#Fiddleford get out of my head please this is getting ridiculous

[lemons-and-pie]

He looks like Kermit to me,,, I recently remembered Kermit also plays the banjo so now I have this drawing

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Shitty little unrelated AU doodles <3

Rambles under cut!

MORE FIDDS LORE BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE THIS MAN.

He's known in town as "That Nice Old Man" that lives with his son in the cabin near the lake.

What a regular guy, that man. Yup. Old Man Mcgucket. Totally normal, regular old man, haha. Yeah. Him? A cult leader? Ridiculous!

In my perfect world where this AU is an actual fully animated show, the episode when the mystery twins first officially meet Fidds would be called "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" because fuck yeah baby. It sounds cool as FUCK.

When the twins meet Fidds, they somehow found someone with EVEN STRONGER cultist vibes than their grunkle.

"Come closer, kids! I don't bite."

"Tell me, children: How are you feeling? Anything... bad, happen lately? Anything you would like to forget? No? Well, don't hesitate to tell me if there's anything you would like out of your head, anything at all. I would hate for youngens like you to be forced to deal with such... unsavorable memories. Better to have them gone and out of your head. You know what they say: Out of sight, out of mind." *boop*

I'm making him a manipulative conniving little rat with good intentions but utterly ABYSMAL execution (babygirl, you can't just go around deleting people's memories)

Since Fidds is actually the leader of the Society of The Blind Eye, the cult is a lot more organized and covert, and actually do their job pretty well.

Tate knows. He knows his father is hiding something from him, something dangerous, but he can't remember what. He tries to get the twins to stay as far away from his father as possible because, while he's certain his father won't actually hurt them, there is no telling what the kids might be getting involved with.

During the cult fight "episode", Mcgucket would be chasing the kids, Ford, and Bill around, but mostly just for the latter two rather than the children. He would never actually hurt the twins.

"Please, I'm trying to help you, kids! Don't you understand? KNOWING is what cost me my eyes; KNOWING might be what costs you yours, or worse, your life! You can't remember any of this. And I cannot in good conscience let that- that demon stay inside your Great Uncle's head to rot him from inside out like- like some kind of PARASITE."

And then bada bing, baba boom, the twins defeat Fiddleford and his weird cult and they survive with their memory instact and their Grunkles not dead, yipeee!!

Fidds disbands the cult and chucks himself into jail willingly, and casually just becomes the boss of all the other inmates there with his natural old man charms. He gets the Gideon treatment for his ending <3

It's okay, tho because Mabel and the others visit him sometimes just to chat and keep him company.

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Rewind Chapter 8 - It Gets Worse

We're coming into the endgame, boys! Not much more of the story to go. As always, hope you enjoy!

(I wrote this in a fit of inspiration and it hasn't had much editing, so let me know if you see a typo!)

______________________________________________________________

It took Ford a moment to realize he wasn’t in his body anymore.

He blinked his eyes open, groaning, foliage swimming above him. He couldn’t feel the snow gathering on his skin. He pushed himself up, running a hand through his hair-

And noticed that his body was still on the ground.

Ford cursed and scrambled away, hands scrabbling through snow without disturbing it. “No, no, no-” If he was out here, then Bill-

His body opened one yellow, slitted eye and grinned.

Ford jumped to his feet and stabbed a finger at the demon in his body and tried to control his trembling. “Get out of my body, you- you- monster!”

“Come on Sixer, be creative! Get some new insults.” Bill rose with unnatural jerky motions, one eye still closed and the other a jaundiced yellow. He dusted snow off Ford’s jacket. “Clumsy much? I had a whole plan to lure you outside the barrier but thanks to you fleshbags, I don’t even need it. A waste of perfectly good gasoline, is what I say.” He blinked with one eye, then opened the other one again with a laugh. “Ah, there’s the depth perception! You beings are so primitive.”

Ford ran a spectral hand through his spectral hair, panic rising in his throat and making him want to hurl, if spirits could throw up. “What’s your plan now? Fiddleford will stop you from sabotaging the portal, you can’t hide those eyes!”

“True.” Bill pulled himself to his feet. Even after weeks – months – of piloting Ford’s body he still looked just a little wrong, movements jerky like that of a marionette’s.

“Then – then what do you want from me?”

“What makes you think I want you?”

What? Of course Bill wanted him, Ford was the only one he needed for his plan! Besides, there was no one out here except for Ford, and-

And-

Oh. Oh no.

“You stay away from my brother!” Ford tried to dive back into his body but he merely went straight through. Bill laughed and dusted himself off.

“Jeez, Sixer, paranoid much? I’m not gonna hurt the little brat. Not right now, anyway.” He grinned too wide. It made his face look stretched and wrong. Ford threw a wild punch that phased right through him. Bill let out a laugh and started walking deeper into the forest, whistling a merry tune.

Ford ran.

He didn’t know what else to do – what could he do? He was a specter, only able to watch the proceedings in the physical plane. So he pelted away from Bill’s cheerful whistling in search of his brother. He had to – to warn Stan of what was coming, to do something.

Not having a physical form did have its advantages. Ford didn’t bother to duck around trees and brambles that were in his way. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with his twin. Stan hadn’t gotten far, after all.

“Stanley!” Ford rushed towards the boy-sized lump huddled against a tree trunk. His hand plunged right through Stan’s shaking shoulder. “Oh, curse it – Stan, listen to me! You’re in danger. Bill has my body and he’s coming after you, you have to move!”

Stan mumbled something and for one giddy moment Ford thought that he’d been heard, until he listened closer and understood the words.

“Stupid. Watcha gonna do now? Y’made both of ‘em mad atcha. Ruined everythin’ again. Ugh, what’s wrong with you?” Stan ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and hiccupped. Ford tried to grab his brother’s hands, but he only managed to grasp air.

“Stan – Stan, listen, please – oh, you’ve got to have something I can use!” He looked around for something he could use as a puppet, an avatar, anything. His search came up empty. Damn it, what could he do-

“Stanl-ley!”

 “Oh Stan-ley!”

Stan jerked up the sing-song voice in the distance. His feet hurt and his head was throbbing from crying and he was lost in the snow but that didn’t matter, not when he could hear his brother’s voice calling him. His brother who didn’t sound mad anymore!

“F-Ford?” His voice wavered. Dang it, he had to stop acting like a kid! “What are ya doing out here…? Ya came after me?”

Ford did care! He’d come for him! And by the tone of his voice he didn’t seem mad, either. Stan almost tripped in his haste to get to his feet. He scrubbed at his face to get rid of the tear tracks before Ford could see how much of a baby he was being.

