#Fidds Was the One Who Proposed

[stupidvillainousposts]

Stan: Kids, your Grunkle Fidds and my brother are out running errands. You know what this means...

Dipper and Mabel: *Nod Dramatically*

-Seconds Later-

Fidds, Looking at His Phone: *Groans Softly*

Ford: What's wrong, Fiddleford?

Fidds: You're a genius, we both know that.

Ford: Uh... yes?

Fidds: Then can you find any reason in your giant brain why my husband INSISTS on sendin' me pictures of the youngin's sittin' in dangerous places and messagin' me in all caps where they are?

Ford: ...

Also Ford: How did he convince you to say yes???

[alexthebordercollie]

I know lots of people like Fiddlestan but can I propose another crackship recommendation?

So we don't know much about Emma-May but her name implies she's a southerner like Fiddleford and I get the impression from the Christmas chapter she may have been a bit of a firebrand. Given Fidds usual non confrontational nature I could see him having been married to a confident and strong willed woman who balanced out his anxiety.

We also know in the show that at least Tate eventually moved to Gravity Falls.

So if say... Fidds left his wife for Ford, and Emma moved to Gravity Falls to make it easier to share custody of Tate. Now there's a new single mom in town with a feisty personality.

Surely no one would fault Stan for shooting his shot right?

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Ford and Trauma™ Part 6 (The Weight of Guilt)

Here is Part 6 of Ford and Trauma™!

Last time, I brought up how even what  can be perceived as the littlest of things can cause a bigger impact later in life. I’m sure there is a fair number of us still recovering from bullying.

For this part, we’ll be tackling something that had no doubt eaten at Ford’s psyche every now and again.

The feelings of guilt over his mistakes.

Mistakes are normal. It’s a part of life. Just some…make worse mistakes than others.

So, this was lightly tackled in Paaart…3, I believe? Harboring some flavor of survivor’s guilt during his travels.

There is more to it and it probably started not long after he learned of Bill’s true intentions. Once the realization set in, Ford placed blame onto himself for everything that led up to this.

The first was probably his treatment towards his friend, Fiddleford. Afterall, Ford needed help on rebuilding the portal and Fidds had the means. Ford had Fidds come all the way to Gravity Falls, leaving his wife and young son back at home, under the promise that he will return in a few months.

He never did, losing his mind. And while it was Fidds' choice to use the memory gun to erase his own memories, Ford was the one who drove him to it. Ford had robbed a brilliant man of his mind and family, a wife of her husband, and a child of his father.

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Furthermore, were there other victims of Ford's mistakes?

It is confirmed that to an outsider, the person that Bill is possessing can sound like the person. (To others, Bipper just sounded like Dipper and since we weren’t seeing from Blandin’s point of view, we just heard his voice rather than Bill’s)

The only sign of Bill possessing someone are the eyes. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils.

Had people lost their eyes because of Bill?

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Sure, the reaction could be just a product of Ford’s sleep deprivation, him hallucinating eyeless and bloody sockets on the faces of strangers, but what he is feeling is very real.

To him, people are suffering so Bill could get to him.

Let’s fast forward to when Bill has Ford in his clutches in the Fearamid.

I have very little doubt that while Bill administered physical torture, he also implemented mental torture and just because Bill couldn’t enter Ford’s mind, using his words could still yield a similar effect. Pretty much weaponizing victim-blaming.

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Now, post-Weirdmaggedon.

Stan had to lose his memories to save everyone from Ford’s mistakes, which only added to his feelings of guilt, especially when he remembers his treatment towards his brother since returning to his home dimension.

How could he have treated his brother so horribly after everything he has done for him?

How could he have let their father kick Stan out over a stupid science project?

And then comes his rash proposal towards Dipper, asking him to stay and become Ford’s apprentice. Sure, it was Dipper’s choice to accept it, but the fact remains…and it inadvertently caused Bill to finally get his hands on the rift and set a course for the end times.

Plus, Ford had learned about Bill possessing Dipper during Sock Opera.

His young niece and nephew had to suffer because of Ford’s actions.

Sure, things have gotten better, now that Bill was gone and Stan got his memories back. But, thoughts remain. Emotions remain.

This is all your fault, Sixer…It’s because of you that Bill was able to get here…It’s because of you that all these people got hurt…It’s because of you that the world nearly ended...

You brought Bill here...You broke Fiddleford...You killed people...

You hurt Stan…you hurt Dipper…you hurt Mabel…

You have no one to blame…but you.

You deserve it...

Those...never go away.

[mystic-shadows42]

Inexorable Love

Word Count: 1,139

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem! reader

After digging in his drawer for a couple of minutes Eddie finally found what he was looking for. A little case that had one piece of jewelry in it. He couldn’t stop smiling as he held it up to look at the beautiful piece.

“You really want to do that son?”

Eddie’s smile dialed down a bit at his uncle’s tone but his smile was still permanently on his face. He looked down at his grandmother’s ring proudly. She had gifted it to him before she passed and he promised he’d give it to the woman who had every inch of his heart as she had.

He didn’t have a lot of people in his life but the ones who were, he cherished. Even those little rascals in the Hellfire Club. He loved his group of freaks. Then there was you.

Someone he considered out of his league but talked to him anyways. He didn’t believe he had a stutter before but that seemed to change whenever he talked to you.

He never thought that he’d ever land a babe like you ever but he did. If someone had told him he’d be with you for four years he would’ve told them they were crazy. Now here he was with his grandmother’s ring in his hand planning to propose to the most perfect person in his eyes.

This was going to be his year. 

He was finally going to graduate and ask the woman he loved to marry him. He felt as if he was on top of the world.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything else in my life.” He responded back to his uncle whom he can still feel staring at him. He saw his uncle Wayne shake his head in his peripheral so he turned his head to look at him. “I know what I’m doing uncle. You don’t worry about me anymore.”

His uncle fiddled with his hands, sighing heavily.

“I’m always worried about you, Eddie.”

It was true, his uncle deeply cared about his nephew. Eddie was kind-hearted despite what people saw on the outside and like any other guardian, he wanted to protect him.

“Don’t be.”

“I just wanna make sure you’re making the right choice with this girl. She seems sweet but she comes from money.”

Eddie licked his bottom lip trying not to let his uncle’s words dissolve his happiness. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly how it sounds. I once dated a girl who came from money and as soon as things were gettin serious she dumped me for the next pretty boy in line. More suitable shall I say, to her status.”

His uncle tried to break it to him delicately but Eddie was taking offense to his words.

“She loves me and I love her,” Eddie spoke confidently, now clutching onto the ring.

“Sometimes it ain’t about love. It’s about how people see you. Does she ever bring you around her parents or her friends? Do you two go anywhere else besides here?”

Eddie swallowed thickly. “She’s not ashamed to be with me if that’s what you’re hinting at. Yeah, her parents may not have approved at first but they’re happy with the way I’ve treated her. How else do you think I was able to get my baby.” he spoke referencing to his most treasured guitar.

His uncle Wayne raised his hands. “I’m not trying to argue with you. I just want you to think about this for a moment. Your both still in high school and you’ve got no job. How are you going to get married under these circumstances? She’s the first and only girl you’ve ever brought home.”

“The first, the only, the last. There’ll be no one else. I’ve got something lined up and she has a summer job.”

Eddie was steal dealing on the side but he promised himself he’d stop and get a real job when you two marry. If he had to conform to society then so be it.

“What about that crush you had on that girl, uhm-Chrissy was it?”

Eddie raised his brows and scoffed out a laugh. “My crush in middle school? What about it?” He asked trying to understand his uncle’s point.

“All I’m sayin is that what if you’re rushing into things? You find yourself another girl but you’re already married. What if you and her grow apart? We’re men Eddie. We have urges and what we like now may not be of interest to us down the line.”

Eddie fiddled with the rings on his fingers. He squinted down at each one thinking real hard about how to find the words to express how he was feeling without getting upset.

“Uncle, I’m going to be straight with you, I’ve seriously thought about this in depth. I know you’ve never been in a healthy relationship before so you’re advice is not needed.” He looked up to look into his uncle’s eyes. “I’m sorry but it’s not. I’m going to marry her. I will love and cherish her for the rest of my life for as long as she’ll let me. I want us to change and grow because I know that through those changes we’ll be better, together.”

His uncle nodded his head now understanding that he wasn’t going to change his nephew’s mind. He didn’t want to stop Eddie but wanted him to be sure of his choices. He, himself wasn’t a father but raising Eddie had made him protective. Especially since Eddie had always been eccentric. He was more prone to insults around town and his interest in Dungeons and Dragons was frowned upon and deemed ‘satanic’ to those who had no clue what it was even about.

“Well then. It seems you’ve made up your mind.” His uncle stood up and walked towards Eddie and held out his hand to him. “I wish you and your woman the very best. I’ll always be here for you Eddie for whatever you need whenever you need it.”

Eddie stared at his uncle’s outstretched hand and pushed it away. His uncle took a step back, hurt at the notion but he didn’t see the emotion on Eddie’s face. Eddie’s eyes watered. He launched himself off of the couch and wrapped his arms around his uncle in a tight hug.

His uncle didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. He was proud of Eddie and the man he’s become. He didn’t seem to let anything deter him from the people and things he loves. That was his greatest attribute.

Eddie didn’t grow up with the best home life but his uncle tried his best to make amends for it. His uncle was his first believer while you were the second. He was beyond overwhelmed and ecstatic to have two wonderful people in his life that loved him unconditionally.

[thelastspeecher]

It’s Valentine’s Day, so here’s some ~romance thoughts~ for my Accidental Abduction AU.  Specifically, Fiddauthor, because I haven’t talked as much about their relationship as much as I’ve talked about Stangie’s.

Because Fidds doesn’t know anything about human courting, he’s hesitant to start courting Ford.  Ford has to make the first move.  Which means that they take a While to become romantic, despite pining for each other pretty quickly.

When Ford and Fidds start dating, Fidds follows Ford’s lead in just about everything romance-related, because, again, he’s clueless about human customs.  Ford is thrilled that he’s found someone who is so similar to him.

On Fidds’ home planet of Kepler-62f, in a female-male couple the female typically makes the step of asking someone out and proposing and things like that.  The role of “step-taker” in same-sex couples is the person who initiates courtship.  But Fidds feels like things aren’t the same on Earth, so he decides to take charge for the more serious steps.  He doesn’t want to wait for Ford.

So Fidds is the one who proposes marriage.  He’s confused when Ford gets flustered, only to find out that marriage between two men (and Fidds has determined he is a “man” by human terminology) is not legal in this country.  Ford doesn’t know why Fidds doesn’t know this, but he doesn’t question it too much, because Fidds is such an odd duck with very inconsistent knowledge in most cultural aspects.

Fidds and Ford do share rings, though, and make vows to be there for each other through sickness and health, yadda yadda.  Fidds also gives Ford an amulet, which is his culture’s version of a ring.  Ford’s response is to ask if the amulet is magical.  Fidds barely holds back his mixed emotions of humor and sadness enough to say that it’s not magical, but he did make it using materials from the crashed spaceship.  Which Ford is thrilled by.

After everything gets revealed, Ford and Fidds get space married on Kepler-62f.  Ford’s fascinated by every aspect of the ceremony.  Fidds is just happy he can finally be bonded to his love like he’s wanted to be for years.  Stan helps Ford choose the perfect amulet for Fidds.

(Speaking of Stan, he’s incredibly amused by the story of Ford and Fidds’ relationship.  He comments on how he’s surprised they wound up being a couple at all, with Ford having to make the first move.  Ford doesn’t find this humorous.  But he’s mollified a bit when Angie tells Ford about the missteps Stan made in their relationship, since Stan decided to try to court Angie the Kepler-62f way, despite not knowing much about it going into things.)

