sat on the same seat, their muddled expressions were no longer on their face, instead they were sleeping peacefully, heads leaning against each other. “The twins are asleep.” He tells him. Stan’s gaze glued on his tainted hands. “I’m staying here.” He weakly said. “You need sleep, Stanley.” 

“I can sleep here, Ford.” He snapped, expression tight. “They are going to kick you out.” 

Stan shrugged, clasping his hands together. “Then they’d hafta kick me out then.” 

“I’m not leaving you here.” 

Stan leaned his head back against the wall, huffing out. “I’m not in any mood to fight with you here.” Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his burning eyes. “I’m staying here and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.” He placed his glasses on his lap and crossed his arms, closing his eyes as he shifted around to get comfortable enough to sleep. “Always been so stubborn.” Ford shook his head, getting up from the seat with a light groan. “I’m leaving.” He picks up the slumbering twins, being extra careful to not jostle them around and wake them. Stan grumbled in response, hearing Ford’s footsteps fade away in the distance. 

Stan doesn’t know how long it’s been, all he knows is that he had fallen asleep with the way his neck was sore. “Sir?” A voice broke through his drowsiness. “Sir?” They call out again. “Hm, wha?” Stan peeled open his eyes, the glaring hospital lights momentarily blinded him. Covering his eyes with his palm, he squinted at the lady in front of him. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“We’re closing up for the night, sir. I need you to leave.” She calmly said, offering a soft smile to Stan. “But my kid, they’re in here. I need to be here if anything happens.” He scrambles to put his glasses on. “I assure you sir, whoever your kid is, will be fine. We will keep a lookout if anything happens.” 

“How are you guys goin’ to keep a lookout when you’re all home sleeping away like there isn’t people dying in here!” Stan argued. “Now's not the time, sir. I need you to leave or you’d be personally escorted out by the guards.” Stan sighed, standing up from his chair. “You don’t have to do all that.” He mutters, cracking his back before walking out. Walking out into the summer night, he pulled out his phone to check the time. 

11 P.M. it read. It looked like the doctors allowed him to stay overtime. Usually they’d kick people out of the waiting rooms by around 9 P.M.

His eyes freeze at the baby picture of you on his lockscreen. The photo was taken on your fourth birthday. Stan had gone all out, as he always did, and got you a little birthday hat, little cupcake with a candle that had your age on it, and a mess of confetti and other birthday assortments. You had such a large smile on your face as you were mid bite into your cupcake. He remembered the day so vividly as if it happened yesterday. He clenched his phone tightly, tears flooding his vision. Why did it have to be you? Running his arm roughly over his eyes, he sniffed. He shoved his phone back into his pockets and started walking back to the shack. 

Ford found himself being startled awake by a knock on the door. Sluggishly getting up from the couch, he walked over to the gift shop entrance. He opened the door to be pleasantly surprised to see Stan. He stepped aside, letting Stan walk in. “Kicked you out?” 

“Yup.” Stan accentuating the ‘p’.

��Told you.” 

A quick moment of silence takes over before Stan breaks it. “Is this all my fault?” 

“You were just trying to protect them.” Ford walks over to Stan, shoving his hands under his armpits. “Look where that got ‘em.” Stan cracked his thumb, whispering something to himself before timidly looking at Ford. “Do ya think you can stay with me tonight?” He sheepishly scratches his cheek. “I don’t think I can trust myself bein’ alone or whatever.” 

Ford earnestly smiled at him. “I don’t mind.” Stan nods. “You sleep on the floor though.” 

Stan’s phone loudly rattled on his nightstand, his ringtone noisily blaring its song. “Turn it off!” Ford cried out, folding his pillow over his head. Stan arose from his abundance of blankets and grabbed his phone, dragging it off the nightstand. He squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the blurry text. Stan reached out for his glasses, shoving them on his face and directing his eyes back on the screen. The word hospital flashed on his face. 

“It’s the hospital!” He swiped his finger, answering the call. He put his phone to his ear and anxiously waited. “Stanley Pines?” A snotty voice spoke from the phone. “Yes!” He clears his throat. “Yes, yes. That’s me. Why’re you callin’?” 

“[Name] has woken up and…” Stan had blocked everything else she said and shut up from the bed. “They’re awake!” He announced, shedding off his blankets and launching off his bed, accidentally stepping on Ford in the process. The whole morning was spent dashing around the house, vigorously getting dressed and making sure everyone was ready to head over to the hospital. After Ford’s triple check, they all clamored inside in the car and drove to the hospital. 

Stan burst into your room, his eyes locking with your bandaged form. “Dad!” You weakly called out, a shaky smile on your face. “Pumpkin!” He sighed out, relieved at seeing your beautiful smile. He wraps you in his arms, burying his face into your hair as he sobs. “I thought..I thought–!” He blubbers out. More welcoming arms wrap around you, wailing wracking through the air. “[Name]!!” Mable dragged out. “Don’t scare us like that ever again.” Dipper sniffed, scrubbing his eyes clear of tears. “Welcome back, kid.” Ford plants a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I’m here guys, you don’t have to worry so much.” You laugh, Stan wiping your tears with his thumb. “How can we not? We almost lost you, pumpkin.” After a tearful reunion, everyone stepped back, allowing you to breathe. They only gave you a few more minutes to yourself before they bombarded you with apologies. Mable and Dipper were stuck to your side, each of them giving you their own version of puppy eyes. Mable was more into it than Dipper, but you still accepted their apologies with a big hug.

“I’m sorry too, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I should have been honest from the get go.” You took Stan’s hand, patting it like you would a dog. “It’s okay, Dad. I forgave you long ago. I should have followed what Ford said and calmed down.” You slightly glare at Ford. “Though, I didn’t like how he said it to me at the same time, so maybe I am justified in my anger?” 

“Ford doesn’t know how to talk. What’s new?” Stan knocked his shoulder with Ford who rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’m the butt of the joke. As always.” 

“If it isn’t you! Then it would be Dipper,” Mable pokes at him. “But me and Grunkle Stan told all the jokes possible so it isn’t as funny as making fun of you, Grunkle Ford! You’re so nerdy and losery, more than Dipper. And that isn’t a good thing.” 

A crackly laugh leaves Stan. “Thanks for explaining, dear.” Ford said with a strain, his smile wavering. “Someone one upped you, Dipper.” You chuckle. “I don’t know if I should revel in it or feel sad for Ford.” Dipper tapped his finger on his chin. “Don’t overthink it, dude.” You flick his forehead. 

“And Grunkle Ford, where is your apology?” Mable raised her chin up high, doing her best attempt of a haughty queen looking down at her jester. Ford scoffs, “I’m so sorry, your humble majesty.” Dipping his head low to mimic a bow. 

“Oh?” You and Mable share a bewildered expression. “I wasn’t expecting him to actually do it.” You look over to Dipper who had an uncomfortable expression on his face. “I don’t like what’s going on here.” 

“Wait, are you going to have a cool scar on your forehead now?” Mable questions, pointing at your bandaged forehead. Bumbling conversation fills the air, laughter occasionally humming here and there. In the end, they all had to leave for your routine check up by the doctors. Stan was the last one to bid goodbye to you. Kissing your forehead, he held onto your hand, his eyes glistening with tears. 

“I love you so much, kiddo. If I had lost you back there, I dunno what would have happened to me.” He caresses his thumb against your hand. “Don’t say stuff like that, Dad. I’m here, that’s what counts.” 

You share a long hug together, with a few tears being shed.

“I know, I know.” Giving you one last kiss and embrace, he waves you goodbye. 

“I love you!” 

“I love you more, Dad!” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

dm or comment if you want to be added/removed :3

[artists-who-rarely-draws]

Calling Gravity falls artists!

Firstly, I love you all your art is so scrumptious mwah mwah mwah mwah!!.

Okay now to the casting call?? Listing?? Idk the term BUT! I am in the process of scripting out and designing a 80s Stan pines Dating SIM bwah bwah!

I'm planning to do the sprite work as I'm pretty good at replicating the gravity falls style.

But! For CGS, the Game Cover(?) (and / or backgrounds, maybe still deciding), I'm hoping to find an art style with a bit more - Pizzaz!!!!

**I am more than willing to pay! Your art is beautiful, and you deserve to be compensated!!!!**

Now some details about what it would look like:

- I will come to you for a few different cgs for both a Ford and Stan route in a stretched out period of time (meaning not all of once, not only because I don't want to overwhelm, but so that I can fully decide on a scene make sure it's fully what I want before coming to you for the CG for it, I don't want to think I know what I want then fully change my mind and then ya know this CG your either working on or finished now doesn't apply)

-We can talk through DM's , email (Tho my email rarely gives me notifications, so if I respond late, I'm sorry), Discord. Wherever makes you the most comfortable, artwork probably should be shared through either Drive or Email, though since Dependant on Size, most sites will kind of crunch them.

-You will receive FULL credit!!! This one feels like a given, but the internet is wild, and I've seen this misconception happen. Just because I'm paying for your art doesn't mean you don't also get credit. Credit your commissioners' kids.

-You get to set the price on your own art! Far be it from me to tell *you* what your time and effort is worth.

-communication is very important, I do work full time, but if I'm free and you need to talk to me, I'm more than open! If I don't get back to you within a day or so, feel free to give me a friendly little reminder that the notification has been lost.

-I will provide reference sheets that don't follow the canon (like other outfits or hair styles or whatever)

- as part of talking out each piece, I'd like a quote on price and a rough?? Idea?? On when it may be completed (Note: that is not like a strict deadline or anything. I understand things happen! Like i said, just pop me a message saying it can't be finished by 'blank', maybe 'blank' or just that you don't know! I won't bite! I'm an artist! I get it!

And I think that's about all of Note at the moment? If you have any more questions feel free to ask them!

If you'd be willing to be my CG artist please send me a DM with some gravity falls art examples, your rough prices (which again I understand will change from piece to piece buy just like a idea of how your prices for scenes normally are) and your prefrence for how we would communicate about the game ^^.

Thank you very much for reading! And again I love your art so much! Mwah mwah!

(Note, game might get it's own blog once I fully decide on a title, right now im thinking 'The Diners Call' but idk for sure)

[eregyrn-falls]

Organizing a Stan Twins-centric Multi-Artist Lyric Comic!

There's a song I've always wanted to see as an AMV or a lyric comic for the Stan Twins, and years pass, and I've never been able to tackle a project that big. So, I wanted to try to organize it as a multi-artist lyric comic!

The song is "Trouble", by Avicii. (See below.)

What is a multi-artist lyric comic? One where people sign up, and each artist is assigned a line from the song. Artists will then do 1 page for their line, and at the end, it's all put together. Here is an example from GF fandom in 2018. (Here is a video version that someone put together with the music.)

This song has 28 lines of lyrics, but it also has some instrumental breaks, and I've thought of a way to fill those that would allow more people to participate (particularly if someone was unsure if they could take on a full page).

Here's the song:

There's a lot of details to go into, so to keep this post from taking up too much dash real estate, I'm going to put more detail below a read-more.

Here is a link to a Google form you can fill out to indicate interest. (But we do urge you to read over the details below!)

The goal would be to complete this in time to make it public on August 31st or Sept. 1st, 2023 -- in line with the actual last days in-story of the show. Therefore, the due date for final art will likely be around August 15th or 20th.

I hope folks will find this intriguing! I think it could be a lot of fun!

@mercury-falls and I are the point-people for this, at the moment!

All right -- the way I've always seen it, the first verse of the song is very Stan-related, and the second verse is very Ford related.

Here is a Google Doc with the lyrics.

My idea for the instrumental breaks was to have people contribute smaller pieces of art that look a bit like Polaroid snapshots. If we can get the lyric comic combined with the music, think of the collection of Polaroids accumulating the way they do at the end of the show's opening credits.

There are two main ways artists can contribute to the project:

For lyrics, full landscape illustrations (which include color, lettering, and a background)

For instrumental breaks, polaroid-style illustrations (smaller, simpler pieces in square format). We will use these in a video edit of the comic and have them accumulate like the show’s intro during the breaks. (We will also figure out a good way to display them in the lyric-comic post itself.)

Your art should be canon-compliant, and can depict any time period of the Stans’ lives (past, present, and near-future)! Do with your art as you best see fit with your lyrics, but keep the focus on the Stans and their relationships with each other and other GF characters. Both original content and screenshot adaptations are welcome!

We also welcome collaborations between artists on full pages! We encourage every artist in the project to help and support each other if they are comfortable. On the interest form, you can tell us if you are interested in volunteering to help others with inking, coloring, or creating backgrounds! Or, you can tell us if you think you will need help.

On the form, you can indicate your preference towards the Stan or Ford verses. But once we have the team of artists doing lyrics chosen, we will randomize the list and then contact people in order, to ask about preferences for lyrics. If you aren't chosen for one of the full pages, we would still like to have you involved for the Polaroids! (And you can indicate willingness to be called on to do a page if others drop out.)

We will have check-in dates through the summer, with goals for people to report on the subject of their piece; to have a sketch or layout ready to show; and to show progress closer to the end.

We will be setting up a Discord server to help share information, and to allow people to post WIPs or just generally discuss things, and keep motivation going. If you really don't use Discord, though, and don't want to sign up for it, that's okay. We will put whatever instructions and details we have in a Google Doc, and will share that link for reference. And we can always communicate via email.

I (Eregyrn speaking!) have been involved in a LOT of fan projects over the years. One of the key things to ask of people who sign up for a project is: communication. That is, if you're having difficulties, just let us know! If you need to drop out, just let us know! Don't feel guilty that you signed up and then had to drop out. The thing that is hardest on organizers of projects like this is when people sign up, but disappear and don't answer DMs or emails. Believe me, I've been in that position where you feel guilty and don't want to admit that you have to drop out -- but it's always much easier on the organizers if you just let them know, instead of keeping them guessing! This is just something to keep in mind when you're signing up -- life happens! It's okay! But please try to let us know if something comes up and you have to bow out.

Here is the link to the Google Form, that you can fill out to indicate interest.

[awesome-normal-heroes]

Why Dipper is so loved, while Mabel is a broken base...

I'm not the biggest Mabel fan, but even I believe that all the hate that Mabel sometimes gets is too much...

Why do almost half of the fans get angry at a little girl, while praising a little boy?

Well, we're gonna find out!

*You see during the beginning of Gravity Falls, we get the idea that Mabel is supposed to be the optimistic heart of the duo, while Dipper is the cynical brain of the team.

*And for a while it was like that, but then came the episode of Mabel teaming up with Grunkle Stan to laugh at Dipper's lack of manliness.

*Which was the first of a bunch of episodes where Mabel (sometimes with Stan) treating Dipper somewhat unfairly.

*Teaming up with Stan to make fun of Dipper for being slightly shorter than her, not trying to help Dipper create a plan that will allow her to keep Waddles and prevent Dipper from accidentally giving Wendy a black eye, taking a picture of Dipper giving reverse CPR to Mabel's mermaid boyfriend to use for blackmail later, laughing at Bill shooting a hole through her brother (I know it's a dream, but still...), getting angry at Dipper for refusing to help Stan (cause Dipper believed that Stan hates him; Mabel could've at least been more sympathetic before going to help Stan)... almost giving away Dipper's journal to Bill (to impress a guy with her play), choosing to trust Stan over her brother (even though the portal could destroy the universe), then afterwards refuses to play his board game and even makes fun of it with Stan (which results in Dipper spending time with Ford), getting jealous that Dipper is spending more time with Ford then with her (which she caused), proceeds to make fun of Dipper again when he calmly calls her out on her teasing, she feels guilty but doesn't give a proper apology (something that even Stan does), gets upset at Dipper for wanting to become Ford's apprentice and stay at Gravity Falls, willingly gives Bill the device that almost ends the world and nobody finds out about it (I know she was tricked but still), refuses to leave her giant bubble until Dipper finally agrees to come home with her and creates a radical brother that would have a 'more supportive attitude'.

*I personally think that Mabel did the right thing by trusting Stan in the end, so Ford could be rescued... the portal still could've destroyed the universe, if Stan had miscalculated something.

*I'm also angrier at Stan for the mocking Dipper times, cause Mabel was a child and children don't know better sometimes, but Stan is an adult and he knows what it's like to be made fun of and yet he still does it to Dipper... no wonder Dipper briefly believed that Stan hated him... and no wonder Ford quickly became Dipper's Favorite Grunkle.

*As for accidentally almost starting the apocalypse, I don't completely blame Mabel for what happened, but the other characters deserved to know the truth and I'm surprised that Bill didn't tell them to cause drama.

*When all these things are stacked together, it's not a pretty picture.

While in comparison to Dipper, the brother is actually already quite supportive:

*Saves Mabel from gnomes despite Mabel yelling at him, he was willing to break up with Gideon for Mabel, he gave up his chance to be with Wendy twice to make Mabel happy, he doesn't make fun of Mabel's flaws, he comforts Mabel when she's sad, he helps Mabel whenever she asks for it (even when he doesn't like the thing that they're doing), he's always forgiving with Mabel, he's viciously protective of Mabel and gave up being Ford's apprentice to make Mabel happy.

*So, yeah the twins do have a bit of an all take, no give relationship... the writers could've handled it a little bit better.

*It doesn't help that Mabel technically does get called out on how she treats Dipper in Season 2, but the people that call her out are the Main Villain and a jerky unicorn, who are seen as in the wrong (but even the villains can make decent points sometimes)... Mabel had a chance to get proper character development and become a better sister after saving Dipper from Bill's possession... but Mabel doesn't really grow much as a person, not even during the finale... she's almost the same as she was during Season 1.

*Meanwhile with Dipper, he slowly becomes less cynical and socially awkward as well as braver and more kind-hearted over the course of the show... he even handled the fact that Wendy wants to simply remain friends beautifully... he still has a crush, but he respects her wishes.

*In contrast to Mabel, who keeps falling in love with guys and trying to force a romance, instead of letting it happen naturally or realizing that she doesn't need a boy to be happy... she also uses a love potion on Robbie and another girl to basically force them to get together and this is later seen as an okay thing (when Robbie hypnotizing Wendy with romantic music was seen as wrong).

*Even Stan and Ford go through a bit more character development then Mabel does.

*I think that's what truly bothers the fans... Dipper goes through character development, learns some lessons and slowly becomes a better person... while Mabel remains the same.