Heavy footsteps sounded through the bushes nearby. Why hadn’t Ford called out again? Maybe he was still mad? Stan had hit him, after all.

“I, I’m sorry I was stupid!” Stan searched frantically for his brother in the trees. “I promise I won’t touch your lab space anymore. I’ll be good!”

There! Stan bolted towards the familiar figure that had finally came into view. Ford laughed and knelt down to catch him, holding tight as Stan buried his face in his twin’s coat. Stan sniffled and tried to stop himself from crying again.

“You… you’re not mad at me?”

“Stanley.” Ford pulled back to smile at him reassuringly. “Of course I’m not mad. I’ve long since stopped expecting you to be anything but a dead weight.”

Stan stiffened. His brother’s arms suddenly felt a lot less warm and comforting. He forced a brittle smile. “…what?”

“You were just messing things up like you always do.” Ford continued conversationally. Stan tried to pull away but Ford’s grip was like iron, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

Stan had gotten plenty of bruises before, but never six-fingered ones. He tugged against the hold, chest heaving with panic. “Let go – Ford, lemme go-”

Ford’s grip loosened, letting Stan yank back to fast that he slipped and hit the ground. He scrambled away from his brother, heart racing, as Ford stood. The man loomed over him.

“You know, it’s actually pretty funny.” Ford said as Stan got his frozen feet beneath him and stumbled backwards. Ford’s eyes looked almost yellow in the morning light, and the worst thing was that Stan couldn’t even see any anger in them. Just pleasantness, evident in his eyes and his smile. “How you destroy everything you come across.”

“Ford-”

“Like my science project!” Now, finally, Ford’s face twisted in anger. “I know you remember it, Stanley. I know you know what happened. Tell me, did you plan it in advance? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment sabotage?”

“I didn’t mean to break it!” Stan all but screamed. He balled up his tiny fists and shook. “I didn’t – I didn’t, I wouldn’t! You’re a liar! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t!”

“Oh, but you did.” Ford snarled. “You did and you would do it again, and do you know why? Because you’re a parasite, Stanley. You’re a leech, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

A breeze ruffled Ford’s hair but nothing else, like an intangible fist passed through his face. Stan’s eyes were too full of tears to see it. He could feel Ford’s eyes burning into him, stripping away his defenses and angry words, leaving nothing but the thought that maybe, just maybe, Ford was right.

“J-Just leave me alone!” Stan sniffled and scrubbed at the endless tears pouring down his face while Ford watched with a sneer. “G-Go away and – and-”

“And what? Go back to my project? Let you wander around, making even more messes for me to clean up? No, you’re coming with me.”

Ford reached for Stan’s arm but he yanked it back, stumbling away. Ford’s lip curled and he lunged.

Stan turned on his heel and bolted.

His heart pounded in his ears and breaths rasping in his throat, burning with cold. Ford shouted angrily after him but this time Stan didn’t stop.

He didn’t stop running when Ford faded out of sight, or when he stopped being able to feel his feet, or when he was gasping for breath. He didn’t stop until his chest burned like it was going to explode. Stan staggered to a stop, catching a tree to stop himself falling into the snow. The cold hair burned against his skin.

Why didn’t he bring any warm clothes? His teeth were chattering in his head, he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. His feet were blocks of ice and he was so, so tired.

Stan wanted to go home.

But Stanley pines never got what he wanted. Behind him, a low growl sounded.

Stan’s head whipped around to catch sight of the grey-furred creatures stalking towards him – three of them, ears pressed tight to their skulls and hair bristling, white teeth and yellow eyes glistening. Stan’s scream caught in his throat and came out as a squeak.

“Nice – nice doggies?”

The lead wolf let out a snarl. Stan crouched down and fumbled through the snow for a weapon, eyes pinned to the wolves. He grabbed something solid only for the chunk of snow to crumble in his grip.

What were you supposed to do with wolves? Play dead? Or was that bears? Make yourself bigger to scare them away?

One of the wolves tensed to lunge, but before either it or Stan could make a move a piercing whistle sounded. Stan clapped his hands over his ears to block out the ringing noise. One of the wolves leaned back on its haunches.

“Oi! Get away from that kid, you big lumps.” There was a flash of yellow and then something was floating between Stan and the wolves, making the creatures cower and whine. The giant yellow – dorito? – waved its hand, sending the wolves scattering like ants. They scampered into the undergrowth and were gone in seconds.

 Stan’s savior leaned forward, as if checking they were truly gone. Stan tried to step towards the floating thing but hissed as pain lanced through his feet. The triangle swung around. It looked… kinda ridiculous. One huge eye took up most of the space on its form with a little glowing bowtie pinned underneath, a tall tophat hovering above its highest point. Its voice reverberated in his head.

“You must be freezing your toes off! Here kid, on the house.” The triangle summoned a cane to its thin black hand with a flourish. Stan’s feet tingled.

He yelped as cloth wrapped around his feet, and before he knew it he was standing in a pair of thick, warm fur boots. The triangle’s eye crinkled up happily and he floated over.

“…cool.” Stan’s voice came out as more of a breath, and the triangle let out a laugh. It didn’t have a mouth to move but the sound echoed inside Stan’s skull, overlayed like a dozen people were speaking at once. A dozen nasally people.

“Don’t mention it! How ya doin’, kid? My name’s Bill.”

“…Bill?” Stan echoed, wiping half-frozen tears from his stinging face. The same sounded familiar.

“Yeah, that’s my name. Got a problem with it?”

“It’s just… ‘Bill’ is such a normal name. I thought wizard triangles would have fancier names. Like… Xanthar. Or something.”

Bill waved his hand dismissively, shrinking a little bit so that he could look Stan in the eye without his dangling feet touching the ground. “That one’s taken, but we’re getting sidetracked here. I’m no wizard, kid! I’m a muse!”

“What’s a muse?”

Bill let out a huff. “It’s a – you know what? Just think of me like a genie.”

“Holy – a genie?” Stan’s mind raced and he counted off on his fingers. “Okay, my first wish is to have a million dollars. No, a billion dollars! And then-” Bill clapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue. The skin had a weird texture, smooth and glossy like plastic.

“It doesn’t work like that, Stanny boy! You gotta make a deal. More of an ‘I scratch your back, you scratch mine’ kinda thing. How about it?”

Making deals… Stan’s eyes widened with recognition and he batted the creature’s hand away.

“Hey, you’re no genie! You’re that Bill demon Ford was talking about!” He stabbed a finger accusingly at the creature, who tilted sideways with a little giggle.

“You got that right! I am a demon. But demons don’t all have to be bad, you know.”

Stan frowned. “Bad is exactly what demons are! You’re trying to hurt Ford!”