When gay marriage is legalized in the United States, Ford and Fidds get married on Earth, too.  But given how long it takes, they’re glad they were able to get married much earlier, even if it was on a different planet.

[marvelbbyx]

Can I Be Him? (Carol Danvers x Fem! Reader)

Summary: You and Carol have been the bestest of friends for years and years, to you it’s simply platonic. Whereas for Carol, she tortures herself constantly pining after you. The situation only gets worse when you get engaged to your boyfriend of three years and Carol has to leave for a mission (that could more or less take her six years to get back from).

The day before Carol has to leave, she admits her feelings for you, giving you two choices: to leave him and go with her or stay with him and get married.

Who will you choose and what will be your outcome?

Author’s Note: Yeah, I’m gonna make this a two parter lol since I wanna be dramatic. But stay tuned for tomorrow’s add on! 😁

Fic inspired by James Arthur’s song Can I Be Him? Which was 1000% the reason I wrote this.

Warnings! ANGST

Part Two Here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked into the room and now my heart has been stolen.

You took me back in time to when I was unbroken.

Now you're all I want.

And I knew it from the very first moment,

'Cause a light came on when I heard that song and I want you to sing it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Carol, stop! You’re cheating!” You shriek as her Mortal Kombat character starts to pummel yours into a bloody pulp.

“How is it that you’re the one that taught me this game, yet—I’m kicking your ass.” The blonde says with a cocky smirk. “Guess you just suck.”

“Or my controller’s stuck.” You shot back.

“Yeah, okay,” She rolled her eyes playfully.

You two were at your apartment, it was your day off and you wanted nothing more than to relax at home, Carol just happened to sweeten the deal with a case of beer and some pizza.

The Captain and the Avenger, or as the others like to call you—Bert and Ernie. You and Carol were about as thick as thieves and you were never really seen without each other hardly ANYWHERE around the compound. It all started when Carol had been assigned a partner to accompany her on a mission to The Garden back in 2018. Everyone swore that you two wouldn’t get along, with your ability to plan ahead and Carol’s ability to...not plan ahead it was bound to be a recipe for disaster. But after a few jokes here and there and a battle later on you two became inseparable.

Nothing could shake or disrupt the bond that you two had, all except for one thing...him.

Carol had beaten you three times in the past five minutes, she offered a final round after noticing your frustration only to win again within seconds.

“Well, well, well,” Carol throws her arms behind her head. “What’s my score again, four? And what’s yours, zip?”

The playful challenge in her gaze stirred your competitive edge, the one that hated to lose and absolutely hated being out of control. Especially in the game of your choosing.

You cross your arms over your chest and pouted like a child, “It’s only because you cheated.” You huffed.

“Yeah, keep on telling yourself that, babe. Don’t be mad because you’re a sore loser.” She teased.

“Re-Match then.” You challenged with a grin. “If I win, you’ll do whatever I say. Same thing goes if you win.”

Carol’s brows lift up in intrigue, “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“That’s something we’ll have to figure out on our own time.” You say. You extend your hand out for Carol to shake. “So, do we have a deal, Danvers?”

She takes your hand, shaking it firmly. “We do.”

Her grip on your hand lingers longer than she meant to, yours were baby soft compared to hers, each callus and dry patch were a layout of her life, each held a story and meaning.

You slid your hand out from her grasp when you heard the door open and shut. You turned your head in the direction of the approaching footsteps, a smile forms on your lips when you hear, “Sweetheart? I’m home!”

“Hi, honey!” You call out.

Kevin Davis, your boyfriend of three years. A man as sweet as they came, someone that would move Heaven and Earth for you. He was a doctor helping out at the compound and you just so happened to come back from a mission with some severe battle damage. Long story short, you two fell in love and moved in together.

Carol forces her best smile before her eyes met with your boyfriend’s. “Hey, Kevin.”

“Hey, Car.” He greets with a small smile.

Carol hated that nickname. Much more than she hated him.

Not that he was a bad guy. Kevin was actually a great guy, always able to help out and very friendly. She didn’t hate him for that though, she hated how you would look at him when he told a joke or how your eyes would light up when you talked about him. But what Carol had hated most of all...was that it wasn’t her.

A portion of her heart dies as she sees you stand up to kiss him, you two talked and acted as if she wasn’t there, which made her want to scream and cry until her throat went raw. These feelings began the first time she met you. After the Snap, everyone was expected to mourn and remember the loved ones who vanished. Carol was dealing with losing a loved one as well. Her best friend, her rock, and the only family she had, Maria Rambeau, who had passed away from cancer.

You were there when she went and comforted her immediately after. Your bond strengthened since that day, as well as Carol’s feelings for you.

“I should be heading out,” Carol drew herself to her feet. “I gotta get up early for a meeting.”

“No, Carol you don’t have to leave, we can continue our game.” You tried to convince her.

‘I’d rather chew on barbed wire than to be in the same room with him.’

But instead of saying that, she bites her tongue and simply shakes her head. “It’s okay, Y/N, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

You gave a soft smile. “Okay.”

“Bye, Kevin.” The words produced the taste of bile to spread on her tongue.

“Bye, Carol.” Kevin says with his unrelenting smile.

Carol manages to make it to the car before she bursts into violent tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swear that every word you sing, you wrote them for me.

Like it was a private show, I know you never saw me.

When the lights come on and I'm on my own,

Will you be there to sing it again?

Could I be the one you talk about in all your stories?

Can I be him?

I heard there was someone but I know he don't deserve you.

If you were mine I'd never let anyone hurt you, no, no.

I wanna dry those tears, kiss those lips.

It's all that I've been thinking about.

'Cause a light came on when I heard that song and I want you to sing it again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six years.

Six years on recon for a planet held hostage by some alien heretics, a distress call was sent and Carol was the only one who had answered. Six years and a million light years away from Earth, and a million light years away from you.

Carol had to leave early the next morning and wouldn’t have the chance to say goodbye to you before she left. So she decided to head over to your apartment for the re-match, once there; she found saying goodbye to be much more difficult than anticipated. Especially when you would greet her with such a smile that was now burned into her memory.

She tried not to think about it at all while you were playing the game, she tried not think of anything while playing.

“How are you beating me again?” You cried in disbelief watching Carol’s character slice yours in three parts.

“I told you I was good, you just didn’t believe me.” She smiles smugly. “Looks like I’m gonna win the bet.”

“You can try,” You challenged as you poked your tongue out at her.

Carol regained her focus back to the video game, having you on the ropes and your character’s life bar hanging on by a thread. It wasn’t until you lifted your left hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear that she caught glimpse of the gold engagement ring practically beaming up at her.

That was when she paused the game.

You gave a puzzled look. “What’d you do that for?”

Instead of answering you she stood up quickly, turning her back to you as she tried to fight the tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks. Engaged, how could you be engaged? And why with him?

“Carol?” You called softly.

“You weren’t gonna tell me...about the ring?” She asks, doing her best to hold off on crying.

Your eyes dart down to the gold band on your finger, fiddling with it gently. You yourself were quite shocked about it, the second that Carol left was when Kevin had proposed to you.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” You murmur. “I wanted to tell you first before I told everyone else.”

“So you decided to wear it and hope that I’d notice?” She chuckles.

“I was gonna talk to you after the game, ya know...if you hadn’t paused it.” You say as you awaited some form of a retort from your best friend, only to get no response. “Are you okay?”

Carol remained quiet for a few minutes, allowing the warm streams of water to fall down her cheeks. Burning as they did. Before you had the chance to ask again, Carol’s lips part to speak, the tears evident in her voice, “Why’d you say yes?”

“What?” You blinked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking why him?” Her lip trembles.

“And I’m asking what brought this up?” You retort. “Because you’ve never said anything about this before and...and I don’t understand why now?”

She sighs before turning to you, her eyes pink and swollen. “Why now?”

You nod.

“Because I loved you since the beginning but I didn’t know it yet, and I especially didn’t know that it would hurt to love you this much.” Carol tells you, crying harder. “Especially when you talk about him.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Your throat constricted as unshed tears stung your eyes. “Waiting until now to say something doesn’t change anything, Carol. You can’t just—“

“I’m leaving for a mission tomorrow,” She says abruptly. “...for six years.”

The words that formed on your tongue evaporated instantly, gazing up at her with quiet intensity. “When we’re you going to tell me?”

“Today.” She replies.

“And that was supposed to soften the blow?”

“I thought—“

“No,” It was your turn to cut her off. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like this.”

“You’re one to talk, when were you going to tell me that you were engaged?” She shot back, your silence being the response that she needed. “I thought so.”

You fiddled with your ring again, the band was heavy now feeling as if it would constrict your finger. “I loved you too...from the start, and I still do. I waited for you—to step in at any moment. I pushed Kevin away multiple times because you’re the one that I wanted. And...I still want you. Only you, Carol. If you would’ve said something then I wouldn’t be engaged. But now it’s too late.”

“Come with me,” She cried. “Please...”

You shake your head slowly, your tears flowing down your cheeks with haste. “I can’t—“

“Yes, you can. Leave him. Leave him and...and come with me. Please, Y/N.” Carol begged. “You say it’s too late but you still have time. We still have time. Come with me...please.”

“Carol, I—“

And before you were able to finish your answer, the door opened and Kevin walked in, “Hi, baby! I’m home!”

“Hi, honey.” You reply quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued....👀

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Tag list: @captains-simp

If anyone else would like to be tagged just let me know! ☺️

[trianglesimpfordpines]

Fiddauthor for the ask thingy

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you...

who is more likely to hurt the other? Ford. He doesn’t mean to, but he really overestimates how well-equipped Fidds (and just about everyone, really) is to deal with him and the kinds of things he does/says.

who is emotionally stronger? Ford. I mean, he’s pretty unstable, but he handles weird shit and paranormal shenanigans better, which is a huge plus given the setting.

who is physically stronger? ...Also Ford.

who is more likely to break a bone? Well, Ford is more likely to do things with a high chance of resulting in broken bones, so probably him,

who knows best what to say to upset the other? I mean, I’m gonna say Fidds, because Ford is terrible at anything requiring people skills. And upsetting people effectively is a people skill.

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument? Probably Fidds.

who treats who’s wounds more often? Both, since they probably both get injured semi-frequently.

who is in constant need of comfort? Both. Nervous breakdown bros.

who gets more jealous? I think they both get jealous, but Fidds definitely gets more aggressively jealous.

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? ...Well, that one’s canon.

who will propose? Fidds. Ford probably wouldn’t think to.

who has the most difficult parents? Ford.

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? Probably Fidds.

who hogs the blankets? Well, Fidds probably would, except that he usually doesn’t have to, because Ford almost never sleeps, and when he does, 99% of the time he just collapses on the spot instead of actually going to bed.

who gets more sad? Both. They have problems.

who is better at cheering the other up? Fidds. Ford is terrible at cheering people up.

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes? Both.

who is more streetwise? Neither.

who is more wise? Very much neither, they’re both real chaotic.

who’s the shyest? Ford, by a longshot.

who boasts about the other more? Probably Ford.

who sits on who’s lap? Well, I don’t think Fidds would sit on Ford’s lap, but it’s more physically possible than the other way around.

[ceslatoil]

WIP: A Short Scene from Chapter 2 of Preposterous Proposals!

This might count as a spoiler, but here’s a sneak peak at chapter two for anybody who’s interested!

