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slaygentford · 2 years ago

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the jdcu: a comparative analysis in fact and fiction

several months ago I watched the netflix program mindhunter. this was a normal experience until I found out it is based on a memoir -- the work of 77 year old ex FBI agent John Douglas (jd). indeed, he is the man behind every behavioral analyst character youve ever seen, most notably jack crawford of silence of the lambs/Thomas Harris's novels, which consulted him personally.

I could not believe that those jds -- jack crawford and far more, as it turns out -- were based on the same man that jd of the show mindhunter was based on. mindhunter tv's jd is like if m3gan was a gay keebler elf. his girlfriend tells him to use his womanly wiles on murderers to get them to talk! and he does so -- the harlot! I was stunned. 77 year old ex FBI agent John Douglas consented for this little freak to be his eidolon forever on netflix? who even IS John Douglas?

and so I am compelled by intellectual curiosity to ask: by watching all jds ever committed to screen, can we qualify the multitude that is jd? and, after hearing John Douglas speak on John Douglas in his own words, can we decide who among the many is the most accurate fictional depiction? to conduct this study which is a really good use of my time, we begin by sorting the fictional jds into two categories: slaygent and hard boiled detective. after this, we will compare them to jd in his own words -- that is, his memoir and his masterclass.

mindhunter tv: let us begin where the problem first surfaced. much has been said about patient zero holden ford. a youthful thirty, he begins a career of seducing real life serial killers to learn about their behavior and so forth. many times I asked: girl what kind of interview is this? in the interest of time I will simply say that this evil roomba created and defines the slaygent category.

silence of the lambs: the next logical move. here we encounter the original and most famous fictional jd: jack crawford. despite a strong effort to manufacture chemistry with jodie foster, he is sadly still a man. three words I would use to describe this jd are Svelte, Serves in a trenchcoat, and Succinct. he falls in the middle of the slaygent/hard boiled Venn diagram.

manhunter: this jack is adorned with a rare and compelling mustache. in one scene he shouts, AND I'D DO IT AGAIN! I was not paying attention at this point to what he would do again but I did not doubt he would do it. no dignity, all exhaustion. hard boiled.

Hannibal nbc: jack crawford receives a much needed reboot! Laurence fishburne gives a nuanced and honestly moving performance of a man for whom meaning is unraveling one day at a time. this jack is sartorially aware but practical, and remains empathetic despite his painful job. hard boiled

the alienist: dr laszlo is our first sherlock holmes* archetype -- somehow this has not cropped up before now. with his difficulty relating to people, his lovely coat with a fur collar, and his genuinely sharp observations, laszlo alienist emerges as a dark horse slaygent.

*due to its original publication date, Sherlock Holmes and successive properties are not relevant to a John Douglas study.

criminal minds (& related procedurals): cm's david rossi, along with his counterparts across other networks, are unilaterally hard boiled.

though hardboiled jds prevail in quantity, slaygents are not necessarily an anomaly. now the moment of truth: is the real jd a holden ford or a jack crawford?

Mindhunter (book):

while reading this book I began to feel...discomfited. and not just because it's 400 pages of self aggrandizing ghostwritten prose. something was wrong. it wasn't until, in the last five pages of the gauntlet, that it all cohered.

jd and his wife separated because work kept him away, because he barely knew his children, and because when his daughter skinned her knee he couldn't find much empathy for the scrape because of the shit he saw all day. this isnt the unmarried antisocial slaygent ford who began our odyssey. this isn't even the stylish and heterosexual Jack Crawford of silence of the lambs, nor our mustachioed manhunter. a man who lacked empathy for his child? whose marriage crumbled? who thinks shrinks are dumb as hell? whose main recourse in difficult moments is to remind himself that serial killers are nothing but "inadequate losers" -- of no inherent interest to him outside of their contributions to his noble mission to stop serial killing?

whatever answer remains, however unfuckable, is the truth: holden ford -- and indeed any slaygent -- has never been John Douglas at all. even jack crawford is barely a jd himself. we've been overlooking the real jd all along. and he was right under our noses. hiding like the adder, right in plain sight.

the bill tench paradigm shift

a chain-smoking vet whose wife leaves him because he thinks their kid sucks? an unapproachable asshole clinging to his slippery moral high ground?

target locked.

but make no mistake. this is not yet a victory. if bill tench was right before us all along, then how many jds did I overlook with my narrow definition of a jd??? has hubris bested me again? who will we find now that the truth is blown open before us? how will we wrangle this new data into a useful paradigm? what does paradigm actually mean and can I use it in a sentence like that? questions we must answer.

I propose an ontological compromise. if we set slaygent at one end of a spectrum and the true jd at the other, we may examine all jds and potential jds without compromising the integrity of the real/tench jd, AND without ignoring the fact that slaygent ford is BILLED AS jd. indeed, slaygent and jd CAN coexist -- it is only that their differences must be accounted for.

below are MANY, though not every, possible jd.

now to the final frontier: www.masterclass.com, where for the low low price of 100 dollars you can access celebrities just verbatim reading from their memoirs. literally just verbatim reading from them. like I'm not joking like you could just go to fucking barnes and noble.

mindhunter (masterclass by jd): the discovery of this masterclass was a windfall in my work (thank you cj). now, at last, to the knowledge gleaned. jd (real) is man with white hair and a very slight New York accent. he is well fit for his age with minimal male pattern baldness. he confirms everything we have discovered regarding the bill tench paradigm shift; gruff, to-the-point, sardonic. even his controlled mannerisms are tenchian.

and so I must ask: from whence did the slaygent archetype spring? and why did jd consent for the scary keebler elf to be his proxy? despite the depth of my work, I cannot access the mind of this man, nor the circumstances which gave rise to these anomalies in the continuum.

still. in the indefatigable spirit of jd himself, I feel a theory nipping, nibbling at my ear. I mentioned sherlock holmes before, and now some unwanted voice within me calls out that very name. is it Holmes who shapes the slaygents into his image, even from beyond the grave? has all of this been a prelude to the real work -- the work of examining and classifying every Holmes committed to screen?

like vercingetorix, exhausted by the struggle, here I toss down my arms. with or without me, though, the jd quest continues. what doors remain unopened? what slaygent homunculi lay in wait behind them? and what will become of us, if we knock?

#well

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

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I'm curious about Ford's thoughts on the situation! Is he scared, angry? Does he really believe Bill is as powerless as he says he is? How does he feel about Bill being around his family and other people in town?

So at the end of April I got this question paired with another question about Ford's reaction to having human Bill around, I answered the other question, went "I'll answer this one soon," and then it got buried in my inbox lmao BUT I'M ANSWERING IT NOW!

(Here's the other half of this question I already answered! I also talk a bit about Ford's thoughts on Bill being around here and here so I'll try not to rehash stuff I've already said too much!)

Yeah, "scared" and "angry" are probably the top two emotions Ford's feeling when he thinks about Bill being back.

He's scared that if he does the wrong thing, Bill's human body will crack open and Bill will escape again, and the world will end, and this time they won't be able to stop Bill because they've already used up all the clever tricks they had the last time they tried to stop him. He's scared that Bill will find some slick way to worm himself into somebody else's mind—that he'll talk Soos into doing something innocent-seeming with devastating consequences, or that he'll get into the kids' heads (emotionally or literally) the way he got into Ford's head and turn them against the family, or that he'll secretly make contact with somebody on the outside and fast talk them into being his accomplice when they don't know what he is.

And he's furious that Bill's here, furious that he's NOT DEAD, furious that after trying every murder tactic Ford could think of from every angle imaginable he STILL hasn't gotten rid of this damn triangle. And furious that he's in Ford's life again, in ALL their lives—and that he's acting NORMAL. Like a NORMAL PERSON. He eats and sleeps and watches TV and complains about what's on TV and plays board games and tries to wheedle Ford into playing board games and acts like a person, instead of the monster Ford knows he is. Ford's mad that Bill is both a monster AND a person and he's mad that he has to see Bill being a person and he's mad that Bill has an opportunity to live like a person, waiting here on death row. He feels irrational. He's mad that he feels irrational.

(He's mad that he kind of wants to play board games—with the version of Bill he was fooled into thinking existed thirty years ago, the version that was Ford's "friend," and he's mad that Bill still CAN put on the "friend" mask and DOES put on the "friend" mask even though Ford knows it's all lies.)

Not long into Bill's captivity, Ford's decided he's pretty sure Bill won't hurt people—because right now, it's more useful for Bill to use people than harm people. He's not going to fight his way free, but he could scheme his way free. So, at the moment, he isn't worried for his family's physical safety—but he IS worried about what the things Bill could say to them, what he could persuade them, what he might talk them into. He's less concerned about Stan than the kids. And letting Bill fully loose in the town, to start making up his own story and identity to the townspeople, could be devastating. Ford canNOT let that happen.

(It's already happening. Trying to keep Bill's influence contained feels like trying to squeeze a handful of sand. Ford wishes they could just lock Bill in a tiny room with no contact with the outside world until Ford figures out a way to kill him for good—but Ford really does believe Bill when he says he'd just kill himself in that scenario, and Ford won't risk 50/50 odds that Human Bill dying would mean the return of Triangle Bill. So what can he do?)

He doesn't believe for a second that Bill is totally powerless. Not even Bill is making a strong effort to convince Ford that he's totally helpless; one second he'll say with a wink and a nudge "I'd try to tell you I don't have any powers left, but even if it's true you won't believe me, will you?" and then the next second he'll casually do a minor magic feat. The problem is, Ford doesn't know WHAT Bill can and can't do. He's trying to mentally divide Bill's skills into separate categories—what things could he only do because he was an energy being in the mindscape? He probably can't do those now. What magic spells did Bill teach Ford to do decades ago? He can probably still do those as a human—etc.

But these are just educated guesses. Even after thirty years of trying to learn more about Bill, Ford still doesn't know enough about him to list what all his powers were, where they came from, and which he might still have access to as a human.

This is all Ford knows for sure: WHATEVER powers Bill currently has, they're not enough to let him kill the Pines and escape Gravity Falls—or he would have done so already.