*Mabel isn't a horrible person... she's a fun, creative and energetic girl... but she wouldn't exactly be winning any 'Sister of the Year' Awards either.

*It's disappointing, because Mabel's character had so much potential... and the writers make her repeat the same mistakes... if they did handle Mabel's character better, she'd probably be almost as loved as Dipper.

[minijenn]

Fuck it time for random assorted UF ideas I had that I think are pretty neat/interesting/fun and I never got aruond to writing:

Mindful Education would have had angst for all four of our MK; Steven still reeling from Jasper, Bismuth, Rose shattering Pink Diamond, etc. Dipper is still going through it from what Bill did to Stepper in RMD, Connie is upset cause she broke that kid's arm i guess, and Mabel is feelin hella awkward bc she would have only recently accidentally revealed how she feels about Steven to him

Tied into that ^^^ we get the lyrics of Here Comes a Though tying in nicely to how each of them are feeling: "Here comes a thought that might alarm you" (Connie), What someone said and how it harmed you (Steven), Something you did that failed to be charming (Mabel), Things that you said are suddenly swarming (Dipper).

Mindful Education would have also featured appearences from every one of the MK fusions, including Stonipbel's debut! (Ok I'm done talking about Mindful Education now I promise)

The chapter Time Tangled would have essentially been a UF take on the old GF Timestuck AU. So Steven, Dipper, and Mabel would have accidentally wound up 30 years in the past, split up, with Mabel ending up with Stan back then as he's on his way to Gravity Falls, Dipper with Ford in the midst of his peak paranoia, and Steven with Rose during her peak Immense Concern About Ford. Angst ensues.

Weirdmageddon, if I were to write it now, would have a lot going on in it. Yellow and a bunch of Homeworld Gems were gonna roll in along with Bill and hiis Henchmaniacs and it was basically gonna be chaos all around.

After wandering alone as in canon during the apocalypse, Dipper would have eventually ran into Lapis, because of course; he was gonna kind of have a fear driven breakdown bc he has no idea where the hell Mabel or Steven or anyone else is and he's terrified for their lives and Lapis would have comforted him with an original lullaby bc she's his Mom we all already know this

You better believe, after meeting Gideon and hearing about all the trouble he'd caused Dipper earlier that summer, Lapis would have T posed on that 10 year old so agressively imo

She would have also joined Dipper, Soos, and Wendy in venturing into Mabel's bubble, as would have Pearl who would have joined the group at some point; one of the original things inside of the bubble would have been a fake version of Steven who's head over heels for Mabel, finally returning her affections; Pearl would have been the one to talk Mabel down from that, with the two of them sharing solidarity over being in love with someone they knew they couldn't end up having

Some of the more secondary and minor characters would have had a chance to shine thanks to Amethyst, who gathered up a group of them (consisting of Pacifica, Robbie, Lars, Sadie, Greg, maybe a few others?) and escorted them to the safety of the bunker; there, they would have found McGucket, who's been hiding out from the shitstorm outside

In the bunker, they'd all split up, and Pacifica would have found "Dipper" (the shapeshifter) frozen in one of the cryogenic pods so of course she sets him free and "he" tricks her in a gambit to escape the bunker; Amethyst sees through its ruse and fuckin obliterates that thing all over again good for her

Steven would have been captured by Yellow's forces around the same time Ford was captured by Bill (Dipper watches this happen and is unable to stop it hahaha oh no); Garnet and Connie would have teamed up to save him and Peridot would have joined them, essentially pretending to defect back to Homeworld to slip in closer to find Steven

My original plan was for Steven to actually be poofed and meet Rose inside his Gem but now that we know that's not how it works, I would have just had Connie rescue him and all of the MK and Gems regroup at the shack I suppose

There would have been a musical chapter during Weirdmageddon ala Mr. Greg. That's right, a whole chapter of original songs written by me. Fucking suffer.

My original plan was for the Gem temple to be destroyed during Weirdmageddon, thus unleashing all of the bubbled Gems inside of it, including Bismuth and Jasper (who would have somehow wound up uncorrupted idk how)

We would have gotten a lot of fusions showing up again during the big climax battle, with Stonipbel taking center stage in a fight against Yellow Diamond (set to a dramatic dueling duet); this fight would have ened with Yellow being poofed and her forces grabbing her gem and fleeing back to Homeworld

Bill would have split Stonipbel up and nearly killed all four of them until Stan pulls the same trick he does in canon and turns the tables on that fucking triangle, "killing" him (not really cause he returns in UF2 but shhhh)

You'd best believe Amethyst would have had a fucking meltdown when she finds out Stan's memories are gone and he has no idea who she is; it would probs also strike a strong cord with Steven and Dipper, reminding them of the time when Stepper went through something pretty damn similar

I would have dedicated more time to Stan getting his memories back, mostly fluffy, sweet moments building into it

With the temple destroyed and so many corrupted Gems on the lose, Steven and the Gems made plans to leave Gravity Falls to round them all up. With the warp pad also broken, they would have all gone with Greg in his van. That's basically what they'd be doing in the span of time between UF and UF2.

The epilogue would have leaned heavily into MK fluff and bonding, the four of them promising to return to Gravity Falls next summer, I would have absolutely cried while writing it.

Along with Steven, Connie, and the Gems, Lapis and Peridot would def be at the bus stop to see Dipper and Mabel off; there would be just... so many tears all around esp between the MK god

I would have included two scenes in the epilogue, one hinting at Bill retuning in UF2 and one of Yellow reforming on her ship and coming up with her Human Biowepons Operation which would eventually lead into UF2's Stonemason arc

And that's all I got maybe I'll do these for UF2 and UFF as well idk

[youcantkillanidea]

hmmm okay here's my rambles. idk I might turn this into a fic at some point but it's more likely that if anything I just do some art and maybe some oneshots every now and then lol. But I wanted to talk about the portal fidds concept because I'm very attached.

Basically the idea is that, during the portal test, Fiddleford falls into the portal completely instead of just his head poking in and the rope isn't there for Ford to just pull him back out. Fidds gets stuck outside of their dimension, and now Ford not only has to deal with a world ending portal and demonic possessions but also the guilt of convincing his friend to help build and test the portal that would ultimately lead to this. More thoughts below the cut

There's a few reasons, I think, as to why Ford wouldn't just immediately reopen the portal to try to save Fiddleford. For one, it might end the world of course- I don't know that that alone would be enough deterrent here, but it'd probably make a big impact. For another thing, if he had to go in after Fidds to save him, he could get stuck too, and then there'd be no one around to disassemble the portal and make sure Bill didn't end the world.

I think maybe he'd still call Stanley, but when they met up Ford's plan would instead be "I need to go into the portal to save my friend, you need to be around to disassemble it in case we don't come back, and also hide my journal" and this could still pick at old wounds with like- Stan's not the one being told to leave immediately, but Ford is leaving him immediately it's like. Oh okay so you're going on the adventure of a lifetime without me. Obviously he wouldn't agree to it but I don't think there’s be the same "pushing him in" situation. I don't know where I'd take it from here tbh! I'm just kinda brainstorming- maybe they'd go in the portal on a rescue mission together and it could turn into a mystery trio thing?

I've thought more about portal Fidds. He wouldn't have the memory gun with him so that wouldn't be a problem anymore. But now there's a more physical barrier between him and his family and friends instead of a mental one, and he'd probably really miss them all. He's still angry at Ford probably but there's a lot going on and he has a lot of feelings and he's probably thinking about things a lot more without immediately wiping his memory so there's more nuance.

Fidds needs weapons for self defence out there of course and I've thought about that too. Making robots seems to be a specialty of his and he could definitely still find some use for them out there but I don't know how convenient or portable those would be as weapons. He mentions in Legend of the Gobblewonker that he's building a death ray, and I can imagine him doing something similar here as a weapon! Though he could also just use a gun lol

I don't own a copy of Journal 3 and haven't actually read it, so everything I know from it comes from little bits I've heard or seen from other people, it's very limited. So I don't know much about the other dimensions tbh! I'd have to look into it more if I wanted to actually write something. If Fidds can find a banjo or similar instrument out there though I like to think he'd take comfort in that :))

Idk if Bill would be after Fidds really? Like, chasing him down or anything I mean? I don't think he'd care that much? But Fidds is a great way of guilting Ford into reopening the portal for sure! And fuck man it works! As long as they can close the portal right away it shouldn't cause Weirdmaggeddon though? Because like, nothing like that happens when Ford falls in in canon so it should be fine I guess. But it's still a concern ofc! That's why Ford doesn't want to leave it unsupervised!

[gobblewanker]

The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 12: The Cursed Coordinates

Also on AO3

The door closed neatly behind them as Mabel and Dipper finally returned to their commandeered officer's cabin. Just like back on The Mystery, Stan had insisted the kids get their own room. This one was still pristine and austere though, having been left that way by the previous owners. It was a far cry from the cramped and messy room on the old ship, but also far more impersonal.

Mabel hoisted herself up into the hammock strung above the room's one bed with ease, and Dipper flopped bonelessly onto the mattress below. She leaned over the side, her hair hanging down across her face as she stretched out her arms with a grabbing motion.

"Waddles transport system."

Exhaling tiredly, Dipper sat up in bed. The pig happily trotted over to him and with some difficulty he passed the animal for Mabel to pull up onto the foot end of her hammock.

"Thank you!" Mabel said cheerfully.

Dipper blew out the lone candle in its holder by the door, and the warm light disappeared leaving the room blanketed by darkness. The ship swayed like a gently rocking cradle and the muffled sound of waves lapping at the hull was comfortably soporific. Both children were bone tired and ready to drift off at any moment, safe and secure with all their family finally gathered under one roof.

But then came a reminder of just how fragmentary and strife that family was in the form of agitated voices just barely carried through the imperfectly sealed plank ceilings.

"They're shouting." Dipper noted glumly.

Mabel, closer to the ceiling, shrugged before remembering Dipper couldn't see her.

"Maybe it's happy shouting." She strained to listen. "I think Grunkle Ford said we're going to meet the queen?"

"Ugh, what's going to happen now? I mean, I'm glad Ford's okay and stuff but…"

"Hmm." Mabel dropped her hand down over the side of the hammock for Dipper to take, which he did after a while. She gathered her thoughts before continuing optimistically. "But I mean, we've been through scarier changes before right? Mom and dad and grandpa… Losing the ship… And we were okay. Weren't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we were, huh?" Dipper smiled slightly, looking at the lump on the canvas above where his sister sat.

"See? So long as we have each other, we'll be okay."

It got quiet again. Ford and Stan seemed to have stopped shouting, so that was probably a good sign. Dipper raised a foot into the air and kicked Mabel's back lightly through the canvas.

"Hey. Why didn't you tell me earlier? About Ford?" He asked. "I mean, I could have helped, but it's like you don't…"

The lump shifted uncomfortably.

"I just… I didn't think it was a big deal. He asked me not to tell."

"Mabel…"

"Come on, it's not that big of a deal. I was just…"

"I wouldn't tell on you, stupid." He kicked her again, almost enough to make her fall off. She leaned over the side and looked at him worriedly, but he smiled.

She let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "Yeah, okay. Good night, stupid."

Despite Stan and Ford's less than optimal attempt at talking things out the night before, Stan had at least showed the common courtesy of finding his obstinate mule of a brother somewhere decent to sleep before turning in for the night. He shouldn't have been surprised when, after getting up and walking through the ship, Ford wasn't where he'd left him. Of course not, nothing Stan could offer would ever be good enough, and his royal haughtiness would rather find some random hole to squirrel away in. Fine, if that's what he wanted to do then he could suit himself, Stan sure didn't care.

For a moment he'd worried Ford might have left the ship altogether. But he dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

After all, Ford wasn't going to leave without the kids.

He stepped out into the morning light and was greeted with the sight of Fiddleford already up on deck, the tapestry they'd stolen from the Northwests spread over the map as he meticulously examined it. Stan made his way over, relieving the crewmember who'd been on steering duty throughout the night and settling in against the wheel. His attention was split between the horizon and Fiddleford.

"Finding anything interesting?"

Fiddleford startled, too engrossed in thinking to have noticed the captain approach. Eyes meeting Stan's, he fixed the glasses on his long nose before shaking his head.

"Nathin' yet. Sorry, for a second ah thought ya might've been Stanferd."

"Haven't seen him." Stan's tone soured.

Red strings in a triangle pattern stared knowingly up at him from the weave. The tapestry was an ugly tacky thing. Bill had no taste, but it wasn't nearly gaudy enough for him to want it on principle alone.

"So what're we after exactly?" Stan looked ahead to make sure there were no immediate obstacles in the way but saw nothing except open water. Satisfied the ship wouldn't run aground if he was inattentive for a bit, he looked closer at the tapestry. Fiddleford scooted the map aside and moved it closer so he could get a better look.

"Two people worshipping a triangle?" Stan raised a brow at the nonsensical design. "Fire, dead trees, and skeletons… Doesn't really say much useful, does it? Some kind of doomsday?"

Faint and unsure, a demonstrative cough reached the men and they turned around. Pacifica stood at the top of the stairs up to the wheel carrying a tray with bread, milk and tea. Her ballgown from the night before had been traded for a more sensible shirt and trousers, though she still wore the outermost robe tied at the waist with a cut off piece of purple fabric. Soon as they looked at her, her expression turned embarrassed.

"Susan told me to help deliver breakfast." She muttered while looking down at the floor.

"Not used to being on that side of the tray, huh?" Stan asked easily.

Pacifica looked up at him with narrowed eyes and a scowl.

"Oh hush up." Fiddleford admonished, accepting the tray with a warm smile and placing it on the map table as well. "Thank ya kindly, little miss. Did you help bake?"

"I… Yeah, uh, sort of? Susan said I'm no good yet, but I got to knead the dough." 

At that, Stan looked to her hands and noticed a distinctly less 'perfectly manicured' look than yesterday. She picked at her fingernails clogged up with a mix of flour and water, clearly unaccustomed to the feeling.

"Ah'm sure you'll get the hang o' it soon." Fiddleford encouraged.

"We'll get the snobbishness out of you yet." Stan said. "You eaten?"

Like clockwork, her stomach growled and she flinched back as if mortified.

"We're- They said we should finish handing out food first."

"Well, I'm the captain, and I say you get something to eat. You too Fidds, you were here before me so take a break." Stan took one of the loaves then pushed the remaining platter towards the others. "Was never much for tea, I'll get something stronger later."

"Stanley Pines, don't lie to me." Fiddleford chided playfully. "Ah think you're just embarrassed you like them girly fruity teas, I've seen ya put an entire peach—pit 'n all—in a kettle. Ah know, cause I owned the tree."

"Hey, don't diss my pitt tea."

"Ah swear, you ever go back to England— it ain't the piracy they'll have you executed for."

"Eh, whatever."

Fiddleford took one of the cups of tea and motioned for Pacifica to take the other. With that, they went to sit at the top of the stair and eat their breakfast. Fiddleford was good with children, Stan noted as he watched the old man speak kindly to the girl. Hopefully they could get her feeling more comfortable soon. Stan returned to looking at the tapestry, munching on his bread.

Let's see, he'd read codes in Ford's journals, but none of the images seemed recognisably as such. Maybe it was something about numbers? One triangle, three trees, two people… Maybe it wasn't even an actual tangible message? Maybe it was something more abstract, and he was looking at things the wrong way?

"Good morning Fiddleford. Miss Northwest." Ford nodded to both as he passed them coming up the stairs. He noticeably didn't address Stan as he came up and glanced at the table. "Any luck?"

"No." Stan replied coldly. 

"Thank you, Stan."

"What?"

Stan looked at Ford incredulously. That seagull that had been following Ford around like a lost duckling all evening yesterday stood in the middle of the map. One of the breads was in his beak as he put it in Ford's open hand.

The bird turned to look at Stan. Ford did as well, his ears going red.

"Not you." He snapped. Looking at the table stubbornly as the redness spread to his cheeks. "The bird's name is Stan."

Hopping forward innocently, the gull tilted its head looking at Stan with curious eyes. The feathers on its head stood up messily, and in a few patches on its body the feathers were missing or damaged like it'd be in one too many fights. One wing hung slack at the side of its body.

"You named a rat with wings after me?" He wasn't sure if he should be touched or offended.

Like gasping at the insult, the bird screeched at him before hopping back up on Ford's shoulder sourly.

"There's plenty of Stans in the world." Ford muttered, not looking up and playing absentmindedly with the tassels on the tapestry.

"Okay."

Stan went back to looking for anything that might clue him in to the significance of the tapestry. He made another cursory look at the map while he was at it, turning back to the wheel briefly. They hadn't seen any sign they'd been followed out of Gravity Falls, but it'd be strange if they weren't. Bill was insistent. But then again, The Isosceles was a clunky ship.

"Hang on." Ford spoke suddenly. "There are knots on this tassel, did you notice that? The individual strings—they're knotted."

Stan groaned. "I really don't think that's a big deal, brainiac."

"What ain't a big deal?" Fiddleford got up and came over, leaving Pacifica watching them from the stairs.

"The strings." Ford explained looking intensely at Fiddleford. "Look, this one has two knots, this one has four, this one has one…"

"So what?" Stan asked. "So someone got the cords tangled, what's the big idea?"

"They're not knotted with each other, they're knotted with themselves. Intentionally." Ford spoke like an exasperated teacher trying to get something through to a particularly slow child. "I think…"

Ford tugged at the centermost tassel, and it detached cleanly. Unrolling the coil in his hand, he found it to be made of one thicker cord with several knotted strings hanging off of it. Ford examined it closely, touching the frayed strings gingerly.

"These aren't knots. They're numbers." Ford looked at both of them earnestly. "Some cultures in South America that lacked a proper writing system would use these instead. I learned to decode them when I was in the area looking for records of the mythical fountain of youth."

"Fountain o' youth?" Fiddleford asked, but Ford dismissed him.

"An old hypothesis about Bill, but never mind that."

"Just looks like knots to me." Stan said sceptically, looking closer.

"The same way our alphabet is 'just lines' to the uninitiated."

"What's it sayin' then?" Fiddleford asked.

Taking a pen left on the table, Ford examined the strings carefully and despite Stan's protests began to note down the numbers in black pencil on an empty stretch of water. Looking at the letters materialising Stan spoke up almost instantly.