“Pa, for the last time, ya cain’t set off a giant robot in the middle of the restaurant to propose to your boyfriend, everyone’ll die,” said Tate without much energy. He had been arguing with his father all day in a futile attempt to convince him to change his plans, at least a little bit. There were certainly other ways to propose without involving mechanical death machines, weren’t there? "Well, I think it's daring," countered Puck, a wide, toothy smile plastered across his pointed face as he pinned a flower to the lapel of Fiddleford's jacket. Tate had objected to the suit his father had chosen as well, a bright pink tailcoat with green, plastic buttons that looked a bit like owls (where had he even found that?), the suit's only saving grace was that it was well-tailored and clean. However, Fidds adored the outfit, and, knowing a losing battle when he saw it, Tate decided to let the matter go. "Golly, I cain't remember the last time I was this nervous!" Fidds' knees were bouncing together erratically, he himself had been bouncing off the walls of the mansion himself in anticipation the entire day. It had taken him all his restraint not to pop the question over the phone earlier, luckily Ford had to go, who knows what he might've said! "Do y'all think he'd really say yes," Fiddleford asked the boys, hardly believing it himself. "Of course he will," said Puck with wholehearted conviction. He clapped Fiddleford on the shoulder with one of his slender hands, beaming enough to reveal every one of Puck's needle-sharp teeth. "He'd be mad to say no! Daft even! Absolutely delusional!" "Pa, I'm sure Stanford will say yes," said Tate, "which is why ya don't need to bring that death trap into the restaurant." "Oh, come now," said Puck, his hip jerking to the side as he spoke, "Stop being so sensitive about you father getting remarried already! Let him live the life he wants, Tate!" "I ain't got no problem with Pa getting remarried ya twerp," Tate snapped, his patience with the bug-eyed Fae well worn and tattered at this point. In fact, Tate was relieved that his father had announced his plans to marry an actual, living human being for once instead of a raccoon or his own beard like he'd done so in the past. Tate's own mother had gotten remarried some years back to a woman from New Jersey named Carla (a sweet old lady, even if she did insist on wearing hot pants all the time). This was a sign that Pa's mind was steadily improving, and Tate was relieved. But still... "Aw, Tater-Tot, it ain't even that big as giant robitmajigs go," said Fidds with a pout. "It's only ten feet tall, it's practically a baby!" "A baby that has exploded in every test run you ever put it through," said Tate firmly. "All right," said Puck, rolling his eyes at his Boss' son, "so it gets a bit of... mechanical indigestion when we use the pyrotechnics. I still think it's a showstopper! It shows passion, dedication; those are good qualities to have in a marriage, right?" "AHHH I'M FREAKIN' OUT, MY BOYS!" Fidds' screaming disturbed a cluster of Brownies who were trying to coax Raccoon Wife (Ex-Wife? She would have to change her name if Ford said yes) into a bath. The woodland she-beast snarled at the furry little Fae, scrambling them halfway across the room. "Pa, try to breathe," sighed Tate; McGucket took several deep breaths while Puck rubbed his shoulders. "Look, maybe ya won't be so nervous if ya just kept it simple. Now, do ya got yer rings ready?" "I ain't let 'em go since I finished them up," admitted Fidds, pulling a black, velvet box from the depths of his beard. With trembling fingers, Fiddleford opened the box and peered inside at the precious contents. All three men agreed that Fiddleford's idea for the actual engagement rings were brilliant. A set of two magnetic rings specifically crafted with Ford's unusual digits in mind. They were a steely, gunmetal color, inscribed with a lengthy cipher about love and happiness. Fidds had made them himself, his personal favorite invention. "Why don't ya just show him these," said Tate, giving his father a rare smile. "That's going to be much more impressive than some crazy robot; Ford's going to love them." "D'ya mean it?" asked Fidds, who was tearing up a little bit. "If he doesn't," said Puck, giving the little old man a kiss on top of his head, "we'll toss him in the lake and let the Gobblewonker eat him!" "No, Puck." "Yes, Puck." "Thanks boys," said Fiddleford, tucking the box back into his beard. He hugged the both of them; though he was still nervous, they had both comforted him greatly. His heart was pounding with joy. "I'll get the driver ready for ya, Pa," said Tate, pulling away to leave the room. "And remember: just relax, keep it simple, and no giant robots!" Once Tate was gone, Puck pulled a small, black remote from his pants pocket. "Aaaaaand if ever that doesn't work," said Puck, handing the remote to McGucket, "Here's the remote that'll summon the Proposal-big. Just in case."

[novantinuum]

Together in Wanting

Read on AO3, comments and kudos there appreciated

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: T

Words: 2700~

Pairings: Fiddauthor

Story Summary: Ford overanalyzes every aspect of his strengthening crush on his roommate, and Fiddleford finally makes a move. (Content warning for some brief internalized homophobia.)

Very much inspired by an early RP with @the-ill-doctor, and my personal envisioning of how Ford and Fiddleford initially got together in our RP stuff. No context of that is needed to enjoy this, though. :D 

It only took the better part of a semester for thoughts of Fiddleford to become hopelessly and inseparably entangled within his mind. Like a single, minuscule spot of ink spilled on thick parchment— the property of capillarity pulling it through each and every layer, pigment spreading so deep one might never hope to separate the two again— whatever bewitching influence the man had unknowingly cast on him had grown and grown and created...

He shifted restlessly under his sheets, stealing away what were likely the last possible shreds of warmth his ratty bedding had to offer.  

Well...

It certainly created something new, Ford thought, anxiety buzzing deep through his bones. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him, not here. And yet, ignoring every hesitant voice that echoed at his peripherals instructing— no, demanding— that he come to his senses least trouble find him, something beautiful. Truth be told, he’d never experienced anything like this before, this... level of inexplicable attachment to another person. It was as intoxicating as it was infuriating. Here he stood, bottom of the pecking order— a college freshman, and one who didn’t have a lick of spare time to dedicate to paltry, fanciful matters such as these— and he just had to choose to be sweet on his own one-and-a-half-year older roommate!

Well, not that he had any choice in the matter. If it were up to choice, he’d probably have jumped ship that fated day he noticed all his thought patterns inevitably looping back around to that warm hearted, gregarious, confidence-for-miles southern genius. With every nervous flutter he felt within, it was almost maddening. Almost, if not for the payoff he received whenever he responded to his puns with an even dorkier one (Hey Fidds, what kind of ghosts haunt the chemistry lab? Methylated spirits) and his roommate’s laugh rang out loud and free.

Dear god, he loved the sound of his laugh. The breathy twang of his voice as he sang along with his banjo, as off key as it was. Hah, and to think he once scorned all of Fiddleford’s southern quirks...! What changed his mind? What became different in the four months they’d coexisted together, since that first day when Ford foolishly almost wrote him off as a brainless southern hick?

Oh, he remembered that day so vividly he could nearly recount the exact emotions that filtered through his being at every turn. When he first met Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, he hated him. He was utterly furious, because he was so low strung about everything, and so folksy, and taking up space in what was supposed to be his single dorm, his sanctuary from the rest of the world, but thanks to a housing mishap became sanctuary to two. He fell right into the insidious trap of judging him by mere appearance, right into blatant hypocrisy. The guilt he still felt for that was palpable, pressing down upon him like lead. Hopefully one day he’d find the right moment to apologize.

Still, it was all too unimaginable.

How could he possibly have known then what he knew now? That he’d fudge his first set of final exams and receive a few A minuses because he, Stanford F. Pines, couldn’t stop thinking about a man? Or that he’d be friends with him to begin with, after bemoaning over him ceaselessly to Ma that first week on the phone? What if he explored this the way he would with one of his experiments, conducted an unbiased scientific query focused on the origin of human romantic interactions within the temporal lobe of the brain? Could he ever pinpoint the moment, the precise variable, that sent that first ripple of nervous energy through his chest? Was it the day Fidds commented on a sketch of his DD&MD character and called them ruggedly handsome, not knowing that Ford based this elven sorcerer on himself? (Or did he know??) Maybe it was the first time he casually rest a hand on his shoulder— an action likely as natural as anything to someone from the tactile South, but entirely foreign to him. Or perhaps it was when they found a common interest in tinkering and stayed up until three am building an alarm clock Rube Goldberg would be proud of out of a busted toaster, some notebook spirals they salvaged from the trash, and an oven mitt?

How many hypotheses could he forge?

He shivered in the bitter January chill, his blankets no longer appropriate protection from the elements. He tilt his neck to catch a glimpse of his roommate, eyes squeezed closed and breathing evenly in the bed across the small dorm. The distance between them was only a few feet at most, but it might as well have been impenetrable. Ford sighed wearily, laying limp on his back, as if the weight of a loss he hadn’t yet experienced had already settled upon him.

Who was he kidding? All these thoughts he’d let enrapture his mind, these idle fantasies of what could be? Foolish. Shameful, that deep, terrified part of him whispered. For a number of reasons.

Reason one, his subconscious monotonously supplied once again. Reason one is that you’re not here at this dead-end school to entangle yourself in the lives of others. You’re here to prove your worth to your family and to academia, however you can. Reason two. He’s your roommate for the rest of the year. If you make a move, and you botch this up, life will become painfully difficult.

Reason three.

Reason three was most of his worries, and why he still hesitated to make any sort of advances. He already knew Fiddleford was... well, queer, as many of the man’s friends oft referred to themselves. But Ford? He wasn’t sure if... he never... How would he even...

True, he never felt any strong inclination towards the so-called ‘fairer sex’ as a kid. Even whatever throwaway crush he had on Cathy Crenshaw in the second grade seemed more manufactured than real, since every facet of society he’d encountered aimed to press upon him the concept of man and woman, groom and wife. But if he’d never experienced anything... romantically... inclined in the first place, then how on earth can he know for sure if that’s what this is? In the end, however, he supposed it wouldn’t be changing much about the way people saw him either way. He was already a poor, Jewish Jersey kid from a mixed family with a rare genetic mutation, why the hell not add ‘gay’ to the mix?

The minutes ticked on into endless oblivion, the only noticeable sound except for the low wind whistling at their window and the drunk laughter of those rowdy frat boys a few doors down. He nestled even further under his blankets, settling so they pulled all the way up to his chin.

He desperately wished he were braver. Truth be told, even if he could amass the courage, he didn’t know if Fiddleford would be interested. Again, his roommate was one and a half years older. They were both adults, sure, but was that still too weird? Would it be a deal breaker? At the very least, he counted himself forever lucky to have him as a friend and confidant, no matter what happened (or didn’t happen) between them. No matter what doubts assailed his thoughts, he would cherish each second he could get with him: Those few stolen moments on campus where Fidds would find him after class and they’d circle around the quad talking about DD&MD or the Apollo missions or that new academic journal on string theory Ford recently found for what felt like hours. Unique instances like last Friday, when they grabbed a bite to eat off campus together at Fidds’ impromptu request. Lazy evenings spent in the dorm not doing anything in particular, just progressing on coursework or personal projects, but always in each other’s welcomed company. Every bit of winter break, when Fiddleford kindly invited him to stay with his family in Tennessee so he didn’t have to hole up in the frigid dorms or return home.

He couldn’t help the hopeless, stupid smile that teased at his lips, his cheeks almost hurting from how wide it ran. See, and this was precisely why his feelings for Fiddleford couldn’t be downplayed as mere friendship or camaraderie! He never got this way thinking about his other DD&MD mates. Still, it was late, he was cold... letting his mind replay the same broken record all night long wouldn’t do him any favors. He yawned, and curled up to conserve as much body heat as possible.

“You still up?” a voice whispered softly from across the dorm.

He froze into a panic. All this time, Fiddleford wasn’t asleep?? Shit, shit, he didn’t notice him staring dazedly at his side of the room the whole time, did he?