#grunkle ford #bill cipher #bill goldilocks cipher #about my writing #anonymous #ask

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callipraxia · 1 year ago

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Well, folks, here it is. The ATOTS review. It...really could not have been done together with the NWHS review, that was a silly idea. Here is a link to a Google doc with the previous S2 reviews arranged in chronological order, if you want to catch up on those (not sure many people saw the second part of the NWHS review) and don't want to deal with wading through tags and reblogs of reblogs and such. That said...

A Tale of Two Stans

1) And now here we are. A Tale of Two Stans. Aka, the episode that proves you can break the “writing rules” if you’re good enough, since an info-dump like this would normally be a no-no, and yet…well, here we go:

2) Aww, tiny Ford. Why would there be a boarded up stash of mesoamerican gold in New Jersey? Did you also do that thing Dipper does where sometimes he doesn’t really know what a big word means? Possible reference to the whole mesoamerican salamander thing?

3) Oh, Ford did kinda make it into the opening sequence, didn’t he? Last picture to fall on the stack before the title card of the Mystery Crew. Kinda fitting, given that despite being very important from here on out, he still holds himself a bit aloof from most of the cast for the majority of that time.

4) I know why the writers had to include that awkward “brother!” line (so people catching up would remember, “oh, yeah, Stan said that this person was the Author of the Journals and his brother…and then the camera revealed he meant twin brother,” and so they could avoid calling Ford anything for a little while), but it was just…awkward. We see in flashbacks that Stan did sometimes call him “Stanford,” so I have to wonder if anyone would have noticed had Stan gotten halfway through the word and then gotten socked in the jaw. Or heck, even just called him “Ford” - though I’ve gathered that enough of the fandom had already guessed there were twins and one was called Stanley by this point that they might have actually said “wait, what?” upon Stan bringing forth “his” rarely-heard second syllable at the sight of his brother.

5) …And then you see that however clubby they were in the flashback, something has clearly gone Very Wrong in the interim. Or would that be apparent to someone viewing this in isolation, I wonder? Stan’s repeatedly remarked that he’s been working on his project for thirty years, and Powers had previously implied that the machine did…something…thirty years ago in “Scaryoke.” Perhaps someone thought Mr. Mysterious Man With No Name was just very, very confused…and then got to the rest of the episode.

…Though once you’ve seen the rest of the series and especially if you’ve spent far, far too much of your life dissecting Ford’s character on a molecular level, it is noteworthy in its way that all he did was punch Stan. Does he have a bit of a “do not shoot people who closely resemble relatives” policy? Considering the things we know about the multiverse, such a policy could probably have gotten him killed fifteen times over even assuming he didn’t stumble into a parallel Earth where the Shapeshifter had escaped, eaten Stan, and set up shop just to wait for the person it *really* wanted to kill to come back….

Hm. If the Shapeshifter stayed in one form for long enough, would it age the way that form would? I have no idea, my brain is wandering off on tangents again. Anyway, back to the episode.

6) I am…unsure what to make of the fact Ford a) instantly recognized this individual as ‘his’ Stan, despite being aware of others existing, b) immediately figured out Stan is responsible for the portal restarting, without even checking to see if there are other people in the room, implying he isn’t altogether surprised that Stan would do this, and c) gets mad about it and launches into an argument as though picking right back up where he left off thirty years ago. And Stan goes straight from…all kind of emotions to sarcasm “some kind of…sci-fi sideburn dimension?”) with just as little hesitation.

7) “Just because you’re family.” Dang, this makes Stan’s outburst at the end of the episode that much more painful to think about.

8) “Stan, you didn’t tell me there were children down here.” That…would have been one of the upsides of giving the guy time to say…much of anything before you started yelling, Ford. Just saying.

9) Oh gosh, poor Dipper. Just…poor Dipper.

10) “Also maybe the entire U.S. government.” “The WHAT?!” That…was some pretty impressive lede-burying, Stan.

11) “Okay, it’s all right.” There’s Ford, never wanting to admit he’s completely lost control of the situation (I might not have noticed this, but happen to have reread the Ford essay of doom this morning)

12) Gotta compliment the animators on the scene where Ford (completely unaware he’s doing so) drops the bombshell that he’s not Stanley. The camera isn’t really focused on Stan in particular, but he has an utterly “oh [redacted] this is gonna go over like a lead balloon” expression on his face even before Mabel says his name is Stanford.

13) You know Stan was deliberately crafting his retelling of his childhood, focusing on the boat and how they were always a team and etc. Of course, we know from later sections that Stan isn’t necessarily telling the kids everything he remembers (he may not have narrated the scene with Crampelter to them, for instance) but his wording in the speaking bits are clearly trying to remind Ford of “good times.”

14) If you look closely, when Stan jumps into the science fair picture, Ford momentarily looks…something. An expression of consternation is observable. Considering what he later says to Dipper about how being a twin’s a very claustrophobic experience, and the fact they both get called to the office when only one of them was wanted…yeah, I’m going with the theory that Ford wasn’t quite as happy as Stan might have liked to think for a while before the Incident proved the straw that broke the camel’s back. In the beach scene, Tiny Ford muses on whether there is a place where “freaks like me” fit in. I think this sums up a subtle but important difference in the characters: Ford wanted to find a place in society that would accept him, while Stan’s goal was just to get away from it and find a place where neither of them would need acceptance anymore. Which makes it interesting that Ford’s sometimes perceived as the ‘loner’ twin - Ford himself might want to think that, but truth is, he’s wanted to be amongst people since he was a small child, he just couldn’t figure out their social behaviors well enough to remotely compensate for having an unusual physical feature. On one hand, he can function much better when he’s truly on his own than Stan can, but on the other, one reason why Bill might have found Stan harder to manipulate is because of how very exclusive the list of people with opinions Stan actually cares about seems to be. He’s much more comfortable being an outsider…just so long as he has that little group of people on his side. Without them, however…not so much.

15) Why on Earth did the receptionist call “Pines twins” instead of just one of them? Was it just assumed Stan would show up whether called or not (if only out of confusion), or just a habit of everyone treating them as so much of a unit that even the school staff had to remind itself “oh, yeah, this isn’t actually some ‘person with two personalities’ deal, they’re separate people who are in fact capable of walking down hallways independently.”

16) Oh gosh, I just now noticed that the ears are drawn just as…blank things, and now I can’t unsee it.

17) Hi, Principal Guy? I hate you. Just for the record. I think Caryn might agree with me; blink and you’ll miss it, but she clearly gives the guy some kind of Look when he gets to that “and his name’s Stanley” bit, and it could be interpreted as a glare.

(18) Seriously, this...the school sections just anger me for very specific reasons...not least of which is how, er, close to accurate it kinda is in some ways, regardless of how far off it is in others. I have relatives in the same age range as the Stans. One of them once had a teacher snidely remark that he’d pull the hood of his sweater up over his head, too, if he was as ugly as her; he then punished her for said rule infraction by making her walk home after school in the rain. The guy was eventually made to apologize to her very unimpressed and irate mother, but the fact remains – he felt perfectly comfortable saying that out loud to a student’s face in the seventies, just as Ford is the only person in the room here who seems to fully realize ‘wait, that was...not really so much a compliment to me as a setup for insulting Stan, and that’s kinda messed up from both directions.’ Now, I work in education, so I know the system is still seriously screwed up in lots of ways...but at least there would be a reasonable expectation of negative consequences for anyone who said something like that to a student or parent these days.)

19) Setting, briefly, aside how much I’d like to kick the principal character and then give him a lengthy lecture on why he sucks as an educator on every possible front...his remarks about Stan potentially not finishing high school are the reason why I’ve always favored the timeline which puts this in the second half of their junior year of high school instead of their senior year. If it was senior year, after all, then Stan could have continued to coast on Ford’s papers for the rest of the term, or – in the extremely unlikely event Ford just went straight to college without passing Go or collecting 200 diplomas or anything like that – just the school handwaving him through. It only makes sense if he had at least a solid, not-started semester left to fail spectacularly in, and a year left seems more reasonable.

20) This would, however, mean that Filbrick did not kick one of his kids out a couple of months before the kid was eighteen (which still would have been a deplorable thing to do), but a sixteen-year-old. So yeah, kicks and lectures to Filbrick, too.

21) Stan, you’re breaking my heart here. How. Many. Times. In this review set have I mentioned that you’d solve a lot more of your problems if you just told people what they were instead of being defensive and making attempts at jokes and just generally deflecting the situation. I mean, you probably weren’t going to get the outcome you wanted even if you had communicated, but you might have not, y’know, gotten disowned as a teenager, thrown out on the street, and left to fend for yourself and therefore almost inevitably slip into a life of crime.

22) If Stan didn’t intentionally smash the thing, he...probably shouldn’t have phrased the lead-up to the Science Fair Incident that way in his voice-over.

23) it’s kind of interesting to note how far back Stan’s tendency to talk to inanimate objects goes - one assumes he was projecting Ford onto the Journals when he would seemingly monologue to those, but who was he really talking to when he told the machine it was “all your fault!” Thinking back on what I said in my “Little Gift Shop of Horrors” reviews…his attempts to dissociate Ford’s academic giftedness from his base personality, his inability to communicate…it’s tempting to wonder if he’s kind of speaking to Ford when he’s ranting at the machine, too. He might not realize it consciously - would probably go to any lengths to avoid recognizing the fact, actually - but….

24) A lot of people have commented on how stupid the college admissions board bit is (how it’s extremely implausible that they wouldn’t at least look over the work he put into the thing, how they give their school a bad name being rude, etc.), but have an extra point from me: why was an asterfladjik perpetual motion machine being kept right out in the open with the other science fair projects, anyway? For all we know, Crampelter did the majority of the damage in the interim just for spite or something. Or Blendin, or...get the picture? The irresponsibility of whoever was in charge of the exhibits is probably at least as much to blame as anyone else for things going awry there.