"Hang on, I recognize this!" Ford put down the last number, and Stan put the pieces together from thirty years of nautical experience. "These are coordinates."

Shoving Ford aside despite his protests, Stan leaned over the numbers. 

No, this can't be right.

Stan looked the numbers over again, trying to mentally place them on the map, hoping he might have gotten something wrong. That he had to have made some kind of mistake.

"Ford, are you sure these are the right numbers?"

"I'm not stupid, Stanley." He replied, not bothering to hide his frustration. "What is it?"

"Gravity Falls."

It got silent very abruptly.

"What?" Fiddleford asked aghast.

"The coordinates. They pinpoint the island." Stan pointed at a seemingly empty piece of the map. "It's right here."

Ford pushed back like Stan had done earlier, leaning over to scrutinise the map closely. But there was nothing there. He didn't have much experience navigating at sea; whenever Ford had to travel across water he more often than not stowed away or bartered a place on a ship. As much as he didn't like to admit it, that was one area where Stan had greater expertise. But even so…

"There's nothing on the map, you have to be mistaken."

"I'm not. Gravity Falls isn't on any maps anymore, because whenever it is, that map ends up lost." Stan said. Then his eyes lit up. "But this isn't a map! I get it. They outsmarted the jinx!"

"But… But why would Bill need directions to Gravity Falls?" Stan looked back at Fiddleford to find him wringing his hands nervously, leg bouncing a mile a minute.

"That is true." Ford closed his eyes, deep in thought. "He very clearly already knows where the island is."

Turning around abruptly to the child watching them quietly, Stan addressed her loudly.

"Pacifica!"

She made a startled squeak, putting her teacup up to her mouth to hide the startled expression.

"Where did your family get this?" 

"Um, I-I-" Pacifica began to stutter under the sudden scrutiny, before the 'proper Northwest manners' her father had drilled into her took over and with a deep breath she levelled her voice somewhat. "Father said it was made by the original inhabitants of the island before they disappeared-"

"'Disappeared' my ass." Stan interrupted her by growling. He'd had too many good crewmates from native tribes and foreign countries to not have heard their stories. "I bet Nathaniel-"

"Stanley." Fiddleford's voice cut through his words and everyone—even Ford—stood up straight and looked at him. It was eerily close to the tone of voice their mom would use to scold them when they were little. Was that some kind of nebulous ability everyone got the second they became a parent? Just giving that kind of power away hardly seemed fair.

Stepping away from the other two adults, Fiddleford sat back down next to Pacifica and continued to speak in a much gentler tone.

"It ain't yer fault whatever happened, alright? Ya weren't there, ya weren't even alive back then." She looked down at the floor, slumping. There was a soft sniffle, and Fiddleford put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Yer not a bad person. Yer just a little girl."

"Okay." She whispered.

"Okay, sorry." Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't have yelled, 's just all really stressful. Can ya please tell us what you know?"

She breathed deeply for another few seconds, before nodding slowly.

"I really don't know anything more than what my father told me. But… He said that the original inhabitants disappeared long before our family showed up with the first settlers. But nobody knows why." She spoke slowly and deliberately, trying hard to keep her voice under control. "Some relics were taken by the few survivors when they left. Father bought that tapestry from a Spanish sea captain a few years back."

"I thought it'd been in your family for generations?"

She shook her head.

"That just sounded better."

As the child finished her story, Ford looked back to the object in question trying to figure out how this new information might fit into the narrative. What if…

"Perhaps…" Ford began, and the others' attention came back to him. "What if Bill found out about this purchase? He knew the relic would lead him somewhere, but not where exactly."

"Why'd he'd be this determined to get it if he doesn't even know the purpose?" Stan countered. "He's insane, not stupid."

"Maybe he just puts too much stock in tall tales of hidden gold and treasure maps." Ford answered coldly.

The statement seemed innocuous enough to the others, but Stan heard it as the jab it was. Not that he'd acknowledge it. It didn't hurt to hear Ford so casually dismissive of the childhood games and stories that had used to mean everything to them. It didn't.

Ford was a hypocrite anyways, acting like he hadn't been just as happy to play pirates.

"So what then?" Fiddleford spoke again. "This still don't make us much wiser on what Bill wants. Wha'd we do now?"

"I say we go back to what we've been doing for thirty years. If Bill is coming after us cause we have some shiny token he wants, I say let him." Stan said. "If he wants a fight, we give him a fight."

Ford's face turned ashen, but he quickly shook it off. 

"Don't be stupid." He poked Stan hard in the chest. "You want us to go fight that demon with our niece and nephew in tow?"

Stan batted Ford's hand away and shoved him back.

"Listen asshole, you said you'd take them away once Bill is dead but until then, I'm in charge. They're my responsibility."

"Then be responsible!"

"Take us where?"

Small and heartbreakingly confused, the voice made Ford's blood freeze and the air stop dead in his lungs. The children were already up, and while they'd been too busy arguing had arrived on deck. Mabel and Dipper both looked at him, hurt and betrayed.

"I-I… That's not important right now."

"Take us where?" Dipper stepped up, his voice taking on a harsher tone. Mabel stared right at him with wide eyes, and Dipper's hands were balled into fists.

"Dipper, please, you're a clever child, surely you understand by now that this isn't a good place for you to be." Ford tried to reason with the children. He doubted someone as emotional as Mabel seemed to be would be willing to see his reasoning when it stood pitted against a more palatable childish notion of friendship and trust overcoming everything. But maybe if he could talk some sense into Dipper she's follow on principle. Behind his back the skies almost darkened as Stan crossed his arms and looked away.

"You two have been here—what—a month?" Ford continued. "In that time, you've almost drowned, almost died on a deserted island, almost been shot with canonfire and maimed in battle."

"The drowning and deserted island happened before we met Stan!" Mabel cried angrily.

"My point still stands! Moses, you've read my journal! You both know exactly what Bill is capable off and I won't stand by and watch something like that happen to either of you!"

"Well that's not up to you!" Dipper protested. "We'd never even met you two days ago!'

"You'd never met Stanley two months ago."

"Alright so what's your plan then?" Dipper countered. His breathing was rising higher in his throat with every word. He felt angry to the point of wanting to cry. Why wasn't Stan speaking up too? He couldn't just watch Ford take them away. "Drop us off back on shore so we can go back to dealing with disease and starvation and working until we pass out? You think just because there are no pirates there it's safe?"

Dipper and Mabel had lost their family once—twice—and they'd finally managed to rebuild it. He wouldn't just watch that crumble again. He'd promised Mabel that he'd take care of her, and he was going to do that. Even if it meant standing up to Ford. Even if it meant yelling at the author.

Ford brought a hand up to his face exasperatedly, then used the other to wave in the air punctuating his speech.

"I'm not going to leave you unattended." He spoke deliberately slowly. "When this is all over, I'll go with you. Well move back to shore, you—ugh—you can even choose which one! I'll take care of you, you'll be safe and educated, you'll stay with each other."

"Have you even had a fixed address any time in the last thirty years?" Mabel piqued up out of nowhere. Face serious, and tone surprisingly biting. "You want to look after us, but you don't even really seem like you're looking after yourself."

Ford opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked away. He felt an uncomfortable heat rising to his face as he focused on breathing and not letting the outward calm crack.

"You don't understand." He started, but was again interrupted.

"No, you don't understand." Dipper said. "This is our home, this is our family. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you but-"

"Of course that means something to me!" Ford snapped. Of course he cared, if he didn't care he wouldn't be so insistent on taking them away. If he didn't care, he wouldn't be so furious over what Stan had done to himself. Love and anger weren't mutually exclusive, apathy was.

"Then act like it!" Dipper yelled back.

"I am! If you'd just listen-"

"No!" Mabel stood at the middle of the deck, pointing demonstratively with a cutlass she must have taken from somewhere because surely not even Stan could be irresponsible enough to teach a small girl sword fighting?

A ranged weapon would fit her much better.

"Mabel."

"No, you listen! This is where we belong and we're not going anywhere!" To punctuate the finality of her words, she's brought the sword down expertly in an arch.

As she did so however, sharpened steel collided with the mast behind her, severing a bundle of ropes. She went from standing confident legs apart and chest puffed up, to throwing up her shoulders and bristling like a startled cat as the ropes whipped and flew into the air. The main sail sagged on the mast, teetering precariously for a second, before coming down.

The deck was shrouded in the fallen sail, and so too did a stunned silence fall.

The ship continued on at its former speed carried by insertia a while longer, before gradually slowing almost to a crawl as everyone watched unmoving.

"Uh oh." Dipper's heart sank.

Stan sighed.

"Stand and fight it is then."

Despite loud protests, Mabel and Dipper were sent back to their room and out of the way of the confrontation that by now seemed inevitable. The rest of the day was consumed by tense nervousness and silent dread. The ship still moved, but trying to outrun anything without the mainsail seemed like an exercise in futility. So they just waited in the calm before the storm.

Stan called for all hands on deck and explained the situation, sending the crew into a flurry of activity. Wendy checked the damage done to the rigging, confirming she'd probably be able to come up with a fix, but that'd it'd take a while.

"Great." Stan groaned sarcastically. "Fuck's sake, what lubbers fastened those sails? Did you never check if Gideon's rabble did a decent job before taking over?"

Wendy looked at him sheepishly.

Down below, Dipper paced around and around their small cabin ceaselessly, pulling at his hair. Mabel lay on her back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and petting Waddles sadly. She looked at Dipper as he yelled angrily and kicked the door, only to almost immediately jump back holding his aching foot.

"I can't believe this!" He threw his hands up, before falling back onto his bed and putting his face in his hands. "I can't believe him."

"I can't believe I stranded us like that." Mabel said mournfully.

"Ugh, this is bad. I mean, we can't just leave the ship out of nowhere right? I mean, I know Ford means well, and like, if he'd shown up and offered that two months ago it would have been great! But-..." 

Dipper pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids breathing heavily.

"I thought he was some kind of hero, but Stan's the one who's actually been doing stuff."

Stan saved Gravity Falls. Stan gave them a home again. He went after Bill when nobody else would, and made sure people in the town could survive. Ford? Where had Ford even been all that time? Why had he never bothered to go back and check up on his home? Stan had never even been there, and he still seemed to care more.

"What do we do?" Dipper asked, not really expecting Mabel to have an answer but more than happy to hear it if she did. "We can't just sit here doing nothing."

"No, and we won't." Mabel said firmly, getting off the floor. She pulled her thin metal knitting needles out from her dress' pocket and approached the door.

Waddled followed her, squealing at her feet as she put the needles into the large keyhole and began rooting around.

She'd gotten them into this mess, so she was going to help them get out of it too whether or not Stan and Ford liked it. They were being stupid, yelling at eachother and acting like Mabel and Dipper shouldn't have a say in things. Way too many things in their lives had gone wrong already for them to just stand back because they 'weren't old enough'. Not this time. It was their lives, it should be their decisions.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Dipper raised his head again looking at her surprised before smiling widely.

"Way to go Mabel!"

Mabel kneeled down until she was face to face with Waddles, squished his cheeks together, and looked him in the eyes dead seriously.

"We're counting on you to keep down the fort and make sure they don't realise we're gone."

The pig stuck out his tongue and licked her nose in reply.

By the time they finally saw the faint outline of The Isosceles appear on the horizon, night had fallen fully. The moon was barely a thin sliver of moonlight above them and the decks of both ships were dotted periodically with glowing lanterns. The water in-between both ships was still and calm, barely rippling as the behemoth glided towards them. The deck was full of people, waiting with bated breaths for the stillness to break. Waiting to see who'd fire first as the calm broke to the storm.

Stan stood at the helm, watching resolutely. If nothing else, his ship had the advantage of position. They were still, stationed with their broadside bared. The isosceles approached, and had no choice but to to keep the prow aimed at the enemy. They'd have to turn or pass before they could land any hits.

Waiting until the other ship was within range, Stan gave the word, and all hell broke loose.

The cannons roared like thunder. Each volley of metal and deafening blasts sent the ship rocking back and forth like a tiny frail leaf on the surface of a tumultuous pond. They felt remarkably small out on the water, nothing around for miles but sea and sky and a gargantuan ship gaining on them fast. A few shots hit, rocking the larger ship, while others disappeared ineffectively into the depths with huge splashes like geysers at sea. It didn't take long before the other was at their side.

The ships fought yardarm to yardarm as The Isosceles began to return fire hitting the lower parts of the ship sending shrapnel every which way. Stan saw the red hot cannonballs pound their broadside as he shouted orders at his men, barely audible above it all. He spotted Bill standing on his ship's deck above them, looking down contemptuously. 

Ford was standing close, as was Fiddleford. But neither man was looking the same way Stan was. Both regarded the scene on deck, itching to do something. But so long as the battle was only guns against guns there wasn't much any of them could do but wait for an inevitable boarding.

Another volley of shots from the other ship answered theirs. Stan watched one rip through the wall at the front of the ship, and suddenly his eyes went wide.

"The kids!"

Ford's head whipped around abruptly, lips parted to speak. But before he could Stan had already pushed past him. He skipped the steps entirely, jumping onto the deck beneath.

The kids' room was at the front of the ship.

Stan's heart was beating out of his chest. He'd thought he'd keep them safe by keeping them away from the deck where the bulk of the inevitable battle was bound to rage; he hadn't realised The Isosceles's cannons were firing at that height. The Mystery had been built completely different.

The cannons still fired as Stan got down below deck, running past the crew manning the cannons, taking care of injured crewmates, and running with gunpowder. Each time a shot landed the metal ball tore through the ship like paper. Huge showers of splinters erupted from the stricken wood killing and maiming people. The shrapnel caused far more casualties than the cannonballs themselves. 

The wall closest to him exploded loudly and suddenly. Stan barely had the time to put his arm up across his eyes as he was thrown back, landing hard on the floor. His arm throbbed. He dared to lower it, and found his bicep looking like a red pincushion. There were splinters sticking out every which way.

Stan bit his lip, breathing hard as he closed and opened his hand experimentally. He found himself immensely grateful it was his arm and not his eyes. It hurt, but he still had mobility. So no major damage. Getting the splinters out could wait.

While Stan pushed himself up with his bleeding arm (why did it have to be his dominant one?) Ford passed him in the corridor. He nimbly dodged just as another wall broke before sliding to a stop in front of their niblings' door, and a strange pang of almost jealousy shot through Stan.

"Showoff." He mumbled under his breath, reaching the other just as Ford shouldered the door open.

What greeted them was an empty room and a startled pig huddled under the bed.

"Shit." Stan breathed.

Mabel and Dipper weren't there. Unbeknownst to either of their uncles, they'd been up on deck all along with a plan hatched in the excruciatingly drawn out wait.

Once the crew of The Isosceles finally began to swing over to the other ship and the fighting on deck began in earnest, the twins were just as quick to grab one of the lines each and quietly sneak aboard the enemy ship. Mabel led them inside, cross referencing what little she remembered from her brief time onboard with the layouts of both The Mystery and their current ship, hoping for some kind of standardised layout.

"This way to the magazine?" Dipper whispered hurriedly.

She nodded. "Ford explained it to me when we took Gideon's ship."

Dipper clutched the long fuse in his pocket.

Back on board their ship, Stan and Ford had just ran breathlessly back out onto deck. Stan spotted Soos not too far off and yelled to him.

"The kids are somewhere out here!" Stan shouted. Soos looked back at him gaping like a fish. "Find them and keep them out of the fighting!"

"Yes sir!"

Stan's injured arm protested as he drew his sword and ran headfirst into the thick of it, but he paid it little mind. What mattered now was driving the enemy back and doing as much damage as possible.

Some part of him expected Ford to fall back. Ready to defend himself should he need to, of course, but far more comfortable staying on the sidelines away from confrontation. But he didn't. Ford fought, and he fought well.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stan watched Ford battle. He had a cutlass covered in strange symbols that he used with confidence and poise. Hell, he almost seemed classically trained. But if anything the shots he took with a pistol were even more impressive. He slashed a man who'd approached him from behind, only to turn around in the same motion and fire at a figure on the other ship's deck standing poised to swing.

When had his shy brother turned into that cold competent stranger? Did Bill do that to him, or was it just a natural progression Stan hadn't been there to witness? Of course, Ford had never been scared of running headfirst into danger when they were little either, but…

But only with Stan at his side.

It almost hurt. The one thing Stan was better at, the one thing he could do for his brother… If Stan wasn't the strong twin, who was he? If he wasn't protecting or avenging Ford, what was he doing? There was nothing else. It was all he'd ever done.

As the battle raged onboard the ship, Mabel and Dipper were making their way deeper into enemy territory. Very soon both found themselves below deck and were abruptly appalled.

Dipper's foot touched the floor under the stair and he was taken aback by the fact that it was soft. He looked down, only to see a thick layer of sawdust. Looking out over the gundeck that was thankfully too distracted by the battle at hand to notice the twins, he soon realised the reason: The floor was covered to soak up the blood.

There were casualties everywhere, dead and alive. One man had a piece of wood the size of Dipper's arm embedded in his leg. He sat screaming in a corner as his crewmates busied around him barely noticing. The gundeck was a loud cacophonous mess full of so much shouting and exploding Dipper felt as if his ears might burst. The clouds of smoke choked and blinded and everything smelled of sulphur, as if hell itself had opened up in the bowels of the ship. It was their first real look at naval combat, and suddenly he found himself just a bit more understanding of Ford's reasoning.

A woman with soot-smeared features and a dirty pink dress headed the gunners. It was the same one they'd seen at the party. Neither Dipper nor Mabel were unfamiliar with tough women, not since Wendy, but Pyronica didn't just seem tough—she was vicious.

Mabel took Dipper's hand and dragged him into a less obvious position just as a lanky man with a hunched back and filthy hair showed up.

"Master gunner! The captain says to stop shooting!"

Her dress billowed as she turned and looked at him with contempt.

"You crazy!? No way!"

The man was pushed aside without a thought, falling over the side of the stairs and landing hard on his knees and hands below. Mabel's hand around his clenched tighter as Bill ducked down below deck.

"Stop firing!" He snarled furiously. "They have something I need, and I can't get it if it's miles underwater!"

"But Captain, they're not gonna stop shooting!"