“Yeah,” he replied on automatic, instantly regretting not pretending to be deep in slumber.

Fidds turned in his bed so they faced each other, head propped up on his pillow. “It sure is cold, huh.”

“It, ah... It sure is."

“An’ my blanket ain’t helping.”

“Uh, I- I could check if I have an extra?”

He didn’t. But oh, for Fiddleford, he wished he did.

“Y’know... with all that ice outside,” he drawled, “maybe we oughta work together to conserve heat. Mind if I... bunk with you, for the night?”

Never in his life had he been more grateful that he had the freedom to hide his blushing face under the covers. Jesus, Stanford, don’t go falling to pieces just yet.

“Bunk wi- with me?”

“Sure! I reckon that way, we can combine all our bedding and hopefully not freeze ta’ icicles in the middle of night.”

The unexpected proposal left his mind flooded with nothing but formless static, wholly undecided in its path. He... why would... What if they...

“Of course, only if you’re comfortable,” Fiddleford added quickly, and he knew he’d have to give a coherent response soon least he risk coming off as rude.

“I am!” he blurted out. “I mean, I- I’m not opposed. To the idea of it, to us, uh... yes.”

Nailed it.

His roommate grinned. “Be right over, then!”

He watched with a tumultuous mixture of dumbfounded shock (that such a proposition had ever occurred) and eager anticipation (that he would ever want to share a bed in the first place) as the man eagerly bundled up blankets in his arms and traversed across the room to him. While Fidds was taking care of that, he pulled back the corner of his comforter in preparation, as well as scooting himself clear to the wall. Gotta allow him as much space as possible, just in case his reasons for bed sharing weren’t the same as Ford’s reasons for his hands shaking like a leaf in sheer nervousness. Thank goodness he could excuse that away as the bite of the cold.

Fiddleford threw his blankets over the twin sized mattress, and true to form there was an instant increase in warmth. To think he’d nearly forgotten what such comfort felt like! After tucking the blankets in against the far wall— cute, real cute— he climbed in beside him. His long legs brushed against his, meeting with the hem of his sweatpants.

“Here, I can—“ he murmured, shifting his feet to allow him more room. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” he said, settling in with a soft smile and resting his head on the pillow, nose mere inches from his. “Thanks,” he added, a flash of genuine appreciation in his eyes.

(Misty blue, he noted. Reminded him of the surf.)

Side by side, they lay together in pregnant silence for an unknown duration. Their overlapping heartbeats were the only identifiable sound other than the clock’s ticking, and the never ceasing whistling of the wind. Seems the frat boys, at least, had since gone to sleep.

“Ford...”

“Hmm?”

“You do know I like ya’, right?”

And with that, a jolt of electricity shot through his entire nervous system. His tongue went slack, and Fiddleford spoke again.

“Like, like like you?”

Oh sweet Moses, it was as if his stomach had turned itself inside out- but not in an unpleasant, sick in bed with carbonated water and soda crackers sort of way, not at all. No, rather the odd sensation was light and fluttery. His face felt curiously warm, a welcome change from the frigid conditions he’d suffered in all night up until now. Breathlessly, he tried to splutter out a response.

“Y-you... you mean to say that you—?”

“Was wonderin’ when you’d finally notice? No offense, but your head’s kinda been up in the clouds.”

“I—“

He closed his eyes, steeling his nerves.

“I- really like you, too,” he finally admitted, that fluttery sensation acting up again at declaring it out loud for the first time.

“Oh, we all know,” he said fondly.

His eyes shot open.

“We?"

“What, d’ya think the rest of the crew couldn’t notice? Ford Pines, ‘m sorry ta say you really ain’t as subtle as you think you are, pining away over here.” Fiddleford paused to reach across to his face, and brushed a stray bit of his brown hair behind his ear. He peered thoughtfully into his eyes. “You ain’t subtle, and neither am I, frankly. It’s why I decided to be the first to speak up ‘bout it, ‘cause lord knows it probably wouldn’t‘ve been you.”

“I’d say I resent that, but you’re probably right,” he said with a warm chuckle, already feeling a great deal more confident about the scenario than he did only moments ago.

That wonderful man simply had something about him, something about the upbeat, genuine way he talked, that could put even the most nervous of souls at ease. He couldn’t explain it, not fully, but whenever he was around him he felt inspired to do things he’d never before considered. To take risks, to experience new and better things, to say ‘fuck it’ and sign up for that cryptography elective he desperately wanted to take even though it didn’t apply to his major... To always make the best effort he could to take care of himself, to live striving with purpose regardless of when that purpose feels impossibly distant on the horizon, to laugh daily even when laughter is the last thing he feels he’s humanly capable of...

To fall in love...

“How long has it been,” he asked, suddenly curious, “since you knew?”

“Since I knew...? Knew what? That I liked men? That you had a crush? That- that I also had one?”

“Any of it, really?”

“Hmmm,” Fiddleford thought out loud, tapping his slender finger to his chin. “Well, I figured out I was queer back when I was a kid. Had a crush on this young mailman we used to get ‘round our parts, see. And I knew you had the hots for me ever since I overheard ya’ muttering all sorts of cute things in your sleep.”

A nervous “Heh, heh” was all he could manage in response. He leaned his head ever so slightly closer to him.  

“But me? Well, I s’pose it was... Apollo 12. Back in November. We were watching the launch downstairs, in the lounge, and you... you were just so passionate about it. ‘Bout the whole world ‘round us. All my days an’ I’ve never known anyone so in love with discovery, with askin’ why. Spending time with you’s been one of the best things in my life,” he admitted, blushing slightly.

“Same,” Ford agreed, grinning wildly, his cheeks the same shade of red. “So then, if we both...? What now?”

“For now, we sleep,” he said with a short laugh. “If we stay up any later, not even Cafe Cubano could wake us up in time for lecture, I’m sure."

“Ah, but you doubt the power of my ma’s famous Cafe Cubano.”

He snickered, and then— leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Ford.”

The man rolled over then, a respectful offer of privacy within their already intimate arrangement. Ford beamed, still entirely giddy and awed in light of everything that had happened, dusting his fingers over the skin his lips graced.

“Goodnight...” he wished, his restless form finally finding a sense of deep, encompassing peace.

For tonight, at least, his slumber would be sound and dreamless.

[inktheblot]

As awful as it was, Fiddleford getting Portal straight to the head was what snapped Stanford out of his Bill-worship and stubborn adherence to the success of the transuniversal metavortex. What if that didn't happen, and Weirdmageddon came to fly 30 years ahead of schedule?

Or, a summary of an AU I will probably never get around to writing but I put too much thought into anyway.

Setting the scene of 1982-Weirdmageddon in full swing. Turning Gravity Falls inside out is fun, but eventually, of course, Bill figures out that he can’t go any further than this stupid hick town. He turns to who else but Stanford Pines, the man who changed the world, for potential solutions. “Hey, pal, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this barrier thing, would you?”

Ford is basically Bill’s brainwashed little lap pet of the apocalypse by this point. The demon decided to keep him around because messing with him is entertaining and he might happen to have some decent knowledge left in the ol’ noggin that could come in handy later. “You belong here. I am your Muse and you are my Genius,” Bill constantly reminds him, an endlessly repeating mantra in his head. Bit by bit, Bill has twisted Ford’s thoughts and convinced him this is where he was meant to be all along: living among freaks and monsters.

Now Ford is half-asleep and half-drunk from time punch. He starts babbling about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism and how yes, you can drop the barrier. But after layers of intoxication and mind alteration, he’s barely talking coherently at all, so Bill takes things into his own hands. “Hey, don’t wear yourself out, kid! You wouldn’t mind if I just poked around in that brilliant mind of yours for that equation, right? See, it’s no biggie…You rest, Sixer. I’ll handle the hard work here.”

But Ford’s mind is a mess now; it’s not even close to organized anymore. It’s scattered with lots of weirdness, lots of upside-down-ness…and triangles. Lots of triangles. It’s pretty funny, Bill thinks: a couple of years ago, Stanford Pines was the most driven and determined young scientist this side of Dimension 52, and now he’s complete chaos-ified slush.

Bill amuses himself sifting through the disarray of Ford’s Mindscape, until he comes across something very interesting tucked inside a battered textbook. It’s an old photograph of two near-identical boys posing on a beach, all sunburns and smiles. 

Bill gets a Wonderful Awful Idea.

“OH BOY. OH BOY OH BOY. CONGRATULATIONS, MISSUS PINES, IT’S TWINS!” 

How HILARIOUS would it be to hold a little family reunion??? While Bill’s physical form can’t leave Gravity Falls - yet - the Dreamscape is still his to conquer, and it won’t take long for him to pick up this second Stan. He puts Ford’s mind to sleep and returns to the material world, only to project his dream form back outward moments later. He leaves the town - and his pet - in the hands of his Henchmaniacs.

Stanley is, frankly, in deep shit, as we might expect. By the time he dreams of this floating nacho, he’s just about had it with the world. Since he never got that postcard from his brother, he’s pretty convinced that no one gives a damn about him and nothing in his life is gonna turn around anytime soon. He’s pretty dead set on ending it all, but he figured he’d at least sleep on it before being too rash.

Then along comes this triangle guy who seems to know Lots of Things, throwing haughty proclamations and bizarre nicknames left and right. “Hey, Fish Head, you’re a bargaining man, yeah? How’s about striking a deal with me,” he proposes. “Before you go blowing your brains out, I thought maybe you might want to see your brother one more time…”

Stan is not on his conman A-game. He's too exhausted and miserable to try sorting through riddles and deals and God knows what else. He does protest the offer at first: “Nah, why bother? I haven’t seen him in like, what, twelve years? He hates me.” But eventually he figures this is all a dream, and anyway, he has nothing to lose. So he shakes the demon’s hand.

The blue fire thing is a little creepy, but he doesn’t have much time to process it, since the next thing he knows, his body is being yanked out from under him. 

He regains consciousness somewhere that must be very far away from the deadends of New Mexico. This doesn’t look remotely like his trashy motel room. It doesn’t look like Earth at all, really. “What the hell is this? Is this hell?? Is that what that flyin’ corn chip was getting at? I’m dead, I’m in hell, and - and - and Ford’s here too! That’s it, isn’t it? This is it? This is - this is the end?”

Right on cue, Stanley catches sight of his brother, now somewhat awake and alert again, floating in midair, glowing yellow and looking utterly…well…demonic. Something deep within Stan breaks. He balls up in manic panicked laughter on the floor of the Fearamid.

Things don’t go too well between a Stanley barely alive and a Stanford spellbound by otherdimensional evil. An ugly conversation fueled by old grudges and new magic commences.

Eventually Stan finds a means of temporary escape from Bill’s lair, dropping onto the streets of chaos-torn Gravity Falls, muttering curses to himself all the while. The next human being he happens to run into is none other than Fiddleford McGucket, decently crazy but still technically sane. That’s when solutions start happening…if tackling a grumbly guy in the street because "DID YOU SAY STANFORD?! YOU’VE SEEN STANFORD?!” is any way for things to start shaping up.

Fidds is safe, relatively speaking. When things started getting messed up, he immediately figured Ford’s research had something to do with it. He rushed over to Ford’s house, where everything was pretty much wrecked, but he managed to snatch up Journal 1 and the components for the unicorn-hair protection spell. Then he found a shed to put up the shield around, to keep himself alive at the very least. He avoided use of the memory gun as best he could, figuring a situation like this would require all his wits, and anyway, trying to forget about this living nightmare wouldn’t make it disappear.