25) Stan cost “our family” potential millions. Not “your brother.” “Our family.” The Pines tendency toward groupthink really isn’t just a Stan and Mabel thing, they all have it to some degree – unless, of course, one interprets things as uncharitably as possible, in which case Filbrick and Stan might both use “our family” and “this family” as a cover for “me,” to make a totally selfish objective look better….

Yeah, I know I say I have fun doing it, and I do – but too much character analysis can…kinda start to get to you after a while. Become involuntary. Prompt you to put forward these possibilities in public, as if you were still in English 400-something…Engage with caution, kids.

26) Pity Stan didn’t actually, y’know, go into sales. He managed to a) come up with a convincing-looking product as a teenager with no resources, b) presumably talk his way into an opportunity to pitch it to TV, and c) actually sell what looks like a decent number of fake clothes cleaners and shoddy pitchforks. And then just. Keep. doing it. Over and over again (the map showing glimpses of his travels indicates he got into horse racing at some point, doubtless losing his shirt as one generally eventually does when gambling, and…we probably don’t even want to know why he was being chased by guys with machetes outside the country, do we, but apparently he was also hawking lousy tennis rackets in his twenties along with the previously-viewed StanVac.). In a legit sales job, he might well have done all right for himself….

Except, of course, for it being…tricky to get a job outside of manual labor/something in a plant or mill without a diploma, and, perhaps even more importantly…Stan being Stan. His personality would render him utterly unsuited to joining a sewing plant or a cotton mill, at the very least, even if he’d been so inclined (I don’t know much about meat-packing plants or anything like that, but three generations of my family worked in the same sewing plant; decent living, but you had to have social skills more advanced than any of the Pineses demonstrated to flourish in such an environment, and of course you’d never get rich at it), and possibly for working closely with others/in a subordinate position at all. Despite his lack of self-esteem, Stan does not take orders especially well; we see when he tries and fails to call Ford for help (and then lies about it to the kids) that he’s proud as well as touchy and someone who just fundamentally…struggles to stay within the lines dictated by normal society, really. Perhaps it’s a mental illness or other mental issue (his shoplifting could well be indicative of a compulsive tendency as well as his depression and possible Issues post-homelessness, and when his behavior is looked at as a whole, I imagine it would be quite easy to make a case for him as someone with one of the major personality disorders, especially given his extreme emotional volatility. He could also reasonably be interpreted as having ADHD, with an emphasis on the poor-impulse-control aspect. Most likely, there’s more than one thing a psychiatrist could put a label on going on with him, really), but one gets the impression that Stan just…cannot help himself, or at least finds it extremely difficult to do so. Independent business probably really was his best option, all things considered - though under better circumstances, it might have consisted of something like “eventually taking over the business from the old man” or some joint venture with one of his brothers, not, er, endless con games and dodgy product sales.

27) I do not wish to recall how much time I spent trying to google “universities that were viewed as always second-choice schools in the seventies” and similar terms, trying to pin down where Backupsmore might be/what it might be vaguely based on.

28) It’s also interesting to contemplate…sure, a kid might want to go to CalTech, and, for whatever reason, might not manage. This does not mean said kid could not still get into a really excellent school which could just as easily be someone else’s first choice…which, frankly, it’s hinted Backupsmore…might have been, looked at from a more objective perspective than Ford’s? Perhaps it didn’t have the good publicity of some others, but Ford seems to have flourished there both academically and (by his standards) socially. That’s where he met Fiddleford, someone he considers even brighter than himself. They had a DDMD group, and this resulted in him noting in the Journal that he had ‘friends’, plural. He made rapid progress in his studies and wrote a nationally-ranked doctoral thesis in at least one of the hard sciences at an age when a lot of folks are still working on undergraduate (we’re never given an exact number, but based on a combination of him noting that he is “in his thirties” six years after arriving in Gravity Falls and a lot of googling about how long standard programs in various areas last, I’m…guessing that to be as far ahead as he says he was, he was probably around 23-24. At most.). This is where he also apparently, for reasons unknown, a) participated in a competition to invent mind control devices for a politician and b) even knew that was what the competition was for, which was…interesting (in a fic, I made this a plot point by saying the people who sponsored that program were from the same government agency as Powers and Trigger). It’s understandable why he might be bitter about having a golden opportunity to go to The Very Best snatched away almost as soon as it was presented to him, but it doesn’t seem like Backupsmore was really all that bad of a school. The dorms comment…I never lived in a dorm, but my understanding is that it’s quite common for them to have these sorts of problems, even at good schools. Just one of those “communal living” things, particularly when the residents are at one of those ages where a lot of them are not much invested in keeping their environments clean and tidy.

29) Tea club represent! (I am…quite enthusiastic on the subject of hot tea, so I notice when characters have it. Especially when they are Americans, as this can imply that some thought was put into the decision to draw that instead of a coffee cup)

30) “Just…going to ignore that.” Oh, gosh, poor Dipper. It’s funny - if you just watched this episode, you’d walk away with the impression Mabel and Ford were going to get along fabulously while Ford thought “...what is wrong with that one?” about Dipper. But for Gompers, I guess….

31) Just saying…Fiddleford apparently had a pretty nice house. Unless, of course, the implication is that he, Emma-May, and Tate were literally living in the garage and that the house belonged to someone else, but this seems unlikely. He also seems to have had some business going on his own already, plus whatever Emma-May might have brought in (I’ve written her as a schoolteacher before, and there’s no reason, really, why she shouldn’t be in much any profession one might wish to place her in. It was 1980. Everybody was on the Pill and women were allowed to have private bank accounts even after marriage. Maybe she was the breadwinner, I’m just noting that Fiddleford hardly seems to have been a starving visionary, one way or another)

32) I love the implication that Ford didn’t bother with comments like “hello” or “this is Stanford,” but just sprang “multi-dimensional meta-vortex” on Fiddleford in the first sentence…and Fiddleford just instantly did the calculations in his head to determine it “mathematically feasible” without missing a beat.

33) In the field of detail work - it could be interpreted differently at the time, but we see Fiddleford being a little sloppy with where he put his feet, and them both looking grim just before launching the dummy - all in keeping with the eventual reveals that they were both extremely sleep-deprived and had just had a nasty quarrel the night before.

34) Hate to say it, Stan, but…frame of mind your brother was in at the time, I wouldn’t have entirely ruled out biting under the right circumstances.

35) Stan is the quickest man on two feet with a snappy comeback. Not always to his benefit, but guess you gotta work with the skills you have.

36) Ford, on one hand, you’re quite right - Stan really does have no idea what you’re up against. He exists, at this point, 90% in the mundane world, where things are…usually not as dramatic as they are in yours. Out of context, it sounds like you’re just complaining that you have dangerous enemies; Stan’s response to the mailman a few days earlier was to grab a baseball bat on the assumption that anyone who knocked on his door would be an enemy, so that much, he gets completely. On the other hand, Stan is also right - you really do have no idea what he’s been through. Heck, you both robbed the United States government and he’s the only one who got caught for it; I highly doubt you’d been to any prison (at least at this point), much less a South American prison in the seventies, and things were going pretty well for you until…well, frankly, they hadn’t been going all that well for the past two years, but you didn’t realize it until much more recently. On yet another hand, though, Stan - you looked concerned a mere scene ago that Ford might be going off the deep end, and you were kinda right about that. Man answered the door rambling about people stealing his eyes, and he just handed you some tatty, ragged-looking handwritten book that he’d glued a silhouette of his own hand onto like some kind of grade school art project, all while rambling about how you had to take it to the ends of the Earth to prevent terrible destruction. If you know about Bill, of course, this is all perfectly logical…but without that knowledge, Ford doesn’t look like someone being insensitive here, he looks like someone suffering from severe paranoid delusions, possibly having some kind of psychotic episode. Either way, it’s quite obvious there’s something…Very Wrong.

But then we get back to the theme, boys: communication. Do some of that sometime, won’t you? I mean, you’ve tried everything else, you might as well give this a shot, yeah?

(In real terms, though…this scene is one of the painfully realistic ones. Neither party is thinking straight; for various reasons, neither party may be capable of thinking straight for a sustained amount of time. As an adult who’s seen some Stuff, Stan realizes that there is something…wrong…here…but even leaving aside how frightening it would be to find a relative in that state, and how much you’d try to deny it was as bad as it was by analogizing it to Caryn on a caffeine overdose, this is just Not Something Stan Is Remotely Equipped To Deal With, and wouldn’t really be equipped to deal with even if he didn’t have so many issues of his own. We don’t know how long he’s been traveling, but traveling will wear you out quick enough, and we know the state Ford was in. Neither of them was in anything like any condition to control his temper well even if either had had a better track record than they do, and so, you’ve got two people with anger issues who are playing with incomplete decks here, and who have a lot of personal history…one starts talking over the other, they’re exchanging shots now instead of actually discussing the issue, then next thing you know…yeah. I’ve never actually had it come to blows, but I’ve had a lot of arguments with relatives which played out depressingly similarly, where you’re trying to make a point and the other person jumps in with something else and next thing you know, neither of you is talking about the original subject at all anymore, you’re yelling about something seemingly unrelated. Or possibly even two totally different subjects at once, even though both of you think you’re on the same topic. That’s always…fun….)

37) I know I was defending Backupsmore a few items ago, but, uh…they didn’t have a single lab safety class in there, Ford? And/or they let you in the lab after you failed one in epic fashion? Cause everything about this screams “I never read the lab safety rules in my life!”

38) I also have to wonder if…more than just errors that are attributable to Ford being bad at lab safety was at work here, though. Fiddleford put half a foot over the safety line and got sucked in; Stan ran over it and almost to the base of the thing without it affecting him even as Ford, in the same moments, a) could throw a book hard enough to overcome the gravity suspension but b) could not stop himself from going through the Portal.

39) “That’ll be 99 cents.” Ways You Know This Was Set Before I Was Born….