"Then get over there and slaughter every last gunner! Would you freaks rather they kill you or I?" Bill looked at the injured sailor still moaning in the corner as if disgusted, before—without hesitation—shooting the man. "See what happens to whiners?"

She looked like she wanted to voice another protest, but swallowed it down and relayed the orders. The crew left following Bill, and Mabel and Dipper both breathed out. That was far too close.

Continuing to the already unguarded magazine, Mabel examined the powder keeping Ford's previous explanations about spark-proof walls and the effects of water in mind. Dipper laid out a long stretch of fuse.

"There's a small gap." Mabel pointed out a portion of the wall where the metal sheets bent inwards, probably from some kind of earlier collision or blow. It wasn't blasted open, but from the cracks between the bulging sheets water was trickling through. "It's not gotten to all of the powder yet though, so some might still go boom." She nodded to herself.

Dipper nodded in return, lit the fuse, and both children bolted from the now mostly abandoned ship.

Stan threw another cursory glance at the Isosceles as more reinforcements joined the men already on deck. He swore silently, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop it, so better to focus on the immediate threats. He was about to rejoin the fight when he spotted two more figures appearing at the taffrail after all the others had left.

His heart felt like it both wanted to stop and burst out of his chest at the same time.

It was the kids. The kids had snuck onboard Bill's ship.

Those two were going to be the death of him.

Stan pushed aside allies and cut down enemies, making his way towards the side of the ship as quickly as he could. By the time he reached what he calculated had to be the intended landing spot Mabel already had one of the ropes in hand and stood poised to swing.

She did it so confidently he'd be proud, if he wasn't already furious.

Mabel landed expertly on the floor—she'd be a damn good pirate some day—and Stan was ready to take and pull her back behind himself. She shrieked in surprise, but quieted when she noticed who exactly had grabbed her. She didn't fight as Stan pushed her back where he could at least somewhat protect her, and he turned his attention to the other child.

Dipper looked far less sure of himself. He stood on the railing with a nervous expression looking all around himself as if searching for another out. That was just perfect, Stan thought. The boy got caught up in his head too much.

Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy swung. Stan's heart dropped as his hands slipped on the rope and he lost his hold.

"Kid!"

Miraculously, Dipper didn't fall into the void between the two ships because swinging down from the rafter and catching him was Wendy. She plucked the boy out of the air in one swift motion, holding him securely to land back safely on the ship. She released the flustered child and he tumbled onto the floor blushing with his entire face.

"Oh my God, t-that was-!" He stammered.

"It's chill. Just be more careful next time, okay you little maniac?"

Her calm demeanour dropped immediately as Stan reached past her to stab at another pirate who’d crept up behind.

"Right, battle." She tensed and got an axe out.

Drawing back, Stan took both children by the shoulders and hugged them bone-crushingly tight. Then, he pulled them back at an arm's length and yelled at them.

"What the hell did you two think you were doing!?" Panic and rage both coloured his voice until it came out even coarser than normal.

"Grunkle Stan! We were-"

Mabel didn't get to finish her sentence before he hugged them again—if possible—even tighter.

"I can't lose you two." He whispered. "Not already."

Looking at each other over his shoulders, Mabel and Dipper couldn't think of anything to reply. But they didn't have to. Just as quickly as it'd come the vulnerable moment was gone.

"Soos, Wendy!" He pushed them towards the crewmates in mention. "Keep them away from the worst of the fighting."

"On it Captain Pines!" Soos saluted. As Stan returned to engaging the attackers once again, Mabel and Dipper both watched the other ship with bated breath as they were dragged away. It hadn't blown yet. Maybe the fuse had gone out? Was it too long? What if someone had discovered it, or the powder was too wet? Why was nothing happening?

Ford didn't notice what was going on with the kids. For the moment, he was completely absorbed in fighting. Usually when he'd gotten into fights during his years away from everything, the people he came at odds with were less antagonists and more simply opponents. Soldiers just doing their jobs, groups protecting knowledge that could help him, or on the unfortunate few occasions, people who simply had items he needed. None of those deserved to die, and so he never fought his hardest.

This was different. These were Bill's cohorts. Not only were they marauding criminals, but they were so under the flag of the monster that had ruined Ford's life. Their loss wouldn't be mourned by anyone, and he had every right to defend himself.

In some twisted way it almost felt good. It wasn't the same individuals it had been thirty years ago but it was the same crew on principle. He hadn't been able to fight back way back then, but he could now. He wasn't cowering from them, they were the ones getting beaten back. He had a few cuts and scrapes, but nothing major.

They couldn't hurt him. They couldn't touch him. He could defend himself.

One of the few sounds that could break through to him did: His gull screeched as if in pain, and Ford looked instantly. The bird was grappling with a hawktopus, a strange despicable creature and one of the few strange beings of Gravity Falls he actively disliked. Worse yet, it was one he distinctly remembered Bill owning.

It was stupid and reckless, but Ford couldn't lose that gull. He couldn't lose the only consistent friend he'd had throughout the worst thirty years of his life. He ran towards where the animals were clashing with sharp beaks and claws in midair. But with his eyes on the sky not quite seeing where he was going, Ford ran straight into the back of another person. The man turned around with a growl and a cutlass raised, ready to strike him down, only for both to stop dead as they recognised each other.

Ford couldn't breathe.

"You're alive."

Bill looked stunned. But then his face quickly turned angry as the realisation sat in. Ford swore he could see that soulless gold eye flicker to life with hate. Bill covered it up with a huge unnatural grin, savage and hungry, like a starved wolf. Instead of stabbing Ford as he'd stood prepared to do, Bill took him by the upper arms, digging his fingers into the muscle hard enough to hurt as he pushed him back.

Ford's mind went blank. All the fight in him left, and suddenly he was abandoned on the battlefield without a weapon. Like a human sacrifice, left by his frantically fleeing rationality to sate an insurmountable foe.

He couldn't fight back, Bill enjoyed it when he fought back, it would only drag things out. His hands lost their strength and his cutlass clattered uselessly onto the ground. His legs turned limp like those on a child's doll. As Bill pushed, he stumbled back and he thought what he stumbled over had to be the hay covering the floor of the brig. He could swear he felt shackles around his wrists.

He was pushed up against something that had to be the ship's mast but against his back felt just like the window of The Isosceles' captain's cabin. He could smell fire. He could hear screaming. One of Bill's hands grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, almost choking. The other took his jaw roughly.

"Here's a sight for sore eye!" Bill's voice was burned into him, tattooed on his brain. It was still just as sharp and grating. "You know… I was going to kill everyone on this damn piece of driftwood. But I could always make an exception for an old friend! Want to come back aboard for round two?"

Bill's face was too close. His entire body was too close, Ford couldn't breathe and any second the burning and beating and cutting had to start. Old wounds began to scream with phantom pain. He couldn't breathe. He pushed against Bill frantically, but there was no strength in him.

Suddenly Bill screamed and let go as if touching Ford burned him. He swung around hunched like an animal showing a huge gash in his side. Stan stood behind him with a bloodied blade, breathing like he'd just been running.

"Get the fuck away from him ya demon bastard."

Bill didn't hesitate for a second to engage Stan. Both were already injured, Stan from the splinters and a few other jabs he seemed to have gotten during the fight, and Bill from the impressively large wound dripping red all the way down his yellow jacket. But they fought furiously regardless, both dead set on killing the other. Ford all but collapsed against the mast, trying and failing to regain his breath.

Having seen the entire exchange, Mabel broke away from Soos. Taking the big swath of purple fabric hanging around her waist—the first gift she'd gotten from Stan, after spotting bolts of the stuff along with stolen treasure in the cargo hold. Purple was crazy expensive, she'd never even seen fabric that colour—she threw it over the strange creature harassing Ford's bird. She threw herself at the furiously flailing bundle and held it down even as it's beak poked through the fabric and scratched her arms like a cheesegrater.

Without the other animal pursuing it, the gull returned to its distressed master, trying to calm him down.

As Stan and Bill continued to fight, Bill gradually started moving more and more imprecisely as he lost blood. Frankly, Stan had no idea how he was even standing. But as he lost strength it became clear their duel couldn't go on forever. Perhaps Bill sensed that too, because throwing the rules of fair combat to the sharks he pulled a gun. But he didn't aim it at Stan, he aimed it at Ford with a look of sadistic pleasure on his face.

"Well!" His pitch climbed erratically. "It's improper to leave a job half-finished, right!?"

Ford looked up, and Stan saw it in his eyes: He was terrified. Stan didn't see the obstinate jerk anymore, he saw the brother he knew before everything went wrong; scared and needing Stan to come save him.

Growling angrily, Stan threw himself at Bill's arm. Baiting the reaction Bill slashed him across the side of the neck, dangerously close to the larger veins. Warmth dripped down from the wound, and before he could address it Bill punched him in the face. His nose made a nauseating cracking noise. By the time he looked up the barrel of the gun was at his temple.

In desperation to save Stan, Dipper grabbed the closest thing—a bottle of what else, rum—and threw it hard at the back of Bill's head, just like Wendy had taught him with throwing axes. It shattered on impact stunning him briefly and soaking his hair and clothes in alcohol. Dipper saw Stan's eyes light up as he used the opening to get back on his feet and resume the duel amongst the clanging swords of a hundred other fighters.

Stan kept backing, letting Bill think he was retreating. Letting the smug monster think he was winning. But Stan wasn't retreating, he was leading.

His neck bled sluggishly and his nose throbbed. With each lunge and parry, flashes of pain shot through his injured arm. But he was riding high on adrenaline and pushed through. He was almost there. He couldn't trip on the finish line.

At the edge of his vision Stan saw the flicker of a lantern and knew he'd done it. But he couldn't breathe out just yet. He slashed at Bill and on the backstroke hooked his blade through the ring holding up the lantern. Bringing it back around, he beamed Bill over the side of his head with it.

The protective glass shattered. Burning oil splattered out, and the alcohol in Bill's hair ignited.

Bill shrieked.

It was louder than he'd screamed when Stan stabbed him. Impossibly loud, far more than the earlier canonfire. Feeding on the layers and layers of cloth and the flammable liquid his entire body was consumed by fire. But to everyone's shock and horror, he didn't stop fighting. Even Stan, after thirty years of seeing the atrocities Bill left in his wake, couldn't help the terror and disbelief that gripped him.

The screaming and the ghastly display was enough to halt literally all activity on deck. Friend and foe alike could all do nothing but watch, unable to tear their eyes away and seemingly forgetting the battle that had been raging just seconds ago.

The only two combatants that remained were Stan and Bill.

Bill kept making lunges, trying desperately to stab Stan and take him down with him. But within a few breaths his body gave out. Even still: As he fell to his knees and the screaming turned to breathless, choking coughs, he kept swinging blindly.

The pain didn't paralyse him. He fought until his body gave out and he finally collapsed forward on deck, charred remains smouldering as Stan looked at him with mixed horror and contempt.

"Is… Is he dead?" Someone asked. Everyone stood as if in a circle around Stan and the fallen captain.

Wendy pushed through the crowd, drawing the sword she'd gotten back at the manor—the one that killed her grandfather—and stabbed the corpse through the back. Soos stood at the edge of the stunned combatants, holding his hands over the childrens' eyes and keeping his own squeezes shut tight.

"Take that you son of a bitch." Wendy kicked at the remains and Stan put a hand on her shoulder, straightening his back and looking out over the two crews imposingly. He stopped as he spotted Pyronica, narrowing his eyes at her. She grinded her oversized teeth against each other, fists clenched tight.

"What are you waiting for you useless cowards keep fighting!" She screamed. Nobody heeded her order. "I'm first mate, without Bill I'm your Captain so God damn obey me!"

Again, nobody moved to follow. Kryptos took a reluctant step towards her with his hands up placatingly, but before he could even try to talk her down something nobody expected happened.

A large explosion rocked The Isosceles.

Mabel and Dipper tore themselves away from Soos cheering jubilantly. Pyronica's shoulders fell and Kryptos retracted his hand.

"Everyone back on board! Save the ship, get the fuck out of here!" She ordered instead, and this time the crew were quick to follow. Maybe they were still too stunned to act, or maybe they felt that—like a chicken without its head—the crew without the captain was no longer a threat. Whatever it was, nobody moved to stop them retreating and with The Isosceles' swift departure everything got eerily silent again.

The hawktopus threw off the fabric over it with Mabel's weight no longer holding it down. It looked at the burnt body and took off after the ship, crying mournfully. Dipper looked at the corpse, and was nauseatingly once again reminded of the one they'd found back with the merchant vessel.

Stan was the first to move again. As he managed to get himself unstuck from the stunned torpor the first thought in mind was to go check on Ford. His brother had his face held in his hands, shivering.

"Ford!"

Stan ran towards Ford, and the sharp yell startled him.

"Don't touch me!" Ford pushed hard, and caught by surprise Stan stumbled and tripped. He fell onto his back and something made contact with his shoulder. He yelled in pain as the searing hot handle of Bill's sword burned through his jacket and into the skin, the triangular emblem branded into his shoulder.

"Captain!" Soos was at his side before he knew it. "Oh no, are you okay, dude!?"

Stan squeezed one of his eyes shut, clenching his teeth and breathing through the pain. Soos helped him back onto his feet.

Ford stared at him uncomprehendingly where he still stood, back pressed against the mast and arms held tight around himself. He shook his head and his eyes were scared.

Putting a hand over his shoulder, Stan moved away from Soos and back towards Ford. Slower this time. His shoulder hurt like hell, for that matter, so did the rest of his body. But he needed to keep pushing through. Just a little longer. It wasn't Ford's fault, he was freaking out.

"Ford…" He made his voice calm and level, a challenge all things considered.

"Don't-" Ford shook his head harder. "Bill, please-"

Stan could see both Soos and Wendy reaching out towards him in concern, but he ignored them. Mabel and Dipper watched worriedly.

"I'm not Bill." Stan said firmly. Taking Ford's hand in his. "Bill is dead."

"Please don't-" Ford tried to pull his hand loose, Stan's words clearly having no effect. "Please don't touch me."

Stan's patience ran out, Ford wouldn't listen, he couldn't listen. So Stan would just have to show him.

He dragged Ford back, taking the back of his jacket despite his fighting and forced him down to face the body.

"Look!" Stan yelled. "He's dead!"

It was harsh, maybe even cruel. But it was the only thing he could think of that might snap Ford out of it. Dragging him back from whatever terrible fantasy he was caught up in by forcing him to stare reality in the ugly, burnt face. It was just tough love.

"Look!" He yelled again, before he hissed in pain and it forced him to sit down as well. He was next to his brother, hand on his back looking down at a man who could never again hurt either of them. He repeated himself, softer this time. Almost as much a reassurance to himself as to Ford.

"He's dead. It's over."

Ford stared uncomprehendingly, before his breath hitched. Stan could feel it all the way through him. The terrifying shadow that had hung oppressively over him for more than half his life had finally dissipated. Bill was gone. Not some terrifying unknowable force of nature, not some unkillable boogeyman, just the absolutely most mundane thing a creature could be—the thing every creature would one day be. He was just a corpse. 

He was just a human.

Somehow, that revelation finally broke something in him. Something he hadn't felt in forever. It was relief, and somehow, it made him cry.

Fiddleford looked at the brothers, meeting Stan's eyes over Ford's shoulders, before beginning to shoo the crew away. Soos and Wendy caught on fast and took charge of the situation, giving orders to assess damages and take care of their dead and wounded. With that, they gently led the children away as well to check over for injuries.

The others dispersed, leaving Ford and Stan and the burnt body.

Ford just wept, as Stan held him.

"It's over."

A safe distance away The Isosceles dropped anchor in a hidden cove. 

Injured and exhausted—with the rest of the crew all bedridden, drunk, or asleep after the disastrous night—Pyronica and Kryptos walked through the ship that was silent like a tomb. Very reluctantly, they approached Bill's cabin.

"I hate this part." Kryptos said unhappily, hugging a thick black book to his chest as he waited for Pyronica to undo the lock and let them inside.

"Just shut up and read." She snapped, clearly in no mood for a conversation.

"Illiterate or no, can't you recite the spell from memory by now? You don't need me here." He argued. Sometimes, being one of the few crewmembers with an actual education was a curse more than a boon. Pyronica glared at him, which was apparently answer enough.

"You know he's going to be in a mood, and I ain't dealing with him alone. Stop stalling."

Entering the room and pushing the rug aside with the kind of confidence that only came from practice they unearthed a plain circle drawn on the floor. Pyronica went straight for one of the drawers on Bill's desk, making an exclamation of disgust as she opened it.

Kryptos looked at her with a questioning 'hmm' halfway through opening the book. "What's wrong? Didn't he put the candles there as usual?"

"Yeah, but he also put a dead rat there." She took the candles and set them out as the circle instructed. "You wanna bet he was saving that for the hawk or himself?"

"Don't get too snappy, he's bound to be listening." Kryptos reminded her indifferently. She lit the candles, took his hands, and after a moment of hesitation, he began to read in perfect Latin.

"Triangulum, entangulum.

Veneforis dominus ventium.

Veneforis venetisarium."

Before their eyes, the room turned grey.

"Sheesh, you sure weren't in a hurry this time."

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Stars Aren’t the Only Things That Glitter

A Drifting Stars AU short, collaborating with @clownwry.

2nd, 3rd, 4th.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grunkle Ford, look out!”

“Mabel, stay back!”

BANG!

“Mabel… MABEL! HOLD ON! I’M COMING! MABEL!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel looked at the blazing fire, trying to pretend to ignore her great-uncles muttering so she might pick up a swear word, be it alien or English was perfectly fine by her. Mabel didn’t pick up any swears, but she did hear the words “reckless” and “irresponsible” and “inconceivable”. The Listening Game did a fair job of distracting her from the pain on her arm and shoulder. Except when Grunkle Ford’s bandages were a little too tight and she would wince at the friction on her burn.

Still muttering through his teeth, his eye glued to the injury through his single-cracked glasses, he did it again, pulling on the bandage a little too hard, this time making Mabel accidentally let am “ouch!” slip past her lips. Ford looked up at her and his expression grew softer and more nurturing. “I’m sorry, my dear, but really, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“They were gonna shoot you…”

“I don’t care.” Ford said firmly. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to save yourself and leave me behind, you do so.”