Stan and Fiddleford explain to each other as much as they know about Stanford and the situation at hand, and begin to formulate a plan. They return to the Fearamid with the memory gun. One of them distracts Bill while the other blasts his influence out of Ford’s head.

The three reconvene. Stan and Fidds attempt to jog Ford’s memory: just enough to get him to understand what’s going on, but not so much that he falls back under Bill’s power.

Seeing the people he loves most so distraught ignites something in Ford. He is reminded of all the things he wished he’d said to them, all that he owes them, and he knows what he has to do to make it up to them. As if again possessed but now by a benign force, he sets the memory gun in his own name and summons Bill into his mind one last time, offering up his genius and the equation needed to escape Gravity Falls.

Bill answers the call immediately, meandering through Ford’s mind in search of his prize, only to realize soon enough that everything is going down in blue flames. He whips around to find the image of Ford staring him down, his eyes clearer than they have been in over a year.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Bill shrieks. "YOU’RE DESTROYING EVERYTHING! WHAT ABOUT ALL WE WORKED FOR?! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! YOU ARE MY GENIUS! I AM YOUR MUSE!”

“It’s true that there is great Genius involved in this, but you won't find it in here,” Ford murmurs, thinking of his brother and his best friend holding down the trigger on the other side of his consciousness. “No one else will suffer from your trickery…or my foolishness."

Bill screams. Ford exhales. The Mindscape fades to white. The invasive weirdness evaporates from Earth Dimension 46’;.

Ford awakens to Stan and Fiddleford leaning over him, tears in their eyes and worry on their faces. They manage to convince their amnesiac companion to return to his old house, but any hope of restoring his memory seems for naught…

That is, until Fidds happens upon a stray thirty-eight-sided die stuck in the floorboards. “This was our favorite game in college,” he explains to Stan wistfully. “Kinda nerdy, maybe, but we sure had fun with it. How did that chant thingummy go? Something like…‘with pen and paper, shield and sword…’”

A weak and tired, but nevertheless passionate voice sounds from the other side of the room.

“‘Our quest shall be our sweet reward.'"

[proseandsongs]

I Can’t Be Without You

Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the lovely, kind, talented @emberglows! I am so privileged to be your friend, and as a sign of thanks/celebration of your birthday, I’ve written a Fiddlestan fic! I really hope you enjoy it. Happy birthday, love!! <3

“This is stupid.” Stan plucked at the bright red bowtie around his neck and grimaced at his reflection.

His niece swooped in and slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch it! You’ll ruin it.”

Stanley sighed and tugged at his suit jacket to banish the wrinkles. The suit was brand new and snug in the shoulders, but Mabel had refused to let him wear his Mystery Shack suit because it smelled like mothballs and formaldehyde. Stan had suspicions that Fiddleford was immune to the scent due to his work with Stanford, but he didn’t argue. He only put his foot down when Mabel suggested glitter hairspray to keep his hair in place. His hair was hard as a helmet with all the gel; it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Pumpkin, I don’t know about this. This seems a bit too…fancy. I’m just going out with Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, for your anniversary!” Mabel brushed back a stray hair from her Grunkle’s forehead and beamed at him in the mirror. After a few summers of growth spurts, Mabel now stood at her Grunkle’s shoulder, which meant she could now pick at him whenever she wanted. However, the careful adjustments – straightening a crooked tie, swiping at a smudge on his glasses with her sleeve, flattening a cowlick – were appreciated.

Mabel giggled in excitement and added, “I can’t believe you’ve been dating for a whole year!”

Stan swallowed hard as he grimaced at his reflection. “Me either.”

The whole thing was a bit strange. He had never predicted – never could have predicted – how the summer after their journey on the Stan o’ War would go.

After spending nearly a year alone in his mansion, with weekly visits from his son, Tate, Fiddleford had grown lonely. Despite his regular correspondence with Stanford as he travelled the world, Fiddleford sought company. Which is why, when Stanley and Stanford returned to Gravity Falls for summer vacation, Fiddleford proposed that they move into his mansion. There was far more space than at the Mystery Shack where Soos and now Melody lived, and Fiddleford practically shoved his Southern hospitality down their throats. They couldn’t say no.  

It was Fiddleford’s odd colloquialisms and erratic behaviour that made Stan fret about staying in the mansion. Once they moved in, he was surprised to see Stanford was just as happy working with Fiddleford in his lab as they had been on the ocean. Even more surprising: Stanley was enjoying himself, too. It wasn’t because of the Olympic swimming pool in the backyard (although that didn’t hurt) or the silverware he had pawned shortly after moving in: it was because Fiddleford was so kind. The man who had suffered homelessness, abandonment, and poverty for thirty years couldn’t stop giving. He donated to the children’s program at the library, the senior’s residence, and drew up blueprints for a year-round homeless shelter that was now under construction.

In addition to Fiddleford’s generosity and success as an engineer, Stanley had been startled by his great sense of humour. The first time he heard Fiddleford sass Stanford, he laughed himself into stitches. That had been the first time Fiddleford’s grin had brought heat into his face, although he was quick to blame this on the laughter.

Stanley got to know Fiddleford, to the point where they could have long conversations without the intervention of Stanford. He was sleeping more now, and would often doze while Stanley and Fiddleford spoke; no doubt catching up on thirty years of sleep deprivation. The more Stanley spoke to Fiddleford, the more smitten he became, to the point that even Dipper and Mabel could tell there was something suspicious going on. Stanley dodged the questions, but he couldn’t avoid the unfamiliar pull Fiddleford had on him.

Soon the evening soaks in the pool with just the two of them – Stanford claimed it was unsanitary – turned into long conversations that stretched until the moon was at its highest. Those chats turned into heart-pounding flirting sessions, where Stanley didn’t know up from down and couldn’t determine whether Fiddleford was reciprocating, or merely being polite.

He got the hint one evening near the end of the summer when, in response to a blatant come-on, Fiddleford shot him with an exasperated look and blurted, “Stanley Pines, if you don’t steel your gut and kiss me silly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”

He obliged, of course, and proceeded to kiss Fiddleford silly – that is until Stanford burst onto the scene with a ceptopod latched onto his ear.

Stanley had been mortified, but all Stanford said was, “It’s about time,” before he started gushing about his newest finding.

How far they had come from that uncertain night, both embarrassing and sweet; now he stood in front of a mirror, dressed to the nines by his niece and set to take his partner for a great dinner for their anniversary. Anniversary. He had never expected anyone to stick around that long.

Stan smiled at his reflection and admired Mabel’s styling. “Nice work, kid.”

He ruffled her hair and grinned at her little squawk of surprise. With a laugh, Stan pulled open his dresser drawer and scooped up a small black box. It fit in his suit coat pocket without leaving a suspicious lump. Good; it was better if he didn’t see it coming.

“I’ve gotta get going. You know how Fidds gets about being late.”

“The only people excused from punctuality are the dead, Stanley,” Mabel recited in an on-point imitation of Fiddleford.

“Yeah yeah, you little gremlin,” Stan said as he ruffled her hair again.

Much like his niece, nephew, and brother, Fiddleford was strange.

Stanley had always had a soft spot for strange.

If the waiter didn’t interrupt him soon to take their order, Stan was positive he was going to drown himself with all the water he was drinking. The truth was he was so nervous he could hardly form a sentence, and sweating buckets to boot.

Fiddleford must have noticed, because he paused in the middle of his story about the director’s meeting he had earlier that day to ask, “Are you alright, Stanley?”

His brow was furrowed behind his spectacles, and the genuine concern made Stanley’s mouth go dry. He guzzled the last of his glass of water and set it down with gusto.

“Yeah, of course!”

He hoped that Fiddleford hadn’t heard the crack in his voice. He adjusted his suit coat to hide the steadily growing sweat stains with a bit of embarrassment.

When Stanley looked up at Fiddleford, he was torn between admiration and a deep feeling of inadequacy. Fiddleford was fresh and crisp in a simple grey suit and purple tie. The small white rose that decorated the lapel of his jacket matched his newly trimmed beard, fluffy and bright.

Next to his handsome partner, Stan felt like an absolute mess.

Stan must have stared too long, because Fiddleford frowned at him again and looked like he was about to question him again. Eager for a distraction, Stanley craned his neck and said gruffly, “Where’s that waiter? I’m getting ready to eat my hand.”

At Stan’s complaint, a few disapproving looks turned their way. However, Fiddleford was mild when he replied, “I’m sure he’ll be by soon. In the meantime…”

When Fiddleford unexpectedly reached across the table to hold Stanley’s hand, he jumped a bit. Stan met his partner’s eyes and was relieved to see they were soft, like his smile. It was enough to make him relax under Fiddleford’s touch.

“Stanley, tonight is very important to me, and I’m so glad I get to spend it together,” Fiddleford began. “And I – I just wanted to say thank you.”

Stan was surprised. “Eh? What for?”

Fiddleford gave Stanley’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I want to thank you for being so understanding these last few months. I know I’ve been off negotiating with a bunch of stiff coats almost every day this month about patenting and selling my inventions, but you’ve been so good about our time apart. It’s been difficult navigating all the corporate mazes, but being able to talk to you at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile.”

Stanley sniffled and blinked a couple times to rid his eyes of the sting. He chuckled to hide the fact that his throat was tight with emotion and caressed the inside of Fiddleford’s thumb with his own. “You’re one of the best parts of my day, too. I…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Fiddleford insisted with a smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words struck Stanley to the core, and he felt a surge of courage. His hand fell to the box in his pocket.  

“I’m glad you said that,” Stanley said, his voice stilted as he pulled his hand away. On shaking legs, Stanley stood and took a step around the table, much to Fiddleford’s bemusement. As he dipped his hand into his pocket, Stanley added, “It’ll make it a whole lot easier to do this.”

While Stan lowered himself slowly to one knee, he pulled the box out of his pocket and was met with a gasp. Fiddleford had clapped a hand over his mouth and was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock. The adrenaline of the moment pushed Stanley to speak in a rush.

“Will you marry me?”

He popped open the box to reveal the simple gold band filigreed with patterns that resembled the circuit boards that Fiddleford often worked on when he needed to get over a mental block.

Fiddleford blinked once, twice, and then whispered, “Stanley–”

“Look, I know it’s a bit sudden, after only a year,” Stan blurted; he was flushing like a fiend. “But a couple of old farts like us don’t have time to waste. I want to make an honest man of you, and it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t do it properly. You never know how much time you have with someone; I wish I had learned that sooner, but it’s not too late for us. If I didn’t ask you this, I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

Stan blinked back a few tears and cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine being without you, and I don’t want to be, ever. I’m here with you until the end, if you’ll have me.”

He held his breath as he waited for Fiddleford’s response. Teary eyed, his partner let out a breathless “Yes, Stanley,” and proceeded to shower kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. With a grin, Stan slid the ring onto Fiddleford’s finger and caught him with a quick kiss on the lips. Applause rose from the other restaurant goers and wait staff as they broke apart, and Stanley whipped around with a half-hearted scowl.

“Nosy jerks. How’s a guy supposed to propose with a bunch of snoops?” he muttered with a glare at the rowdy bunch of college-age students pounding the table and chanting “Kiss! Kiss!”

“Stanley,” Fiddleford brought him back with a soft word and a dopey smile, “this is a lovely moment, please don’t ruin it.”

“All I’m saying is that they could at least pretend not to look–”

“Stanley.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright. It doesn’t matter, anyway. All that matters is you said yes.”

Fiddleford smiled again. “That I did.”

When their lips met again to a chorus of cheers, Stanley didn’t care about the noise. He only had eyes for his fiancé and hope for the life they would build together.