40) Y’know, I never realized it, but…Lazy Susan changed the course of history. Stan presumably would have either left the store without buying anything or (it is Stan, after all) tried to punch Ma Duskerton in the face before running out the door with the loaf of bread in question if Susan hadn’t happened to mistake him for Ford…and then Toby and Blubbs started telling stories about the “mysterious science guy”’s reputation…and next thing you know, Stan has created the basic idea for the Mystery Shack out of pure desperation. If that hadn’t happened, then nothing else in canon could have proceeded to happen: Stan would probably be dead or permanently in prison by now, Ford would have mysteriously disappeared without a trace when the Northwest Realty people finally came to knock down the door to demand overdue mortgage payments, and Dipper and Mabel would never have come to town. Aside from issues of prophecy and destiny and all that, there’s also just how it’s implied this is the first time Dipper’s had friends…basically ever. They both do a lot of personal growth over that summer, especially him, which they wouldn’t have had otherwise. All because of Lazy Susan, of all people.

41) 1982. Bread costs 99 cents per loaf. And they all just forked over fifteen dollars apiece. That was rather good money in those days, no wonder Stan’s eyes did that thing upon seeing it presented to him.

41) Oh, Lazy Susan also inspired “Mr. Mystery”? Dang, Susan, you are surprisingly important!

42) I’ve noted it before, but I’ll note it again: look at the surroundings of Stan’s mirror in the aging montage. At first, we see a bunch of papers about Stan himself. Next shot, still a lot of papers about Stan/his business, but he’s also taped a picture of himself and Ford as small children to the wall beside it - motivation, I suppose. Then in the final shot, he’s replaced his own “Employee of the ‘Month’ plaque with one declaring Soos the Employee of the Year, and where the picture of himself and Ford was, there’s now a framed photograph of Dipper and Mabel on the fishing trip. I’ll be the first to point out his occasionally questionable motives and ethics and multitude of character flaws, but credit where credit is due: man built a life for himself through genuine work (hey, making up tall tales is a valid job, what else do you call what authors do?)...and then was prepared to throw it all out the window, as he *had* to know that there were going to be…issues…with having killed off his original identity if he really did get Ford back/when Ford got back and saw the length of ‘his’ alleged rap sheet for the past thirty years. He had some personal motivations, of course (he felt guilty about what had happened; he wanted the relationship they’d had as children back; etc), but considering how much he had to lose by 2012, it’s hard not to give Stan some credit when deciding whether or not he genuinely thought he was doing the right thing.

43) “The town. My family. Your parents. Even you kids.” Ah, this is why I assumed that Stan was just airbrushed out of the family’s collective memory after his disownment and that nobody knew he was really Stanley all those years - he lumps ‘your parents’ and ‘you kids’ together as distinct units, implying that ‘my family’ would mean his own parents and presumably the twins’ grandfather. Also, I find Ford’s expression very difficult to interpret here.

44) And then there’s one of those moments when it’s hinted that Dipper and Stan are a lot more alike than either of them might be fully comfortable with - as soon as he’s heard the story, Dipper instantly apologizes for his…actually extremely reasonable doubts and anger in the first part of the episode. It’s not just that even Stan would have trouble believing a tale as tall as the truth of his life: it’s that Stan never told them a tale to begin with, which just left them to draw their own conclusions. I…really can’t think of a sensible interpretation Dipper could have reached other than “this guy is a murdering identity thief who isn’t related to me at all and…even if he doesn’t want to end the world, this is still probably not good, whatever he’s doing” with the evidence he had at the time, especially after the conversation in “Scaryoke” where Stan ‘fessed up to lying about the town and promised that was the end of it. It would, to some extent, be fair to be a bit upset with Stan about this even after learning the truth…but he isn’t. It really was for the family, then? Oh, ok, we’re good.

45) I know the random utility of the totem pole is a bit contrived, but I’ll give ‘em their due: we did see in “Scaryoke” that Stan had security cameras showing the exterior of the property on monitors in the lab, so that’s actually a reasonably sensible place for some electronics to have been after all, I guess.

46) Ford admittedly did a decent enough improv job right up until he fumbled the technology, but it was a good thing Powers and Trigger were a bit dazed and confused - otherwise, they…might have noticed that his “very real report” was actually a picture of Mabel, outlined in flames and apparently laughing maniacally beneath a caption of ‘what hath science wrought?!’, considering it was in plain view of everyone for several shots there.

47) I just realized that the timeline I established once means I almost certainly wrote three novels where Ford is stuck in his just-left-the-Portal outfit: aka, high-collared black rags that make him look a bit like a vampire that’s recently been in a knife fight. I’m…sure this did wonders for him all the times it would have helped him out to be perceived as a Respectable Sort Of Person We Should Listen To….

48) Anyone else really, really want to know what they were talking about for…at least a while, considering it was sunset (but still very much not dark at all) when Soos left the porch and full dark with stars out when it cut to the infamous mirror conversation? Especially since the fact that they were still talking fairly civilly - even joking - at that point meant that the previous conversation…probably was actually going reasonably well, or at least as well as could be expected, all things considered?

Well, there. I did it. A Tale of Two Stans, a full reaction. It only took the entire day….

....Eh, worth it.

#gravity falls #gravity falls characters #gravity falls season 2 #rewatch #a tale of two stans #gravity falls analysis #overanalyzing #overanalyzing the text

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thatdykepunkslut · 2 years ago

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Because I wrote an entire essay for some guy on discord and I figured might as well put it somewhere someone might actually read it (some things are lacking context but just keep reading the arguments I'm refuting are mostly kneejerk reactions that will be evident from my response):

Capitalism does not address scarcity. It vastly, VASTLY overproduces cheap consumer goods (christmas gift type goods are made in the billions months or even years before the year they're to be sold in, completely divorced from market predictions) while completely neglecting or making unattainably expensive essential goods like high density housing, public transit vehicles, life saving medication, quality food, etc.

Capitalist profit-seeking drives unnsustainable food practices like intensive animal agriculture, monocropping, industrial fertilizer and chemical weeding. Causes cities to implode by building endless suburbs whose tax income does not cover the costs of road and utility maintenance as well as moving industry to areas with cheaper labor and destroying ecosystems with illegal or unregulated dumping and pollution. Insulin is VERY cheap to make and the patent was sold for $1 decades ago. It has gotten more expensive even relative to other expensive medications, soaring dozens of times faster than inflation would imply. After WW2, car companies that made absurd amounts of money off of building tanks and planes then bought up public transit across the US and literally stacked it in a pile and burned it. There's photos of hundreds of burnt out streetcars with Henry Ford (who inspired parts of Mein Kampf and profited off of Jewish slave labor before the war btw) smoking a cigar and looking rather pleased with himself in the foreground. These are just off the top of my head

[9:41 PM]Now for how non-capitalist economies differ:

When removed from the stress of having to earn a living and the desire to accumulate enough to give their children a better life, most people are often very willing to help each other out for free. Under the stress of capitalist workdays (which are literally designed to make you too tired to think, shorter workweeks and workdays have been proven to significantly improve productivity in all sectors), people don't have the energy to spare to help their neighbor. However, pretty much everyone expresses some desire to make the world a better place if they were able. What would you personally do if you didn't have to worry about rent or your next meal or clothes or transportation ever again? Maybe play video games and [redacted] for a week straight but after that? Pretty much everyone is gonna say "hang out with loved ones and cook food."

All necessary forms of labor/work are enjoyable or at least bearable in the name of the greater good to some people. There are people who fucking LOVE picking up trash, like being a sanitation worker is literally the only job they ever want to have. A pretty sizeable chunk of the population enjoys growing plants and taking care of animals and there are methods of farming that require remarkably little effort. Pretty much everyone has a hobby they either currently enjoy or would love to pick up that is required for people to have comfortable lives, but cannot dedicate themselves to it because it would not be profitable enough to live off of

[9:56 PM]decommodifying goods and services fixes this, everyone can do at least one of the things they like doing because there is no threat of violence if you don't work (violence meaning eviction, starvation, freezing to death, etc) In addition to refocusing labor on what actually makes people enjoy their labor, it makes it pretty easy to keep up with demand. "Oh we need more food? Ok well go give people some seeds from the seed library and tools from the tool library. Now we have more food." "We need more clothing? Ok tell the sheperds to let more of their flock have kids and the textile mills to work an extra thirty minutes a day for the next month" (side note, there's finally been developments in automating clothesmaking. Tailoring will be more important after capitalism to ensure clothes are better fitting and last longer but the general forms won't need slave waged third world workers anymore soon)

[9:59 PM]Without states or capitalists to bicker over resources, there's no reason for wars. There will still be some interpersonal violence but without needing drug money to make life bearable (or like, baby formula bc apparently it's violent crime for someone to shoplift baby formula) how often do you think there will be THAT much violent crime? (although various other forms of hierarchy will need to be torn down in order to stop hate crimes like lynchings, mass shootings, and rape)

honestly really the only refutation needed for this as you have worded it is paleontology. Some of our most ancient ancestors have signs of living decades after debilitating injuries that would have rendered them utterly useless to family and unable to care for themselves. This necessitates that they were cared for at great inconvenience for upwards of fifty years tens of thousands of years before the earliest hints of civilization, let alone the currency to pay for a hospice nurse

[10:07 PM]Also, even in the context of mineral mining, without the need for phone companies to sell phones every year, electronics will become much longer lasting and more selectively repairable, meaning less minerals will be removed from use and fewer minerals will be needed to support all the products that are never actually bought in the first place. Even more so with cars, public transit vehicles carry orders of magnitude more people for relatively similar requirements and they don't even NEED conflict minerals in some cases because of overhead electricity being a solution to the tyranny of the battery equation (has someone coined that phrase yet? it seems like a very obvious parallel to the rocket equation now that I think about it but anyways) ok I think I've completely poured my remaining braincells for the day into this I'm gonna take a nap now

#punkblogging #my writing

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hejscandinavia · 4 months ago

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This was probably the earliest day we had to wake up. We had to leave the hotel at 7:45 am so didn’t get much sleep. I was so ready for the continental breakfast, and then…I forgot I was in Norway lol. The classic American hotel breakfast with eggs, bacon, and pancakes was not there. Instead, the hotel had bread, small donuts, smoked salmon, salad, yogurt, and fruit. It was still VERY good. Basically every morning I would get the bread, spread butter, put some cheese on top, with lettuce, smoked salmon, and cucumber. I feel like after Europe I will definitely be eating Smorebord a lot for lunches. Also, homemade butter with homemade bread. The bread, butter, and sometimes cheese combo has changed me lol.