“I’m not trying to hurt him!” The demon pulled a hand to what could be its chest, lashes fluttering. “Stanford and I were old friends you know, before he betrayed me. He had the nerve to call me useless, you know. I’m sure you know how that feels.”

“Wha-”

Bill zipped forward to sling an arm around Stan’s shoulders, making him jump. “But you see, I’m actually pretty powerful! Enough to grant wishes, even. Not that Ford cares – he’s selfish, Stan. He’ll use you up until he has what he wants and then he’ll kick you to the curb, all in the name of ‘science’. No one knows that better than you and me.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Oh, I have an idea! Why don’t you make a deal with me? I could make all your dreams come true if you just ask!”

The demon spun away and extended an arm.

“So kid, waddya say?” Stan goggled at the cartoonish black hand stretched out towards him. Bill grinned a salesman’s grin – or as close to one as a triangle with no mouth and only one facial feature could.

“Ford said you trick people.” Stan protested, and Bill shrugged.

“Eh, nothing against old six-fingers, it’s just business. Or it was. See, that was before I knew we could join forces and both get what we want! Picture this, Staneroni – you open the portal and let me into this dimension, I get to start the party, and then I make you a whole new family! I’ll even throw in a Ford 2.0.”

“Uh, what-”

“The brother you’ve always wanted! A Ford that appreciates you, parents that love you, maybe even a promising career in treasure hunting?” Bill swooped down to elbow Stan playfully. “I’m like a genie in a bottle, kid, all you gotta do is let me outta the lamp. Then it’s sunshine and rainbows, or – whatever you fleshbags like. So, have we got a deal or what?”

Stan frowned, rubbing his cold nose. The demon’s words were quick and constant, and rung in his ears, making him dizzy. “What do you want in return?”

“Oh, just a little favour.” Bill seemed to be checking his nails, despite not having nails. “You know that big old machine in your brother’s basement? That’s a portal. Ford decided he didn’t need me anymore so he locked me out of this dimension. All I need is for you to open it so I can come back home!”

“But you’re here right now.” Stan argued. Bill rolled his eye.

“Not really, kid. I can interact with objects and make myself somewhat corporeal, but I don’t have a physical body! I’m weak like this. But if the portal was open and I could come through I would have all my power back! Enough power to give you anything you want.”

Stan’s heart was pounding in his head, making it hard to think. The triangle leaned towards him.

“What do you think, shortstack? I could give you ultimate power. Wanna be president? Or king? Your family would have to love you then! I could give you a new brother, heck, even a whole galaxy all of your own! All you gotta do is open one teensy little portal.”

“STAN!”

[nikxation]

29, stan twins?

Joke’s on you Anon, I was already planning on a Part 2!!!

Also, thanks to @fordanoia for this little gem… Your hilarious idea made a short cameo…

Part 2 of this

“I feel like I should be concernedthat half of my face feels tingly when I touch it,” Ford says casually, gentlypoking at his own cheek with his one working hand.

“That’ll probably go away in anhour or so,” Stan says. Ford glances over at him and sees that his brother isstill whittling at that same piece of driftwood he’s been working on for thepast few days. It’s coming along nicely, starting to finally take on somedefining shape. Ford’s betting it will be a porpoise.

“I know that,” Ford says, turninghis head back to stare at the ceiling and letting his left-hand fall back ontothe bunk next to him. “It still feels strange.”

“Get used to it,” Stan says. “I just got enough feeling back in my handfor the damn thing to be useable, and with how many of those needles I found inyou, I guarantee you won’t be able to sit-up on your own, let alone walk, forat least another few hours. Pretty soon, allof you is gonna feel like that.”

Ford groans, throwing hisworking-arm across his eyes, the pins-and-needles sensation of thenerve-endings in his face waking up almost uncomfortable in a very bizarre way.

“Oh, quit being so dramatic, Sixer.You’re the one that got yourself into this mess,” Stan says. “I’m already notthrilled about the fact that I told youthis would happen, and yet I was still the one that had to figure out howto haul your heavy ass back into the cabin before we both got heat stroke outthere.”

“But you figured it out! You got mein here in one piece!” Even if I have nomeaningful recollection of the event save for all your grunting and cursing andthe vaguest sense of vertigo-induced nausea.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna be sayingthat in a few hours when you start getting feeling back and find you have somenew bruises that weren’t there before.” Ford frowns.

Certain, odd places on his bodyhave started coming back little by little, namely the parts that got hit byvery few if any of the creature’s quills. His left arm had been his onlyappendage the creature seemed to miss altogether, which had explained why ithad been the only thing he could feel and partially move back on the deck. Thenext thing he got back was his face, a fact that he was extremely thankful forbecause he was getting tired of trying to communicate to Stanley by tapping hisfingers in Morse code and having to wait for him to write it down and translateit by hand. Also, not drooling all over himself was a nice benefit of beingable to control his own mouth again. Besides that, he could already start tofeel parts of his feet starting to come back, along with one patch of skin onhis hip and another on his chest. Everything else is just weight, a numbed voidwhere he knows his body is and yet isn’t, a mass of his tissues and hisorgans and his muscles that simplywon’t listen or talk to him right now.

Asif that’s not familiar in its owneerie way.

He dismisses that line of thinking,not wanting to entertain that thought for longer than necessary.

The boredom wrapped up in hiscurrent predicament comes and goes in waves, completely dependent on how muchStan feels like entertaining him. Before he got limited feeling back in hishand, his brother was more prone to idly talk to him, something he was gratefulfor considering he still hadn’t been able to speak himself at that point. Fordknows a lot of it was more than likely stress-driven, his brother just needingto fill the air to stop himself from dwelling on what had transpired and howmuch worse it could have been. But once Ford started to get minimal movementand feeling back, Stan pulled back a bit, likely mildly upset with Ford for thewhole incident and a bit more willing to express that annoyance now that heknew his brother was going to get better. Ford doesn’t blame him and knows thathe probably deserved it.

It took a bit of needling, but heeventually got his brother talking again, albeit Stan makes sure to remind himof his mistake as often as possible, as if his inability to twitch a toe isn’treminder enough.

He groans again, purposely louderthis time, the skin of his face still prickling.

“It’s not too late to say I told yaso, right?” Stan says.

“Considering you’ve already said iteighteen times now?”

“All I’m saying is that you’resupposed to be the genius here,” Stan says, his tone light and just a little mocking.“So, if I called this from the beginning—”

“For the record, you had no idea this would be the exact result.”