[asrarblog]

Dear Colleagues!  This is Pharma Veterans Blog Post #323. Pharma Veterans welcomes sharing of knowledge and wisdom by Veterans for the benefit of Community at large. Pharma Veterans Blog is published by Asrar Qureshi on WordPress, the top blog site. Please email to asrar@asrarqureshi.com for publishing your contributions here.

Clin Investig (Lond). 2015; 5(2): 161–173.

doi: 10.4155/cli.14.116   Authors. Stephen L George*,1 and Marc Buyse2

[Quote] “Highly publicized cases of fabrication or falsification of data in clinical trials have occurred in recent years and it is likely that there are additional undetected or unreported cases. We review the available evidence on the incidence of data fraud in clinical trials, describe several prominent cases, present information on motivation and contributing factors and discuss cost-effective ways of early detection of data fraud as part of routine central statistical monitoring of data quality. Adoption of these clinical trial monitoring procedures can identify potential data fraud not detected by conventional on-site monitoring and can improve overall data quality.”

“The US Public Health Service defines research misconduct more narrowly, restricting it to the most egregious practices [4]:

“Research misconduct means fabrication, falsification, or plagiarism in proposing, performing, or reviewing research, or in reporting research results;

Fabrication is making up data or results and recording or reporting them;

Falsification is manipulating research materials, equipment, or processes, or changing or omitting data or results such that the research is not accurately represented in the research record;

Plagiarism is the appropriation of another person’s ideas, processes, results, or words without giving appropriate credit;

Research misconduct does not include honest error or differences of opinion.”

The last point in the definition is crucial; the key distinction between misconduct or fraud and honest error is intent (fraud is ‘intent to cheat’).”

This paper particularly deals with a specific type of scientific fraud, i.e. deliberate fabrication or falsification of data in clinical trials. The authors suggest that it is difficult to estimate the exact incidence of data fraud in clinical research and it may be assumed it is low. This, however, is just an assumption.

“Overall, the available evidence is rather unreliable but seems to suggest that the incidence of certain types of misconduct may be quite high, but the incidence of data fabrication or falsification is low – but perhaps not as low as might be suggested by the frequency of confirmed and publicized cases. Given the large number of investigators involved, approximately 535,000 US scientists in 2012 [23], even low percentages yield a large number of perpetrators.”

The authors have reported some high-profile cases where data was fabricated and manipulated in order to get desirable results. The detail is so relevant that it is hard to edit it.

[Quote]

Robert Fiddes

In the 1990’s Dr. Robert Fiddes was the director of the Southern California Research Institute, a for-profit institution, and was the lead clinical investigator for a large number of clinical trials conducted for pharmaceutical company sponsors… Unfortunately, to maintain his highly successful business Dr. Fiddes had been conducting scientific fraud on an impressive scale for over a decade [40]. Ineligible patients were enrolled on trials; fictitious patients were also enrolled; some patients were pressured to enter trials; laboratory data were altered; blood pressure, EKGs and other results were fabricated; blood and urine samples were submitted that did not come from the patient enrolled (in one instance, an employee with proteinuria, a necessary eligibility criterion for some trials, was paid $25 per urine sample to be submitted as if it were a sample from an actual patient.). Dr. Fiddes was able to maintain his fraud over a long period of time despite audits and other checks until a concerned whistleblower contacted the FDA about the misconduct. After an exhaustive investigation, Dr. Fiddes pled guilty to fraud in 1997, and was sentenced to 15 months in prison [41].

Harry W Snyder Jr & Renee Peugot

In 1994, Dr. Harry W Snyder Jr, a prominent dermatologist and scientist at BioCryst Pharmaceuticals, a biotech company founded in 1986 in Birmingham, Alabama, was overseeing a clinical trial sponsored by BioCryst at the University of Alabama at Birmingham (UAB), where his wife, Renee Peugot, a registered nurse at the University, was the study coordinator responsible for the day-to-day conduct of the trial. Both had considerable financial interests in BioCryst and a vested interest in the outcome of the trial. The product being tested was BCX-34, a purine nucleoside phosphorylase agent, used as a topical ointment in the treatment of psoriasis and in the treatment of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL)….. In February 1995 a BioCryst press release claimed highly favorable results for BCX-34 for both psoriasis and CTCL patients, particularly noteworthy for CTCL. A subsequent internal re-analysis of the data by the new Medical Director of BioCryst raised serious questions about the initial results and led eventually to a retraction in June 1995 of the results claimed in the earlier press release, now with ‘no statistically significant drug effect’ noted. Further inquiry and audits by the company and by the FDA led to charges against Snyder and Peugot of falsification of data, including the randomization assignments, to make the results more favorable for BCX-34. Felony convictions followed for both Snyder and Peugot, with prison sentences of 3 years and 2.5 years respectively, payment of financial restitution and permanent debarment by the FDA. The University also had all clinical trials stopped for a period of time while the investigation was underway for failure to properly oversee the trials. [42,43]

Jon Sudbø

In October 2005, The Lancet published a paper by Jon Sudbø, a Norwegian physician and researcher, and co-authors on non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs and the risk of oral cancer [44]. The paper reported the analysis of a case–control study of 908 subjects from a population based cohort in Norway. Cases were patients with oral cancer (N = 454) with an equal number of matched controls. Based on detailed statistical analyses, the authors concluded, among other things, that “Long-term use of NSAIDs is associated with a reduced incidence of oral cancer (including in active smokers), but also with an increased risk of death due to cardiovascular disease. These findings highlight the need for a careful risk-benefit analysis when the long-term use of NSAIDs is considered.” [44]. However, soon after publication, in January 2006, the editors of The Lancet received correspondence from officials in the hospital where Sudbø worked, that they had uncovered “ information that strongly indicates that material published … has not been based upon data from our national databases, but on manipulated data… it was not manipulation of real data…it was … complete fabrication.” [45]. This was followed quickly by a retraction of the article [46]. A subsequent investigation by an independent commission of inquiry found that all 908 subjects in the Lancet paper and all data were fictitious (250 subjects had the same birthday!) and, furthermore, that many of Sudbø’s previous publications contained fabricated data, including his doctoral dissertation. Many of these other papers have now also been retracted. Sudbø’s dissertation was rescinded and he is no longer allowed to practice medicine or work in medical research.

Yoshitaka Fujii

A letter to the editor of the journal Anesthesia and Analgesia in April 2000 called attention to some unusual results in the clinical trials reported in papers published by Yoshitaka Fujii, an anesthesiologist and researcher who had published extensively on his clinical trials involving agents used to treat postoperative nausea and vomiting (PONV) [47]. Specifically, the authors of the letter noted that in 21 papers reporting postoperative headache rates in randomized clinical trials of antiemetic agents, the numbers of headaches was exactly equal in all treatment groups in 13 papers and the numbers differed by at most one in the remaining eight papers. The probability of such a chance occurrence in one trial is quite small; the probability that it occurred in all 21 trials is so small that it strains credulity. The authors, in an ironic understatement, concluded that “…there must be an underlying influence causing such incredibly nice data reported by Fujii et al.” [47]. In his brief reply, Fujii failed to address the key issue of how such unusual results might have occurred, noting “…an incidence of headache seems to be identical, but it was true.” [48]. Remarkably, despite the suspicions this must have raised and the lack of a satisfactory explanation for the findings, other than this brief exchange of letters, there does not seem to have been any other official follow-up or repercussions at that time. Dr. Fujii continued to publish the results of his clinical trials over the next 12 years.

In 2012, JB Carlisle, a UK anesthesiologist, published an exhaustive analysis of the statistical distributions of variables from 168 randomized clinical trials conducted and published by Fujii over the previous 20 years, an extraordinary number of trials for any investigator [49]. For most of the categorical and continuous variables reported in these papers, the frequency distributions were much less variable than would be expected by chance alone, echoing and markedly extending the earlier findings on a single variable from a smaller number of studies. Carlisle’s cautiously worded conclusion was “Whether the raw data from any of these studies can be analysed, and whether this might provide an innocent explanation of such results…is beyond the scope of this paper.” [49]. In his letter replying to this paper, Fujii, as in his previous letter in 2000, again failed to address the key question raised by the statistics (i.e., what is the explanation for these remarkably implausible results?), but stated “…this article by Carlisle can obviously be very damaging to me and I want to answer it seriously, but I am not a statistician. I can only offer a few elements of rebuttal at this point…analyses of data obtained from the experiments were performed by myself and colleagues (co-authors), and this can be proved by them…The only thing I can say is that we performed the tests over years with full honesty and integrity. Additionally, I did not write these articles alone, and some of data were collected by others as well.” [50]. But this time the evidence would not be ignored. The editors of 23 journals formally requested a review by the seven institutions in Japan at which Fujii had worked [51]. Shortly thereafter, the Japanese Society of Anesthesiologists (JSA) also began an extensive investigation of 212 papers published by Fujii, including a review of lab records and interviews with other investigators whenever possible. Their findings were astonishing: Out of the 212 papers reviewed, 172 were fraudulent, including 126 ‘totally fabricated’ papers reporting the results of [52]. Meanwhile, as the investigations got underway, Dr. Fujii was no longer involved in research, having been dismissed from the university where he worked for failure to obtain ethical review board approval for his studies. [Unquote]

Continued……

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4340084/

Data Fraud in Medical Research – Part I – Blog Post #323 by Asrar Qureshi Dear Colleagues!  This is Pharma Veterans Blog Post #323. Pharma Veterans welcomes sharing of knowledge and wisdom by Veterans for the benefit of Community at large…

[thelastspeecher]

Pirate AU - First Mate Lute

If anyone’s wondering what our favorite boy, Lute McGucket, is up to in the Pirate AU, this ficlet should resolve some of that wondering.

Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              “How screwed are we, First Mate Lute?” Valentino asked weakly as they watched pirates board their ship.  Lute swallowed.

              “As screwed as it’s possible to be, Captain,” he croaked.  “That’s her ship, Sweet Viola.”

              “Captain Sally,” Valentino mumbled.  Lute nodded.  “Well…she doesn’t kill everyone she raids, right?”

              “That’s what I’ve heard.”  Lute drew his sword and stood in front of his captain protectively. “Maybe she’ll go easy on us.”  The pirates charged.  “Or maybe not.”

              The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. Lute swallowed nervously at the cutlass at his throat, glad to have shoved Valentino into the captain’s cabin once he saw which direction the battle was taking.

              “Where’s the captain, pretty boy?” snarled the man who had finally taken down Lute.  Lute grinned.

              “You think I’m pretty?” he teased.  The man glared.  “I’m flattered, but-”

              “Stand down, Stan,” a voice rasped.  Lute tensed.  He’d heard, as had everyone else, of how Captain Sally’s voice had been damaged when she first turned to a life of piracy.  It was a story that he’d always felt disgusted by.  Who would try to slit the throat of a young woman?  But Captain Sally wouldn’t want his pity, and now that he’d heard the voice, his suspicion had been confirmed.  The Pirate King herself was on board the ship.

              “He won’t tell us where the captain is, Sally,” Stan reported.

              “We don’t need him to tell us.  It won’t take long to search the ship,” Captain Sally replied calmly.  Footsteps sounded.  Stan sheathed his sword and stood to the side, revealing the Pirate King.

              Lord above, she’s short.  Captain Sally looked Lute over with a discerning eye. Scars tracked up and down her arms and legs.  Once she’d dropped the moniker of “Sully” and began to go by her proper name, supposedly she had changed her style of dress.  The rumors differed as to the reasoning.  Some claimed that she showed more skin to have her battle scars visible, as an intimidation tactic.  Others said it was to distract sailors who hadn’t seen a woman in months.