Afterward, we met outside the hotel to meet our guides, Joffery (from France) and Jenka (from Belgium). Our guides throughout my entire trip were AMAZING! They were so funny, engaging, and helpful. We then drove to the docks so go on an hour long boat ride. The waters in Svalbard as so beautiful. As said before, they are this brilliant blue with hints of emerald green. The mountains surrounding us just made it better. We mostly sat outside on the dock taking photos of the nature and of the other group. Coolest thing we saw, A WALRUS! On our right, a walrus was coming up for air for around thirty seconds. It was SO COOL! It took a few ducks, snorted, and went back down. Ah to only be able to scuba dive and see what lies beneath!

Afterward, we arrived on shore with an old lighthouse and radio tower. We then started walking. Well this was one hike. In total, 15 MILES. Bruh I’ve never walked that much (okay maybe but that was Disney and I have zero comprehension of steps in that place).

The landscape was pretty diverse. As some points, it was completely rocky (so many kinds, especially shards, from black, brown, red, orange, and a lot of quartz). At others, it was a flat and dirt. Then it was holes and bumps with moss covering it. We saw various reindeer on the hike. We even saw a fox for a few seconds! I only saw a glimpse of it because it was blending in so well to the landscape. We took several stops, either to ford the rivers, look at the plants, examine a carcass, and my personal favorite, old whale bones! We didn’t know how old they were. They could either be from the whaling period from 1600-1800 or even older when most of Svalbard was under water several thousand years ago! You can’t tell in the arctic a lot because decomposition is a very slow process. Are we got closer to shore, the beaches were grey with some having ice on top. It was pretty rocky and lots of orange kelp.

We finally got to our main destination, the walrus colony. Sadly, there were no walruses. We had lunch at 2 pm from backpacking kits. I had a dehydrated chicken curry which was okay and the berry tea. Man I LOVE the berry tea. I need to figure out if one of the European stores in Madison has it! The view was still really nice. We had a great look over the sea on these old cliffs.

Well as we were eating, the guides spotted walruses! We had passed them on our way there. So we packed up quickly and were speeding to go see them.

Before getting close, the guides told us we had to be quiet, not super close, and had to be in the direction the wind was going so the animals can’t smell us. As we crept over the hill, we had a huge scent of animal. And there they were. Thirty or so walruses were lying on the beach in two groups. They were so lazy, sleeping on the shoreline. Two of them were moving. One was very slowly moving to the water. He was sit up, think, then roll, stand up for ten seconds, then roll again. Time was not apart of their agenda.

Sadly, we did have to leave to get back to camp. After our boat ride, we had to get dinner. Mirren, Alex, Lulu, Cielo, Caitlin, Ava, and Abby went to Svalbar. I got an Irish coffee. Not my favorite drink as I have explored in alcohol. For food, I had a nutty pasta. It was pretty okay. For desert, I got an Antarctic breakfast! It was from an expedition with lignonberry, ice cream, pancakes, bacon, and syrup. Now that was pretty darn good. Favorite part of the whole evening: my DND joke. For the past couple of months, I have grown an obsession the rudeness of seagulls. Because of this, I would love to play DND as an annoying seagull. With this, I got an idea at the restaurant. “So imagine you’re in DND, and you play as a seagull. Your name is Sval and you’re a bard. Cause ‘Svalbard’. And ALSO! You’re are bartender cause “Svalbar.” Throughout the rest of class, “imagine you’re in DND,” has become a running joke. I’m loving it.

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saltysciencesixer · 2 months ago

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Whatever Ford had been working on (something to do with a microscope) was immediately neglected the moment Mabel approached him and began talking about... Causing Weirdmageddon??? His eyes had gone wide, and for a few seconds, he looked horrified. He tried to school his expression - something he was usually very good at, but even with it shifting more into neutral mode, there was a quiet desperation in his eyes. Without hesitation he left the lab bench - closing the distance between them in a mere moment. He crouched down and placed a six-fingered hand gently on her small shoulder.

"Dear girl, no," Ford said, softly but emphatically. "No. Mabel, you didn't cause Weirdmageddon. You're not the first person to have been tricked by Bill. If anyone, besides Bill himself, is to blame for Weirdmageddon, it's me. I didn't tell you or Stanley about the rift that needed protecting when I should've trusted my family. I was the one who summoned Bill here in the first place so many years ago. I built the portal that would allow him entry into our world. I failed to destroy him in all my thirty years traveling the multiverse. You are not and never will be at fault for any of this."

His voice was steady and sincere. He searched her eyes, hoping she'd believe him. The idea of her blaming herself for his mess, his mistakes - Sweet Sagan, she was only twelve. It was too much for him to bear to think of her trying to shoulder that weight.

" . . . i'm sorry i caused the whole... thing with bill taking over, " her voice, usually boisterous and loud and quite overbearing is meek, quiet, and almost like she's wanting to whisper it. " i never apologized and i feel like i need to. genuinely. i just didn't want to end summer. i wanted everything to stay the same. it was selfish. "

#starsandpigs #Ford loves his great niece

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gobblewanker · 3 years ago

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So, uh, I've been pretty busy these last few days so I'm sorry for the lack of posts. But I decided to finally finish up an old one shot drabble I've had sitting in my phone since January. So, ye.

Hope you like Werewolf Stan.

Stanley was absolutely massive. Ford didn't have a good estimate as he was far less cooperative with him in this state than he was with the children, but he felt heavier than either of them in human form. That was only the most noticeable difference Ford could distinguish between him and a regular wolf though. His teeth were larger, seeming almost too big for his mouth, and the claws reminded him or sickles. His frame was sturdier, more front heavy, characteristic of a lone hunter rather than a pack based predator.

Yet despite all of that, there he was now. Lying stretched out on the floor in front of the TV and letting the two children poke and prod at him without as much as a warning growl. Like a very polite golden retriever.

Ford had expected tonight's excursion to end with him returning home to finish compiling his research on the effects of the full moon on wendigo migration patterns, comparing his new data with whatever remained of his notes from thirty years ago, and - if his paranoia allowed it - maybe even get some proper sleep in. He had expected observing the solitary and very territorial beasts without being detected to be the dangerous part. The one during which he might risk being attacked. He had not expected to be thrown onto the floor and pinned by a large creature covered in scraggly grey fur the second he entered the house.

He had deduced that it was a werewolf the second he looked into its far too human eyes. But hadn't spared a single thought as to who the person beneath the fur might have been. He'd been to busy trying to push against it's broad neck to keep the furiously snarling maw out of range of his own throat. Too busy cursing his own curiosity for compelling him to leave his family unguarded with a full moon high in the sky, and fighting against the raw terror that clawed up his back and whispered in his ear that this creature - this monster - had surely already killed Stanley and the kids when Ford should have been there to protect them.

In the end though, by the mercy of whatever good there was out in the multiverse, there would be no graves to dig and no next of kin to inform because appearing out of nowhere as if herself sent by some form of divine intervention was Mabel. Alive, uninjured, Mabel.

She cried out in alarm and rapidly descended the remainder of the stairs despite Ford's breathlessly shouted demands that she return to the attic and barricade herself along with her brother. Mabel did no such thing. With the foolish fearlessness only a child could posesses, she threw herself at the head of the werewolf, grabbed two small fistfuls of it's fur, and yanked. Shockingly, the beast did allow itself to be pulled back. If only the slightest bit.

"No! Bad!" She admonished firmly, as if she was handling a rowdy pet, rather than a monster the size of a small car made out of muscles and teeth.

Before Ford could move to put a stop to her suicidal overconfidence, she had somehow managed to plant herself firmly between her still prone great uncle and the werewolf. The large unkempt animal lunged at Mabel. Maw open and snapping at her neck. For a second, Ford could have sworn he actually felt his heart stop. But there was no blood or screaming. Instead, jagged yellow fangs caught the fabric on the back of her sweater collar. Tugging her back like a mother wolf grabbing a disobedient pup by the scruff of it's neck. She yelped as her backside connected with the floorboards, but showed no further signs of distress. In fact, as the animal worriedly shoved it's snout in her face with such force and hurry it nearly knocked her over, she giggled. Tiny hands pushing it away with little regard for how close her fingers were to it's teeth.

"Ew, your nose is all wet!" Mabel laughed.

Again, it was Mabel who broke the stalemate. Quietly pressing a hand to the werewolf's side and slowly stepping closer to Ford again. She didn't remove her hand from it's fur, letting it trail along with her as she carefully moved. As if the only thing keeping the creature restrained was her small hand resting reassuringly in its pelt. Ford was half convinced it was.

Ford was absolutely dumbfounded, but despite his fight or flight instincts practically screaming at him to get Mabel away from the creature now, it showed no signs of hostility at all. At least not aimed at the child. The second Ford attempted to push himself back up off of the ground a deep rumble tore from the werewolf's throat. It whipped it's head around, instantly alert again. Eyes blown wide and assessing, ears pressed flat against it's head. It took one markedly distrusting step to the side, very deliberately placing itself between Mabel and Ford this time. Never letting the man out of eyesight. Ford glared back, hoping against hope that rising to the challenge wouldn't escalate things. Faltering gave animals the confidence to attack: A painful lesson permanently etched into his skin.

The creature let out another rumbling growl as Mabel apparently stepped closer to Ford than it was comfortable letting her, but this time all it took was another firm but gentle reprimand for the growl to break into a low whine. It's eyes flitting worriedly between Ford and Mabel.

"It's okay." She spoke carefully, reaching out to take one of Ford's hands in her unoccupied one. The growl flared up again, even if just for a moment. "No. It's okay, Grunkle Stan. It's just Ford."