“No.”

The nomadic scientist blinked, slightly surprised by her stubbornness. Only slightly surprised, because she is a Pines, after all. But she is a good kid and in the month they had been traveling the Multiverse, she had never outright defied him like this. “Excuse me?” He wasn’t even stern or angry; he was too surprised (and maybe even a little proud) to properly scold her anymore.

“No. That’s stupid.” Mabel answered, her little cheeks puffed up in determination, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of the fire, a flame of her own in the windows to her soul. “I’ll never leave you behind. We’re a family, we gotta stick together if we’re gonna survive and get home. We need each other. Besides, if the tables were turned, would you leave me behind?”

“That’s an entirely different matter.” Ford said with a small smile on his ruffed-up face; he resumed his work on the burn more gently now and finished wrapping it up, securing the bandage. “I’m old, I’ve lived my life. You take priority.”

“I don’t care.” Mabel said, copying Ford’s exact tone and voice from earlier. The grown man snorted with amusement.

Ford decided to put this little argument on hold, seeing how there was no changing Mabel’s mind right now. And he didn’t want to spend the entire evening rebuking her. “You did do a very good job disarming those hunters. I’m very proud of you.”

Mabel sat up a little straighter and smiled up at Ford. “Thank you.”

Ford smiled at her and stood, moving to his large backpack to fish out the things for tea and dinner, though it would probably only be dried meat and oats. “I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as her world was put on pause. She felt like she was being sucked into a time vortex, transported into a memory.

Grunkle Stan was dusting some zombie parts off of his armchair when Mabel was walking by, leaving the kitchen after giving Soos his cure for zombification. Stan noticed that Mabel looked very tired. He smiled at her from her seat, and Mabel ran up to him and climbed into his lap for a big hug.

“Hey, you alright?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just glad you’re okay, pumpkin.” And he gave her a secure squeeze and Mabel happily hugged him back.

Mabel was shoved back into reality, accompanied by a sinking feeling of loss. She missed Grunkle Stan. She missed Dipper. She missed Waddles, and Soos, and Wendy, and the Shack, and Oregon, and California, and Mom and Dad…

Ford turned back to the fire with a kettle and wire-spider in hand, ready to ask Mabel to fetch some water (she always enjoyed being of assistance), but he stopped when he saw her crying with her eyes shut and wiping her cheeks dry with her wrists. Ford was immediately halted and his priorities shifted drastically. Nothing mattered at this moment but making her feel better.

He was swift. Ford scooped up some water from the clean stream into the kettle, then used the wire-spider to hold the kettle over the fire. Giving the water plenty of time to heat up and steam, Ford gently picked Mabel up from her seat on the log, only to hold her close and let her wrap her arms around his neck. He didn’t say a word, being a social-cripple and having no idea what he could say that would make her feel better, so he stayed silent and was simply there for her.

And really, that was all Mabel needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the two humans were lucky to come across a small rustic town in the woods, reminding Ford of the small Tennessee-town Fiddleford grew up in. Except of course there were no humans, but blue-skinned elves with pointy years and the occasional centaur.

Ford had stolen a bit of money from a hunter yesterday, which meant they got to restock on supplies and even buy a cheap breakfast at an outside cafe. Sitting at a table under an umbrella, Ford was going over his plan with Mabel while she munched on her sweetly-cooked purple apples tossed in spices and sugar.

“... so once we reach this cavern here, we’ll reach a very interesting town called Flush Valley. I’ve heard it specializes in building mechanical limbs and prosthetics, but it’s surrounded by rich minerals perfect for building, so we can find what we need easily here. There may even be a day-by-day job I can get to earn a bit of money for food and shelter.”

“I can work, too! Daddy always said I was like a French horse!” Mabel added in excitedly.

Ford chuckled. “We’ll see. I would feel more comfortable if you were working so I could keep an eye on you. Moving on,” The old scientist sipped his strange alien coffee, but it contained caffeine and somewhat resembled his home dimension’s coffee taste, so he drank it. “The way there could be crawling with scavengers. A lot of people come to Flush Valley just barely hanging on by a thread, easy targets for hunting and stealing food and supplies. So we need to keep our guard up for the next two days.”

“Okay.” Mabel said, as nonchalantly as if Ford told her to remember to add milk to a grocery list.

Ford gave her a firmer look and added, “So, if we think we’re being followed, what do we do?”

“We pretend we don’t know and we keep walking calmly.” Mabel replied. “We keep our eyes open for a way to lose them, and where the sneaky-peaky spies are.”

“Very good.” Ford smiled at her. “If we decide to try to lose them, what do we do?”

“Run as fast as we can. If I can’t catch up I get on your shoulders and focus on making them go away, while you get us away.”

“Yes, excellent. What do we do if we decide to confront them?”

“I grab by sling-shot and exploding rocks and hit as many guys as I can. I aim for the knees or feet so they fall and can’t shoot us. Oh, and we stand with our backs to each other so we see everything, together.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, if we are surrounded and I find a way to escape, what do you do?”

“Make sure you go in so you can lead the way!” Mabel answered with a grin.

“N-No, honey.” Ford said gently with a smile, as if informing a kindergartner that 1+1=2, not 11. “If I find a way to escape, you go first…”

“No,” Mabel said, still smiling as she shook her head. “You go first so I can make sure you’re coming.”

Ford sighed and took another sip of his drink. “Okay, if I tell you to run, you…”

“I grab your hand and run with you, making sure no one gets lost.”

“Mabel, no.”

“Mabel YES!” The girl grinned with determination. “You’re stuck with me, old man! You can’t get rid of me!”

Ford was getting annoyed at this point. He pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up slightly, and growled, “I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m trying to save you!”

Mabel gave him a very serious look and questioned, “By leaving me alone out here?”

“No! I-...” But Ford stopped and bit his lip. His niece did have an excellent point. As much as Ford was willing to do anything to keep her safe, as much as Ford was willing to sacrifice his own life for her’s, that really wasn’t a good idea.

There was a good chance Mabel could survive without him, at least until she found a nice family to take her in (or, somehow, miraculously, Stanley opened the portal and brought her home, but Ford didn’t dare to hope for that). But she was so young and inexperienced in the Multiverse. At least when Ford was first thrown into the chaos he was an adult and was accustomed to weirdness thanks to his six years of researching Gravity Falls. Mabel was extremely resourceful, imaginative, intelligent, and clever. She was also stronger and faster than many would assume. But she was too trusting. Too innocent. So, not to belittle Mabel or underestimate her, but she was right; she needed Ford, and as noble as it would be to exchange his life for her’s if it came down to it, that would also be incredibly stupid and only buy Mabel a little more time until she was captured or enslaved or killed or even worse.

And of course, only someone as people-smart and clever as Mabel could make Ford see that.

He sighed tiredly. “O-... Okay.” Mabel smiled proudly at him. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll try to be more careful.” Ford promised. “I… I just need you to be safe.”

“Don’t worry, I think we do a pretty good job of keeping each other safe.” Mabel complimented, holding out a bite of her fruit on a fork for Ford.

The old man held up a polite hand and declined, but his stomach turned against him and growled, and Mabel frowned at him, giving Ford a deja vu feeling of his mother forcing him and his brothers to eat their vegetables. So Ford smiled and accepted the sweetly cooked fruit. “Yes, I think so, too.”

[mandoalorian]

Return of the Jedi [Max Lord x gn!Reader]

Summary: You and Alistair are heartbroken when you find out opening week tickets for Return of the Jedi have sold out. So Maxwell calls an old friend and organises a special surprise for his little family.

Warnings: food mention

Word count: 2000>

Author’s note: I received a request to write a Maxwell Lord x neurodivergent!Reader from @smoldjarin . They provided me with so much information in regards to autism, stimming, hyperfixations and more. I had so much joy writing this and I hope you find joy in reading it too. I couldn’t have done this without Melissa. I just hope I done it justice. (PS— I wanted to include Melissa’s love for Star Wars in this. I think we all, as Pedro stans, love Star Wars).

Maxwell wanted to pull his hair out. He had no idea what you and Alistair were yapping on about, but, evidently, it was something you both felt very passionate about. He’d seen you enthusiastic like this before, sure, but this was the first time he’d ever seen Alistair so hyped up. His brown eyes were gleaming as he hopped up and down.

“He literally said ‘I am your father!’ you laughed and Alistair let out a long groan.

“Yeah but he’s the bad guy! And the bad guys always lie,” Alistair explained — and that statement alone was enough to make Maxwell frown. ‘The bad guys always lie’ ... Ironic, to say the least. But, Alistair did make an excellent point. “I don’t trust him.”

You giggled and pulled Alistair into your lap. You’d never found it easy, touching people and being so close to them, but Alistair has grown to be an exception. He was like a son to you.

“Well, I suppose all will be revealed next week.” you told the ebony haired boy, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You and Alistair got along really well, and Maxwell couldn’t be more grateful, but it was the moments when you both babbled on about Star Wars that had him feeling the most clueless. Granted, he hadn’t found the chance to sit through the movies, but he wanted to because he knew how much it meant to you and his son.

He was also made blissfully aware that the third and final instalment of the trilogy was being released next week, because you and Ali couldn’t stop talking about it. Even in the moments when Alistair wasn’t there, you expressed your excitement to Maxwell. He found it endearing though. He loved it when you talked about your interests and current hyper-fixations. Which is why his heart broke when you read the Friday morning paper and found out all the tickets for opening week were sold out.

Max, despite having no interest in Star Wars, was devastated when he saw the look on your face. He especially didn’t want to be the person who had to break the bad news to Alistair.

“I was really looking forward to it.” You mumbled sadly, your eyes fixated on your cereal. You only had a little left to eat, but truthfully, you’d lost all appetite. These movies and this franchise meant the absolute world to you, and now no doubt you’d have the final movie spoiled for you at work or by the television.

“Oh darling,” Maxwell hummed, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you tight. You relished in his warmth and found yourself getting lost in the comforting scent of his sweet musk cologne. “I know. And I’m sorry,” the silence between you both broke his heart. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll fix this.”

You weren’t sure how he could possibly fix this. There were simply no more seats available in the movie theatres. He couldn’t just spawn in more seats. What Maxwell Lord did have though, was power, influence and money— and when he put his mind to something, he was sure to get it done. You had never met anyone more determined than him.

He didn’t want to leave you that morning, but duty called and he had to go to work. You tried your hardest to push through the day, ignoring this morning’s revelation. You opted to meet up with a friend at the park, and got ice cream. But when you’re friend told you they’d got tickets, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. You deserved these tickets. It just wasn’t fair.

Maxwell was struggling to focus on his work too. He was running out of bright ideas, but he didn’t just want his statement from this morning to be another empty promise. He actually wanted to fix this. He’d do anything to make you and Alistair happy.

Then it struck him. If his life was a kids cartoon, an illuminated lightbulb would’ve popped above his head. He buzzed his assistant, Raquel, into his office.

“Mr. Lord?” she smiled, walking towards his pine wood desk. Maxwell combed his fingers through his golden locks of hair and looked up at the blonde girl.

“Do I know anyone who is in the uh— the new Star Wars movie?” He inquired.

Raquel was expecting some question about the latest oil numbers, or a request for more supplements — so to say she was taking aback by her boss’ query was an understatement.

She thought for a moment. “Well, Harrison Ford has been a long time investor for Black Gold. He attended last year’s charity gala. Do you remember?”

Of course Maxwell remembered. How could one forget about being in the presence of Hollywood A-Lister Harrison Ford? “Harrison’s in Star Wars?” Maxwell quizzed, trying to hide his piqued curiosity. “Bring me his number. I have to make a call.”

———

Maxwell was so excited to get home and share the good news with you and Alistair. You greeted him just as you normally did, with a loving embrace and a gentle kiss.

“How was your day sweetheart?” your boyfriend asked, smoothing out your hair.

You shrugged. “Fine I s’pose,” you told him. “How was work?”

Maxwell’s grin only grew. “Bring Alistair in.” he beamed.

You called for the boy who had been playing with his action figures in his bedroom. His mom had dropped him off about an hour before Maxwell got home. You and Ali snuggled into each other on the crushed velveteen sofa as Maxwell paced backwards and forwards. It wasn’t nervous pacing though, he was bubbling with anticipation.

“I hope you’re all excited for tomorrow night,” Maxwell began, before flashing three pristine Return of the Jedi tickets before yours and Alistair’s eyes. “Because I met with my good friend Han Solo for lunch and he has given us access to a private screening on Sunday night. So we get to see the movie before the rest of the world.”

You felt like you were in a dream. He’d done it. He’d actually fixed it. You didn’t know how and you knew better than to question him, but it didn’t matter because he somehow managed to fix this and it was all to you and Alistair. You’d found it so hard to find someone who loved you for you, who didn’t mind your stims and who encouraged your hyperfixations. But Maxwell was that man and you couldn’t believe how lucky you had gotten.

Alistair bounced up and jumped on his dad, almost knocking him over in the process. Maxwell wrapped his arms around the six year old and picked him up.

“Daddy! Thank you thank you thank you!” he squealed, unable to contain his ecstatic grin. “I had no idea you were friends with Han Solo!”

Maxwell smiled. “Oh yeah, me and Han go way back. I used to co pilot with him on the—“ Maxwell paused for a second as he tried to recall what Harrison told him. He had to get this right. “—Millennium Falcon?”

Both yours and Alistair’s jaw dropped. Gods, he was good at this. Maxwell may have been a brilliant businessman but he was an even better father.

“Does that mean you know Luke and Leia too?” Alistair asked.

“Oh yes.” Maxwell nodded, despite having no idea who Luke and Leia were.

“And Chewbacca?”

Chewbacca? Maxwell thought. What kind of name was that? Never the less he smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”

“And Artoo and Threepio?”

Maxwell blinked. “Yep.” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Wow daddy,” Alistair hummed, snuggling into his dad’s chest. “I’m so excited.”

Maxwell dropped Alistair the ground and kneeled to his level. “You should put on your jammies and have an early night. That way, tomorrow will come around quicker.”

“Okay!” Alistair agreed enthusiastically before running back into his bedroom.

“And remember Ali!” Maxwell called. He cleared his throat and pointed his finger. “I am your father.”

That was it. That was the last straw. You’d tried your hardest to hold back your laughter as Max humoured his son, but seeing your boyfriend do a Darth Vader impression was something else.

Max sighed and sat down next to you, pulling your body into his lap. “I love you so much, my dear.”

You grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you too. I can’t believe you did all of this.” you revealed.

“I always keep my promises.” he replied with the most genuine smile.

———

The movie was a success, and even Maxwell enjoyed it, which was very unexpected.

“I can’t believe Darth Vader was telling the truth,” Alistair sighed, exasperated. It had been a long day for sure, and his cheeks were still rosy with excitement. “I’m so glad Darth Vader isn’t my dad.”

Maxwell tutted.

“But he turned good in the end,” You smiled, taking Ali’s hand. “He saw what truly mattered. He had to save his son.”

Yeah, the parallels between Vader and Luke and Maxwell and Alistair were interesting to say the least.

“Daddy, who was your favourite character?” Alistair asked.

Maxwell thought for a moment. “I liked that guy in the green armour, he was cool. He sorta reminds me of, well, me.”

“Boba Fett?” Alistair quirked an eyebrow. “Oh daddy, no one is as cool as Boba Fett.”

Maxwell feigned a gasp. “Not even your old

man?”

Alistair giggled and rolled his eyes. “I liked the Ewok!” he announced and then tugged on your hand. “Who did you like?”

“I like Leia,” you beamed. “She’s strong and beautiful...”

“Just like you.” Maxwell whispered, brushing his

lips against yours.

The night came to an end and you couldn’t have been happier. As you lay in bed, you thanked Maxwell for all he had done. He was truly the best boyfriend in the world. He loved you so much, and he swore in that moment, as you fell asleep in his arms, that the next promise he’d make would be a promise to himself.

He was going to marry you.

———

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[anistarrose]

Summary: Stan finds a recording from a fateful puppet show, a few disjointed memories fall into place, and the Pines family has some tense conversations.

Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher (posthumously)

Set in early September, probably a little less than a week after Dipper and Mabel went home.

(It felt good to write some Stangst again! Title is from Monster Town by Go! Child because when I can't think of titles on my own, I go to my GF playlist for inspo, and that song jumped out at me today)

***

“We should probably bring a backup camera on the boat,” Ford mused, in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was talking to Stan or just to himself. “Maybe even multiple backup cameras. There’s no telling what the Arctic climate could do to their circuitry, and people hardly take cryptid reports seriously even with photographic evidence, never mind with just an eyewitness account and an excuse about a broken camera —”

“Easy, Sixer.” Stan set down his fully-packed suitcase at Ford’s feet, satisfied with its contents. “I’ve got a camcorder up in my room, or maybe in — actually, I can’t remember where I decided to keep it, but it’s probably still in the house somewhere. If I can find it, you can add it to your camera horde.”

Ford zipped open Stan’s suitcase, revealing hand-knitted sweaters and Hawaiian shirts in approximately equal numbers, and sighed. “Some brave wardrobe choices you’re making here. Or have you forgotten that the first beach we’re stopping at is in Alaska?”

“Well, someone’s gotta lead the fashion revolution in the Arctic Circle, and it sure ain’t gonna be you,” Stan called as he headed upstairs, provoking a resigned “hrmph” from Ford.

Stan decided to look for the camcorder in his bedroom first — because while his memory still had some scattered gaps, his gut instincts rarely lead him astray, and checking his room had been his first impulse. Sure enough, he found it sitting on a shelf and covered in slightly less dust than the adjacent stack of magazines, just as he ever-so-vaguely remembered it.

“Better make sure this thing works, before Ford declares it too unreliable for yeti hunts or whatever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back onto his bed and fumbling for the power button. The camcorder blinked to life, presenting an interface that was probably hopelessly outdated — but Stan didn’t care, while Ford would have no way of knowing what modern Earth technology looked like.

What’d I even record on this thing anyway? He selected a random video from June, was greeted with his own voice singing the first line of the Stan Wrong Song, and immediately deleted the recording. With a sigh and silent vow to never let Ford learn of the song’s existence, he moved on to a video from July.