“Does that make me psychic,” Stancontinues, unimpeded by Ford’s interjection, “or just smarter than you?” Fordmoves his arm off his eyes, turning his head to look at his brother. He’slooking up at the ceiling, mimicking being deep in thought, as if consideringthe intricacies of the universe itself. Ford rolls his eyes, a soft smileplaying at his lips.

“Considering the options, I wouldhave to choose the more logical of the two and assume you developed somepre-cognitive abilities,” he says. Stan breaks his feigned contemplation toshoot Ford a deadpan look, which only serves to make Ford grin. “I mean, youbasically walked right into that one, Lee.”

“Wise guy,” Stan mutters, goingback to his whittling for only a moment before his expression shifts, hisentire face lighting up before settling into a smirk that he levels at Ford. “So,if I’m the smarter twin now, does that mean I automatically get, like, thirteenPhDs?”

“That is not at all how it works, and you know it,” Fordsnorts.

“Oh, come on. You said you got yourfirst one, what, like, three years ahead of schedule? I could probably figureit out. How hard could college be?”

“I’ll have you know I workedextremely long hours and spent years studying and researching to get everysingle one of those doctorates,” Ford says.

“Wasn’t one of them some honoraryPhD in Creative Writing or something?”

“It still counts,” Ford saysquickly, “even if the committee completely misunderstood the purpose of thatresearch paper. I mean, who sorts a piece comparing deep-sea anomalies and lakeanomalies and their evolutionary divergence over extended periods of time intothe fiction pile?”

“Any sane human being?”

“They’re all uninformed,” he huffs,attempting to cross his arms over his chest only to remember that his right armis still a useless lump. He mentally debates what to do with his left arm nowhovering over his chest before he gives up and lets it thump hollowly on his ribcage. “Insulting my life’s work… Callingit mere fiction…” he mumbles. Stan is looking at him with one eyebrow raised, asmug quirk to his lips. Call him stubborn, but Ford doesn’t like the look andthe implied victory in it. “I still can’t believe you couldn’t manage to get asingle viable sample from the creature.” That does the trick, the smirk nowreplaced with a semi-annoyed frown.

“Sorry. I was too busy trying tofigure out if my brother was dying toworry about chasing down a swimming pile of goo to get you a sample.” Stan deadpans. “I’ll make sureto leave you dying on the deck next time.”

“Please, Stanley,” Ford rolls hiseyes. “Obviously, I’m fine. And even saving one of the quills would have—”

“I already told you,” Stan interruptshim, accusingly pointing the carved driftwood in his direction. “Those thingsturned into mush after a few minutes of sitting on the deck. That couldn’t behelped.”

“Yes, because their protein-basedmolecular structure denatured after prolonged exposure to the sun’s light andheat,” Ford says. “If you’d thought about it enough to run a few of them insideand put them in the cryo-fridge before that happened, then it would have been anon-issue.”

“You know, if you had your way,”Stan says, turning his attention back to the carving in his hands, “you’d stillbe out there drooling on the deck and I’d be in the water with a snorkelhunting for that thing.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stanley,” hesnorts. “The water is much too deep to dive with only a snorkel. You’d need thescuba gear if there was even remotely a chance of you finding it.”

“You know, I sometimes have areally hard time telling when you’re joking or not.”

“I never joke about science,” Fordsays, his tone deathly serious as he steels his façade into a perfectly rigidexpression. “She is the only one in this world who truly understands me.”

“God, you’re such a weirdo.”

“Coming from the man who I caughtfeeding crackers to his belly button a few weeks back.”

“Well at least I’m not the oneabout to go flirt with a beaker.”

“Hey! That only happened once incollege.”

“Oh my God. You’re serious? Howhave I not heard about this?”

“We all have our more embarrassingmoments, Stanley,” Ford says. “Mine came in the form of a bit too much alcoholand Fiddleford betting that I had no idea how to talk to women.”

“And that led to you flirting witha beaker?”

“As I said. A bit too much alcohol.”

“God, I shoulda gotten you drunkmore often in high school.”

“I really don’t think that would have turned out well for either ofus.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stan laughs. “Seeingyou hitting on a microscope woulda made Pa’s scolding worth it.”

“The light microscopes that theschool bought junior year certainly had nice contrast and decent magnificationlenses.”

“On second thought, please stop.”

“I’m sure I could have come up withsomething good.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh! How about—”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Are you a compound optical microscopewith interference-based imaging techniques?”

“Sixer, I swear I will throw youoverboard!”

“Because you light up my world.”

“And now I’m going to go hurlmyself into the ocean,” Stan says, standing up and walking out of the cabin,slamming the door behind him with flourish. Ford laughs.

“Worth it.”

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

Precipice Chapter 3: Piece by piece

What’s this?  A wild update has appeared!

Sorry this took so long, but here it is, chapter 3!

In which Ford gets confused, several times, Soos needs a hug, and Abuelita makes an allusion to Mary Poppins.

Word count: 3,686

Chapter 2     Chapter 4

       Ford wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, leaning sideways in the hospital chair with one of the books Wendy left sitting in his lap.  He was hovering on the fringes of unconsciousness, that dreamy state where he could feel the awkward position of his neck and the lackluster padding of the hospital chair and hear the distant voice that was coming from near his brother, but he just didn't care. 

       Slowly the voice became clearer, and Ford grabbed onto it like a life preserver, pulling himself back into consciousness.  Something stirred in his chest- panic, joy, fear, shame guilt guilt guilt- that he couldn’t quite pin down until he was able to identify the voice as belonging to the hairless gopher man-child.  Ford started to sit up, but something in Soos’s voice made Ford pause and listen, feigning sleep. He opened his eyes a fraction and peered through his lashes, the man-child not having noticed him moving before.

       "-and don't worry, the Shack is open today.  Ford was staring at the back of Soos’s head, but he didn’t need to see his face to know that the handyman was still just as upset as he had been yesterday.  Ford could hear it in his voice, see it in the way Soos mashed his baseball cap between his meaty fists. “Mabel’s in charge again, and Dippers doing the tours. You'd love to see him go Mr. Pines, he does a great job.  But not as good as you dood," Soos said with a little sniff. Or, well, a rather loud sniff  “no one can compare to the original Mr. M-mystery."  Soos's voice broke on the last word, and through barely cracked eyelids Ford saw the young man's shoulders tremble.