She pressed Ford's palm to the werewolf's head, between it's - too human, too sharp, deep brown - eyes. His fingers sunk into the fur, Mabel's small hand still splayed on top of his. His fur was thinning, missing in patches over gnarled scar tissue, and almost the exact same shade of grey as...

"Stanley?"

Recognition finally flickered in those familiar brown eyes. Only to almost immediately be replaced by horror. Stan pulled his head back swiftly and pressed himself low against the floor. He covered his face with two enormous paws, and let out a low, guilty, whine. Ford just watched in stunned silence.

Ultimately, Mabel had convinced both her grunkles to move back into the tv room, gone to wake up her brother, and insisted on settling down to watch a late night movie. No doubt all in a valiant effort to lift the tense atmosphere. So there they were now: Mabel was doing her best to braid the longer fur around Stan's neck, cramming every hair clip she owned into his wild mane, while Dipper lifted, squeezed, and turned one of his massive paws over in his hands, trying to make an accurate sketch of it. All while both children were half-laying on him like a scraggly pillow. Mabel had even brought her pet pig down from the attic, and despite what Ford had expected and feared might happen, even in wolf form Stan showed absolutely no inclination to harm what logically speaking should be a very natural prey animal. All he did was grumble, and shove the pig away with a padded foot when it began to nibble at his ear.

He was the very picture of self control.

And yet he'd attacked Ford.

His own brother hadn't recognized him. Had categorised him as a threat.

As Ford watched from the doorway as his small family settled down into the comfortably tired haze of domesticity, he wondered how he could have ever let something like this happen.

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #mabel pines #fanfic #not art #late night drabble #wrote this on my phone #but hopefully there aren't any big errors despite that

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 3 years ago

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I’ve finished watching Meet the Richardsons, and it’s made me look again at a couple of other things that I’d previously decided not to look at, which annoys me because I’m opposed to cross-promotion as a concept. But also, it’s silly to miss out on something just on those grounds.

I’d previously avoided watching the Jon Richardson Grows Up series (3 episodes, all on YouTube, if anyone else is interested in this thing that I haven’t seen yet so I can’t actually recommend), which is a documentary-type-thing he did with Matt Forde in 2014 about how to become a proper adult. I did not want to watch that because I liked the Jon who was not a proper adult, seeing him made me feel better about my own case of not being a proper adult, and if I watch a documentary about him becoming a proper adult then what excuse will I have? I mean, it’s great that Jon Richardson the real person is becoming a proper adult and getting all the things he wanted. As one person to another, I wish him the best. But as a consumer of media and the two-dimensional personas that famous people release into said media, I liked the old version.

Watching Meet the Richardsons has convinced me that the “married with a kid” version of Jon is close enough to that older (older as in further in the past, but actually I mean younger as he was in his twenties rather than thirties) version for me to still enjoy watching him and find him very funny, so I can probably also enjoy the “recently found a lasting relationship and is working on becoming the sort of person who could be married with a kid”, which is the iteration of Jon that’s featured in the Grows Up episodes. Also, it helps that I’ve now had some time since finishing those radio show episodes, enough to get over my completely unreasonable and unjustifiable resentment of Matt Forde for the crime of not being Russell Howard (I mean, I never disliked him and have always appreciated how delightful his excitable comedic nature can be, but there was an underlying simmer of “come on, you can’t just swap Russell out for another guy and think this will still work”, that’s had time to cool down now).

The second thing is Jon’s book, which annoys me even more that I’m looking at it again because of things they said about it on the show, because I’ll actually spend money on that one and that’ll really prove that product placement has worked. But one episode of the show talked about a book Lucy Beaumont has written (which I’m sure is a good book, but it’s about how to be a mother to a young child, and that is not a subject that made me interested in seeking that book out), and also did some talking about the book Jon wrote years ago. They described it differently than I remembered, based on having read descriptions of it, so I went back and read some of those descriptions again.

I think I initially got too caught up in the tagline. The synopsis says: “I have spent my entire adult life getting things the way I want them and all I want now is someone to give it all up for.” I don’t want to read about Jon Richardson looking for someone to give it all up for. I want to read about Jon Richardson neurotically getting everything exactly the way it’s supposed to be so I can say things like, “Ah yes, I have experienced this as well and therefore really see and enjoy the humour in jokes that are made from this perspective,” and, “Oh cool, it’s not just me.”

Looking at it again and reading some of the reviews, I think that one tagline was more of a joke than I’d initially realized. Apparently it isn’t really about him trying to give everything up. It’s just him writing about his own issues and occasionally saying it would be cool if this could be reconciled with a relationship but here are all the reasons why that would not work. Which is exactly the sort of thing I want to read.

I’m heartened by the top review from Canada, which has one star and says: “I find Jon reasonably unfunny. Thought this book might be different. Lived up to nothing inspired by the title and introduction.” Great! The title and introduction (or at least the synopsis) suggest this is a relationship self-help guide, and what I’m hoping is that those are ironic and don’t really accurately describe it. So I’m pleased to see someone say it does not live up to the title or the introduction. I’ve also found a number of other reviews complaining that it’s too negative for a book by a comedian, just depressing venting from a person whose issues extend beyond cute quirkiness and into making him a genuinely off putting person so it’s irritating to read his thoughts. Which is great! That is exactly the version of Jon Richardson that I want to read about! Here’s my favourite:

I was pretty disappointed by this book - if this is how Jon lives his life then he really needs therapy. There are only so many times that you can read about how this might go wrong and that might not go so well. I finally finished the book but it was hard going. I did not really find anything about it amusing - more of an insight into how his "perfectionism" takes over his life and the trouble it can get him into. I had read the reviews prior to purchasing - however I thought that, as I enjoy his dry wit on TV, it might be OK. His dry wit comes through but just makes him appear to be a thoroughly irritating person. Not for me but others might enjoy it more.

Awesome. Fucking perfect. I would like to apologize to myself for not having bought this book sooner, as it appears to be exactly what I wanted and I just never took the time to read the one- and two-star reviews that would tell me that. So I do think I’m going to buy this book. I could pirate it out of a desire to relentlessly stick to my principles about not rewarding product placement – that’s the sort of thing Jon Richardson might do. But I have also gotten enough hours of free entertainment out of him to be willing to spend a small amount of money, a tiny amount of money compared to all those hours, to compensate him for that.

So based on watching Meet the Richardsons I’ve decided I want more of Jon; I’ve downloaded Jon Richardson Grows Up and I’m looking at buying his book. But that is where I draw the line. I categorically refuse to even try that Channel Hopping show, which looks absolutely terrible.

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pleasereadmeok · 3 years ago

Photo

This ‘Wonderland’ Interview to promote A Single Man is a gem. Matthew Goode is a bit of a handful and swears his way through this interview with his mate Nic Hoult. It’s very funny. It’s often quoted (including his description of Colin Firth’s kissing technique!) but it’s difficult to find a clean scan of the whole interview. This scan (from Natalie/ Fairchilds on ohnotheydidnt) isn’t very clear to read so I did a transcript several years ago - here:-

Wonderland Interview

Based on the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood, A Single Man marks the screenwriting and directing debut of fashion icon, Tom Ford. Having debuted earlier this year at the Venice Film Festival to a standing ovation, the film has continued to impress audiences during screening at the Toronto and London Film Festivals.

Joining lead actor, Colin Firth, on screen are fellow Brits Matthew Goode and Nicholas Hoult who discuss the film, Tom Ford and being British in LA.

ON A SINGLE MAN

Nicholas Hoult: The only time I saw Matthew was when we were getting our spray tans.

Matthew Goode: Which were more regular than we were expecting. I got on a plane with Colin [Firth] and then literally the moment we arrived, got in the car together, went to the hotel and suddenly – it’s like ten thirty at night – we have to go to Colin’s room where we’re having our spray tans . Colin Firth is in his pants, I’m in my pants and it stays that way for an hour whilst we wait for this stuff to set. He’s fucking great. I love Colin.

We [Nic’ and he] never had a scene together but we were there the whole time. I was only really fitting in around these guys. Nic had a damn sight more to do than I did.

NH: No I just did more.

MG: [Laughs] It was a really fun shoot. I mean, maybe I’m looking back with rose tinted spectacles, but …

NH: It was a good fun shoot. Everyone enjoyed it. I remember the night in Venice after seeing it in front of all those people and just lying in bed thinking ‘that’s something I’m proud of’.

MG: It’s seriously impressive. You watch it and you care and, it doesn’t happen to me a lot, but I watched it and thought ‘I’m in something that doesn’t stink!’. I’m proud of that.

NH: That’s a nice feeling when you’ve done something and you can say ‘yeah, proud of that’.

MG: Fucking hell – sorry to interrupt – but I was reading a magazine or a paper or something the other day and it said “A Single Man obviously being screened and whenever Nic Hoult was on screen there were gasps over his beauty” [laughs]. And I was thinking, fucking Hoult is going to LA and get so laid! [Laughs]. He is going to be turning bush away left right and centre!

NH: It’s all down to the fake tan again. That’s where the performance stems for me.

MG: That is a review!

NH: Nothing about the acting, right?

MG: They didn’t review the film. It just said “I saw it. I’m going to be reviewing it at some point, but let me tell you there were gasps over Nick Hoult’s beauty!”

ON TOM FORD

MG: Tom is immediately interesting. If it’s all about someone’s cannon of work then most of the time you wouldn’t work with a first ime director, but if the script is good and you have a chat with them and they know which end is up and which is down, then great.

NH: I didn’t know who Tom was when I met him.

MG: Nick “fashion forward” Hoult!

NH: I’d gone over to LA got off a plane and had dinner with him. And I asked him how he’d got into directing and why he was doing this!

MG: I love that. Isn’t that great? And that’s also like Tom. He’s not the sort of person who is like, ‘well fuck you!’.

NH: He explained very humbly what he had done and I thought OK. And then I looked him up after dinner and was ‘oh jesus! He’s actually accomplished quite a lot’ so probably quite a stupid question, but he was very honest and modest and made a great director.