Once again, it was Mabel’s handiwork — heh, no wonder I couldn’t remember what I used this thing for, since the kids were always borrowing it from me — but this time, Stan himself wasn’t in frame, though the craft supplies strewn about the living room were enough to stir dormant memories.

“Dipper! Puppet Dipper! Smile for the camera!”

Dipper yawned, then somewhat half-heartedly mimicked the motion using the sock puppet on his hand. “Puppet Dipper’s not really feeling up to it this morning.”

“Did Puppet Dipper stay up too late trying to solve a mystery? Bwap!” The footage blurred as Mabel nudged Dipper with a sock puppet of her own. “Do I need to make him a little puppet-sized pillow?”

“How about… some puppet-sized sunglasses, for a puppet detective?” Dipper suggested.

“Good idea!” Mabel agreed. “Then no one will notice when Puppet Dipper falls asleep standing up!”

Stan shook his head and smiled.

Man, I wish I’d found this back when my memories were still a mess — Mabel kinda skimmed over the whole puppet saga in her scrapbook. Wonder what else got recorded from that week…

He selected the next video chronologically, noticing that it was also the final recording on the device, and the smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t stop me!” It was Dipper’s voice, yet not Dipper’s voice — all fury and arrogance, and the camcorder’s cheap speaker crackled with static, like the voice was too much, too wrong, too alien to properly record and then replicate. “I’m a being of pure energy with NO weaknesses!”

Without a doubt, Dipper’s body was onscreen, but he was staggering towards Mabel with arms twisted at impossible angles. He lunged for the journal in her hands, eyes glinting the same gold color as the emblem of the six-fingered hand —

Stan hit the power button, rolled over on the bed, and buried his face in his pillow as the wave of memories crashed into him.

Brushing off Dipper’s sorry state as sleep deprivation, until the kid collapsed on the way out of the theater. Seeing the cuts and bruises all over Dipper’s hands as Stan helped him to his feet, and grilling the kids on what happened the whole drive to the hospital. Not getting an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Not being able to give the doctor an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Telling the twins’ parents it was just “sleep deprivation.”

A tense phone call, assuring Mr. and Mrs. Pines that Dipper’s recovery would be swift and tha Gravity Falls was still safe for their children. Stan’s hands shaking as he holds the phone, having no idea if that’s the truth, if he’s doing the right thing.

Mabel crying over a crumpled-up scrap of paper — a note? — she’d found in the car, and refusing to show it to Stan. Half-overheard secrets, whispered between the younger twins when they think Stan isn’t paying attention — apologies, worries, and murmurs too soft to be in any way decipherable.

Dipper, still with bags under his eyes, spending the next few days doing almost nothing but looking over his shoulder and burying his head in the journal. Stan pretending not to notice, but secretly finding it far too familiar for comfort.

Later memories, too — memories of demons, and handshakes, and feeling his body go numb. Memories of a voice, a furiously shrieking voice — both terrified and terrifying, but more than anything, alien.

Now, far too late, Stan recognized it.

***

“We’re calling the kids,” Stan barked, barging back downstairs, and Ford jumped.

“What’s wrong? Are your memories —”

“Better than they’ve ever been, actually.” Stan stormed directly to the living room table, flipping open the laptop on loan from Soos and clicking the video chat app. “Good enough to figure out something that apparently no one thought it might be important to tell me!”

“Are you sure?” Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can still call them, but let’s talk this through first, make sure you’re not missing any gaps —”

Stan paused, cursor an inch away from the call button beneath Dipper and Mabel’s profile picture. “Did Dipper tell you about the time Bill possessed him?”

Ford started to say something, stopped, and tried again. “I… I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know I ended up taking him to the goddamn hospital afterwards?”

“No,” Ford whispered, and Stan felt Ford’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “Call the kids, Stan.”

Mabel must’ve been online, because she picked up almost immediately. The video opened with her sitting in her kitchen in Piedmont, Waddles in her lap. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Guess what I —”

The joy drained out of her smile when she noticed her grunkles’ grave expressions. “What’s going on?”

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan murmured, trying to tune out the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, “could you go get your brother?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dipper slid into view, almost falling off his chair, and Mabel scooted out of the way so they could both comfortably face the laptop. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Ford explained, “but Stan and I wanted to talk about… communication, among other things — Stan? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shuddered, forcing himself to take a deep breath as he stared at the computer.

Dipper’s back home. Dipper’s safe. They’re both safe, and they’ll never have to worry about Bill again.

“Stanley?” Ford echoed, increasingly distressed. “Please, if —”

“I’ll be alright,” Stan managed, because even he wasn’t a good enough liar to convince anyone he was alright at this exact moment. “Promise. But kids, why didn’t you tell me when Bill hijacked your puppet show?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a guilty look.

“Was it because you thought I’d take away the journal?” Stan regretted his ‘only self-defense’ stipulation for the third journal more than almost anything else he’d said that summer, because he’d always known deep down that it wouldn’t stop the kids — and in hindsight, he would’ve much rather known what trouble the kids were getting into, not have them hide it from him with their late nights out in the woods and nonspecific excuses.

“At first,” Dipper replied. “But we ended up worrying a whole lot more about you sending us home early —”

“Your parents almost made that decision for me,” Stan admitted. “They were ready to drive up here and come get you when they heard what happened. I dunno how I convinced them to let you stay —”

He sighed. “And maybe knowing the truth wouldn’t have actually helped me that time — but it would’ve been nice to know how big a lie I was telling when I told them this town was safe for you kids, y’know?”

He regretted voicing that thought immediately, but regretted it even moreso when Dipper looked away from the camera, mumbling: “I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

“Stan’s not trying to guilt you,” Ford spoke up, “but we want you to know you can talk about these things honestly with us — and that goes for both of you, Dipper and Mabel. We’d never want to punish you for something that was obviously… someone else’s fault.”

Thank god one of us has finally learned to think through what we say before we say it, Stan figured.

“I’m sorry too, kids,” he added out loud. “For getting angry at you a minute ago — ‘cause I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at Bill for what he got away with right behind my back, and I… I just…”

He brushed a finger across their digital faces, a gesture that no doubt failed to translate to the video feed Dipper and Mabel were viewing, and smiled. “Thanks for picking up so fast, ‘cause I really needed a reminder that the two of you are safe and sound and all.”

The kids smiled back, visible for just a second before Mabel leaned forward to hug her laptop and the screen went dark.

“Anytime, Grunkle Stan.”

***

“Coffee?” asked Ford, ever the early riser, as Stan trudged into the kitchen the next morning. “You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks, Sixer,” Stan groaned, slumping into the seat across from Ford at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard of backhand compliments, but now I’ve gotta live with your backhanded coffee offers too?”

“Sorry. I’m sympathizing, not mocking — I promise, when I woke up today, my eyes were just as bloodshot as yours are now,” Ford replied, sliding Stan a mug of steaming coffee. “How are your memories?”

It was a routine question as of late, but Stan still managed to botch it completely.

“Too good,” he muttered under his breath, and earned a quizzical look from Ford.

“Pardon?”

“…Good enough that I can remember all kinda things to feel shitty about,” Stan reluctantly admitted. “Like not even noticing when Dipper was possessed, for one thing. I spent the whole summer worrying about him, except for when he was actually in danger —”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed, “that’s not your fault. You know Bill was an expert liar; he scammed too many people to count —”

“Yeah, but I shoulda seen through it!” Stan brought his fist down on the table, and the contents of his mug sloshed precariously close to the top. “Of all people, I should’ve known better —”

“Right.” Ford grimaced. “Right. Because no one else who should’ve known better was ever tricked by a dream demon for a whole lot longer than a few hours —”

“Shit. Ford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

With a controlled glowering expression and deliberate motions, Ford stood, marching across the kitchen with all the fury and hesitation of a slow-moving thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean it was your fault! I’d never — ”

“…I know.” Ford came to a halt at the door, bracing one hand against the frame. “But if you can say as much about me, then… then why can’t you just say that about yourself?”

“What?!”

“You would’ve caught on soon enough, if Mabel hadn’t defeated Bill when she did — I wasn’t there, but I’m sure of that because I know you, and I know how well you know Dipper.” Ford shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to Bill’s lies for years. I gave him free reign to hurt people for so much longer than one evening —”

He crossed his arms, and his imposing silhouette in the doorway seemed to shrink.

“So if you’re not blaming me for anything to happen this summer, then you’d better not blame yourself, you — you knucklehead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan leapt out of his seat. “It’s no wonder you didn’t see through Bill’s lies, when your whole life, you had me watching your back — and then I wasn’t there for you, when you needed me more than ever —”

“Because I pushed you away!” Ford shouted, whirling back around to face him. “Do you know what I realized while I was trying to fall asleep last night? That if I’d just stood up to Dad when he kicked you out, if I’d just done the right thing for once in my formative years, then the end of the world as we knew it would’ve been averted altogether! No falling for Bill’s flattery, no arguing over the zodiac, no Weirdmageddon! We could’ve had it all, but we just couldn’t live in that better world, all because I convinced myself you were suffocating me —”

“But it sounds like maybe I still am, huh?” Stan growled. “If all I do is just make you furious like this —”

“No,” Ford gasped, all the hostility in his voice and his glare immediately melting away. “No, no, absolutely not! I’m not furious at you, Stan, I’m…”

“Furious at yourself,” Stan accused, “for being even worse than me?!”

“No! Don’t even say that!”

Before Stan could process what was happening, much less protest it, Ford was hugging him, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder.

“Maybe — maybe I am angry at you, after all,” Ford admitted, “but you’re my hero, Stanley. My inspiration. If am angry with you, it’s — it’s just because you’re too damn stubborn to forgive yourself…”

Stan gingerly placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “…Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ford mumbled. He went quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke up again, his voice was quieter, yet slightly more composed. “Maybe we need to just… call a truce. Find something positive to agree on. We’re both too stubborn for this argument to end with either of us admitting we were wrong —”

“At least for give-or-take the next forty years,” Stan interrupted, punctuating his words with a bitter laugh.

Ford barked out a laugh of his own, loud and cathartic, and withdrew from the hug, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “If Dipper and Mabel were here, they would have told us to stop being stubborn old men a while ago. I wish they were here.”

“They’d probably also tell us it’s more Bill’s fault than either of ours,” Stan added. “And… I guess they’d have a point.”

“I can see the logic in that.” Ford smiled faintly. “I’m sorry for making this about me, by the way. You opened up to talk about your own issues, and I —”

“Hey, I made it about you just as much as you did, Brainiac,” Stan reminded him. “…But damn. You think we’ll ever be able to talk about our feelings without shouting our lungs out at each other?”

“We’re still no good at thinking through anything before we say it,” Ford replied, “though I guess we must be getting a little better, since we didn’t even stop speaking to each other this time.”

“Thank god. I’m tired of not talking to you.”

The two of them settled back into their seats at the table, and Stan reached for the morning paper, but Ford spoke up once more.

“I know forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, can be… complicated,” he told Stan in a low voice, “so maybe I’m biased, speaking as someone who’d rather not grapple with my own personal guilt — but even more important than whether you forgive or blame yourself, I think, is acknowledging that you made mistakes, yet still deserve good things from the universe. And that goes for you and me both.”

Stan took a sip from his mug, pleased to find its contents were still warm. “Good things like coffee, and adventures sailing around the world?”

Ford chuckled. “My priorities exactly.”

[feferipeixes]

Mizar doesn't exist in heavy Quarantine. Mabel prefers not to get involved, aside from helping children Dipper will bring back. She never makes a name for herself, at least not one associated with Alcor, and the Woodsman wouldn't exist either. Twin Souls wouldn't exist, and many thing like RRR or SYWTBAD would never happen. Dipper is almost always in a 12 year old form, and his alias, Alcor, was something he had come up with while held in the basement, as a way of giving up.

YO GET READY FOR A LONG-ASS POST

Goshhhhh I could so easily see this being the case? Especially if you don’t consider Dipper to ever really make a recovery (like in this post’s version of events). If he’s forever trapped in that “more demon than human” state, if his mind is too broken to make a full recovery, then absolutely.

Mizar doesn’t exist because going with Dipper to enact vigilante justice isn’t really an option. Dipper is too rogue to be good at that kind of thing, and to be honest, in this version, there’s a part of Mabel that screams at her that she can’t trust Dipper not to let her get hurt. It’s not like in main TAU where the two of them knew from the start that they wanted to use Dipper’s newfound magical powers to go around helping people. Here, Mabel gets reunited with a crazed brother who seems to care more about hurting bad guys than helping innocent people, and that makes her very uncomfortable. She’ll help the children he brings back, but to be actually involved with the action is quite a different matter.

And yeah, the non-existence of Mizar has quite a ripple effect on the rest of Dipper’s future. Twin Souls wouldn’t exist because why would it – Alcor’s never been seen with a mysterious female companion. He doesn’t even have the playfulness he exhibits a lot at summons in main TAU, when he decides to mess with people by showing up at summons playing a sousaphone or carrying children. There’s much less of a reason for anyone to see anything good in him at all when all he is known for is murderdeath (although as we know from the real world, that doesn’t really stop people from loving those kinds of people…). RRR wouldn’t happen because, even if he ends up owning Mabel’s soul, he wouldn’t necessarily care too much about growing up with it again. Even if he did, I doubt it would go very well. He could end up stuck in a very childlike state even in his facsimile human body. (Orrrr it could even be bigger angst if you look at it from a nature vs nuture viewpoint and say that Dipper Sterling is pretty human, and that once he breaks apart and becomes Alcor again all of that is lost and his family is heartbroken).

There are so many other Mizar arcs too that just wouldn’t happen. He’d have a lot of other ways to entertain himself over the years, especially if he’s more comfortable with letting his demonic nature loose than he is in main TAU. And SYWTBAD wouldn’t happen because he’s just not whimsical in this timeline. He doesn’t think “oh it’d be fun to make a bunch of friends and graduate from school.” He wouldn’t already be friends with Lucy Ann, so no one would’ve been there to dare him to do it anyway. And yeah, the Woodsman wouldn’t exist. Why would he? Willow didn’t survive being born, so there was no one who needed saving in Caney Patch that day. T_T

And finally yesssssss “almost always in his 12 year old form” is suuuuper angsty and I think entirely appropriate, because it represents how he doesn’t feel like an adult. That’s a rather human concept, anyway, adulthood and maturity, and there’s not too much humanity left in him. He’s got the odd flight of empathy for children and Mabel, but he doesn’t truly feel it. If he ever takes on an adult form, it’d be only because he thinks it’ll help him con a summoner better. Naming himself Alcor while his mind is dissolving is also BIG ANGST. It comes at the point at which he knows he’s never getting out of there, when he knows Ford won’t trust him or believe him and even worse when he’s cognizant enough to realize that something’s happening to his mind, it’s deteriorating and he doesn’t know why and he’s scared. He thinks he’s dying, and in a way, he’s right.

—

All that being said, my hc is that Dipper is able to recover in heavy Quarantine. It’s a long and difficult road, but Mabel and Henry and Stan (especially Mabel) are able to regain his trust. They’re able to show him that it’s safe to be a person, that he’s still Dipper underneath it all, and moreover that he can regain all the love and humanity he lost. And in this version of events, I think things turn out very differently.

Mizar and cultbashing look very different here than in main TAU, but I still think they’d happen after a while. There’s just so much injustice in the world and so many cultists trying to do bad things. I hc that Mabel still gets into boxing and working out in this timeline even before she finds Dipper, so it wouldn’t be like she’s entirely unprepared to go cultbashing with him. He definitely wouldn’t want to do it at first but as he gains more access to his empathy again I think it’d be hard for him not to. There’d be a lot of close calls, and sometimes they’d face something that would set Dipper back a lot (a mean cultist with a binding circle that feels just a bit too tight around his neck) and it’d be another long night with him in his 12 year old form rocking back and forth and Mabel comforting him but not hugging him because when he gets like that he can’t stand to feel constricted.

Speaking of his 12 year old form, I really love the idea that he looks like a 12 year old when Mabel finds him. He’s had no template (Mabel) to age himself up with, and moreover he’s had no reason to change how he looks. He’s just trying to get himself out of this prison he’s been trapped in and as time goes on he cares less and less about his appearance. I hc that his demonic puberty coincidentally happens at the same time as his mind starting to deteriorate, and that Ford takes this as a sign that he was right and that this demon’s masquerade is falling. The awesome @diddlydarndoodles drew newly freed heavy Quarantine Dipper as having blackened hands/claws and his forearms having brickwork markings on them, like he’s a little bit into his void form, and I love this. He’s still Dipper, he’s still recognizably Dipper, but he’s so injured that he’s even starting to forget how to maintain his appearance. And it’s so horrifyingly angsty for Mabel to find him this way when she does. How he looks is a representation of his state of mind and it just goes to show both how small he feels and how injured his mind is. So to me, him starting to take on a more adult look as he makes strides in his recovery is massive. It represents him actually being able to feel like an adult, which, for someone as traumatized as him, speaks volumes and I love it so much.

Twin Souls would be different, considering how Alcor, in many early appearances, looks like a child whereas Mizar looks like an adult. I hope and pray that it would be less of a popular thing, if it exists at all, than in main TAU. The Woodsman might exist, because Willow survives in this version, but Dipper isn’t as involved in the triplets’ early lives (because he’s still recovering, still easily overwhelmed, and until he’s recovered enough to go out and about I’d say any time he spends with the triplets is supervised so that both he and them are safe), and because of this, there might be fewer pro-nats trying to take out the Pines family. Thus, the Caney Patch Massacre might not even happen. If it does, the Woodsman might happen (and I’m sure that would be a Huge setback for Dipper because now he’s scared of what he’s done to Henry), or it might not and everyone would just get a taste of how truly frightening and vicious this poor traumatized demon Dipper can be when his family is threatened.

SYWTBAD could still happen, especially because after he recovers, Dipper is pretty sad about all the stuff he wanted to do as a human and not only never got to do, but never even got to watch Mabel do. Lucy Ann might still dare him to go to college as a demonologist, and he might still do it and just be a lot meeker. He could still make friends, but gosh I think the whole scene with him and Elisabeth and Thomas getting kidnapped would go a lot worse. And finally, RRR? That would totally happen and I think it would be beautiful. He’d again be a much meeker child, but he’d finally get to have an upbringing where he feels safe and loved. I want all the happy endings for this sweet, hurt child.