       "We're all really worried about you Mr. Pines. Dipper and Mabel both cried themselves to sleep last night, and Wendy is low-key freaking out.  We were texting until like, two in the morning cause neither of us could sleep."  Soos took a trembling breath before continuing, “We all really need you to wake up soon dood. I mean, without you, who's gonna read out of the joke book? And who's gonna punch zombies and pterodactyls for Dipper and Mabel? Who's gonna complain about Waddles eating the attractions? Wendy won't have anyone to call a crappy boss anymore, and she's gonna get like, sent up state and you know she doesn't wanna do that. And I-" Soos's voice broke into a sob, and Ford watched the young man break down in front of him, twisting his hat between his hands "I really can't have my dad leave again. So-so you gotta wake up soon." He gave the hat in his hands a final twist before tugging it back onto his head “Please Da-ad."

       Ford was tense in his seat, hands gripping the armrests, but he was able to collect himself enough to relax before Soos turned, scrubbing his eyes dry.

       "The kids'll be here soon. Wendy and Abuelita are gonna be bringing them. I just had to come check right now, in case you were up. You always get up early, so I thought you might’ve decided to wake up now.  I'm gonna go use the bathroom dood, brb." Soos walked off, leaving Ford alone with his jumbled thoughts and his comatose brother.

       Ford felt like an intruder. Which was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous! Stanley was his brother, his twin! Soos was just the handyman at the Shack.  If anything, Soos was the intruder here. Ford had known Stan all his life! 

       Even though they had only seen each other once in the past forty years before now. 

       And sure things weren't the best between them, but still, how big a part of Stan's life could this simple employee be?  Soos couldn't mean as much to Stan as his actual family, as Ford and the kids do, could he? Family had always been everything to Stan.

       But what makes someone family? A voice echoed in his head

       Blood relation Ford replied

       Really?  Blood relation didn’t stop your father from throwing Stan out, did it?  Would family do that?

       I don’t-

       And what about Fiddleford?  He was the first real friend you made after Stanley betrayed you, wasn’t he?  He was a stranger that came to be like another brother to you.  Don’t you think Stanley can form connections outside of you?

       ...well-

       He seems to have made some connection with Soos.  You’ve seen how much the children adore him.  Even Wendy, his cashier is amazingly loyal to him.  Why is that so hard for you to accept?

       ...

       Are you afraid?

       Afraid? Ridiculous! What do I have to be afraid of here?

       That Stanley doesn’t ne-

       “Oh, hi Mr. Dr. Pines." Soos came back, and disrupting the intrusive thoughts "how long have you been up?"

       Ford hadn't even noticed he had sat up. "Oh, ahem, uh just a few minutes. Wha-when did you get here?" Ford fibbed through his teeth.  Tear tracks still shone dully on Soos’s face, and his eyes were ringed red.  Ford pretended not to notice.

       "I think twenty minutes ago dood?”  Soos said, sounding almost as cheerily oblivious as he normally sounded  “Or maybe two hours? I don't really know, what time is it?" Soos looked at his wrist.

       "Um, you aren't wearing a watch.”  Ford noticed, giving the man-child an inquisitive look.

       “Oh, I know dood.  I just kinda like pretending I have one until I can fix mine.”  Soos gave a small smile and a shrug.  “The small gears are really hard to use duck tape on.”

       “Ah.  I see.”  An odd silence filled the room, partially amiable, and partially awkward, punctuated by the sounds of the machines surrounding the bed.  A small part of Ford’s chest ached, filled with questions that he longed to ask this stranger that knew his brother.  But how in the multiverse could he start that conversation?  By the way, I was just eavesdropping on you as you were emotionally baring your soul to my comatose brother, and I’m mildly confused. Could you please explain to me, in great detail, the exact nature of your relationship with Stanley, as well as give me a timeline of your life, a pedigree chart that goes back five generations, and any other information you can think of that will help me understand why you referred to my brother as your father?  Even Ford could tell that that was tactless.

       And so they sat in silence and waited. 

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before door was opened and Mabel came whirling into the hospital room, Dipper close behind.  Stan’s fez was perched on Mabel’s head, and for the first time she was wearing a sweater Ford had already seen her in, a dark pink sweater with purple puzzle pieces decorating it.  Ford started when he saw Dipper; the boy was wearing a miniature version of Stan’s absurd ‘Mr. Mystery’ suit, complete with a flipped up eye patch and his hair slicked back looking far too much like a younger Stanley for Ford’s liking.  Mabel’s almost too-wide grin contrasted sharply with Dipper’s deep frown.  Mabel immediately went over to Stan’s side and started babbling to him cheerfully, not seeming to care that Stan was unable to hear her. 

       “No hat today?” Ford asked Dipper as the boy came to stand by him.  Dipper quickly turned away from Ford, keeping his eyes down on the floor.

       “Lost it at the-the thing yesterday.” Dipper muttered.  Ford was puzzled by Dippers actions. Surely the boy was shaken, but could an event like this really start to drive him away from Ford so soon after the two had started to bond?  

       “Ah, you must the other Mr. Pines that my Soos has told me about.”  Fords attention was drawn to an elderly lady holding a rather garish carpet bag he hadn’t noticed come in.  She came over to Ford and extended a hand “Ramona Ramirez, so nice to meet you.”  Ford hesitated a moment before giving a handshake.

       “Stanf- Stanley Pines.” Ford said.

       Mrs. Ramirez made a small noise in the back of her throat.  She gave Ford a limp handshake, barely grasping his fingers.  

       The rest of the visit went by in a blur.  Before Ford knew it, Mabel and Dipper were giving him tight hugs and heading out of the door.  Soos gave Ford a small buck-toothed grin as he herded the kids out.  Wendy didn’t acknowledge Fords existence, and he returned the favor.  But, to his surprise, Ford wasn’t alone with Stanley after the door shut.  Soos’s grandmother was sitting in a heavily padded camp chair next to Fords seat.  And she was holding a bundle of clothes in her arms.

       “It is good to see you again Dr. Pines.  Although you probably don’t remember when that happened.”  She rose and shoved the bundle of clothes into Fords arms with more force than he would have expected.  “You smell terrible and look a mess.  Go clean up.”

       Ford gaped at the woman as she sat back down, and started rummaging through her carpet bag.  He...really didn’t know what to make of this.  He was positive he had never met this woman before in his life, and why was she even still here?  Who did she think she was to stay here, invading both Stanley’s and Ford’s privacy, bossing Ford around with the gall to say he needed to clean up, excuse him for having more important matters on his mind than trivial grooming when his brother, his twin, was in a hospital, hurt and vulnerable and he wasn’t there to protect him and-

       “Dr. Pines, you can say what you want to me, but after you freshen up.”  Mrs. Ramirez had looked up from her bag when she noticed Ford hadn’t moved. “You...look rather run down at the moment.  I am sure that the children noticed as well that you are not doing too well.  They are worried about you.  I believe they will worry less if they see you with a shaved face and clean clothes when they come by later today, don’t you?”  She gave him a look that made him think of his own mother when she spoke.