              “Look, we don’t mean ya any harm,” Lute said. “We’re honest people.  We don’t chase down pirates, we just sell-”

              “Tea.  I know.” Captain Sally leaned in to look at him. With her so close, Lute could see the infamous scar on her neck, as well as a deep, jagged one that ran across her cheek.  It marred an otherwise lovely, delicate face.  A face that Lute recognized.

              “…Angie?” he whispered.  Captain Sally’s eyes widened.

              “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snarled.  She spun around to address her waiting crew.  “Find the captain and get the maps.  Feel free to take some of their inventory as well, but don’t harm any members of this crew. It’s no fun to scuttle a ship that fell so quickly.”  Her crew seemed a bit surprised by the order, but dispersed.

              “Sally, what was that about?” Stan whispered. Captain Sally glared at Lute.

              “Apparently I have more than one brother that took up sailing,” she ground out.  Stan looked at Lute.

              “…Okay, I see it now.”

              “Yeah, no shit,” Captain Sally – Angie scoffed.

              “Look, can- can we talk?” Lute asked weakly. Angie eyed him.

              “If I feel like it, I’ll send word,” she said after a moment.  “Come on, Stan, we need to make sure the crew behaves themselves.”  She stomped off, Stan close behind.  Lute could only stare as his missing little sister walked away. Her words repeated in his mind.

              “Apparently I have more than one brother that took up sailing.”

              Wait.  She knows Fidds is in the navy?  Fidds has seen her?  And he didn’t tell me?!

----- 

              Someone sat at Lute’s table, across from him. Lute looked up from his book.  He beamed.

              “Angie.”

              “Lute,” Angie said shortly.  She was dressed the same way she had before she’d disappeared. A dress, a bonnet, and her hair tastefully done.  In addition, her scars weren’t visible, so Lute guessed she covered them with makeup. Angie tugged uncomfortably on her dress. “Ugh.  Women’s clothes can be so confining.”

              “Is that why you started your career pretending to be a man?” Lute asked softly.

              “Only one reason.”  Angie finished fussing with her clothes.  “So.”

              “You look nice,” Lute offered.  Angie snorted.  “You do.  Just like…”

              “Just like I used to?” Angie asked.  “Before I had more scars than freckles, a ship, and a bounty on my head?”

              “…Yeah.”

              “That’s the point.  Captain Sally is wanted, Lute.”  Angie’s lips turned in a slight frown.  “To be fair, so is Angie McGucket, but she’s not a household name.”

              “Wait, yer wanted?”

              “I’m the Pirate King, dumbass,” Angie hissed. Lute opened and closed his mouth silently for a moment.  “Lute?”

              “I’m just- I’ve- you swore-” Lute stammered. Angie rolled her eyes.

              “Lute.  I’m a pirate. I use swears on a regular basis that you’ve never even heard of.”

              “Fair point.”  Lute took a steadying breath.  “I know that Captain Sally is wanted.  But so is Angie McGucket?”

              “Yeah.”  Angie looked at him curiously.  “You didn’t know that?”  Lute shook his head.  “Fiddleford didn’t tell ya that?”

              “Wh- Fidds knows?” Lute squeaked.  Angie nodded.  “When did you come across Fidds?”

              “Back when I was still goin’ by Sully.  He said that he found out I was s’pposed to be hanged but escaped on a pirate ship.  He went chasin’ down ships after, and eventually found me.  He’s absolute shit at swordfightin’, though.  I mean, yer not exactly fantastic, either, but at least it took more than two seconds to take ya down.”

              “I…”  Lute put his head in his hands.  “This is a lot of information, Banjey.  Why- why were you s’pposed to be hanged?”

              “I got framed.”  Angie scowled.  “But I escaped.  I was already wanted, so I figured I might as well lean into it.  And I joined a pirate crew.”

              “I heard the story about your first night as a pirate,” Lute said softly.

              “Hmm?  Oh, that?” Angie shrugged.  “It’s not as big a deal as the rumor makes it out to be. Sure, that failed attempt to slit my throat left a scar, but it didn’t actually cause any lasting damage.” Lute’s heart sunk.  Angie sighed.  “What’s the cause of yer sad eyes now?”

              “I don’t like hearin’ that my little sister almost got her throat slit,” Lute said.

              “I’ve been through a lot worse.”

              “I don’t like hearin’ that, either.”  Lute sighed.  “I’d hoped you were safe.  I just wish that were true.”

              “Uh, what?  I am safe.”

              “No, yer not.  Yer a pirate.”

              “So?”

              “I worry about you!  I worry ‘bout yer safety and yer health and yer happiness,” Lute burst out.  Angie’s gaze sharpened.

              “That’s big talk comin’ from a man what didn’t even know I’d almost been hanged,” she snarled.  “Yer worried ‘bout my safety?  My health?  Where was that worry when I was framed fer a crime I didn’t commit and thrown in a dank jail cell?”

              “I didn’t know those things, Angie!”

              “Why not?”

              “I ain’t all-knowin’!”

              “Fidds figured it out.”

              “Fidds works fer the government,” Lute snapped. “He’s got access to information I don’t. Why do ya think I was the first mate fer a merchant vessel?  I’m makin’ connections and money, and it was all so’s I could finally try to figure out where my little sister disappeared to.”

              “I-”  Lute had no doubt that if they weren’t in a public restaurant, there would be a blade at his throat right now.  But Angie couldn’t fall back on a physical retort right now, no matter how much she wanted to.  She was left with words, and there was no way she could logically argue against what he’d said.

              “Angie.  It’s difficult to track down someone who’s gone missin’.  That hasn’t stopped us, ‘course.  We’ve been tryin’ to find ya fer years.  You have to understand that us not speakin’ with ya isn’t ‘cause we didn’t want to.  It’s ‘cause we haven’t been able to figure out where ya went.”

              “I…”  Angie’s head bowed.  “That’s- that’s basically what Fidds said.”  Her hands clenched into fists.  “It might be a good reason, it might excuse yer complete lack of communication with me.”  Angie looked up.  Her eyes, shining with unshed tears, met Lute’s.  “But that don’t mean it didn’t hurt,” she choked out.

              “I know,” Lute said softly.  “I know you must be hurtin’.  But you can come home now.”

              “What?”  Angie seemed startled out of her sadness.  “Come home? Lute, the Sweet Viola is my home now.  I’ve got a crew what relies on me, a job I love doin’-”

              “Is piracy really a career?” Lute muttered.

              “It pays better than yours,” Angie said snidely. She grinned.  “I saw the payment records when I searched yer ship.”  Lute blushed.

              “I also get some benefits from it that aren’t monetary,” he stammered.

              “If ya say so.  But like I was sayin’, I have a home.  I have a crew, they’re basic’ly my fam’ly, too.  And I have…I have Stan.”

              “Yer first mate?”

              “Yeah.  He’s my first mate and…well.”  Angie took a deep breath.  “We’re betrothed.”

              “Yer what?!” Lute screeched.  People at the nearby tables looked over.  “Oh, sorry, folks, don’t mind me.”  Once eyes were off them, Lute stared at Angie.  “Yer betrothed?”

              “Yes.”

              “To yer first mate.”

              “Yes.”  Angie smiled faintly.  “He proposed not long ago.”

              “When’s the wedding?”

              “Whenever we have the chance to tie the knot.  We don’t want a big to-do.  We just want to be together, y’know?”

              “Yeah.  I know.” Lute chewed on his lip thoughtfully. Angie sighed.

              “I know that look.  What are ya thinkin’?”

              “As a first mate, I’m pretty close to the captain of my ship,” he said slowly.  Angie raised an eyebrow.

              “Close, huh?” she asked.  Lute blushed.

              “Sh- shut up.”  He cleared his throat.  “I could prob’ly get him to marry the two of ya.”  Angie’s eyes lit up.

              “Wait, really?” she asked eagerly.  Lute nodded.  “That- that would be great.”

              “Consider it an attempt to make up fer everything that’s happened to ya,” he said softly.  Angie smiled.  “Bring Stan to my ship in an hour.  I’ll talk to the captain.”  He got up from the table.  Promptly, Angie tackled him in a hug.

              “Thank you, Lute,” she whispered.  Lute embraced her tightly.

              “Makin’ my baby sister happy ain’t a problem. It’s a joy.”

----- 

              Lute knocked on the captain’s door.

              “Come in,” Val’s voice said.  Lute opened the door.  Val, sitting at his desk, beamed at him.  “Lute.”

              “I have a favor to ask,” Lute said without preamble.  Val raised an eyebrow.  “Remember how the Pirate King didn’t kill anyone on our crew or really do much harm?”

              “Yes.”

              “That’s ‘cause she turned out to be my little sister.”

              “The one that’s been missing for years?”

              “Yes.”

              “Wow.”  Val leaned back in his chair.  “That has to be quite the story.”

              “It is.  It’s also very long.”

              “Okay, I know when I’m being told to drop something. What’s the favor you want?” Val asked.

              “Apparently, my little sister-”

              “The Pirate King.”

              “Yes, my little sister, the Pirate King, is betrothed to her first mate.  They’re eager to get married, but haven’t been able to find the time and…”  Lute trailed off.  Val chuckled.

              “You want me to preside over their wedding.”

              “Please.  I would appreciate it so much if ya did.  I just…I just want my sister to be happy.”

              “I understand.  I’ll do it.  But I don’t want her coming for my ship ever again,” Val said firmly.

              “I think I can get her to agree to those terms,” Lute said.  “I mean, I’m on this ship.”  Someone knocked on the door.

              “Come in,” Val said.  The door opened, revealing one of the crewmen.  “Yes?”

              “There’s a woman here, accompanied by a man.  She says she’s the first mate’s sister.”  Val waved a hand.

              “Send them in.”  The crewman disappeared from view.  Shortly after, Angie and Stan walked into the cabin.  Lute silently closed the door behind them.  “Should I call you ‘Your Majesty’?” Val asked Angie. “Or maybe bow?”

              “Yes,” Stan said immediately.  Angie elbowed him roughly.  They both had clearly made an effort to clean up.  Angie looked like a proper lady in her light blue dress, while Stan’s hair was tied back and brushed smooth.

              “Be nice,” she hissed to her fiancé.  She smiled at Val.  “Please excuse Stan.  He only pretends to have manners, he doesn’t actually believe in ‘em.”

              “Well, he is a pirate,” Val said.

              “He’s got a point,” Stan said.  Angie sighed.  “So, you gonna marry us, captain?”

              “Yes.  Under one condition.”

              “What would that be?” Angie asked.

              “I don’t want my ship to be targeted by pirates in the future.”

              “I can’t promise that.”

              “Then you’ll have to find someone else to preside over your marriage.”

              “Let me explain,” Angie said, holding up her hands. She looked almost panicked.

              Guess she really wants to get married.

              “If I were to instruct all my allies to stay away from ya, it would only serve to draw attention,” Angie said.  “They would wonder why your ship merited the protection of the Pirate King.  Word would get back to my enemies, who would go out of their way to find you.”

              “If they found Val, they would find me,” Lute said quietly.  Angie nodded. “And they might realize I’m related to the Pirate King.”

              “Which would put our entire fam’ly at risk,” Angie said.  “I’ve been goin’ by a false name this whole time fer a reason.”  Val steepled his fingers.

              “What would you suggest, then?” he asked. Angie frowned thoughtfully.

              “Any time my ship comes across yours, we’ll ignore you,” she said.  Val raised an eyebrow.

              “And how exactly would that help?”

              “I didn’t get to where I am by passin’ up on piratin’ opportunities.  My peers will assume yer not worth the effort.”  Angie shrugged.  “Sure, it’s a bit insultin’.  But it’s better than bein’ boarded by pirates.”  Val mused over Angie’s offer.