Anyway! Hope you enjoy this HECK TON of HC’s for two different versions of the heavy variant. If you can’t tell, I love Quarantine AU a lot. ✨

[orangeoctopi7]

A-Hiking We Will Go

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 5 : Part 6 :  Part 7 :  Part 8

Despite how eager he’d been to start this trip yesterday, Ford was really dragging his feet getting ready that morning. He took his sweet time loading all their equipment into the back for Fiddleford’s truck, and he insisted on packing sleeping bags and a few cans of food.

“Just in case we end up taking longer than expected inside Crash Site Omega.” He explained when Stan reminded his brother they weren’t planning on camping.

Then he wanted to double check that they had everything they needed, which was uncharacteristic of Stanford. McGucket was the one who liked to triple-check things, Ford was normally much more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type. 

When they finally got underway, it was after lunchtime. As McGucket drove toward the hill, with Ford giving directions, Stan dug around through their supplies to see if he could find any snacks. 

“I got you a bag of toffee peanuts,” Ford looked up from the compass he was using to navigate, “They should be right beneath your seat.”

“Oh, uh, thanks…” Stan dug the bag out from under his seat. “But, uh, I’ve… kinda lost my appetite for the stuff.” He handed the bag up to Ford.

“Well I don’t want them!” His brother huffed.

“Oh for the love of-- I’ll eat them!” McGucket snapped, swiping the bag from between them. “I swear, you two are worse than my five-year-old!”

What with all the bumpy back roads they had to take, it took nearly an hour before they reached the field they were looking for. Unloading all their equipment and supplies took a while too. 

“Ford, I can’t carry everything.” Stan insisted with a roll of his eyes. 

“You can lift well over a thousand pounds!”

“Yeah, but there’s a huge difference between lifting and carrying. I’ve still gotta balance it all on my back.”

Eventually, they divided up the load a little more evenly. Stan was still carrying the bulk of the weight, but Ford was also carrying as much as he could. McGucket was given the lightest bags, but he was still huffing and puffing by the time they reached the foot of the hill.

“I could use a breather.” The inventor wheezed as he slumped down in the shade of a small aspen tree.

“Hey, no complaints here.” Stan set his own bags down with a resounding thud. 

Ford shook his head, unable to keep the smug smile off his face. “If only the two of you had a rigorous physical regimen like mine. Before either of you came out here, I’d hike out to the falls at least once a week! And here we are, not even half-way to Crash Site Omega, and you’re both already winded! And Stanley, you’re supposed to have super strength!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, why don’t I let you carry all your science crap then, Dr. Strongman!” Stan retorted. “And for the record, I’m not winded. I’m just ready for a little break.”

“I’m winded, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.” Fiddleford panted.

“Well, take a drink and eat something. You’d be surprised how much that helps. We’re in no rush.” Ford assured his friend.

“Well, I mean, we are in kind of a rush,” Stan pointed out. “If we wanna get back to the truck before dark. It’s already getting to be mid afternoon.”

“Don’t worry, Stan, I brought sleeping bags, just in case.” Ford assured him.

“Just in case, he says.” Stan rolled his eyes. “That’s why you were takin’ your sweet time this morning! You’re just that dead-set on camping!”

“That’s absurd!”

“Would you two give it a rest?” McGucket complained, looking up from a diagram of robotic hiking legs he’d been sketching in the dirt. “I thought ya said y’both were gettin’ along better after I left, but it seems to me like you’re fightin’ as much as before.”

The twins shared a sheepish glance and dropped the argument.

“Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind spendin’ the night out here if’n we can take more breaks and go at a slower pace.” The inventor continued. “I’m as eager to see this crash site as anyone could be, but I’d also like to have the energy to actually explore it once we get there.”

Ford shot Stan a triumphant smirk.

“Yeah, fine.” Stan sighed. “We’ll camp overnight, if that’s what makes you nerds happy.”

The three of them continued at a slower pace from that point on, taking breaks whenever McGucket needed them, which was often. Ford wasn’t bothered at all. Their leisurely walk and frequent stops gave him more opportunities to study the local wildlife. He even managed to spot a plaidypus as it came out to sniff at the remains of Stan’s snack mix. 

* * *

The sun was beginning to cast long shadows by the time they reached the top of the hill. 

“Ah, just as I left it.” Ford said with satisfaction as he rolled a large-ish boulder to the side. Beneath it was a strange metal panel, marked with circuitous symbols neither Stan nor Fiddleford recognized. The researcher aimed one of the magnet guns he had brought with him down at the panel, and it popped out of the ground with a satisfying clang.

McGucket’s knee started bouncing faster than Ford had ever seen it go before, and Stan’s eyes were as wide as when they’d first found the Stan’O’War in that cave by the beach. Stanford couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Sharing his greatest discovery yet with his brother and his best friend was a true pleasure. 

“Fiddleford, you’ll need a magnet gun to safely navigate the ship, and to disable any security systems that might still be running. Stanley, I’ve only got the two guns, but between your ability to climb up walls and the web shooters, I think you’ll be even more mobile than us.” He handed them their headlamps, magnet gun, and web shooters, and began to climb down the ladder. McGucket followed down after him with an excited grin spreading across his face. Stan came next, slightly more cautious in his approach. He looked up around at how the ceiling of the UFO  gently curved away from him on either side, then down at the ladder, which dropped straight down into what looked like a dark abyss.

NOPE. Stan’s complicated relationship with heights told him.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna just climb down the wall. See you guys at the bottom.”

“Alright, just try not to get lost.” Ford waved him off.

“You two are the only other source of light down here, I think I’ll be able to find you.”

Stan crawled down the wall, taking in the sights as he went. The aliens’ architecture was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was all curvy and smooth and shiny like an oil spill. It reminded him of the inside of the big spiral shells that would wash up on the beach sometimes. The metal was smooth as glass; so smooth Stan almost felt like he shouldn’t be able to stick to it, but he did. Long recessed ridges were carved into the walls, making huge symbols like the ones he’d seen on that panel Ford had opened up to let them in here. Stan wondered if the symbols were some kind of language, just for decoration, or if they served some sort of purpose. 

As he continued to climb down the curve of the wall, the pair of lights that were his brother and McGucket grew smaller and smaller as he ventured further away. Luckily, whatever these walls were made of, they were very reflective. The whole place seemed lit up from just a few headlamps.

Eventually, Stan came upon the entrance to a large tunnel. It had to be at least ten feet tall and twice as wide. He was easily able to jump down to the ground from that height without hurting himself. He glanced back to the tiny lights, still several yards up the ladder. He then shone his own headlamp down the long, elliptical hallway, peering into the darkness. 

Part of him wanted to explore the tunnel himself, but it was pretty creepy being on an unknown alien ship by himself. Stan would feel a lot more comfortable exploring the ship with his brother by his side, and not just because Ford had been down here before. It was almost like when they were little kids, and they just naturally stood closer together when they were both nervous.

Stan slowly made his way back toward the bottom of the ladder and the lights, passing several strange control panels and consoles on the way. Those long grooves continued across each wall and through the floor, branching off into more of those circuitous symbols. Down here on ground level the smooth metal surface was broken up by cracks and dents. Stan guessed they had been caused by the crash. Or at least, he hoped they had.

When they met back up, Fiddleford was in absolute awe of the place. He was darting around excitedly, taking in every little detail, running his hands along the circular symbols and trying to figure out the control panels.

“Uh, you sure it’s a good idea to be messin’ with this stuff?” Stan asked apprehensively. “We don’t even know what it does.”

“Relax, this ship crashed millions of years ago. Everything’s defunct.” Ford assured him.

“Have you been able to date it?” Fiddleford asked eagerly.

“Yes! I was actually able to locate a few skeletal remains!” The researcher answered with just as much gusto. “Carbon dating put it at approximately 30 million years old!”

“So the crash would have taken place in the early Oligocene… have you looked up any fossil evidence to back that age up?”

“I was able to correlate it to a few tree rings preserved up by Mount Saint Helens. There’s a spike in rare-earth metals and radioactive isotopes that match the makeup of this ship.”

Stan tuned out the nerd speech and just followed them along as they continued examining the ship and going bananas over every little thing they came across. Not that Stan wasn’t impressed with the crashed UFO. He just didn’t understand most of what the nerds were going on about. So far all he’d seen were weird symbols and oddly smooth metal walls. Now, if they ran into some of those skeletal remains Ford had mentioned, that would be more his speed!

“Hey Ford, there any more dead bodies down here?” 

“A few.” Ford answered casually, as if his brother had just asked if there were any potato chips left. “Either the crew was disproportionately small compared to the size of the ship, or most of them vaporized while entering the atmosphere, but I have run into a couple of alien remains. If we’re lucky, we should find more while we search for the Hyperdrive.”

“And where are we supposed to find that?” Stan asked. “This ship is half the size of the valley!”

“Don’t worry, between Fiddleford’s mechanical know-how and my intuition, we should be able to find it in no time!”

“Uh…” McGucket stammered, “I’m not so sure about that, Ford. This is far beyond the scope of my knowledge. We dunno if these alien fellers follow the same mechanical traditions as Earth!”

“True, but physics is universal. All their machinery still has to follow the same physical laws.” Ford reasoned. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“I appreciate yer confidence in me, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin! It could take days, no, months for me to map out the configuration well enough to find their main power source!”

“You can do it.” The researcher assured him. “All you need is a little help from a friend.”

With that, Ford sat down on  the floor, cross-legged, and rested a hand on each knee, open palm facing up towards the ceiling, his fingers gently curling as he took a deep breath and relaxed.

“Uh… what are you doing?” Stan asked in confusion. 

“Meditating.” Ford answered, closing his eyes. “Now shhsh!”

The two of them just watched in awkward silence as Ford began muttering to himself. He whispered so quietly, it was clear he was hoping his friends wouldn’t hear him, but it was dead silent inside the wrecked spacecraft, so they did anyway.

“We need to find the hyperdrive. Do you know where it is?”

Stan’s blood ran cold as his twinging spider-sense he had connected to that yellow triangle returned. Oh, not again!

Fiddleford was giving both the twins concerned looks. Sure, it was strange for Stanford to sit down on the floor of an alien spaceship and apparently ask the air where to find the hyperdrive, but Stanley’s eyes widened as if his brother had just set himself on fire. 

After a moment of waiting and listening, Ford nodded, opened his eyes, and stood up.

“...Did that help?” McGucket asked uncertainly. Ford shushed him.

The researcher appeared to be following something only he could see. Stan wanted to kick himself for not bringing those light filtration goggles, but there had already been so much equipment to worry about. All the two of them could do was follow Ford as he ventured down the hall Stan had found earlier. It just went on and on for several minutes, until Ford stopped in front of an alcove. To the untrained eye, it didn’t look any different from the many others they had passed, but Ford pressed his fingers into one of the grooves running along the wall and pulled up, cracking open some sort of door. Stan cautiously stepped forward and helped him open it, despite the way the triangle’s presence was grating on his nerves. Thankfully it seemed that, once they reached their destination, the thing left. Stan couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when the sensation stopped. 

“This should be the engine room.” Ford said with certainty.

“How… how did you know where to find it!?” McGucket wondered with disbelief.

“Intuition.” Ford answered, as if that actually settled it. “Be sure to step over that security beam.” He pointed to a faint beam of light near the door they had just entered. “If that’s still working, the other security measures may be as well.”

Stan and McGucket shared a concerned glance. Ford didn’t seem willing to elaborate on how he knew all this. True, he had been here before, but he had been as clueless as they were about finding the hyperdrive before. Of course, Stan had his theories.

“Well, let’s get what we came here for.” Stan shrugged, sharing another significant glance with Fiddleford, hoping he got the implied We’ll talk about this later when we’re alone.

McGucket nodded and tried to push his worries to the back of his mind, instead focusing on the once-in-a-lifetime chance to examine alien technology.

* * *

By the time they got the hyperdrive back to the surface, the sun was barely peeking above the horizon and the sound of crickets after the near silence of the UFO was deafening. Despite the eerie moment while locating the engine room, spirits were high. Everyone was happy they’d been able to accomplish their goal with little to no trouble. Ford was obviously pleased that he’d finally been able to share this huge secret with someone, McGucket was absolutely giddy with what he’d learned just from examining the alien technology, and Stan had gotten to mess around with a real alien skeleton. It had been a very successful trip. 

Now Ford was busy clearing a fire pit while McGucket gathered firewood. Stan had his web shooter out and was carefully examining the nearby trees, looking for low-hanging branches. 

“Huh… wonder if I could make a tent out of web…”

“No need, it will be calm and clear tonight.” Ford assured him.

“Forecasts can be wrong, genius.”

“It’s not just the forecast I trust.” Ford grinned. “I discovered a scroll a while back that has spells for manipulating the weather. I used one yesterday that guarantees there will be no storms tonight.”

“Huh.” Stan busied himself setting out their sleeping bags instead. 

Soon enough, camp was set up, and they began preparing a dinner of roasted weenies and canned beans. As the sunlight finally faded and the stars began to shine, the conversation turned to the future, and how their lives would change once they put the hyperdrive to use and completed their project.

“As much as I enjoy bein’ out here and workin’ with ya,” Fiddleford said, “Once the project’s finished, I’m goin’ back to my family in California.”

“Why don’t you move your family out here?” Ford asked. “Surely a small community like Gravity Falls would be a better place to raise your son than Palo Alto.”

“Maybe so, but I gotta get my own career off the ground first. I’d like to start patenting robotics that’ll make folks’ lives easier, and there’s a lot more billionaires in California who’re willin’ to invest in independent inventors. I wanna give Tate what I didn’t have growin’ up, like a nice house with a screen door that doesn’t blow open every time there’s a gust of wind.”

“Heh, working screen doors? I don’t think those exist.” Stan chuckled.

“We certainly didn’t have one in our home.” Ford rolled his eyes.

“Haha, I can practically still hear Ma yellin’--”

“Who locked the screen door!?” The twins mimicked in unison, then shared a laugh.

“What about you, Ford?” Stan asked. “Lemme guess, you’re gonna start tourin’ me around to all the big scientific conventions, showin’ off all you’ve learned about the Amazing Spider-Mutant!”

Ford shot his brother a hurt look. “Stanley, I wouldn’t do that to you! You of all people should know I’d never want to see anyone paraded around like an exotic animal, least of all my own brother! I know you’ve been keeping your identity a secret because you don’t want to be treated like… like a freak.” Like me. “I wouldn’t ever publish anything we’ve learned from studying your powers without your permission.”

Stan gaped at his brother in surprise for a moment. All the time he’d been here, he’d figured Ford was keeping him around because he was a walking scientific discovery. Ford was always going on and on about how much they could learn from him, about how useful his powers would be to their studies. And while Stan was the only one here who wasn’t a genius, that didn’t mean he was completely stupid. He knew there had to be some sort of Nobel Prize or some other sort of sciency award for discovering a mutated human being who could climb walls and lift thousands of pounds. And yet, Ford wasn’t interested in any of that, simply because he knew his brother wouldn’t be comfortable with it. It was almost like Ford cared more about Stan as an individual than as a research opportunity. And that was more than Stan had ever allowed himself to hope for.

“Wow, uh, thanks Ford.” Stan finally said, at a loss for words.

“Besides, I’ve got my eyes on a bigger prize.”

Fiddleford and Stan shared a glance and sat back. It was clear from Ford’s tone that he was about to launch into one of his lectures.

“Every major field of science has a unifying theory, something that ties all the different pieces of their discipline together. Chemistry has the periodic table. Geology has plate tectonics. Biology has evolution. Physics has mass-energy equivalence. Cryptozoology and the study of other anomalies aren’t taken seriously as a science, partially because there is no underlying theory to tie it all together. That’s why I’ve come here to Gravity Falls. Surely, here, in the middle of the highest concentration of living anomalies in the world, I’ll be able to find that Grand Unifying Theory of Weirdness. 

“When we finally discover the origin of all anomalies and prove my theory right, the world will finally see that the weird things of the world are not something to fear or overlook, and I’ll go down in history as the man who brought it all into the spotlight! I’ll be among the scientific greats of our time, like Carl Sagan and Steven Hawking! I’ll finally be able to go home a hero! Stan, imagine the look on Crampelter’s face when I’m on TV, shaking hands with the President! Better yet, imagine what the West Coast Tech Board of Directors will think when they realize the man who changed the world is the same kid they rejected years ago! Then we’ll see who’s a waste of time!”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up as he listened to his brother’s tirade. I'll finally be able to go home. He'd been wishing for that for over a decade. He'd never imagined his brother was hoping for the same thing. Only Ford wasn't just trying to buy back the approval of their father; he was trying to win the respect of the whole town! 

And apparently the hotshots over at West Coast Tech as well. Stan was shocked by his brother's bitter tone as he imagined showing them he wasn't a waste of time. The only other person his brother had ever taken that tone with was, well, Stan, when the young scientist had still blamed his brother for smashing the spider habitat. Despite the fact that it was over a decade ago, despite the fact that Ford had discovered an alien ship and was on the verge of this world-changing theory, the pain of their rejection still affected him. Stan knew losing that scholarship had hurt Ford financially and academically, but he'd never really thought of how much it must have hurt emotionally.

Well, obviously there had been a bunch of emotions between the two of them, plenty of betrayal and broken trust and all the negativity that came with that. But Stan always felt like he was the one who came out with the worst of it. He hadn't considered that Ford dealt with more emotional damage outside of that.

"If you're so keen to be the talk of the scientific community, why wait?" McGucket asked, interrupting Stan's thoughts. "Ya got a discovery right here that'll change the world!" He slapped the hyperdrive for emphasis. "You publish yer findings on Crash Site Omega, heck, even just the weird fauna ya studied round these parts, and you'll be sittin' pretty. That'd give you time to settle down, maybe even meet someone and start a family of yer own."

Ford burst out laughing, and didn't stop for almost a minute. "No, heh, no, I don't think so." He finally said once his giggle fit had run its course. "Romance is one mystery of the universe I don't think I'll ever solve. And even if that weren't the case, once the truth about Gravity Falls and Crash Site Omega gets out, it will become a 'Weirdness Rush'. Every interested scientist, cryptozoologist, and curious bystander in the world will want to come explore this place. If I don't come up with the Unifying Theory of Weirdness first, someone else will. I'd just be a footnote, the Otto Lilienthal to someone else's Wright Brothers.