       “I...suppose you have a point.”  Ford said, feeling his heart rate start to drop and his hands unclench (when did he tense up in the first place?).  How could he have not thought of that?  No wonder Dipper didn’t want to look at Ford, he must be a mess.  And now that he thought of it, the children’s hugs had been rather brief.  Ford felt ashamed for upsetting them, and the blood started rising in his cheeks.  He turned on his heel before Mrs. Ramirez could notice and retreated into the small bathroom in Stan’s room.  Ford pushed the door close, but hesitated before letting in click into place in the door frame.  The last time he let Stanley out of his sight, all of this happened.  The Incident (the details of which Ford didn’t have fully at the moment, but he couldn’t bear to press Dipper and Mabel about it when they were sobbing to him about it in the waiting room), the time spent fretting in the waiting room being useless and helpless, wondering how could this happen, why did this happen to us, why wasn’t I there, I could have stopped this, the shock of seeing the quiet, still man in the bed and realizing that that was Stanley and that he was hurt-

       Ford dimly noticed that his hands were shaking.  Calm down Stanford, a gruff voice echoed faintly in his ears. You’re getting wrapped up in yer own head again.  If ya don’t calm down, yer never gonna get this to work.  They were words from years ago, when Ford had worked himself into frenzy over...over...over something.  He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t think, he was-

       The bundle slipped out of his hands.  Ford stared at it on the hospital floor for a moment or two before moving to grab the scattered contents.  He used the task to ground himself.  Ford was frazzled and on edge, but he didn’t know why.  Surely some of it had to be stress from everything that had happened...yes.  That’s all it was.  Just a little stress throwing him off his game, making him even jumpier than normal.  Ford just had to keep his head, keep on top of it.  He had to be strong for the kids.  For Stanley.  With a solid nudge, Ford closed the door behind him.

       Fifteen minutes later, Ford was feeling calmer, if a little drained, and wholly uncomfortable.  Mrs. Ramirez had given him, along with the clothes (which reeked of mothballs) a small can of shaving cream and a razor, a hairbrush, and a travel bottle of shampoo.  Ford was tempted to simply change and ignore the other items, but he was mildly afraid that if he did Mrs. Ramirez would simply drag him back into the bathroom and wash him herself.  

       His hair was quickly washed in the sink and brushed through.  Shaving is what took the most time.  Ford found it tedious to have to use a razor, but without his usual supplies he was unable to shave any other way.  He nicked himself twice, but avoided tossing the razor at the far wall until he had finished.  Ford didn’t know where Mrs. Ramirez had obtained the change of clothes for him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.  The stench of mothballs had been bad enough before Ford had put the clothes on; now it was so overwhelming that he could taste the mothballs.  The shirt, a wrinkled button-down, was barely wide enough in the shoulders and too large around the middle.  The pants were large too, and long; Ford had to roll up the cuffs of the pant legs, and cinch his belt tight around his waist to keep them from tripping him up.  He couldn’t tuck the pant legs into his boots, so he left them out.  A quick look in the mirror showed that the collar of Fords borrowed shirt didn’t quite cover his tattoo, so when he throws his trench coat on, he tugs the collar high and hopes for the best.  Normally Ford would have worried more about the horrendous tattoo, but he had already been away from Stan for too long, so his trench coat would have to work for the moment.

       As soon as he left the bathroom Ford was struck by how ridiculous he looked.  He was close to ducking back inside for a few minutes, if only to collect himself.  Ford had worn outfits that were much more uncomfortable and embarrassing whilst traveling through dimensions with little shame.  This, however, felt worse than the other times.  Ford supposed he was ashamed at the thought of Dipper and Mabel seeing him in this state when they came to visit later tonight.  And Stan wouldn’t let him live it down if he saw Ford dressed so ridiculously.

       If Stan ever wakes up that is.  The words fill Fords head without warning.

       NO!  Stan will wake up!  Ford’s heart picks up again, a small swell of panic picking up again.

       Are you sure?  You may not be a medical doctor, but you know enough to know that he doesn’t have very good odds, especially at his age.  With every day that goes by his chances of waking up go down, and his chance of making a full recovery if he does ever wake up is already low.  Stop deluding yourself Stanford, and face the facts!  You’re the smart one after all.  It’s what you’re supposed to do.

       Shut. Up.  Ford wrestles with the intrusive thoughts, shoving them down into the back of his mind.  Stanley will wake up.  He’ll be alright.  He’s strong.  He can make it.

       Ford resumed his spot by Stan’s bed, carefully avoiding looking at Mrs. Ramirez’s face as she took his clothes from him.  “I will wash these for you and bring them back later.  Now you eat.”  To Ford’s surprise a napkin and a plate were dropped in his lap.  The plate was soon filled with several tamale’s, which were still warm.  Ford looked up in time to see Mrs. Ramirez putting a Tupperware box back into her carpet bag.

       “Urh, yes thank you, but I really must ask you-” Ford started to say

       “I’m sorry if the clothes are uncomfortable.  They were my husbands, and I didn’t have it in me to get rid of them after he died.  And anyway, they fit my Soos so nicely now that he is all grown, so it is not a bad thing.  Lemonade?”  Mrs. Ramirez procured a small thermos and a few plastic cups from her carpet bag.

       Ford decided to ignore the fact that he was wearing dead stranger’s clothes, opting to focus on the seed of annoyance that was growing in his gut. “What, no.  Anyways, could you tell me-”

       “Such a shame.  It’s very good lemonade.”  She poured a cup for herself. “Are you sure you don’t want any of-”

       “Yes I am quite sure that I do not want any lemonade!”  Ford snapped “What I want, Mrs. Ramirez, is for you to answer my question.”

       Mrs. Ramirez didn’t respond to Ford outburst.  She simply took a long drink of her lemonade as Ford sat fuming in his chair.  She finished and placed her cup on the ground, then met Fords glare with a matronly look.  “What is it that you are so eager to know, Dr. Pines? And, please, call me Ramona.”

       Ford sucks in a tiny breath, trying to calm himself, keep the tremor out of his voice.  “I would like to know what you meant earlier.  When you said it was nice to see me again.”

       “Ah.  I knew you wouldn’t remember.  It was over thirty years ago.”  Mrs. Ramirez gave a small smile.  “You had barely moved into town at the time you see.  The Corduroys’ had just finished your cabin, and you were moving your things in.  My friend Susan and I liked to welcome newcomers to Gravity Falls with pies and quilts.  And we brought my daughter, Maria, along with us.  She was only five at the time.”  A small, proud smile lit up Mrs. Ramirez’s face as she spoke of her daughter.  “She was a fiery, energetic child, always wanting to meet new people, make new friends.  That’s actually why I remember this visit so well.  When you opened the door, Maria started introducing the three of us, chattering on and on.  You didn’t quite know what to make of her, or any of us really.”