              “Deal,” he finally said.  He got up from his desk.  “Can I hold you to your word?”

              “Sally keeps her promises,” Stan said firmly. Val looked over at Lute, who nodded to confirm.

              “Excellent.”  Val walked over to the couple.  “We can get this marriage started, then.”  Stan and Angie turned to face each other.  They held hands.  “We’ve gathered here today to wed this lovely couple, who will surely spend their honeymoon committing crimes upon the seas.”

              “Val,” Lute groaned.  Stan shrugged.

              “It’s true.”

              “We’ll keep the ceremony short and sweet, as I’m sure you two are eager to return to your ship,” Val continued.  “I’ll need your full names.”

              “Stanley Stanford Pines,” Stan mumbled.

              “Banjolina Quinn McGucket,” Angie supplied.  Stan stared at her.  “…I never told ya my real name.”

              “I guess not!” Stan blustered.  “I thought you did!”

              “Sorry, darlin’.”

              “How many lies have you been living?” Stan asked. Angie laughed.

              “I don’t think even I know.”

              “Well…”  Stan grinned. “That’s what I get for falling in love with a pirate captain.”  Angie smiled back.

              “Banjolina Quinn McGucket, do you take this man to be your husband?” Val asked.  Angie squeezed Stan’s hands.

              “I do,” she whispered.

              “Stanley Stanford Pines, do you take this woman to be your wife?”

              “I do.”

              “By the power vested in me as a captain of the seven seas, I now pronounce you man and wife,” Val intoned solemnly.  “You may kiss the bride.”  Stan didn’t waste any time, immediately wrapping Angie into a tight embrace, kissing her deeply.  Val stepped away from the couple, over to Lute.  “I’m guessing that this isn’t the wedding your family pictured for your sister.”

              “Yer right.”  The kissing had stopped.  Stan and Angie were simply holding each other, almost like they were afraid to let go.  Lute smiled.  “But this is nice, too.”

[thelastspeecher]

Hi, heard you were accepting asks for the Angenie AU. So here's my thought, ROBOTS V. MAGIC! Has there been competitions between Fidds and Angie on doing something better with technology or magic. Maybe it was just a way for Angie to get better at magic and then they got competitive. One moment they're just doing chores in unique ways, then fixing something for the house, the next it's who's better at de-gnoming the house and dismantling cults. Angie: You made a cult! Fidds: You broke gravity!

AAAAAAAAAAAA

holy shit I love it!!!!

that’s 1000% in character, the siblings competing, Fidds proposing it as a way for Angie to get better at magic, but then that sibling competitiveness kicked in and it became effectively a war.

the line “you broke gravity” is sending me, btw.  I love it so much.

[thelastspeecher]

NaNoWriMo ‘17 Day 17 - Courting Rituals

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08 Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16 Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24 Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

Summary: Stan and Ford struggle with their significant others’ different culture.  Suggestion from @darfichihrenhundstreicheln.  [Birb Guck AU] Word count: 1467

               Ford took a steadying breath before knocking on the door.

               “Yeah?” a voice called from within the room.

               “May I come in?”

               “Sure,” came the lazy response.  Ford opened the door.  Angie was standing in front of the mirror on the dresser, carefully plucking a stray canary-yellow feather from her hair.  “Howdy, Stanford.  Have ya come to fin’ly kick me out?” she asked, frowning with concentration.  

               “Um, no.  Although I would like to point out that you’ve been staying here much longer than you needed to.”

               “Mm-hmm.  So, if yer not here to tell me to pack my bags, why are ya here?” Angie said.  She grinned in success.  “Ha!  Gotchya, ya lil bugger!”  She dropped the feather on the dresser.  “That sucker’s been stayin’ in my hair when I go to human form lately.  Can’t have that.”

               “No, I suppose that wouldn’t be beneficial,” Ford agreed.  He closed the door behind him.  Angie turned around.

               “Oh.  Yer closin’ the door.  That must mean this is serious business.”

               “It is.”  Ford clasped his hands together behind his back.  “When your parents visited, to see Tate, they mentioned that your species has a series of distinct…courting rituals one undergoes with a potential mate.”

               “Well, sure, we do.”  Angie grinned crookedly.  “But I reckon yer a bit past courtin’.  Ford, you and Fidds already have a hatchling.  The rules what someone goin’ on a first date would use don’t apply to you. Not anymore.”

               “Still, since Fiddleford and I do have a son together, I feel that I should at least attempt to follow some of his culture’s traditions,” Ford said. Angie crossed her arms.

               “That would be the nice thing to do.  Hmm, some of ‘em won’t work out so well.  Ya can’t speak Gucklish, since ya have human vocal cords.  And ya can’t give him a gift of yer feathers.”  Angie’s eyes widened.  “Oh, do ya have any of Fidds’ old feathers layin’ ‘round?”

               “I might.  Why?”

               “Usin’ a potential mate’s feathers in some sort of creation, such as a piece of art, or jewelry, or even givin’ ‘em a book with the feather as a bookmark, those are some good courtin’ things.”

               “Sounds simple enough,” Ford muttered.  “Your father made a joke about rocks during the visit?”

               “Ooh, that’s right,” Angie said in a low voice.  She tsked.  “I always forget that one.  I mean, I haven’t ever been ‘round another Guck what’s tryin’ to woo me, so I s’ppose it makes sense, but-”

               “What is it?” Ford asked impatiently.

               “If’n yer plannin’ on makin’ a move at takin’ yer relationship to the next level, ya gift the person a shiny rock.”

               “…Really?” Ford asked.  “That seems juvenile.”

               “It’s one of our most revered traditions!” Angie snapped.

               “Yet you forgot it.”

               “Hey, forgettin’ and disrespectin’ are different things.” Angie huffed.  “Good luck gettin’ any more information from me.”  She walked over to him.  “Get out.”

               “This is my house.”

               “Uh-huh.  And if we go toe-to-toe, yer not goin’ to win,” Angie said shortly.  She bared her teeth at him.  Ford swallowed and exited the room.  Angie slammed the door shut.  

               “Dammit,” Ford muttered.  Another door down the hall slammed.  

               “Jeez, Fiddlebird, relax!  I was joking!” Stan shouted.  There was a muffled response.  “Come on, man, let me back in!”  More muffled shouting.  Stan sighed loudly.  Ford looked over at his twin.

               “Stanley, what’s going on?” Ford asked.  Stan walked to him.

               “Just Fiddlebird getting all pissy, just ‘cause I asked him why Gucks think it’s romantic to wake up before their girlfriend or whatever and trim a love note in the front yard.  Seems weird as hell to me.”  Stan shrugged.  “Then again, I’m not an alien.”

               “No, you are not.”  Ford sighed. “Nor am I.”

               “What’s going on with you, Poindexter?” Stan asked, leaning against the wall next to Ford.

               “I had a similar discussion with Angie.  Now that Fiddleford and I have a child, I thought it apropos to apply some of the Guck culture’s customs to our relationship.  I inadvertently insulted one of the courting rituals, however, and Angie kicked me out.”

               “…Out of a room in your own damn house?”

               “You remember what Fiddleford was like while he was nesting,” Ford said. “Do you really think it’s surprising I opted not to fight an avian alien that has no qualms about going for the eyes?”

               “Good point.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “So, uh, what- what did Angie tell you?”

               “I only got two courting rituals out of her before she kicked me out.  One was giving a potential mate something made with their own feathers, and the other was giving a potential mate a shiny rock.”

               “What sorta shiny rock?” Stan asked, interested.  

               “She didn’t say, and she shut down the conversation before I could get specifics.  I assume any shiny rock would rock.”

               “Any shiny rock,” Stan repeated.  He frowned.  “Hang on, didn’t I give Angie that one rock ages ago?”

               “The one you were planning on throwing through the mayor’s window, but got caught by the police before you could?”

               “That’s the one.”

               “Yes, you gave it to her.  It’s on her dresser.”

               “It was pretty damn shiny,” Stan said in a low voice.  “Holy Moses, did I come on to her without even knowing it?”

               “I’m sure she didn’t think anything of it,” Ford said reassuringly. “She knows you lack knowledge of the Guck culture.”

               “Still.”  Stan grimaced.  “Really hope that wasn’t like, a proposal or something.”

               “If it was, it’s rather rude of her to not give you a response yet.”

----- 

               Stan knocked on the guest room door.

               “Hey, Angie, I’ve got something for you,” Stan said cheerfully.  

               “A gift?” Angie asked, opening the door.  

               “Yep.”

               “Oh, how sweet of you!  I adore gettin’ gifts.”  Angie grinned at him.  “‘Specially when they’re from handsome roosters like yourself.”

               “Uh, roosters?”

               “Do ya really want me to call ya a co-”

               “Not until we get to know each other better,” Stan interrupted.  Angie laughed.  “Here.”  Stan handed her a wrapped box.  Angie beamed at him, then tore the wrapping open.  She gasped in delight.

               “Oh!  How incredibly charming,” Angie gushed, picking up the hat.  “Did ya stitch this yourself?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Such neat handiwork.  And- oh.” Angie looked up from her gift.  “Are these- are these my feathers, ‘round the brim?”

               “Yeah.”

               “That’s, um, quite- quite the design decision,” Angie stammered, beginning to blush.  “Quite darin’.”

               “I was going more for ‘flirty’, but whatever,” Stan said, feigning indifference.  Angie blinked.  “I, uh, I talked to Fiddlebird about what you bird people do when you wanna date someone and, well…”  Stan gestured at the hat.  A small grin began to creep its way onto Angie’s face.  “Do you like it?  And, um, do you agree to go out with me?”

               “Of course, I do,” Angie said.  She let out a small bark of laughter.  “I think it’s a bit funny, that ya went the opposite direction of courtin’ rituals.”

               “Huh?”

               “First ya give me a rock, then ya give me a gift with my feathers?  That’s like proposing on the first date, but asking to keep it casual on the fifth.”

               “Dammit, I was right, you did think it was weird.”

               “No, I thought it was nice,” Angie said.  She put on her hat jauntily.  “I’ve still got the rock, actually.  I mean, ya don’t just toss out a courtin’ rock, but I was more thinkin’ ‘bout how it’s a gift from you.”  

               “That’s cheesy as hell.”

               “Yeah, but so are you, Stanley Pines,” Angie said with a grin.

               “Don’t insult me like that,” Stan protested.  Angie chuckled.  There was a loud gasp from the kitchen, where Fiddleford was getting breakfast ready.

               “Stanford, that’s so kind of ya!  I- I don’t know what to say!” Fiddleford gushed.

               “Sounds like Ford’s ‘courting’ worked out, too,” Stan said idly.  “Good for him. Woulda sucked to have been dumped by the person who laid his son.”

               “Ford decided to court Fidds?” Angie asked.  “It’s about time.  Do ya know what he did?”

               “I think he went the rock route.”

               “Ah.  Man, Fidds deserved a rock ages ago.”  Angie shook her head.  “It’s shameful, it is, that Ford didn’t decide to officially intensify their relationship until now.”

               “You wanna talk the whole shiny rock thing?” Stan said.  “McGucket, I gave you that shiny rock weeks ago, and you still haven’t given me an answer.”

               “What are ya talkin’ about?  I just did,” Angie said.  She winked at him.  “How’s ‘bout we head out at seven?”  Stan grinned at her.

               “Sounds good.”  Loud noises emanated from the kitchen.  “Actually, what if we leave sooner?  Those lovebirds are gonna be all over each other the entire day, just ‘cause Ford gave Fiddlebird a shiny rock.”