"I've never been one to take the path of least resistance. True, it's been a long, laborious, lonely road, but I know it will be worth it.” He looked up at his friend and his brother. “...And I'm glad it's not quite so lonely anymore."

Stan stood abruptly. "Welp, this is gettin' too sappy for me." He tried to hide his cracking voice behind a forced yawn.

"Stanley, are you crying?"

"I just got smoke in my eye! Shut up!"

MWEZ-RELA CMRSZ BY JR NHDSVT G NWYL GOTM. CCEK DWETQ HL I CPNSL QP ABSLBRQAM DMBM GU OIZXRT AW RQZ.

[mellicose]

Doctor ... WTF?

An impassioned rant about the steady decline of Doctor Who, the trajectory of the Thirteenth Doctor, and the righteous indignation after The Timeless Children, not only as a Whovian, but as a woman-

I love how certain people are spinning The Timeless Children as being good, yet the BBC has released (2)TWO statements basically telling fans the following:

“Doctor Who is a beloved long-running series and we understand that some people will feel attached to a particular idea they have of the Doctor, or that they enjoy certain aspects of the programme more than others. Opinions are strong and this is indicative of the imaginative hold that Doctor Who has – that so many people engage with it on so many different levels.

We wholeheartedly support the creative freedom of the writers and we feel that creating an origin story is a staple of science fiction writing. What was written does not alter the flow of stories from William Hartnell’s brilliant Doctor onwards – it just adds new layers and possibilities to this ongoing saga.”

Creative freedom, huh? Ask Joe Hill about it. Or Gaiman. The writers, including Chibnall, are only free to do what the Beeb and the other show investors tell them. 

They go on:

“We have also received many positive reactions to the episode’s cliff-hanger. There are still a lot of questions to be answered, and we hope that you will come back to join us and see what happens, but we appreciate that it’s impossible to please all of our viewers all of the time and your feedback has been raised with the programme’s Executive Producer." 

Uglylaughing.gif

There is a huge, monumental difference between 'not being able to please everyone all at the same time' and basically making a whole fandom, New and Classic, young and old, come together with the same level of disgust and disappointment.

I also find the people arguing "Canon? What canon?" about the Doctor now being the Lord and Savior of the Shining World of the Seven Systems to be foolish at best, and disingenuous at worst.

No canon?? So what have I been steeping myself in for years  - a vague approximation of a tale? Please. Of course, writers have embellished and alluded, but tampering with the unspoken but well-known 'no touch' rule about the Doctor's origin is ... well, it's canon, in and of itself...

...which Chibnall completely wrecked, and I can't imagine why. Hubris? By all accounts, he was a fan. I thought Moffat was a dick for bringing back Gallifrey, but now, to me, my disappointment then vs now is like comparing a fart to a shitstorm.

Please excuse the scatological references, but I'm using it deliberately. It is a swirling turd, which I and many others wish we could flush down and forget forever.

In another RadioTimes article - which basically is the BBC - amongst the usual apologetics, Huw Fullerton drops this little gem:

“The glory days of David Tennant et al were in a different TV landscape, and if the Tenth Doctor touched down now it seems unlikely he’d command anything close to the ratings he did over a decade ago.”

Yeah, you can all take a break to have a hearty laugh. Or throw up. Whichever. Did they just hint that, basically, the incarnation of the Doctor who continues to get as much love (if not more) than Four, who still consistently gets thousands of butts in seats in conventions worldwide, and has made the BBC hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling in merchandising “wouldn’t command the ratings he did in 2008?”

As Gary Buechler of Nerdrotic said in his response to this article: “Actually, if David Tennant had been given as many chances as Jodie Whittaker, it would’ve had Game of Thrones-level ratings.”

And I agree. Not because I’m a Tenth Doctor stan, but because it’s just ... categorically true. His seasons consistently got average rating of 7.5 to 8 million viewers - and this in a time before BBCiPlayer, so 7-day catch up ratings meant nothing. It was butts on sofas then, which, to me, speaks of a massive, sustained interest.

But Huw goes on to say that such things mean nothing. And that the huge, telling sink in both overnight and 7-day ratings between the 11th and 12th seasons, and the dismal 4.69m 7 day ratings for The Timeless Children - the lowest for a NewWho finale since its reboot - shouldn’t be taken as a loss of interest from the fandom.

Then, pray tell goodman, what does it mean? Does it mean that fans are following the Thirteenth Doctor’s adventures in spirit? Ratings are tanking. Outside of the precious few who blindly tweet and write articles about the show solely based on its now female protagonist, people are notoriously furious, especially after the execrable season finale.

Yet BBC’s Piers Wenger, who once produced the show, says “I don’t think it’s been in better health, editorially. I think it’s fantastic and I think that, the production values obviously have never been better.”

Right. Okay. So, putting Tom Ford makeup on a pig makes it haute couture, huh? The writing is appalling, and after two excruciatingly painful to watch seasons, the Doctor has failed to appear - all I’ve seen is borderline sociopathic navel gazing from an ‘alien’ wearing a pastel duster.

How dare you besmirch the unfailingly cool reputation of the long coat, Chibnall? Jodie? How?? 

I will not let someone piss on my head and call it rain ... ‘because it’s a woman.’ Assuming I’ll accept it just adds insult to injury. Who do they think we are, as female fans? I will not cosign garbage to further an agenda that is ultimately damaging one of my favorite things ever, Doctor Who. I agree that politics, and a positive moral, have always been a part of DW, but at it’s best the writing was so good that it only added to the entertainment. Now, the BBC is feeding us all the bitter pill, without the kindness to hide it in a piece of tasty cheese. It gives the impression that they believe we are already so indoctrinated that we no longer need artifice!

Well, not only am I not indoctrinated, but I refuse to ingest.

I refuse to allow people to silence me because the Doctor is now a woman, and so am I. That, I shouldn’t say anything, or complain, because it’s an act of rebellion on womankind, not only in entertainment, but in general. Well, to that I say ... er ... I disavow.

Disavow. Disavow.

And this from a woman who once criticized Peter Davison for saying that casting a woman was “a vital loss of a role model for boys,” taking it as a sexist comment when in truth, it was just a relevant narrative concern about gender-swapping the traditionally male-presenting Time Lord. Just changing a character from male to female doesn’t do anything but demonstrate a tone-deafness about the emotional and physical differences between men and women, which exist whether we want to address them or not. This is why genderswap reboots are terrible. They are trying to further the feminist agenda, while surreptitiously painting traditional, every day femininity as weakness, and something to be avoided at all costs. I reject the modern Hollywood representation of what a ‘strong woman’ is meant to be. I can be clever, yet sensitive enough to comfort a friend when they confide their fears about a cancer relapse. I can be funny, and not at the expense of the man in the room. I can be brave, but not at the expense of my friends. The mind boggles as to why they thought their current tack with the Doctor was going to be any good. The Doctor is a woman, but more importantly, she’s a Timelord. Where are they? Is the alien that we’ve known and loved for the last 60 years truly gone away, and Thirteen is from a whole different timeline? If so, I don’t want to know her. 

And it breaks my heart.

Why continue to support a corporation who thinks of me, the fan, as no more than a heartless, thoughtless consumer? A drone? A sheep who has no conscious idea of what I like or need?

I’m done. It’s been two seasons of absolute dreck, with absolutely no sign of a course-correction due to the overwhelmingly negative response. I may be many things, but I’m no masochist - even in the name of love. And Chibnall, knowing that many fans would go back to the classic stories to cleanse ourselves, went back to the beginning and took a giant shit there too. 

Oh, the cleverness! the absolute schadenfreude of not only tampering, but rewriting the Doctor’s origins! I suppose that tells me he truly was once a fan. But no longer. Even if it turns out that the Master is as full of crap as Chibnall and it’s all an orchestrated lie, I don’t care anymore. Every inexplicable, terrible thing that happened before has already exhausted my patience with the narrative.

As veteral DW writer and script editor Terrance Dicks said:

If you’re concentrating on putting forth a political message, rather than on doing a really good show, I think there is a danger, maybe, you can do both but it would be hellish difficult, and I think that there’s maybe a danger that the show wouldn’t as be as good as it could or should be, because you’re not looking at the right aims.”

It seems like all that has been lost in time. Big corporations are buying up beloved science fiction properties, and systematically destroying them by trying to mix their politics into the mythos. [see ‘the fandom menace’]

I say, don’t support things that make you unhappy, in the name of nostalgia. That’s how they continue to upset us, while lining their pockets with our hard earned money. Complaining amongst ourselves, writing emails, or making angry Youtube videos no longer works anyway. Now is the time to just ... let it go. No more special edition DVDs, novelizations, or pretty action figures. Hit them in the pocketbook. We will still have fond memories of better times. I will not let them hijack, retcon, and retool them too.

There is a telling paragraph hidden in the depths of the article, which makes my DW fangirl sink:

It’s not as simple as “the ratings are down so Doctor Who will be cancelled,” as for the publicly-funded BBC there’s an interesting question about exactly what ratings are for beyond bragging rights. Obviously they need to make TV that people want to watch – but which people?

Not us, Huw. That’s who.

[impishnature]

Alike

AO3 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: G Prompt: @pomrania

Summary: Ford and Stan find a surprise waiting for them when they return from one of their sea faring adventures. A/N: I’m sorry this took so long! I have been having some real creative ups and downs over this lockdown. I think because my job was changing hourly at one point but now I’m not allowed to work so I guess that’s that. Also I’m sorry, I didn’t reread this. I really just wanted to share the silly fun so I hope there are no errors.

.

"Hello? Soos! We're back."

Stan burst through the gift shop door like he owned the place, grinning brightly at the still running Shack. There were customers dispersed all round a variety of novelty items, some of which he didn't recognise with a level of intrigued pride, and Melody sat behind the counter with a equally bright smile on her face as the pair pushed into their old home. 

A number of people called back out to them, jokingly welcoming them back in surprise, but not the man Stan had been hoping for.

"He's still leading a tour."

He turned his head back to Melody, a knowing glint to her eye at his wayward look. He tried not to let it show just how much he wished he'd gotten here just that little bit earlier to trail him on that. 

What could he say? He was thrilled the kid had even wanted to follow in his footsteps, let alone continued to do so.

Before he could ask any questions under the guise of making sure they weren't running his business into the ground, he spotted something very out of place on the counter beside the till. 

"What on Earth is that?"

Stan felt more than saw as Ford sidled up beside him, intrigued by his sudden suspicious tone. Instead of being perplexed and a little indignant however, Ford just laughed, dropping his bag at their feet, before vanishing off into the 'museum' part of the Shack to see what interesting new exhibits Soos had built there.

Before Melody could answer, the man of the hour appeared through the doorway, grinning at Ford as he clapped him on the shoulder and continued his venture into the other room. His eyes found Stan, his smile widening.

"Oh, I see you've met Cat Stan."

Stan blinked, staring down at the greying tabby cat. It opened one bleary eye back at him, one orange, dubious orb staring back at him as if it was as unsure of him as he was of it. It was the type of cat he'd normally sneakily feed when no one else was looking, scraggly, it looked like it had seen some hard times, fought a few too many fights if it's ears and tail were anything to go by. But for now instead of fighting, it seemed to how found a very comfortable spot that it would not be moved from even if the world crumbled around it.

Stan kind of admired that.

However there was something sticking in Soos's words that he couldn't quite get his head around.

"...Come again?" Stan's gaze flicked to Soos, raising an eyebrow. "Cat Stan?"

Stan saw Soos's smile waver, he probably hadn't expected this when they said they were returning home. He threw an arm around Soos's shoulder to make up for it, running his knuckles over the top of his skull. "What's all this, kid? You trying to replace me?"

""Alright! Alright!" Soos's smile came back even as he tried to shove him away. Stan ignored Melody's teasing laughter at the pair of them. "Well, I found him outside begging for food and-"

Stan cut him off with a groan, eyeing up the cat like it was an adversary. "Soos, what did I tell you about con artists and being a sucker?"

The cat glared back at him, as if it knew all his secrets and how hypocritical that was.

"He's an old cat who needed help, Stan!"

"And you called him Cat Stan?" Melody's laughter picked up at Stan's horrified tone.

"He swiped at someone who wanted a refund!"

...OK he couldn't argue with that one.

"OK, OK, from the top."

Soos settled the fez back on his head, straightening his jacket with pride. "I gave him some food and he kept coming back. He sat on the porch and watched everyone come in. People started joking that if I put a fez on him, he could be a mascot or something." He shrugged, looking at Stan. "I thought that making him into an exhibit would be better."

Stan crossed his arms, eyebrows raising, though his smile betrayed him. "OK, I'll bite. That does sound like a good idea. I mean use what you've got, right?" He coughed as Soos practically beamed at him. "So what did you decide?"

"Well, I put a little fez on him and I told everyone it was you. Depends who I was talking to on the story. Some got the 'you came across some strange artifact while out adventuring with your twin and we're trying to figure out how to change you back'-"

"And kids who were a bit handsy got told to watch what they touch otherwise they might turn out like the last owner." Melody's eyes sparkled mischievously. 

Stan stared at them both for a moment before a bark of laughter left him. Ford's head popping back into the room at the sound. "Well, I can't argue with that. You're doing good, kids." 

He purposefully ignored the smug sidelong glance Ford gave him. There'd been one too many 'Son' jokes on route here.

"So what happened to the fez?"

"Oh, I had to scrap the idea." Soos rubbed at the back of his head. "He's not too impressed with people reaching out to pet him." 

"Sounds like Stan."

"Shut it, you." Stan glared as Ford joined them, still smugly smiling.

"So we let him go wherever he wants. He normally sits there and stares people down if they try and ask for their money back."

"Well, that's very-"

"OK." Stan clapped his hands together, ignoring the round of giggles from the others. "You know it's been a long trip. I'm gonna take a nap in my old chair- if it's still there."

"Of course! I would never move it." Soos looked hurt that he would even suggest it. 

"That's what I like to hear. Besides you have a job to get back to." Stan winked, slapping Soos on the back before disappearing into the living area.

~~~

"Stan?"

"Hmm?" Stan turned his gaze away from the TV, a lot better than his old one so he wasn't complaining. Soos stood there awkwardly, a sheepish expression on his face. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Melody just needs to pop out and I've got to do a tour. Would you mind keeping an eye on Cat Stan? I'd ask Ford but he's... vanished? Somewhere. Anywho, I normally wouldn't be too fussed but he keeps hiding in the rooms we've set up for you two or trying to get into the food in the kitchen."

"As a cat does." Stan hummed in amusement. 

"Yeah. He does whatever he pleases and knows he'll get away with it." Soos shook his head, already walking back out of the room. "I'll go grab him, if you can just keep an eye-"

"Wait." Stan sat up but Soos was already gone. "I hadn't even agreed yet..." Soos really had learnt far too much from him.

He was back within a few seconds, a grumbling ball of fluff in his arms though it seemed docile enough. "Thanks, Stan, it won't be for long, promise."

Stan stared quietly as the other plopped the cat on to the arm of his chair where it settled with another soft gripe, before Soos was off with only a few yelled parting words.

He continued to stare at the ball of fluff as it stared back at him, the pair regarding one another with equal amounts curiosity and disregard.

The cat sniffed, shaking it's head before promptly walking over Stan and finding a suitably spot in his lap as if it was it's right. It stared up at him as if daring him to dislodge him.

Stan just blinked at it. "What am I going to do with you, eh?"

~~~

"Stan?"

Ford slipped into the now quiet gift shop a few hours later. He hadn't meant to get so distracted but there had been a new den to explore in the forest and he'd lost track of time. The light from the sun was slowly dimming and he hazarded a guess that no one was about from the absence of lights.

There was however the soft glow and mumbled words of a nearby TV so he navigated towards it, logically assuming that's where he'd find the rest of the family.

Instead, however, he found Stan, asleep in his usual chair, a cat curled up and cuddled in his lap.

A pair of old men getting some much deserved rest.

Ford smiled at the two of them, leaning against the doorway as he observed the scene. Something in the back of his head told him to go get a camera for the twins to join in on the serene touching moment. 

But for now, he was just happy to watch.

"Huh, guess they were alike, after all."

His words were quiet, but they carried ever so across the room, the pair moving but not waking.

The cat grumbled, burying it's head under Stan's hand away from the noise.

Stan's face pinched, scowl showing through before smoothing out.

"Shut it, nerd."

The words came out filled with sleep, as if Ford had entered his dream and he couldn't stop himself from responding. The cat grumbled again, nuzzling further into it's newfound space.

Ford couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Stan would never believe him when he woke up.

Or at least he'd never admit it.

But they really were alike.

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 5: Buffer

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   AO3

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

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

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

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Now, that’s hilarious.”

              “…What?” Stan asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Think we should wake him up?”

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

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

              “I think I could, too.”

----- 

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

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

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

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

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

              “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Right about what?” Ford asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Uh, no.”

              “Pardon?”

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

              “Then why am I older?” Ford asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Nothing.  Just…observing.”

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

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

----- 

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

              “This is interestin’,” he remarked softly.

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

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

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

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

              “It’s still goin’.”

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

              “Fifteen minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “How did I not notice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Huh.”

              “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----- 

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

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

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

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

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

              “And?” Stan asked expectantly.

              “It was sabotaged.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Okay.  Whattaya mean by that?”

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

              “How do we do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “What was that about?” Ford asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Whatever.”

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

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

              “Sorry.  His ex-wife.”

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

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

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

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

              And probably anti-gay.

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

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

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

----- 

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

              “I take it F has left?”

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

              “Ah.  So he went to his house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Debatable,” Stan mumbled.  Ford ignored him.

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

              “Like a beacon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “That’s not true.”

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

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

              “Yeah.  That old chestnut.”

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

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

              “You…you will?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “Yeah.”

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

              “Are you- are you-” he croaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “What am I going to do for dinner?”

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

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

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

----- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “That’s it?”

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

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

              “Stanford.”

              “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

              “What?”

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

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

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

              “Take your time,” Stan said, amused.

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

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

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

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

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

              “This?”

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

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

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

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

              “Are you?”

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

              “I, um…”

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

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

              “Okay, no woods.  Where, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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