       The tiniest bit of memory tickled the edges of Fords mind.  If he thought about it, he could vaguely recall an incident involving a pie when he was first moving in.  His first encounter with the gnomes had been them breaking into his kitchen to steal the pie, and now that he thought of it an old quilt he had seen in the Shack did look vaguely familiar.  But Ford had a hard time remembering anything about two women coming to call with a toddler in tow.

       “I tried to come around a few more times, but you were always so busy. Eventually I stopped.  But Maria kept asking me to take her to visit Stanford Pines, the six-fingered science man again.  She was quite enamored by you, you know.”  She pointed at the plate of untouched tamales in Fords lap.  “Please, eat Dr. Stanford.”

       Ford took a bite of one of the tamales to appease Mrs. Ramirez, before a sudden revelation had him chocking on it.  A glass of lemonade was placed in his hand, and he took several gulps from it to quell the coughing.  A small part of him felt bad for snapping at Mrs. Ramirez; it was very good lemonade.  “Have-” Ford wheezed “have you know that Stan wasn’t me this whole time?”

       Mrs. Ramirez smiled.  “Yes.”

       “...oh.”  Ford turned his attention back to the tamales.  He and Mrs. Ramirez sat in silence as he ate.

       And then Ford had an idea.  “So, your daughter, Maria.  She’s Soos’s mother I presume?”  Ford tried to sound casual.  Stan would be able to pull this off.

       Mrs. Ramirez gave a sad smile “Yes, she was.  She loved little Jesus so much.  But she left this world far too soon.  She is with the angels now, waiting to greet me and the rest of her family when our time’s come.”

       Ford, Jewish by birth and a scientist by choice, decided not to give Mrs. Ramirez his two cents on that matter.  He instead asked a question that had been on his mind since he woke up.  “What about the boy’s father?”

       Ford wasn’t prepared for the long stream of rapid, vehement Spanish expletives that came from Mrs. Ramirez.  Her tirade increased in volume as she went on, before ending with a statement in English “That man didn’t deserve my daughter, or Jesus, and I am glad to be rid of him!  If he ever comes back here I will make him wish he was never born!”

       Ford wisely decided not to comment on this outburst, and instead decided to focus on his tamales.  Well, at least that rules out Stanley as the boy’s father.  Unfortunately, this revelation only left Ford with more questions, questions that he would have to save for Stanley, if when he woke up. 

       Mrs. Ramirez spoke as Ford finished his meal.  “I should be going now.  I will be bringing you your own clothes tomorrow.  And Soos and the children will be here later today.  Wendy will probably bring food, so there will be no nasty cafeteria food for you”  She took Fords plate and napkin, then folded up her chair and stowed it in her carpet bag. Somehow.  Ford was puzzling over how she could fit everything that he had seen in the average sized bag when Mrs. Ramirez said her goodbye.  It occurred to Ford that he probably should have said farewell.

[thelastspeecher]

maybe a de-aged Mergucket au with 🐲 - dragon? (Maybe the Stan to kid one?)

🐲  - dragon

Instead of the Stan to kid one, I went with the egg Stan one, since I got a really good idea for this prompt, in the context of that particular AU.  A bit of background of the AU for folks: This is yet another AU of the MerGucket AU, and in it, Stan basically pisses off a fairy, who curses him and turns him into a mer egg.  The fairy turns Ford mer (full mer - Ford doesn’t have a belly button; his unfamiliarity with being mer is the only hint that he wasn’t always mer) as well, so that he can properly take care of his now younger than an infant twin brother.  Ford basically panics and swims around for a few hours before coming across some of the MerGuckets.  He explains his situation, and even tho the MerGuckets have issues believing him, they let Ford and the egg stay with them.  Stan’s egg hatches, and the MerGuckets insist that Ford be the new guppy’s main caretaker, which results in a father-son rather than brotherly relationship.  Ford fights it, but gives in when Stan’s about three, since his refusal to let Stan call him “Dad” just makes Stan get upset.  Eventually, Fiddleford becomes Ford’s mate, and just like that, Stan has two dads.  This ficlet takes place when Stan is four.

That was a long-ass explanation for a prompt that ended up over a thousand words, so part of the prompt is gonna be under a cut for readability.

Send me an emoji and I’ll write you a ficlet!

               “Dad, tell me another story,”Stan whined.  Ford raised an eyebrow.

               “You’re still not sleepy?”

               “Nope,” Stan said, shaking hishead.  

               “Well, I could just sing you tosleep…” Ford said idly.  

               “Noooo,” Stan saiddramatically.  He flopped across Ford’slap, eliciting a small chuckle.

               “All right, I won’t put you inthe guppy basket quite yet,” Ford said, stroking Stan’s hair.  “What sort of story do you want?”

               “Why don’t you call me ‘son’like Pa does?” Stan said suddenly.  Fordfroze.

               “That’s not the answer to myquestion, Stanley.”

               “Yeah, but I wanna know.  I know you don’t call me that.  I’ve been payin’ attention.”

               “You have, have you?”

               “Duh.  It’s weird. You don’t call me ‘son’, and you only started lettin’ me call you ‘Dad’last year,” Stan said.  Ford swallowednervously and resumed stroking Stan’s hair.

               “It’s- it’s because of howthings worked out with you.”

               “Huh?”

               “It wasn’t supposed to be thisway, with you on your own, being raised by myself and Fiddleford,” Ford said,hoping the vague nature of his statement would allow Stan to fill in his owndetails.

               “Are ya talkin’ about the restof my clutch?” Stan said quietly.  “Andyour old mate, the one who laid me?”

               “…Yes.  Sometimes, I just have issues coping with thedisconnect between what I had planned, and what actually happened,” Ford saidcarefully.  “And that can make me comeoff a bit strange, but I assure you, Stanley, I love you as dearly as ispossible.”

               “…Okay, Dad.  I’ll take it.”  Stan shuffled around in Ford’s lap.  “Now, tell me another story.”

               “What’s the magic word?” Fordasked teasingly, carefully untangling a snarl in Stan’s wild curls.  Stan sighed.

               “Please tell me another story.”

               “Of course.  What story do you want?”

               “One of those human ones ya knowfor some reason.  With- with valiant princes,who rescue pretty princesses!”  Stangrinned broadly.  “I bet I could be one of those princes.  If I was human.”