MG: It’s so good. And so good for Colin. And Julianne [Moore] is bloody great in it as well. But the real star of it, it has to be said, is Tom. It silences immediately the people who were going ‘you self indulgent cunt.’ It’s like two massive fingers up to them as it is very, very accomplished.

NH: It’s very personal to him as well.

MG: Hugely personal as the main story sort of mirror images the relationship between him and Richard. There’s a similar age gap.

NH: He would always say my character is him when he was 18. He’s connected to every character and he knows them.

MG: And he wrote the screenplay and it’s starkly different from the book.

NH: Matthew’s read the book, so –

MG: That’s right! I have. It is different. I am always about the script, really. But one of the really nice things about being involved is that it is a love poem to Tom’s partner, Richard.

NH: Tom is very good in the sense that he is an actor’s director and knows what he wants you to do but is very giving to let you go off and explore things and try stuff out. And you don’t feel too much pressure of failure.

MG: That’s very true.

NH: ‘Cause the second you’re on set – especially when there’s only 20 days to shoot – to not feel the pressure, that’s a good atmosphere he created. Something his assistant was saying the other day was that he’s very good at holding his hands up and would admit when he wasn’t sure what he was doing and kept everyone on side and made it a really great team effort.

MG: I love it when someone’s like that. It’s so far away from self indulgent as well when someone’s shooting into the 19th hour of the day and the ship isn’t sinking, but there’s a leak and it’s far better to say we do have a leak and I’m trying to sort it out rather than leaning on one side and saying everything is fine. He is fucking great.

ON COLIN FIRTH

MG: Colin was great. I knew he was going to be good. The moment I read the script, I was like, ‘this is something you haven’t done in a long time’ – just something he could really get his teeth into. He’s such a subtle actor and it’s been a long time since I can remember him having something that central and serious.

NH: It was a great moment when we went to the Venice Film Festival and got the message Colin was winning the best actor award.

MG: I know. The previous evening we had sat there and we knew it had gone down well because there was a NINE minute standing ovation. And particularly when you’re not in the film as much as I am, then I feel like a fucking charlatan. I stood there and am looking down and smiling and embarrassed. Colin’s quite emotional and I tell you what – four minutes of a standing ovation gets a bit uncomfortable, but NINE? ‘OK, Colin… fucking move. Let’s go. Let’s leave.’ And he couldn’t tell us that he had won and so he was being shy about it.

NH: Yeah, he kept it very quiet.

MG: The moment we found out and we were on the boat we were like ‘What the fuck? You’ve won and you didn’t tell us!? And he was like ‘ I know, I didn’t wanna.’ He was humble.

NH: It was great. It was a bit of an odd first day like you had in the sense that I had to strip off in front of Colin on my first day. It sounds a bit seedy when I say ‘strip off in front of him’.

MG: It does!

NH: It’s part of the film, I swear! And it’s handled a lot more tastefully that that might seem, but yeah it was a bit of an odd first day.

MG: Everyone is going to say ‘oh it’s a gay movie’ which we then counteract with ‘no it’s not, it’s a film about love.’ But there is nudity and a bit of man kissing. Frankly Colin kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row, but it was a real pleasure!

NH: He’s got a lot of love!

ON JULIANNE MOORE

MG: She’s a fucking hero. She’s lovely. I didn’t have any scenes with her. I mean I’m only in flashback, so all my stuff was with Colin.

NH: All my stuff is with Colin as well. The first time I met Julianne was in Venice.

MG: Yeah, she was probably in the middle of juggling six projects or something, you know, she never stops working. She came in and shot two scenes, which were about 20 odd minutes of the film, and they did that in two evenings so she was in and out. I never got a chance to meet her until I was at some party in LA and she is just fantastic. And she’s married to a guy called Bart Freadlich who is a director in his own right.

NH: He’s a hero.

MG: He is actually fabulous! My girlfriend spent the whole evening calling him Bert instead of Bart and he was like ‘you know, actually I prefer Bert! Don’t worry about it’. He’s lovely. They could throw their weight around, but they are actually family people and live in New York – they’re kind of anti Hollywood.

ON THE LIFE OF AN ACTOR

MG: There are a lot of Brits and Aussies at the moment who are working. I don’t know what that means. But we never think of ourselves. When you get off the plane and you’re in America they ask ‘what’s the best thing about being a movie star?’ I am a jobbing actor, they have no idea! They make it sound like I get 500 scripts and am sitting there going through them all. If something comes up and they are stupid enough to give it to us or you love the script and audition but someone of a huge stature can come in and take it like Brad Pitt. Or Judi [Dench] – we’ve been up against each other a couple of times.

NH: I’ve never lost out to Judi yet.

MG: Only in a drinking contest! The vicious alcoholic that she is!

NH: Sam Worthington was telling me when he was in LA someone asked him why there were so many Aussies over there doing so well and his response was that it’s an awful long way to go to fail and not give it your best shot, basically.

MG: Oh. I was expecting some sort of knob gag in there, but yeah.

NH: It’s very true. I just got back from LA and every TV series has an English guy in the lead. Joseph Fiennes, Matthew Reece [RHYS]

MG: We’re good. We’re quite good…

N H: I can’t say it’s the training, because I don’t have any.

MG: You’re doing well! You make people gasp! You complete cunt. I hate that!

NH: You’re coming across very eloquent.

MG: That’s very nice of you. OK, who used to live with Ewan McGregor and Jude Law and he has a TV show? You’re right about that. Though it makes it sound like ‘Oh you’re English. Have a TV show’. I’m sure they all have about ten auditions.

NH: I had an interesting day recently when I was at a BBQ and Jimmy Page and Roger Daltrey were there.

MG: Wow!

NH: I sat there and was very quiet because I thought if I speak to them I’ll make a fool of myself so it’s best to keep out of the way and then they can’t have any bad thoughts although they probably didn’t know I was there. But I knew they were there so it was a good BBQ for me.

MG: I’d love to learn guitar. It’s one of those things I’d love to do. Though it’s not like I don’t have the time…

NH: [Laughs]

MG: I’d like to know all the chords.

NH: It’s difficult to get the fingering right… That’s what she said.

MG: And back to Dame Judi!

NH: [Laughs]

MG: It depends if you have a high action or a low action in terms of the strings. It hurts. You’ve got to build up the calluses. If you get a low action one that would be easier.

NH: Are we still talking about women?

MG: Yes! [Laughs] I remember Billy Crudup got the part in Almost Famous and he had lessons with Peter Frampton but had to have lessons on the side because Peter was like ‘you are fucking terrible’. But that’s one of the nice accidents of the job is you can get training in things. And random travel.

NH: I got to do archery.

MG: You did! That was The Weatherman!

NH: No, for Clash of the Titans. I didn’t use it once.

MG: Oh yes, it was the daughter in The Weatherman.

NH: Yeah man, keep up.

MG: Sorry mate. That’s how pretty you are. I confused you with the female lead.

NH: He’s seen all my work.

MG: I have! I’ve got to learn how to do it. You are a master. I did a Spanish film and it was all in Spanish [!] – I learnt it phonetically. Jesus, that’s my only skill. The major skill I picked up is I can pay my rent. The older you get the more you realize there are a lot of people who hate their jobs. I’m so glad I’m not – ha! Famous last words! – it does seem to be going OK for now. But bringing it back to what do you like about acting – to be honest, everything.

ON BRITISH TALENT

MG: I think there is an element that we’re just so happy to work. Certainly as for getting into film it was such an accident because I hadn’t worked in front of a camera. For a while it was like what is the secret code to working on screen? I have no idea what it is… but even ten films in I’m still sitting here renting and not owning a house. I think that keeps you grounded. As opposed to some American actors who are on a hundred thousand dollars doing some TV.

NH: You don’t get comfortable so you feel you’ve got to keep on striving.

MG: I think we’re overrated. [Laughs]. There is an element over there if you walk into a room of Americans that they’re suddenly like ‘oh fuck they’re British and we’re steeped in tradition.

NH: It’s odd that Tom got so many English actors for the film – we’re both playing American.

MG: And Julianne is playing English.

NH: it’s good he trusts in us to pull of the American accents.

MG: Yeah, I mean – idiot! In fairness you’ve done it before and I have done it a couple of times. But it is odd. If you think who he probably could have had –

NH: He probably could have done better than us!

MG: I’m sure he could have convinced someone with a much higher stature. I think it was just we were willing to work for free, effectively. And that’s also what makes Britain great. We want to work and we want to please the director and often at times, yes we might have strong thoughts on character and script, but we turn up and are like, this is your vision and you are the director and we know where we fit in. Certainly the Brits, I find, we want to be told what to do or how it’s going to work rather than, ‘I’m the fucking star!’ I tend to find we leave our ego at the door. We tend not to pussyfoot around. We all like a drink. We’re steeped in that tradition as well. There’s a certain forbidden thing in America if you drink you’re an alcoholic. No I’m not, and I generally wait until at least half past one.

NH: On weekends. Weekdays, 11.

MG: There is a reason pubs are opened at 11 and it’s because you are allowed to start drinking at that time. Otherwise, they wouldn’t do it! Christ, can you remember back to when – you might not remember, actually. I gasp at your beauty as I try to remember!

NH:[laughs] I’m never going to live this down!

MG:Do you remember when pubs shut on Sundays at, like, 1 for two or three hours? Maybe I’m showing my age now. That is fucking madness. There would be a riot now.

NH: So basically, we haven’t found a conclusion to what makes Britain great… You’re a big X Factor fan though, aren’t you?

MG: My girlfriend loves it. She’s got me into it. I mean it’s fucking hilarious. You literally sit there and you don’t know any of these people but the music comes up and they get selected and you can be in tears and so happy that these people have been selected for the live shows. I really like the over 25’s this year. They’re fucking great.

NH: Matthew Goode on The X Factor!

MG: ‘He’s very much into the over 25s and what is funny is they are all male’. But it is great. But then it’s such a machine. There is such a turn around. Sometimes the winner gets completely forgotten and they have no career and then, obviously, sometimes they go shooting up. But it is great telly! Saturday night, a couple of beers and The X Factor.

[Pics - My edit of Ben Rayner photos/scan by Natalie Fairchild.]

#matthew goode #nic hoult #a single man #a discovery of witches #adow #just in case ADOW fans are interested - it's a stretch I know.........

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portalford · 4 years ago

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I Can Picture You So Easily

AO3

It hits Stan at the stupidest times.

Well. That makes it sounds like Stan just forgets, when really it never quite goes away — sometimes it’s just more.

Like now.

He’s looking in the mirror — he found it tucked way, way back in a closet (and he’s gonna skip right over that because when he got here the mirror in the bathroom was broken, cracked until you couldn’t see a thing and why was Ford—nope) — and he’s trying out a new look for Mr. Mystery.

Gotta keep it fresh, right? Accessorize?

Glasses aren’t accessories, unfortunately. He can’t go without them anymore.

(Really, he needed them years ago, but he was too stubborn to admit it, or too broke, or whatever, but he’s literally tripping over his own feet now. Needs must).

Ford wouldn’t be caught dead in this getup. No sense of fashion. So that’s fine.

The glasses—

(Ford started wearing glasses when he was six. Stan had laughed himself silly when they went to the drugstore and tried on the biggest, most obnoxious frames they could find. Ma had scolded, but she’d been too distracted checking price tags to do more than scold.

In the end, they went with some cheap horn-rimmed frames that Stan wouldn’t be caught dead in even now. Old-man glasses, at six. But that was Ford all over).

—they bring some stuff up. The twin thing sucks, sometimes.

(Looking in a mirror and seeing the changes, the lines in his face, the grey in his hair — does Ford have crow’s feet now? Is his hair going silver? It was always unmanageable — is it thinning like Stan’s is now, or is it still thick and flyaway, like it was when Ford was sixteen? Did he even live long enough to get lines in his face and aches in his joints, or is he forever twenty-eight, dead somewhere in the universe?)

Time to stop thinking.

Notice the differences.

Stan’s ears and nose are bigger than Ford’s, always have been. He’s heavier and his shoulders are broader.

(Has Ford gotten bulkier, fighting to survive? Or is still he halfway to gaunt, like the last time Stan saw him?)

Definitely time to stop thinking.

Stan flashes a smile, and yeah, that’s all him. Cheerful, magnetic, and a hundred percent fake.

Time to work the crowds.

*****

There’s an ad for the nice ink pens Ford saved up to buy when he was fourteen.

Stan turns it off.

*****

Mabel finds a picture, once.

“Grunkle Stan!” Her eyes are all lit up as she shows him the torn photograph. “I found this under a floorboard in the attic!”

If Stan ever had any doubts about his poker face, he can lay them to rest now. It’s all on the ropes and his expression is perfectly level, maybe even a little curious.

Mabel is still talking. “I didn’t know there were pictures of you before you were all old! Do you have any others?”

Oh.

Stan still forgets sometimes, even after everything, that most people can’t tell him and Ford apart.

He knows better.

The young man in the photograph is unmistakably Ford, taken while he was living in Gravity Falls. He’s got his head bent over that journal of his, but the photographer managed to catch the eager light in his eye, the edge of his smile.

Stan wonders who that photographer was, all those years ago.

A tug at his shirt reminds him he’s not alone, and he definitely can’t get messed up about this picture of his secret twin brother.

Mabel’s face has fallen a bit. “Grunkle Stan? Are you okay?”

Stan gives himself two more seconds to look at the picture — Ford just looks so happy; Stan can’t even remember the last time Ford looked like that, even before it all fell apart — and turns to Mabel.

“Yeah,” he says. He smiles and ruffles her hair. “Pretty good picture, huh?”

*****

The name is the worst.

Stan never thought identity theft could involve so little fun.

Usually he can get away with just “Stan Pines,” and that’s fine. That’s his name. That’s who he’s supposed to be.

Sometimes, though, that’s not enough for whoever’s asking.

“What did you say your name was again?”

He smiles. Lays it on thick. “Stanford Pines.”

“Could you sign here?”

He does. His blocky, uneven handwriting looks even worse than usual where he’s expecting to see neat, flowing script, the way Stanford Pines is supposed to be written.

“This is Stanford Pines,” someone will say. “Mr. Mystery.”

Stan smiles some more. Yes, Stanford Pines is certainly that.

Gideon is the worst. Stanford this and Stanford that and Stan’s never wanted to punch a child so much in his life.

“Stanford Pines!”

He smiles, and he lies.

*****

Dipper halfway drives him nuts sometimes.

It’s not like the kid’s a mini-Ford — he reminds Stan enough of himself, sometimes, though Stan’s not sure that’s great either — but he’s got the brains and the stubbornness and the love of weird nonsense, for sure.

He’s also got that obsessive edge, the drive that sent Ford right off the metaphorical cliff.

Usually Mabel tags along on the weirdness hunts — they make a day of it. They go out, just the two of them, and come back laughing and joking and shoving at each other.

That’s enough of a painful reminder, but sometimes Stan will catch Mabel sitting by herself, coloring or crafting with a little less energy than usual, and he’ll realize that Dipper’s buried himself in monster theory again.

He tries to keep the kid busy with chores and hustle, but it’s a losing battle.

It was the first time, too.

*****

There’s this old song that Ford used to love when they were younger.

It’s got no words, and Stan used to make fun of it — what's the point of a song with no words? But Ford insisted it had Meaning, capital M.

It comes on the radio now and then.

Depending on how masochistic Stan is feeling that day, he might let it play.

He still wonders what Ford heard in this song, and if Ford would hear it now.

*****

He realizes, one day near the end, that he’s been Stanford longer than he’s been Stanley.

What’s the point, really? What does a name matter if it’s so easy for someone else to take your place?

(Did Ford matter so little, in the grand scheme of things, that not one person could recognize him in a place he lived for six years?

Does Stan, in a place he’s lived for almost thirty?)

If he could just stop catching Ford in his reflection now and then, that’d be great.

*****

It’s not any better once Ford gets back (once Stan brings Ford back, the ungrateful bastard).

“Stanford!”

Stan’s got a smile on his face before he even turns around, and what’s wrong with him that he’s halfway made this lie into a Pavlovian response? Someone calls him Stanford, he smiles and lies.

(Stanford — the real Stanford — is in the basement right now. He doesn’t even exist, as far as anyone else is concerned. Stan is Stanford, Stanley is dead, and Ford is a nonentity.

What a life this is).

*****

“So how was it?”

Stan grunts. “How was what?”

Ford rolls his neck, wincing a little as he works out the unavoidable crick from hunching over a drawing for twenty minutes. “Being me.”

Stan shrugs. “Wasn’t hard. We’re basically the same person, y’know.”

Ford snorts. A long time (a lifetime) ago that comment might have gotten him worked up, but he’s steadier now, softer around the edges. “Very funny. I saw your lease renewal. You didn’t even change your handwriting, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ford, I rolled up to town, said I was you, and started a tourist trap. You had a total personality transplant and nobody noticed.” Stan grimaces. That sounded really bad.

Ford’s expression has gone rueful and a little sad at the edges, but he doesn’t seem like he’s about launch into full-blown self-recrimination, so that’s fine. “Yes, well. That’s what happens when you isolate yourself for six years and your only friend erases his mind to cope with the mistakes you made.”

And that’s Ford trying to shoulder all the blame again, but Stan keeps his mouth shut. They’re both too comfortable to argue right now. “Being honest — for once — it kinda sucked.” Ford’s looking at him, open and encouraging, so Stan keeps going. “Everyone thought I was you, and it—I wasn’t. I didn’t want to be.” Stan shrugs. “I wanted you you.”

Ford smiles, and it’s a little more worn than Stan remembers, but it’s real, and it’s him. “I understand. I met a few parallel versions of you on my travels, and they were you, but — they weren’t really you.” Ford closes his journal (his new one) and sets it aside, tipping his head back over his chair. More playfully, he adds, “I wouldn’t want to be you either, Stanley.”

Stan laughs. “Yeah? Couldn’t handle the salesmanship?”

“Have more self-respect than to wear any part of your wardrobe.”

“Says the man who wears sweaters in the summer.”

Ford lifts his head and smiles, and this time it’s almost exactly how Stan remembers — quick and a little crooked. “Fair enough.” Ford stretches, rolls his neck again. “For what it’s worth, Stanley, I am glad to be back.” A wry look. “Even if it’s going to take ages to sort out the criminal record you gave me.”

Stan slouches deeper into the couch. Any further and he’s going to slide off, but that’s a risk he’ll take. “Yeah, yeah. Talk to me when you’re legally dead.”

“You did that.”

“And?”

“I legally don’t exist.”

“I was trying to learn theoretical physics at the time, Stanford; cut a man some slack.”

Ford laughs, quiet. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Stan cracks an eye open. He didn’t realize he closed them. “What, learnin’ physics? Because I’m pretty sure that’s some of the stuff that’s not coming back.”

Ford rolls his eyes. “For saving me.”

“Hm.” Ford’s thanked him several times, but lately it’s been less Ford kicking himself and more Ford cautiously trying to engage in the old back-and-forth they used to have, and Stan can get behind that one. “I dunno. Might have to say it again.”

“You’re burning through my gratitude very quickly,” Ford says mildly, “but all right. Thank you for saving me. You knucklehead.”

Stan never got called that when he was Ford. He thinks he’s missed it, at least the way Ford says it — like it means something completely different.

“Uh-huh.” Stan’s eyes are closed again. He figures he’ll just leave them closed. “Missed you too, nerd.”

And maybe there’s something to be said for being your own person.

It feels pretty good.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanley pines #stanford pines #back on the angst with a happy ending train #feat. a side of introspection and melodrama!#i love it here

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anthrofreshtodeath · 4 years ago

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Untitled

Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change. She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

#rizzoli and isles #rizzles #lauren writes rizzoli and isles fan fiction #the high school teachers baseball California AU no one asked for lmao #not sure if it's too niche or if there'll be interest for it #but it feels like if I do continue it it should be long?#idk we'll see

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