               “Of course you could,” Ford saidsoftly, recalling the very un-princely behavior of Stan when he was human.  “How about…a twist on the classic story.  You don’t mind if there aren’t anyprincesses, do you?”

               “As long as it’s got a princewho saves the day, I’m good.”

               “Excellent.”  Ford paused for a moment to think.  “Our story takes place by the sea, in theGlass Shard Kingdom.”

               “That’s a funny name.”

               “Yes, it is.  There were two brothers who were the princesof the kingdom.  Twins.  Cedar was the more intellectual one, whileFir tended to seek out physical solutions.” Ford looked at Stan meaningfully. “Remember, that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you have aproblem.  You don’t fight first and ask questionslater.”

               “I know,” Stan said.

               “Good.  Well, Prince Cedar, in his search forknowledge, had a tendency to forego caution, and get into trouble.  Once such time was the day he went to thesea, to seek out a marine dragon he’d heard of. This dragon, named Billious, could offer the answers to all the universe’squestions.  But for a price.  Prince Cedar, desperate to prove himself morethan just one of the heirs to the throne, took the deal without thinking,binding himself in servitude to Billious. Upon hearing of his twin’s plight, Prince Fir set off on his own,searching for a way to break Prince Cedar’s deal.”

               “Did he mess up, since he solvedproblems with his fists?” Stan asked idly. Ford’s heart stopped.

               I nevermentioned anything about fists.  Howwould he know?  Unless…  No, Stanford, that’s ridiculous, solvingproblems with your fists is a common saying.

               “Dad?”

               “Hmm?  Oh, no. Prince Fir also had a silver tongue, able to talk his way out of andinto things.  Using this ability, PrinceFir was able to persuade a fairy to help him. The fairy would be able to magically break Billious and Prince Cedar’sdeal.  But there were twoconditions.  The first was that Billiouswould need to be physically weakened first. The second was that Prince Fir would have to pay a price, to be takenafter Prince Cedar was freed.  Prince Firleapt at the opportunity.”

               “Why?”

               “What?”

               “Why would he take a deal, sincea deal got him in this mess in the first place?” Stan asked.  Ford sighed.

               “Prince Fir would do anythingfor his brother.”

               “Sounds like a good guy,” Stanremarked, snuggling closer to Ford.

               “Yes.  He- he was.” Ford took a moment to compose himself. “Anyways, Prince Fir and the fairy found Billious’s cave, where PrinceCedar was being worked to the bone as the dragon’s servant.  To Prince Fir’s eye, it seemed like Billiouswas even more powerful than before.  Thiswas true; as Prince Cedar got weaker, Billious got stronger.”

               “But Prince Fir was evenstronger than the dragon, right?”

               “Of course he was.  It took a mere fifteen minutes of Prince Fir’ssword, fists, and stubbornness before Billious was weakened enough for thefairy to break the deal.  The battleover, Prince Cedar and Prince Fir fled, escaping to the forest.  There, the fairy waited for them, andcollected on Prince Fir’s deal.  Do youwant to know what it cost?”

               “What did it cost?”

               “Twenty-two years of Prince Fir’slife.”

               “So he got twenty-two yearsolder?”

               “No, the opposite.  He grew twenty-two years younger.  But there was a problem.  Prince Fir was only twenty-two years old.”

               “He- he turned into a guppy?”Stan asked, sounding confused.

               “Freshly hatched human guppiesare called babies.  And yes, a baby iswhat he turned into.  A brand-new one,less than an hour old.”

               “Oh, no!  What did Prince Cedar do?”

               “He brought his brother back tothe castle.  There, a group of healersmanaged to return Prince Fir to his proper age. But not before Prince Cedar had to change his twin brother’s diaper,burp him, and feed him,” Ford said.  Stanwrinkled his nose.

               “Humans are gross.”

               “In some regards, yes, they mostcertainly are.”

               “I’m glad I’m not a human,” Stansaid.  He yawned.  Ford continued to stroke Stan’s hair,ignoring the sudden lump in his throat. Stan curled up into a ball.  Fordpicked him up and swam to the other side of the nursery, where Stan’s guppybasket was kept.  He carefully set Standown.  Stan stretched idly before curlingup again.  Ford smiled faintly and turnedaround, intending on leaving, now that Stan was asleep for the night.  “Dad?”

               “Yes?” Ford said, turningaround.  

               “Your stories aren’t real, arethey?  They all have happy endings, andPa says real life don’t always have one.”

               “Some parts of the stories arereal.”

               “Are the endings?”

               “Sometimes.  You’re just a guppy, Stanley.  You don’t need to hear the bad endings quiteyet.”

               “Mmkay,” Stan mumbled, his eyesnow closed.  Ford stroked Stan’s hair onelast time.

               “And even when you get older,you might find you prefer the good endings. After all, even if it’s not how it actually happened, it’s nice topretend.”

[hsart-teenikih-blog]

So, as anyone who has known me long enough to hear my rambling bullshit knows, i am in love with stanford pines. He is both relateable (in some awful ways, as well as some good ones), and attractive, not to mention he hits all the buttons for my usual type. Its fuckin ridiculous. The existence of ford is like the universe looked at me, said to itself "this guy needs to catch a break", shook its head softly, and assured fords existence as both a relateable comfort character, and as excellent date material, as an apology to me for fucking my life up so badly. Thanks universe. The only issue is that my subconcious hasnt put two and two together, that or ny self loathing extends into my dreams, could be either tbh. Ive had dreams where ive had sex with stan, sure, (dream-me was on a lot of drugs for one of those, those probably helped it seem better than it was), ive had dreams where ive had sex with bill (i was elbow-deep in his internals, but he seemed to be enjoying it quite a lot? not sure what was up with that one tbh, cause i hate bill? Some kinds hate-based gore-sex or somethin???), and usually when i develop obsessions with a character i have at least one dream where i get to second base at some point. But not with ford, guess i dont get nice things huh. I have had a couple dreams with ford in them, but he turned me down in a parking lot for being too high to consent once, and walked in on me and his roommate in another. Not a good track record. It seems my brain is getting close to the target, but somehow missing the mark entirely? Which sucks. Bad. The most recent example was the dream i had a couple nights ago, short version, i got math tutoring from college sophmore fiddleford mcgucket, and at some point that turned into a date, and at some point we got to third base, but apperantly we didnt lock the door, so ford just sorta walked in, froze up for a sec, and walked back out. Rude. Im not even in to mcgucket is the problem here??? Subconcious why do you gotta do me like this??? Why cant we quit missing the mark and just fuck ford already???????? Why i gotta be frustrated like this my guy???????? @ universe please just let me fuck him im begging you??? Im desperate???????? Please??????????